T Williams - What Happens at the Beach...

‘He’s a very handsome man, you know. I do like tall men, don’t you?’ Colette was grinning at her and Natalie found she couldn’t keep a straight face for long. She gave a sigh of mock exasperation, delighted to see her grandmother so perky.

‘Just because you’re my big sister now, that doesn’t mean you need to start matchmaking. I’ve just got unengaged, you know. I’ve had it with men for the present; why on earth should I want another one? Besides, you’re only saying that because you’re in love with the Labrador.’

Colette rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t know which of the two is more handsome, Mark or Charlie.’

‘Or Barney.’

‘Whatever. Now, if Mark’s the owner of the chateau, he must be wealthy as well as handsome. That sounds like a rather fine combination. Sure you aren’t interested?’

Natalie looked back at her. ‘I’m not on the lookout for another man. I know what I want and it’s a job, a career. Men can wait.’

‘Bravo, Natalie. That’s my girl. Of course men can wait for now.’ She caught Natalie’s eye. ‘But, just in case, you keep an eye on this one. You could do worse.’

‘Gran, I’m sure I’ll run into him now and then, especially with the dog, but I’m sure he’s not interested in me and I’m not interested in him.’

‘You never were very good at telling fibs, Natalie.’ Her grandmother was grinning broadly. A ready answer didn’t come to Natalie so she hastily finished her tea and glanced at her watch. It was almost noon.

‘Almost lunchtime and I’m duty cook today, remember.’

Her grandmother was French enough to religiously observe the ritual of sitting down to lunch every day at exactly twelve-thirty. But, before heading for the kitchen, Natalie had a final stab at telling her how she was feeling. ‘Gran, I don’t need another man for now, really. I’ve loved being here. All I need is a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. My hair’s gradually getting bleached by the sun, my legs are nice and brown and there’s nobody here telling me to wear make-up or to shoehorn myself into some tight-fitting frock for a bunch of middle-aged men in suits to ogle. I love it here, Colette, I really do.’ She smiled down at her grandmother. ‘I really don’t want the hassle, however nice the man might be and however totally drop-dead gorgeous his dog might be. I’m happy as I am, Gran, really happy.’ She almost sounded convincing.

That evening there was a text from Dominique at the restaurant, asking if Natalie could come down and help. After checking with Colette, she went off to wait at table. The restaurant was packed out, with every table inside and outside on the terrace full of customers, and both Natalie and Laure were at it flat out for the best part of three hours, while Alain and his young sous-chef laboured away in the kitchen and Dominique worked from behind the bar dispensing drinks and keeping track of all the different bills. In the course of the evening, Natalie began to notice that one man, on a table with a group of half a dozen other people, was evidently very interested in her. Every time she passed, he smiled at her, and every time she leant across the table to clear plates or bring more, she could feel his eyes on her. In spite of her protestations to her grandmother a few hours earlier, she surreptitiously checked him out.

He was a very handsome Frenchman. He might have been forty, his thick black hair stylishly long and his tan perfect. His sky-blue polo shirt, boasting a little crocodile logo, was immaculate and the gold watch on his wrist looked expensive. His dark glasses were resting up on top of his head and a thin gold chain glittered at his throat. On an East End gangster, it might have looked tacky. On him, she had to admit, it looked rather good, although just a tad over the top. It occurred to her at first that he might well be gay, although his evident interest in her rather contradicted that. Once he had learnt that she was English, he became most effusively complimentary about her fluent French. He got her name from Dominique and lost no opportunity to address her as Natalie, or ma chère Natalie , whenever possible. At the end of the evening, as he and his party got up to leave, he paid the bill with a credit card and added a ten euro tip in cash, giving her a wink as he did so.

‘Looks like you’ve made a conquest there, Natalie.’ Dominique was giggling from behind the bar as the little group left. ‘It’s not very often people leave any kind of tip these days, let alone that much.’

‘I haven’t seen a ten euro tip since that boatload of drunken Dutchmen came by.’ Laure was grinning. ‘It must be love.’

‘Well, he’d better not think he can buy me for ten euros.’ Natalie tried to sound offended, but she was actually rather flattered at so much attention from a very good-looking man.

‘You’re worth more than ten euros.’ Alain’s head peered out of the kitchen door. ‘I imagine he’s got a fair bit of cash as well, from the size of his yacht. Have you seen it? It’s the dark blue and white one moored out in the bay.’ He gave her a lurid wink. ‘Play your cards right and he’ll take you for a trip.’

‘Somehow, Alain, I get the feeling he might be more interested in you than in me.’

Laure and Dominique scoffed in unison. Dominique shook her head decisively. ‘Him, gay? Not from the way he was looking at you.’ Natalie still wasn’t totally convinced.

‘Anyway, do either of you know who he is?’

‘No, but from his accent I would say he’s local.’ Dominique gave her a wink in her turn. ‘Leave it to me; I’ll find out who he is if you’re interested.’

‘Who says I’m interested?’

‘I do. I saw you flirting with him.’ Dominique was still smiling. ‘And Laure did as well, didn’t you, Laure?’

‘Definitely.’ Laure giggled.

‘I was doing no such thing.’

‘It’s all right, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with us.’ Dominique followed her husband into the kitchen with a smirk on her face while Natalie and Laure concentrated on clearing the last of the tables and setting them for lunch the following day. Natalie couldn’t help smiling at Dominique’s obsession with trying to get her fixed up with a man, but she knew this wasn’t going to be the one, although she had to admit it had felt rather nice to be on the receiving end of some Gallic charm.

As she made her way back up the path again later on, she reflected that this made two rather handsome men she had met in the space of a few hours. She glanced up and saw the lights of the chateau at the top of the hill and wondered how Mark was spending the evening.

The next day, she met a third handsome man. This time, he was a very different kettle of fish. Or, more precisely, a different basket of fish. As she sat at her usual table on the terrace after her morning swim, sipping her grand crème , he came up the steps from the beach with a basket of fish and shellfish for the kitchen. As he and Alain checked the contents of the basket and haggled over the price, Natalie let her eyes run over the fisherman.

He wasn’t as tall as Mark or as well-groomed as the man in the polo shirt, but he made up for his lack of height and refinement with his muscular build. His forearms were powerful, his leg muscles well-formed and his chest statuesque. He was wearing a battered old T-shirt that had once advertised Spanish beer. It had faded from its original red colour to a rusty brown and it was peppered with holes, some of them, Natalie noticed naughtily, affording tantalising glimpses of his suntanned body beneath. His shorts had probably started life as jeans and had been chopped off high on the leg, leaving frayed threads hanging across his powerful thigh muscles. His feet were bare and his wild mop of jet-black hair hung down to his shoulders. His face was weather-beaten and tough. As the complete antithesis of David or the man in the polo shirt, he fitted the bill to perfection.