The Last Summer of Being Single Read online

  ‘Well, in that case, you had better start with these photos of your parents’ wedding.’

  Ella pressed a leather photo album into his hands. ‘Your mother looked so beautiful. She obviously loved being pregnant.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO hours later Seb was pacing the length of his bedroom and in danger of wearing a track on the surface of the fine wool rug.

  He had not left the Mas Tournesol. He couldn’t. He was far too agitated to drive anywhere except into the nearest solid brick wall or large tree.

  The only good news was that he now had the answers to two of his questions.

  He had not been adopted after all.

  There was no doubt now that his mother had been pregnant when she married his dad. The wedding photographs Ella had found in the attic were wonderful—it was a delight to see his mother laughing and happy, surrounded by family and friends she loved. And without the huge bouquet of flowers to hide her baby bump, she was very definitely pregnant.

  Ella had recognised the fact instantly when she had seen those photographs.

  While he had been kept in the dark all of these years!

  Okay. He could deal with that and stomping around his old bedroom was not going to help. It had always been a possibility that his mother had been in a previous relationship and it certainly did not change his deep connection to her.

  Which left the missing piece of the puzzle. Who was his father?

  And now he had a possible answer.

  Because he had a name. André Sebastien Morel. Only this André was not a friend or some relative. André Morel had been his mother’s fiancé.

  Clutched in his left hand was a crinkled and faded clipping from a Montpellier newspaper he had unearthed from the second box of Castellano family records he had hauled down from the attic.

  The edges of the clipping were torn because whoever had cut the announcement had used pinking shears from a young woman’s sewing box.

  The photograph in the living room had been taken at his mother’s engagement party to celebrate her engagement to André Sebastien Morel some fourteen months before she married Luc Castellano.

  There was no doubt. Both the date and the year on the newspaper clipping matched those on the photograph from the living room.

  His mother had been engaged to André Sebastien Morel.

  It did not mean that André was his father, of course, but it was a start.

  Screwing up the ragged scrap of faded newsprint, he pushed it deep into his pocket, marched over to the window and clenched his hand over the narrow ledge, his fingers and knuckles white with the effort, desperate to breathe in some cool air.

  He felt totally bewildered at the fury of questions and implications that showered out of this discovery.

  There were two more boxes to sort through and the weight of what he might find there was starting to bear down heavily. He would do it. He had to.

  But suddenly he felt constricted, trapped in this tiny room. He needed to walk some of this tension out of his body. And fast.

  Perhaps a change of scene would help him to come up with a plan?

  He needed to find out everything he could about André Morel. At the very least André had known his mother at a crucial time and could help track down his father. And at worst? His mother would not be the first girl to find herself pregnant and engaged to the man she loved—only to find herself a single mother. Either way, he needed to know.

  Seb snatched up his carryon bag and started stuffing it with paperwork and photographs—but it was far too small.

  The knock on the door startled him and he jogged the few steps to yank it open in frustration, only to find Ella peeking in towards him, carrying a small wooden tray complete with a white lacework napkin and a steaming beaker of the most delicious smelling coffee.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, but delving back into the past can be hard work. Do you need milk or sugar? I noticed you took your coffee straight at breakfast but I can always dive down and get you some. And how about a pastry? You look like you need a pastry. Oh. You’re packing.’

  The look on her face of simple interest and calm concern hit him like a bucket of cool fresh water, dousing out the flames of his anger and discontent.

  She was gabbling. Nervous…for him.

  The gesture was so genuine and caring that it grabbed him and shook him hard out of his grave state of mind.

  He gently laid one hand on her arm and she stopped gushing and gabbling and looked at him. Really looked at him. As though she could see into his mind and untangle the turmoil of questions and answers that lay within. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, the concern in her soft voice making it tremble.

  The coffee was starting to slosh and the whole tray threatened to shake out of her hands so he carefully took it from her hands and lowered it onto a stack of old magazines. Almost instinctively his hands reached out to take hold of hers, but he caught them in time to push them firmly down into his trouser pockets.

  ‘No. I’m not okay, and, yes, I am packing. Except that I am going to need several more bags,’ he replied, his gaze on the assorted documents that were spread out all over the bedroom floor, close to Ella’s feet.

  Ella was wearing blue lace-up deck shoes and a green ribbon tied around her left ankle.

  A small sigh escaped from her mouth and there was something about it that touched him. He barely knew her, but she was as transparent as glass. Which was probably why he startled both of them by looking into her blue eyes and asking, ‘How about you? Are you okay?’

  She breathed in through her nose and her chin tilted back a little as she rocked back on her heels.

  ‘Been better,’ she whispered, ‘since you ask.’

  Then her lips came together and for one, horrible moment that filled him with dread Seb thought that she was going to start crying on him.

  Instead, she blinked several times as though clearing her mind, smiled and gestured with her head towards the corridor.

  ‘It seems to me that you need a job to keep your mind busy. I need someone who is taller than I am and not frightened of heights. Yvette has gone home for the day and, to be perfectly honest, you look like you could use some fresh air. Interested?’

  ‘You have a job for me?’ He snorted in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I have more than enough on my mind right now.’

  He flung his arm out over the jumble of papers and boxes. ‘I need to get to the city and find myself a large conference table and a fast computer. Databases. Old newspapers. Anything that can give me the background data I need. Starting with my birth certificate. How do I get hold of a copy in a hurry? I’ve never seen an original.’

  Ella peered around him at the crates. ‘How do you know that you don’t have one buried in those boxes that you have not opened yet?’

  His eyes narrowed and he glared at her. ‘I don’t want to be rude but I need to get back to work. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll finish packing. I’m sure there is someone else who can help you in the garden.’

  She pursed her lips and watched him for a few seconds as he snatched up clothing and tried to cram it into the holdall. Without success.

  Ella took advantage of a pause to step close enough for him to stop what he was doing and turn his head towards her.

  ‘I’ll trade you one hour of my time sorting through all of these boxes in exchange for one hour of your time in Nicole’s garden. You do remember Nicole, don’t you? She’s the woman whose birthday party you are going to miss, even though you promised her that you would be here.’

  Ella tilted up her head and twitched her button nose as she peered at the wedding photos Seb had spread out across his bedcover. ‘Nice photos. Pity that you cannot spare a few days out of your so busy schedule to find out your family history. Or are you too busy making money to wonder who you really are?’

  She glanced at her watch and folded her arms. ‘But please make up your mind because I don’t have all day.’

  ‘Matt! How are
you doing, mate? Having a great time by the pool?’

  ‘Pool? I wish. I’m back in Paris,’ Matt replied with a sigh. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

  Seb’s eyebrows joined as his face darkened. ‘What do you mean, you’re in Paris? Montpellier not exciting enough for you? Or is there a problem with the deal?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about. The PSN Media lawyers need me to go over some fine details on the contract and it made sense for me to fly up to their offices. I’ll be back on Sunday. Job done. Ready to sign the papers. Okay?’

  Seb paused before swallowing down regret that his friend was not only out of town but also working on the deal while he had just wasted the last hour reading through farmhouse accounts and village sporting achievements. And failing to find a copy of his birth certificate.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ Seb offered. ‘I don’t want to be having all of the fun!’

  ‘All taken care of. You enjoy yourself and I’ll see you at the hotel Sunday evening. Then back home on Monday. Can’t wait!’

  A great whoosh of air jetted from Seb’s lungs as Matt disconnected.

  He still had to decide whether to stay an extra day and visit the local records office to get a copy of his birth certificate, or head back home with Matt. Even with Ella’s help he had found little extra information in the photos and documents. Perhaps this was all a wild goose chase after all, brought on by lack of sleep and too much caffeine?

  In the meantime he had to waste an hour doing gardening jobs for the woman he had barely spoken to since agreeing to accept her help.

  She was infuriating! Especially when he could not argue with her common sense.

  A deal was a deal. And he had lugged two boxes of paperwork back to the attic before calling it a day.

  Seb strolled out into the warm sunshine and was greeted by birdsong and the sound of bees on the lavender and herbs in the kitchen garden.

  A flash of colour appeared at the side of the house and he turned the corner just in time to see Ella trying to drag a set of very large, heavy ladders out of the barn, a basket hanging from the crook of her arm. From the huffing and puffing going on, the ladders were heavier than they looked, and Milou was playing around her legs at the same time.

  ‘I had better help you with that before it falls on your foot and breaks some toes.’

  ‘I can manage, thank you,’ she blew out. Only at that moment her basket fell onto the patio as the ladder slipped and Ella veered towards it as her weight shifted. Seb ran forward and caught her arm just as she was about to lose her balance.

  ‘So I can see. And when was the last time you pruned these trees?’

  Ella raised her eyebrows and looked quizzically at Seb as he calmly took the ladder and opened it in one swift move.

  ‘Hello! I am a London girl. Brought up above a jazz club! A window box was just about my limit. Yvette did prune the apples last winter but I can’t remember her touching the cherries.’

  Seb smiled and braced the ladders into a stable position against the trunk of the nearest cherry tree.

  ‘If these are the original trees, I seem to remember that these cherries are good.’

  ‘They are sweet. Dan loves them. And I’m hoping Nicole and her guests will too. At the moment my plan is to serve cherry frangipane tart as part of the dessert menu but I’m still fiddling with the recipe.’ She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘And there is no way you are going up that ladder in those shoes!’

  Seb stopped and looked down at this black lace-up meeting-room leather designer wear.

  ‘What’s wrong with these shoes?’

  ‘Nothing. They are excellent for a boardroom or fancy restaurant. But those leather soles are way too slippery to be safe. I hate to say it but I wouldn’t be able to catch you if you fell. So…thank you for the help, but I’ll take it from here.’

  And before Seb could stop her, Ella had dived in front of him and was already skipping up the ladder. Until she reached three steps from the top and reached out towards the nearest branch, which was still way above her head. Then she stopped, dropped her arm, closed her eyes and clutched onto the wooden frame for dear life as the ladder slipped an inch, then another, before juddering onto a firmer spot. A very Anglo Saxon expletive escaped under her breath.

  ‘Um,’ Seb replied as she slumped forward onto the ladder. ‘Good effort. Can you make it down?’

  Her reply was a whimper and a gentle nod. ‘I just need a minute,’ she replied in a faint voice.

  ‘Okay. I am going to put my hands on your waist. So don’t be startled. It’s just to hold you steady on the way down. Are you ready?’

  Seb stood behind Ella and gently spread his hands both sides of her waist and pressed gently.

  ‘I’ve got you now. One step at a time. Steady. That’s it.’

  A fast-beating heart pulsed below the fragile ribcage under his fingers. Fast like the caged finch he used to have as a boy. Only this was no bird. This was a soft and warm person trembling in his hands. A thin layer of fabric separated his fingertips from her skin and as she slowly extended one leg down to the next rung he breathed in a luscious smell of flowers and baking and the sweet fruit on the ground under his shoes and above his head.

  He did not do intimate. And this was the closest he had come for longer than he cared to recall.

  And he would have a lot of explaining to do if someone caught them like this, because, like it or not, when Ella reached the bottom of the ladder, she turned to face him. And leant forward with both palms flat against his chest, resting her forehead on the backs of her hands, so that he was looking down onto the top of her shiny brown hair as she caught her breath.

  Connection. Deep, real and not to be denied. Connection and attraction. The kind of attraction that meant that he had no desire whatsoever to remove his hands from her waist.

  Which was totally crazy!

  He had felt unsettled earlier in the day when their hands had touched, but this felt deeper and more fundamental and so far out of his comfort zone it was not funny.

  He swallowed down a moment of spiralling heat, then slowly released his hands from her waist and stepped back. Time to take control.

  He was a tourist here with every intention of leaving at the first opportunity and he had better remember that fact. Perhaps he could find the time to take some lunch, but then he would be on his way. Job done.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, looking into her face, and was rewarded with a hesitant smile.

  ‘Much. Thank you. I, er, really should know my limitations, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘I’ll trade you a basket of those cherries—’ he pointed at the highest point on the tree, red with ripe glistening fruit ‘—for one of those tarts and that lunch you promised me. And I will be careful in my slippery shoes. Do we have a deal?’

  Ella pushed out her lower lip and pretended to think about it for a second, then nodded and reached out to shake his hand once. The texture of her skin was dry. The palms calloused. A worker’s hand. He liked that, which was bizarre. Perhaps he didn’t like smooth-skinned girls with immaculate manicures as much as he thought he did? Either way, Ella was making his head spin.

  ‘Deal.’ She nodded firmly. ‘I did promise you lunch. Provided you can do it now, of course. No time like the present.’

  ‘Is that another of those English expressions you are so full of?’

  ‘One for every occasion. Didn’t you know?’ Ella replied with a faint smile, her breathing back close to normal. ‘I had better sort out that recipe. And don’t forget that you owe me an hour. Best get to work!’

  And with a wave of her hand she turned back towards the house, and Seb and Milou stood next to each other for a second watching the slim figure negotiate the patio.

  Seb glanced down to see a pair of yellow eyes looking back at him.

  ‘Well, we best get busy then, mate.’

  There was a low sigh in disgusted response and the dog settled himself into comfort in the shade of t
he cherry trees.

  ‘Good idea—you just stay there on guard duty! That’s it. I’ll do the work.’ And try and work out what I have just got myself into in more ways than one.

  An hour later, Ella looked out of the kitchen window at the sound of Milou barking.

  Seb was pacing up and down the patio stones, wagging the fingers of his right hand and gritting his teeth while chatting away to someone on the cell phone.

  Intrigued, she strolled outside just as he closed the call, drying her hand on the towel tucked into her apron waistband.

  ‘Problem?’

  He noticed her, and a slight flush of embarrassment flared on his neck, as though he had been caught doing something naughty.

  The naughty Sebastien. Now that thought was enough to bring a smile to her face.

  There were pieces of twig and dead leaves caught in the tight curls of his hair, his right forearm was scratched below his rolled up shirt sleeve and cherry juice was spotted all along one broad shoulder.

  Strange how it suited him perfectly. The naughty Seb.

  ‘The wasps,’ he sighed. ‘Took exception to my stealing their food. And my friend Matt has just found a legal technicality which will keep him in Paris until late Sunday. Looks like I am on my own.’

  ‘Oh, thanks a lot! What a lovely compliment. Let me take a look at your sting.’

  He held his hand above his head and gave her a look of disbelief.

  ‘I can handle a wasp sting, thank you all the same. Even if it does smart.’

  Ella raised both of her hands. ‘I was simply going to offer you some antihistamine cream. But if you prefer to suffer in silence like a macho hero? Well, that’s up to you.’ She folded her arms and waited. Patiently.

  He pursed his lips and sniffed. ‘Antihistamine I can use. Pass it over.’

  Ella gestured with her head toward the kitchen, unfolded her arms, then picked up the basket of cherries. ‘Follow me.’

  The first thing Seb saw when he walked into the kitchen were two family-sized open fruit tarts.