Granite cliffs soared above the Mediterranean, and the water was so blue it hurt Julie’s eyes. As promised, it was a rough hike to get to the most remote and dramatic peaks and inlets filled with crystal-clear water. A rocky descent brought them to a beach of fine sand, with only a few groups of tourists and locals lying out on towels or having lunch in the shade. Julie was too excited to eat. She and Martine took the little ones into the surf, and they squealed as they played in the waves. The guys climbed up the rocky outcroppings to jump in, yelling and splashing in the cool water.
“Let’s give it a try,” Julie said to Martine.
“It’s too high,” Martine said, shading her eyes.
“That’s what makes it fun,” Julie said.
“I’ll stay here with my cousins,” said Martine. “We’re building a sand castle.”
Julie climbed up the rocky path and stopped at a ledge that jutted out like a natural diving platform. Her mom would have a cow if she knew her daughter was about to jump off a cliff.
“Want to take the plunge?” asked André.
Julie was totally exhilarated. “Sure.” Then she looked over the edge. “Yikes,” she said. “I don’t know how to say that in French.”
“Yikes,” André repeated, grinning.
“It’s really far.”
“About ten meters,” said Yves. “The landing is plenty deep, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Yikes,” Julie said again. But she was loving everything about this day, and she knew she’d love this, too. “I’ll go first.”
Taking a deep breath, she walked to the edge of the platform. The straight-down perspective was dizzying, but the water looked beautiful, its variegated shades of turquoise and deep blue flickering in the sunlight. Her stomach tensed, but she pushed aside the fear. After dealing with Vanessa Larson all year, a thirty-foot drop would be like a walk in the park.
She turned and looked back at the boys. André offered a nod of approval. Her mom was always warning her about not letting other kids talk her into doing dangerous stuff.
What Mom didn’t realize was that no one had to talk her into anything at all.
Fourteen
“The Bond girls are here,” Camille said, looking out at the courtyard as Finn and two supermodels got out of the deux chevaux.
“Bond girls?” asked Anouk, leaning toward the window. “Ah, you mean like the ones in a James Bond movie.”
“Yes. The gorgeous ones who sleep with him and then try to kill him.”
“That sounds like my first marriage.”
“I didn’t know you were married before.”
“I wasn’t. I’m still on my first marriage.” Anouk grinned. “Come on. Let’s go out and meet your competition.”
“They’re not my comp—” Her heart sank as she suddenly felt dowdy and plain in her white cotton sundress. She flushed, knowing she’d put it on just for Finn. It hardly mattered now, she thought, following Anouk outside. There was no competing with Vivi, a willowy Somalian who offered a brilliant smile as Finn made the introductions. Roz was British, with long red hair, a toned athletic body, and at least a dozen sharpened pencils sticking out of her shirt pocket. The three of them were speaking English together as they unloaded archival boxes, laptops, and camera gear from the car.
Camille stuck out her hand. “The name’s Adams. Camille Adams.” It was silly, but she couldn’t help herself.
Finn sent her a confused look. Anouk snickered, then offered them something to drink. “Mineral water would be lovely,” said Vivi.
“I’d like one, too,” said Roz.
“Shaken, not stirred,” Anouk murmured as she went off to the kitchen.
“The two of you have some kind of inside joke going on?” Finn asked.
“We would never,” Camille told him. Then she turned to her visitors. “All right, then. Should we get started?”
Vivi tackled the project with a fierce passion. There was site preparation work to be done before they delved into the artifacts. Within a short while, it was clear that they’d stumbled upon a major trove of information, not just about daily life around the farm and village, but about a compelling mystery buried deep in the past. They marked off the attic space in a grid pattern in order to keep track of the location of each object as they removed it.
The white dress was an epic fail, Camille realized, five minutes into the chore. She had pictured herself sitting in the shade with Finn, leisurely studying keepsakes and artifacts as they sipped sparkling lemonade and gazed into each other’s eyes. Instead, she soon found her dress soiled by dust, cobwebs, and rubble.
Despite the wardrobe challenge, Camille enjoyed working alongside Finn’s associates. Both women were so interesting. Vivi was the daughter of a cultural minister from Somalia, and a gifted marathon runner. Roz came from an industrial town in the west of England and had learned her research techniques by helping her grandfather, a notorious bookie.
“How did you both wind up in Aix?” Camille asked.
“One doesn’t ‘wind up’ in Aix,” Roz said with a laugh. “One focuses on it like a laser, and doesn’t let up until one finds a way to live there.”
“You’ve been to Aix-en-Provence, haven’t you?” Vivi asked.
“Not yet, no.”
“Once you see it, you’ll understand,” Roz said. “It’s beautiful, it has the perfect climate, amazing food and wine, fantastic music, and plenty of men.” Both she and Vivi glanced over at Finn. He had peeled off his shirt and was taking a water break over by the well pump. His physique gleamed with bright trickles of water streaming over him.
“Oh my God,” Camille said, recognizing their very similar expressions as they watched him. “You’ve both slept with Finn.” In a way, it was a relief. Camille had long been uncomfortable with her attraction to him. This was the perfect excuse to get over him. She was not about to become his next conquest.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Vivi.
“Everyone wants to shag Finn,” Roz added, still checking him out. “I mean, come on. But he has this unfortunate trait.”
“He does?” Camille leaned in. Maybe he was an even worse player than she suspected.
“Yes. A very inconvenient sense of decency. He tries to keep it a secret so we’ll think he’s all that, but you’ll see. He’s ridiculously decent.”
Vivi nodded. “He’s terribly professional, keeps his distance from colleagues and students. Even the young and shameless ones.”
“Professional?” Camille was skeptical. “He’s an outrageous flirt.”
“Ah, that is just a front,” Vivi said. “He has a wall.”
Roz nodded. “No one can ever find a way into his heart, and that sort of thing gets boring after a while, no matter how he looks when he takes off his shirt.”
“And just so you know, he’s actually interested in you,” Vivi pointed out.
“What?” Camille’s cheeks caught fire. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he told us on the way over here,” she said.
“He . . . what? What did he say?”
“That he’s super attracted to you, and he wants to shag you.”
“He said that?” Oh my God, thought Camille. What a tool.
“No, he didn’t say that,” Roz explained. “But I’m sure he wants to. Just remember, he refuses to give his heart.”
They worked for a while in companionable silence. Finally, Camille couldn’t keep herself from wanting to know more. “Why does he refuse to give his heart?”
Roz shrugged her shoulders and made some notes on a clipboard. “Good luck getting an answer out of him.”
“I think it’s all to do with his first wife,” Vivi said.
“Emily Cutler,” Camille said. “He’s never mentioned her to me, but it was on his Wikipedia page. I don’t know why they split up.”
“Ooh, you two will have plenty to talk about in between rolls in the hay,” said Roz.