Chapter 6

Vince

T he taxi dropped me in the picturesque village of Mougins.

Fabien had given me the address of the restaurant, but to get there, I needed to navigate the narrow streets. Mougins was how I'd expected a French village to look. Old stone buildings, several stories high, cobbled and paved streets full of smiling pedestrians. The aromas from the numerous eateries made my mouth water, and waiters enticed me into their restaurants with promises of good food and special deals.

I'd done some research and discovered that Pablo Picasso had owned a home here until he died in 1973. Art wasn't my thing, and Picasso's work was very much out there, but it was an interesting fact and I tucked it away for future use.

I scoured the streets and finally found the place I was looking for tucked away in a corner. Every table was full. Fuck.

"Une table pour une personne?" I'd used Google Translate and had no clue if this was the right thing to say.

"Ah, monsieur, I'm sorry, but we have nothing available this evening."

Damn it. I knew I should have booked.

I shrugged, a typical French gesture. "No problem. Fabien said to try here. I didn't think I needed to book."

"Fabien? You are from the resort, oui?" The waiter held up his hand.

"Yes. He said this was his uncle's place and to come here."

"Ah, why didn't you say that? Wait here, please."

A rapid fire of French followed, and a table was quickly cleared.

"Please sit here, and I will bring you a complimentary drink."

"I don't want to be a bother."

"No bother. Just relax." He marched off, giving orders to the wait staff.

Moments later, a drink appeared and a menu.

"An Aperol spritz, monsieur. A classic aperitif. I'll be back shortly to take your order." A different waiter this time, but no less pleasant than the first.

I perused the menu, finally deciding on Coq au Vin. I was in France after all.

Watching people was one of my favourite things to do, and I did just that while I waited for my food. They milled around, talking, drinking, and eating. No one in a hurry. Not like in the UK. There, everyone always appeared to be in a rush—go here, go there, do this, do that.

No wonder so many were stressed, including me.

I'd only been here a day and already felt lighter and more relaxed.

My food arrived, along with a glass of red wine. I'd not finished my aperitif, too bitter for my taste.

The wine, on the other hand, was delicious, and I drank half the glass before starting my food. I moaned at the first forkful. The chicken was so tender it almost melted in my mouth.

I peered at the people surrounding me, but no one had heard, or if they had, they didn't react.

In no time at all, I'd cleared my plate. Another glass of wine had appeared without me ordering. How much was this little lot going to cost me?

Fabien had said his uncle would see me right, but what exactly did that entail? Was it finding me a table, or would I get a discount?

Stupidly, I'd not bothered to find out beforehand and had merrily gone along with it all.

The aperitif and the wine had gone to my head, and I was feeling slightly tipsy. I probably shouldn't drink anymore, not if I didn't want a repeat of what had happened at Lexi's wedding, but my plate was cleared away, and a coffee and a glass of brandy took its place.

Jesus, I had to get back to the villa, and although still early, the night had drawn in. I definitely would require a taxi.

"Monsieur Murphy, you made it."

A smiling Fabien joined me at my table. "Hey. Yes, I did, and I've been given so much wonderful food and all these drinks."

I swept my arm, narrowly avoiding my half-full wine glass.

"My uncle, he is very generous. He hopes you'll tell your friends about his restaurant, and they'll come visit too."

"That's such a great idea." Little did he know I had no friends here.

"Are you good?" He rose. "I have to go help out in the kitchen."

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. Thank you so much for recommending this place. I've had an amazing time. Could I just have the bill, please?"

"Oui, I'll get someone to bring it right over."

Please let it not be out of my budget.

I admired Fabien as he walked inside, occasionally stopping to talk to other patrons.

I'd love to say he was my type, but my type had proved to be arrogant and self-centred. I'd only ever had eyes for Theo, never once thinking what I'd do when the inevitable happened.

It was time to investigate new avenues, to cast my net a little wider than my immediate circle of friends.

Fabien was young, attractive with dark hair and tanned skin, slim without being skinny. He was flirtatious and tactile, but it was obvious his main focus were the women.

A man could dream, and I was an expert at doing that. I'd spent the last fifteen years dreaming of someone who was out of my league.

A pleasant evening turned into one of reflection and regret, one thing I'd sworn I would no longer do. To forget, I drained the final dregs of the wine, shuddering as I swallowed. Might as well drink the rest, and down went the aperitif, followed by the brandy.

Everything was spinning, and my hands were shaking.

Time to leave.

"The bill, please." I stopped the next waiter. He returned a few minutes later with the bill on a little silver tray and a handful of sweets.

Thankfully, the amount was within my limits. I'd been charged for the food, but all the drinks had been on the house.

I paid with my card and left a few euros on the table as a tip. I stood on unsteady feet and wobbled, gripping the back of the chair for support.

Wallet in hand, I walked out of the restaurant. My phone was tucked safely away in my shorts pocket, but if I could just put my card back into the slot.

My vision was blurry, and I stumbled and tripped, but by some miracle, I managed not to fall.

Fuck, drinking all that booze had been a terrible idea.

"Hey, mister. You got some money to spare?"

I blinked and struggled to focus on the two young men standing in front of me. Their clothes were scruffy, and they smelt like they hadn't washed in weeks. I shouldn't engage, but drinking made me feel a lot braver than usual.

"No." I slurred. "I don't have any money. Get lost."

I staggered to my left, resting against a wall, still trying to put my card away. A hand reached out and snatched it, along with my wallet.

"Hey," I shouted and grabbed an arm, but the skin was so slick I lost my grip. "Give it back."

The next thing I knew, they'd shoved me, and I lay sprawled on the pavement, my wallet and money gone. Thank God my glasses hadn't broken with the fall.

I groaned. How could I have been so stupid? I should have known better than to have my wallet in my hand. Hell, I should never have drunk so much, and now I'd gone fucked it up and lost everything.

I swiped at my wet cheeks, my hand coming away red. Shit, I must have bumped my head when I fell. I tried to stand, but I ended up on my arse again.

People stood and stared, pointing at the drunken Englishman lying in the street. I'd never felt so ashamed.

"Move away. Nothing to see here." The crowd parted, and the familiar face of Sylvain peered down at me. "Are you okay? Here, let me help you."

Could my embarrassment get any worse?

His strong arms lifted me with ease, and he tutted.

"Fucking kids, preying on tourists like this. They give us a bad name, but the police do nothing. I'm so sorry this happened."

"It was all my fault." I leant against him as he walked me carefully down the street, an arm around my waist, keeping me upright.

"How was it your fault? I saw what happened. They stole your money and pushed you over."

"I shouldn't have been drinking." My head ached, and my hands were scraped and bloody.

"Vince Murphy, you are on holiday. We all partake of a few glasses of wine now and again." Sylvain was being too nice.

We walked a little farther down a side street until we reached a faded green wooden door.

Sylvain unlocked it and pushed it open.

"Giselle!" He struggled to get us both into the spacious room. The familiar face of the resort receptionist appeared.

"Papa?" Not gay, then. All of my hopes were dashed in one spectacular evening.

"Help me, please." She rushed forward and grabbed my other arm, and together they led me to a sofa.

"Mmm, being trouble." I sat with a thump, closing my eyes. "Just need a taxi."

"You're going nowhere in this state, and how would you pay? You have no money." Sylvain sat next to me, his hands on my face. "Luckily for you, it's just a graze. No stitches required, but you might have a bruise there tomorrow. The lump should have gone down by then."

"You smell nice." I sniffed. "You look nice too. You have normal eyes."

"Is he drunk?" Giselle asked.

"I'm more worried about the fact that he was mugged in plain sight. Fucking police need to stop this. It's happening far too often."

"He can't stay here, Papa. We don't have room."

"He can take my bed. Someone needs to keep an eye on him. I don't know if he's concussed or not."

I tried to speak, but each time the words got stuck in my throat. "Go home," I finally said, feeling drowsier by the second.

"Not tonight. You'll stay here, and I'll take you back tomorrow. Giselle, get me some water and a cloth. We need to take a closer look at these cuts on his hands before I take him to bed."

What? We were going to bed?

"I hardly know you. I'm not that sort of man."

"Yes, we know that, Vince." Amusement laced Sylvain's voice. How dare he laugh at me again?

"You think you can laugh at me. I'm not funny, Mr Frenchman. I'm serious and…and…interesting…. and…and…Theo can go to fucking hell. Excuse my French. You wouldn't have treated me that way. Do you think he hates me? You're very handsome. I like your face." I reached up to touch his hair. "Your hair is so soft."

Giselle sniggered. "I think you have a fan, Papa."

"I used to be Theo's fan, but then he met Glen. He's a twat." Did the French know that word?

"I think you should sit quietly and let me take a look at your cuts and scrapes. Then we'll get you some painkillers and take you up to bed. How much did you drink? Can you remember?"

Could I?

"I don't remember. Ask Fabien. He can ask his uncle. Do you think they spiked my drinks? Maybe it was all a ploy to get my money. I knew there was something shifty about him." Fuck, I was rambling, but I couldn't stop the words from falling out of my mouth.

"Does he mean Fabien who works at the resort?" I opened my eyes just enough to peer at Giselle. She was lovely, and I told her so.

"He's going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow. I have an early shift. Will you stay with him, Papa?"

Their words faded into background noise while I dozed off. Gentle hands tended my wounds.

"Come on, Vince. We need to get you upstairs, but you're going to have to help us."

"What? Where am I? I can go home, too much trouble."

I struggled to my feet, wavering slightly.

"Steady. One step at a time." Firm hands circled my waist from behind, guiding me, while small hands held on to my outstretched ones and led the way.

"Stairs are here, Vince." Giselle climbed them backwards, never letting me go.

I took one step at a time, not wanting to lose my footing and bringing us all crashing down. As much as I thought I should have gone back to the villa, it was clear I wouldn't have made it on my own. I'd more than likely have ended up in a ditch at the side of the road.

My stomach churned at the thought of the conversation I'd be having with Sylvain tomorrow. Mentally and physically, I wouldn't be my best.

Perhaps I could sneak out in the early hours and avoid him?

Maybe this holiday had been a mistake, and I should catch the next flight home.

When we reached the bedroom, Giselle made her excuses, citing an early morning and the fact that she didn't need to help undress me.

"Help me out here." Hands lifted my shirt over my head and moved to my shorts. God, no.

"I'll sleep in my shorts." Bad enough that he'd seen my body. I didn't want him to see me almost naked. I still wasn't comfortable with how I looked.

"Shoes, socks and glasses. Then I'll leave you be." I did as he asked, then fell backwards onto the bed, as soft as a marshmallow.

"Thank you." I snuggled deeper into the mattress, pulling the sheets up under my chin.

"We'll talk tomorrow, but get some sleep now. Goodnight, Vince."

"Night," I mumbled.