"Hi, Max...long time, no see...comment vas-tu?"

Max Skinner spun round, dropping his cell phone, an occurrence that had only happened to him once before, as far as he could remember. 

And that had been a prelude to the first time he had encountered this very same woman.

"Fanny? Good God...! Where did you spring from?"

The woman in question smiled softly before kneeling down to pick up the mobile phone pieces that had shattered when it had bounced off the ancient tiled floor. "Il est mort." she muttered, indicating the fragments.

Max shrugged. "Only a bloody phone..."He extended his hand and raised her to her feet; Fanny placed the broken pieces carefully on the side table. He could not help but watch her action, marvelling again at the delicate, feminine elegance of even her most simple movements.

"How did you get here?" he found himself whispering, and wondered if what he actually meant was a great deal more searching than his apparently obviously words might suggest.

"By car. I met Ludivine and she mentioned you were home. Christie told me, too. In the village, this afternoon. In fact, everyone I speak to informs me that M. Skinner has returned home to La Siroque at last after his long sojourn aux Étas-Unis... So, I thought I had better put a stop to speculation - and go say hello..."

"...And increase speculation to bloody fever pitch, you mean?  They'll be up at the windows with their bloody wine bottles by now...Well, you've said hello, Fanny. Now, au revoir - and toddle on back to your football playing boyfriend, toute suite...!" he answered, fully aware that his reply lacked graciousness, revealing his bitterness - but not really giving a damn. He couldn't humiliate himself further before this woman than he had already. Hadn't he once begged her to stay with him? On his knees? Cried in front of her when she had told him that she loved another man?  A touch of petulant sarcasm was nothing in the face of his former mortification.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing..."

"...Fine! I am doing fine. Not that it's any concern of yours..."

"Max! I just wanted to see you again! There's no need to be so hostile!"

He snorted, striding over to the bottles on the side cabinet, pouring himself a large glass of cognac. "You want one?" He waved his glass in her direction.

"Non, merci. Do you really want me to leave?"

"Yes, I really want you to leave..." he parroted, then immediately regretted his hasty words. "No. I don't want you to leave. I just...Christ, Fanny, what do you expect me to say? You broke my bloody heart. It's taken me eighteen months to get back to some sense of sanity..."

She sighed deeply, sitting down on one of the armchairs, holding out her hand to invite him to join her. Max chose instead to pace about, taking deep draughts of the cognac, draining the glass, filling it up again. "Max, you were the one who ruined what we had. You and that dreadful putain, Sophie LeSaint!"

"I did not sleep with her! The bitch lied. She wanted to destroy me because I wouldn't fall for her little games. I was never unfaithful to you! Okay, we flirted a bit. Maybe a lot. I pushed my damn luck like I always do. But never in this world did I seriously intend to act upon it!  But you're so irrationally jealous that you fell for her story. You should have trusted me...!"

"I warned you I was a very jealous woman when we met..."

"So that makes it all right to go cheat on me with your soccer playing ex? May I remind you, that the only infidelity in this whole mess was actually yours?"

Fanny blushed, the colour staining her cheeks, rivalling the vivid crimson of her dress. "I know. My behaviour was appalling. I don't know why I did it. I didn't mean to do it! I was just so devastated by what that cow said! And when Thierry showed up...the next thing I knew..."

"...You were telling me you'd always loved him..."

"It wasn't quite that simple...!"

"It seemed to be that day.  You said: 'I loved him but he was too immature, sleeping around with all those cheap tarts that hang around soccer players'...or some Franglais version of that sentiment... So you hid away in the Luberon to heal your broken heart. Then you met this crass English banker, showed him what he was missing in life - and that seemed to be the end of it. But no! Thierry of the muscular thighs shows up again and somehow he has matured in the intervening period. You realize he was always your heart's desire and poor English fool gets the old boot...How is Thierry, by the way? Still maturing nicely? Or has he fallen from grace again, thus requiring another of your expeditious withdrawals to Provence? And what ho! Your English buffoon just happens to be in town again...lucky old Fanny...!"

"Shut up, Max! You are being completely absurd! I am not here to try and resurrect the past..."

"Then why the hell are you here? To rub my bloody nose in the dirt again?"

"Of course not! I simply came to see if life was treating you kindly these days. I feel responsible. I miss you, too. The time we were together was wonderful...you were wonderful...I have such beautiful memories of that year...It was a very good year, Max..."

He snorted, throwing down the remainder of the glass and reaching out to pour another. Fanny rose, put her hand on his arm, stopping him. "No more. You don't need it."

"You have no idea what I need anymore...!"

"Then tell me, what do you need now? How has been your life in California? Are you still a vigneron?"

Max looked down, swirling the dregs of his drink moodily. Fanny was reminded of him as a little boy, hating to lose or appear foolish. It made her want to smile but she tamped down the desire, aware that it would only annoy him more.

"I own a restaurant and wine bar. Plus other business interests. Tourism, mainly. I might consider a winery. I still play the markets. This time purely for myself - and I make a lot of money...but you know all that, surely? Your little friend Clarity no doubt keeps you in the loop..."

"Clarity keeps in touch, for sure. But she does not tell tales. I know she works in a place called The Phoenix. It's a bar and grill, she said. Does she work for you, then?"

"It used to be a bar and grill," Max replied defensively. "I have substantially modernized, improved the menu and raised its profile. However, I kept the name for sentimental reasons..."

"What sentimental reasons?" Fanny inquired astutely. Max flashed her a sharp look.

"My own sentimental reasons."

Fanny raised one eyebrow. He knew she could read him like a book; it made him even more tetchy.

"So, where's Thierry?"

"In Lyon. There's a big match on this weekend. He's in training."

"What brings you here?"

She shrugged in that dismissive Gallic way. "House-hunting. He thinks we should invest in a summer property here..."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic," Max observed, beginning to read her more keenly now that he had dropped his own belligerent guard.

"I'm not. Why would I be? This place has memories for me...."

"Tell me about it...!" he retorted.

"Is that why you left?"

"Of course, it's bloody well why I left! What the hell did you expect? As much as I love Bonnieux and La Siroque...Without you, what did I really have? Nothing. Rien. You took it all from me and left me with precisely nothing...I'm not sure I really deserved that."

"You didn't. I'm very sorry. Truly, I am. I wish it had been different. I have often wished that..." she stopped abruptly, changing the subject. "I presumed you would return to your life in London. Why didn't you?"

Max sat down heavily. "You showed me that London didn't fit my life any more. Then you made sure neither did the Luberon. I was a stateless person, so to speak..."

"But why California?"

Max rubbed his hands down his face wearily, recalling how it had come about. "Christie suggested it. She had a little apartment and she suggested I would feel at home there in a wine-growing region. There was money to be made and the atmosphere was relaxed. Plus ,she reminded me, as my uncle Henry had found some peace there, maybe so would I... I suppose she meant a Californian girl...So we did a house swap. My chateau for her tiny rabbit hutch...I think she did very well out of it..."

"And did you find peace there, just as your Uncle Henry before you?" Fanny asked, refusing to let him evade the issue.

But Max chose to ignore the real question. "In that tiny rabbit hutch? Not a chance. I couldn't stand the place. I moved out and bought some decent real estate as soon as I could."

"That's not what I meant..."

"I know..."

"Answer the question, Max..."

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't, I will know you are avoiding it and wonder why..."

"I found peace. I found some friends and a place to belong. Does that answer your question?"

"Not really. Did you find love? Is there some leggy blonde, tanned Californian girl with perfect white teeth waiting for you?"

He did not reply, his eyes flickering for a moment, a far away expression showing that she was close to something that had sparked an emotional resonance in him.

"Well?"

"No beautiful tanned blonde Californian girls. Well, plenty have spent the night in my bed, of course, but they've always found their way home the next day...like good little bimbos...'" he replied smugly. Then he felt the gnaw of guilt bite deep. He was purposely misleading Fanny. Why?

He knew exactly why. There just might be the tenniest, tiniest chance that she was sounding him out because her great love had turned out not to be all she had hoped for after all. He recalled his words to Uma only a short while ago. He had been on the brink of telling her that he loved her, maybe even doing something as crazy as proposing marriage once she had extricated herself from Murphy. He had missed her dreadfully these past weeks. For days she had been on his mind constantly.

Yet in only a few moments, Fanny had wiped away the memory of the girl he had been dreaming of. And in Uma's place, his own hopeless love for his beautiful French girl was back, eating into his soul as strong as ever. Had his emotion for Uma been so shallow? If he let her down now, he knew it would destroy her. She had suffered too much at the hands of her husband. Her self-esteem was shot to pieces.

Would he be the one to nail down the coffin lid?

"We're planning to get married in June..." he heard Fanny announce, softly, her head dropping to her hands resting demurely in her lap. That's when he noticed the diamond. He couldn't believe he had missed it before.

"Ah, June...the perfect month for weddings...!" he muttered but his tone was far from fondly sentimental.

"You never asked me to marry you, Max.  Thierry did. Thierry wants a family. So do I. I'm not getting any younger. I need to start soon..."

Max turned his head slowly. "I never asked you to marry you? Well, you never gave me the fucking chance, did you?" he winced at his words. He had never spoken like that to Fanny before. She had always seemed too refined and delicate for him ever to use profanities. Not like Uma. He swore with her like he was in a men's changing room after a rugby match. So did she, to be honest. And he could see her there, too, exchanging colourful curses with a gang of brawny naked rugger buggers, frolicking like a slender naked Venus in the bath with them ...His eyes softened at the image of his crazy girlfriend. She was a complete one off, able to be as wild and free as a nature spirit and yet as deep and loving as any woman he had ever known...

"Did you plan to?" he heard Fanny ask. Fixing her with a cool stare, he gave it some thought and then ran up the stairs to his room, ripping open the locked drawer in his bureau. There it was. The ring he had bought for her one trip home to London and had been keeping for Christmas Eve that year. It had all been planned. Magical dinner in his beloved home, Christmas tree, candles, a bottle of champagne - and Max Skinner on his knees clad in flawless Armani.

Max almost threw the damn thing out of the window at the memory of his earlier ridiculous notions. By Christmas that year, Fanny had been long gone and he had been alone, drinking himself into a stupor on the 24th in a nightclub in Mayfair - and losing more than his trousers at the casino later.

He made up his mind. He would show it to her. Prove that he had wanted a future with her after all, that he hadn't just been hedging his bets, trying to keep another woman on the side.

Back downstairs, he noticed she now had a glass of wine. Fanny might appear composed but she was as tense as he was. What did that mean?

"Et voila...!" he opened up the ring box and showed her the fabulous diamond that he had bought for her. Fanny gasped, one hand going to her mouth and the other to her heart.

"Oh, Max!" she muttered. "You crazy fool! Why didn't you tell me!"

"Would it have made any difference? You either loved me or you didn't. You are not the sort of woman to be bought by an expensive bauble..."

Again Fanny lowered her head, but this time her cheeks paled. "You used to say you hated children. You used to say you had been a little shit yourself and had no desire to inflict another like you on the world...I thought it would come between us. I wanted to be a mother one day..."

He groaned. "I used to say a lot of stupid things. I thought I was being clever. Apparently not. Fanny...I never intended to have a mini version of the young Maximilian Skinner! I was rather hoping for a tiny version of you. Look at Christie! If Henry, the old bastard, could produce something as perfect as her...imagine what we could have made together?" His voice had sunk to a soft and gravely whisper, the timbre he had always reserved for their intimate moments. The memory of how they had loved was so strong that it brought tears to her eyes. She had treated him so very badly. He had never deserved it.

"Clarity told me I was wrong. She warned me LeSaint was a ...a...how you say? A con woman. I was just so blind..."

"Not entirely. I wasn't exactly well behaved with Sophie. We did fool around. No actual consummation but plenty of...well, you know? You were not entirely wrong. There was some evidence of naughty business. I can't pretend it was my finest hour..."

"But you stopped yourself. I did not. I slept with Thierry. It was I who betrayed us in the end."

There was a silence. What else was there to say? 

Fanny stood up, gathering her wrap and purse. "I have to go. It is late and I must drive back to the hotel. Thank you for seeing me, Max. I rather thought you would throw me out..."

He smiled sadly, rising to walk her through the hallway. 

As they prepared to say goodnight at the open door, he paused, the sounds of crickets on the night air recalling many nights like this when they had locked up together and climbed those stairs to paradise. He looked away from her across the forecourt - and saw her little car, its newness gleaming in the moonlight.

"A Smart Car? You drive a Smart Car now?" he asked in amusement.

She stared up at his eyes, watching his reaction intently. "It was one way of remembering how it had been. When we still had all the best times ahead of us...Every time I sit behind the wheel, I think of that day when you ran me off the road...That day when I fell in love with an insufferable Englishman...!"

"What a perfectly unromantic aide-memoire..." he observed dryly. "A Jaguar would be so much more appropriate..." But he smiled all the same. "Have lunch with me tomorrow? We could meet in Avignon. I need to buy a new phone and no one knows us there..." he explained.

Fanny considered his proposal. "Why does it matter that no one knows us there?"

"Just in case..." he murmured, reaching out a hand to stroke the silk of her cheek. "...Just in case I knock you off your feet again...who knows?"

"A demain, mon chéri..." she murmured back. "Qui sait?"

He watched her drive away, aware that he was walking the thinnest of tightropes but unable to stop himself.  There was only one way to truly find out where the heart lay.

"Until tomorrow, my sweet girl", he whispered as the little car disappeared from view. "Who knows indeed?"