“You’re not . . .”

“French? I am but spent most of my childhood in England at Mayfield, a boarding school in Sussex. I only came home on holidays, and sometimes not even then, depending on whether or not my parents could afford the train fare after paying for tuition that semester.”

“So where’s home, then?”

“Cabrières-d’Avignon, about five kilometers from here. It’s not perched on a hill like many of the other towns in Provence. It has no real natural beauty to speak of. I think that’s why I fell in love with all the other villages and their grand châteaus.” She looked up at the incredible arched entranceway. “And Château Mirabelle, she is one of my favorites.”

I smiled. “Mine too.”

“Great, so let’s talk about what we can do to spruce the old girl up a bit. I have some ideas.”

For the next several hours, Simone and I walked through each and every room of the château discussing the interior design and decor, finally landing back in the grand salon where we started the house tour.

“And finally for this room,” she said, spinning around on her heels. “You see those dark spots on the walls? That’s where the crystal girandoles once hung. I know we’re repairing all the electricity in the home, but I think there’s just something about these cavernous rooms that calls out for candlelight, don’t you? Here, let me show you what I did on another project.”

Simone zipped open an oversize leather portfolio and carefully slid out a large photograph affixed to a Styrofoam backing. She carried it over to the side of the room and leaned it up against the wall so we could take it all in. “This is from a home I worked on not too far from here that’s been converted to a luxury hotel. Perhaps you’ve heard of it, Château du Val d’Été?”

“Yes! I actually spent an afternoon there not too long ago. It’s absolutely gorgeous. You worked on that renovation? Then you must know Bastien Munier?”

She looked up. “I’m sorry, who?”

I grew self-conscious about my pronunciation and gave a bit more flourish to the vowel sounds as Pascal had been teaching me. “Bastien Mun-i-er? He worked on the renovation there. For a few years, I think.”

She packed the photograph back into the portfolio. “I don’t really recall, but to be fair, it was a while ago now. All these restoration projects start to blend together after a while.”

“Well, I’ll try to find him later, that way the two of you can catch up.”

“I’d like that.”

Elliott poked his head into the salon. “Kate said I’d find you both here.”

“We’re just wrapping up for the day,” Simone said.

He handed each of us the filming schedule. I scanned it and looked up from the paper. “We’re not filming at the château tomorrow?”

“René wants everyone out of the château the next couple of days. He needs to deal with some mold removal on the second floor. It’s pretty toxic stuff.”

“And Bastien?”

Elliott snapped his notebook closed. “I’m not sure what he’s working on?”

“Well, lucky us, we get to spend the day at Brocante de Beaucaire,” Simone said, clapping her hands together with a wide grin.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“My favorite antiques market in all of France. You will absolutely love it. Where shall we meet?” Simone asked.

I looked over at Elliott. “The van will be at the inn at five a.m.,” he answered.

I did a double take. “Five a.m.?”

“Trust me, you want to get to the market bright and early, that’s how you find the very best stuff,” Simone said with a nod.

“We’re staying at the La Cigale Chantante,” Elliott added.

She nodded, tucked the itinerary into the side pocket of her portfolio, and said, “I know it well. See you both tomorrow morning.”

After Simone left, Elliott stepped a little farther into the room to examine the crumbling fireplace. He reached up and grabbed hold of a small paint curl dangling above the mantel and dragged it down the wall, peeling it away to reveal the faint outline of an image underneath. He reached up again, tugging at an even larger paint curl, and like a streamer, this time, exposed a huge section of the picture.

“From here, it looks like it could maybe be the top half of a lion. That’s right, I remember seeing a painting over the mantel in one of the photos at Saint Orens,” I said.

Elliott backed away from the fireplace. “I noticed a lion was part of the Adélaïse family crest. I bet if we kept peeling away the paint, we’d find the whole thing intact. You should make sure to point it out to your designer friend. It’d be a shame to see it covered up again. Maybe they can restore it? Feature it in the design?” Elliott wiped the paint dust from his hands off onto his pants.

“Hey, Elliott?”

He faced me. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to say thank you for letting Bastien know I’d be coming into Avignon so late the other night. That was really . . . um . . . thoughtful.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s fine, Plum. Don’t mention it, it’s no big deal.”

“It was a big deal. I don’t know if you could ever understand, but when the paparazzi closes in on me like that, I feel like one of those animals with their legs caught in a trap. Like a lion being chased by hyenas. Completely helpless. I needed to get out of there, and I wasn’t thinking clearly, so I’m grateful that you were.”

“I swear, I didn’t know who it was you were talking to in the hotel lobby, on my life, I didn’t. Or I wouldn’t have filmed you and Rhys. All that gotcha stuff, that isn’t me. That isn’t who I am as a person or filmmaker.” He took a few steps closer so we were just inches apart. “I’d never do anything to hurt or embarrass you.”

“I know,” I whispered.

We stood there, so close our breaths were practically touching.

“Plum, good, there you are,” Bastien called from the doorway. “I have a busy next couple of days, so I wanted to see if you were free to grab some dinner?”

“Sounds good. Just give me one minute to finish up,” I called out to him. I turned back to Elliott. “Are you finished for the day too?”

“I think I’ll stick around and explore a little more before heading out.” Elliott fixed his light-blue eyes on me. “I feel like there might still be something here I’m missing. Sometimes the most special things are right there in front of us, just waiting to be discovered,” he said softly, his words hanging delicately in the air between us.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Framed by castle walls and the Rhône River, the port town of Beaucaire was bustling with activity. The sun was barely up, but already hundreds of people were streaming into the Brocante de Beaucaire looking for everything from household items, furniture, silver, and copperware to decorative accessories like vintage photos and jewelry.

“Every town in Provence has its own unique market. Some specialize in fresh fruits and vegetables. Some in seafood, some in furniture, and some in flowers,” Simone explained as Gervais circled around for a spot to drop us off. “A brocante is a simple market with goods offered mostly by dealers, while a Marché des Antiquités tends to have high-quality antiques. Brocante de Beaucaire has a bit of both, which is why it’s my favorite in the area.”

“Gervais, laissez-nous au bas de la colline,” Simone instructed, before continuing on. “I asked Gervais to drop us off at the bottom of the hill. We can meet the van back up top in a few hours. Usually, you can negotiate for delivery for any larger pieces of furniture, so don’t worry about that.”

We climbed out of the van, followed closely by Elliott and his small film crew. As we stepped into the warm summer heat, I inhaled and closed my eyes, trying to place some of the unique smells of the market. “I will never get tired of that smell. I wish we could bottle it. It’s just so distinct.” I stretched my arms over my head and sucked in another lungful.

“Funny you should say that. It’s called garrigue. It is the signature scent of the south of France. It comes from the combination of the vegetation and herbs that grow in the region, along with the terroir—the soil—the sea air, and the limestone on the coast. What you smell is the essence of juniper, thyme, rosemary, and lavender. Garrigue enhances the food of Provence, the culture, the wine, and even the people—those born here and even those just visiting for a while,” she said with a wink and a smile.

Simone slung a messenger bag across her body and led the way through the different stalls, pointing out interesting pieces along the way.