“Generous brother. Took care of his own.”
“Despots are known to take good care of their own families. The rest of us don’t fare as well.”
“You didn’t come to Marseille because you wanted to, did you?”
“I am working off a punishment.”
“What did you do?” McVicars smiled.
“It’s not funny, Captain.”
“You’re not a spy, are you?”
“No. There’s little intrigue in my situation. I went against the teachings of my church on the job. My boss, Dottore Pretucci, had me sent here to keep up my nursing. He thinks the priest will eventually forget about my transgression. But I don’t think the doctor understands my priest.”
“What was your terrible sin?”
“I advised a young mother how to plan her family.”
McVicars whistled. “In a Catholic country?”
“They’re the only countries I know.”
The captain shifted gears in the old jalopy. He took the opportunity to reach for her hand. She did not take it; instead, she turned to him.
“Captain McVicars, are you married?”
McVicars returned his hand to the steering wheel. “Miss Cabrelli! How indecent of you. Would I ask you to go for a joyride if I were a married man?”
“I hope not.”
“You have nothing to fear. I am not married now and have no plans to marry in the future. The promise comes with my personal guarantee. Besides, I gave the good Sisters of Saint Joseph my ring as payment for services rendered to my crew.”
“You’re the talk of the convent and Fatima House.”
“Am I?”
“You have your choice of young ladies. They find you fascinating. Handsome and generous, they say.”
“Thank you. I am all those things.”
“And yet, you’ve managed to remain a bachelor. I suppose if you were to marry, you would have already.”
“What do you mean?” McVicars took his eyes off the road and looked at her.
“A man is set by the time he is forty.”
“Who told you that bit of chum about men?”
“My mother.”
“I suppose you have to listen to your mother.”
“I hope you don’t think this is a rude question. Why haven’t you married?”
“The women that marry sailors make sure their husbands give up the sea. That was reason enough for me to avoid the institution. I like my freedom.”
“So do I.” Domenica took the captain’s hand. “Did you know when you hold someone’s hand, it’s good for their heart? Their blood pressure goes down.”
“I didn’t know I had a problem.”
“And now you won’t.”
* * *
The Café Normande on a hill above Cassis was an old farmhouse with a kitchen garden surrounded by fields of lavender. Domenica heard the low hum of the bees at work on the purple buds as she walked the grounds. She found the highest point on the cliff and looked out over the French countryside. From her perch, she could see the rooftops of Cassis and beyond, where the mountains met the sea. The hot sun felt good on her skin. She finally found in France what she had left behind in Italy: heat. McVicars called to her. She joined him at a garden table where he had set out their lunch.
“Here you go. I hope you like it.” McVicars served her.
“Looks delicious.”
McVicars took the seat across from her. “Go ahead, try it.” She took a bite of the buttered brioche filled with thin slices of ham.
“Do you like it?”
She nodded. He poured a glass of wine for her and one for himself. He held up his glass. “They make the wine here on the farm.To you.” He sipped the wine.
Domenica also took a sip. “We make our own wine too, you know.”
“Is this as good?”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s risky to present a table wine to an Italian.”
“I was four years old when I had my first taste. Naturally, it was cut with a lot of water. Wine, the harvesting then mashing of the grapes, and the sleeping barrels that ferment it, is part of life for us.”
“They don’t give us liquor in Scotland until we are old enough to sneak it. And then some of us sneak it for the rest of our lives. The Italians and the French have it right. Drink from the start and kill the craving.”
“And now the Italians are sworn enemies of the French. How did that happen?”
“The enemy next door is always the most dangerous,” he said. “I wish I could stop them.”