Invitation to Provence Read Free Page B

Marcus Marks,” she said too loudly, and the young marrieds with kids at the next table turned to glare at her.
    Clare was forking up her fettucini like a starving pro-footballer straight off the field after a hard game. “Tuck in,” she said. “Love—or the lack of it—can make a woman hungry.”
    Franny took a bite of the gnocci. It tasted great. “Maybe you’re right, Mrs. Marks,” she said, choking on the name.
    “Have a drink of water,” Clare said helpfully, “and of course I’m right.”
    Clare had not been exactly truthful with Franny about her past. In fact, it was a past she didn’t care to remember. But Franny was no dummy the way she had been. Franny was a veterinarian, educated, successful, dedicated, while
she
had had to learn on the job, so to speak.
    She leaned forward, looking into Franny’s eyes. “You and I hardly know each other,” she said, “but somehow I feel as though I’ve known you for years.”
    “Oh my god.” Franny gasped, shocked. “That’s exactly what Marcus said when we first met.”
    “I’ll bet he also said, ‘We must have met in some other life,’ ” Clare said, and Franny stared at her. “Oh yes,” Clareadded. “He said that to me too. It’s his usual come-on line. Marcus is nothing if not predictable.”
    She delicately pulled a crayfish apart, devoured it in a single bite, then licked her fingers. “So, what are you going to do now? You want to confront him? Marcus hates that you know. That’s why he sends
me
to do the dirty work. He’ll hide from you at every turn.”
    Tears clung to Franny’s lashes. “Why did you stay with him when you knew what was going on?”
    “For the same reason millions of other women do, honey. Sometimes we call it love, sometimes infatuation. Either way, a man can be like a disease—one you never recover from.” Clare’s smile was rueful as she met Franny’s eyes. “All I can say is, I’m sorry.”
    “I
hate
him.” Franny took another gulp of wine. “I
hate
him for deceiving me, for stringing me along, for being a liar and a cheat.” That steely inner core surfaced now and she was facing the truth head-on. “Anyhow, I knew,” she admitted. “In my heart I knew it was over.”
    Clare stared at her, surprised. “Well, bravo for you, Franny Marten. I took you for the doormat type. Obviously I was wrong.”
    Franny shoved the tears away with her finger, feeling suddenly better. “I think I need some tiramisu,” she said firmly.
    “Of course, something sweet, just the thing for a cracked heart,” Clare agreed. “Trust me, it’s not broken,” she added. “Marcus does not have the capacity to break a woman’s heart, only to cause a little damage. You need what’s known as ‘a soul’ to break someone’s heart, and Marcus definitely does not have ‘a soul.’ ” She sighed. “And nor, I suppose, do I since I’ve yet to break
anybody’s
heart.”
    Franny dug her spoon viciously into the creamy tiramisu, wishing it were Marcus’s eyes. “Well,
I
certainly do have a soul, and I intend to keep it.”
    “Hmm. You do that,” Clare said. “Keep your soul intact. In the end, it’s all you’ve got.”
    They finished the tiramisu in silence as the waiter poured the last of the wine into their glasses. Clinging to the shreds of her dignity, Franny said, “I want to thank you for what you just did. I certainly never expected to be sitting here with Marcus’s wife.” She stared thoughtfully into the depths of her wineglass. “The odd thing is that … Well, you’re honest and straightforward, and you were
kind
to me. To tell you the truth, Clare, I like you. In different circumstances, I think we might have liked each other.”
    Clare knew exactly what she meant. “Honey, it’s just the contrast with the hard time Marcus has been giving you lately, always putting you on your mettle, always getting at you for being late or not looking right.” She held up a hand as Franny gasped in recognition.