two hundred pounds of anger and dysfunction.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.”
CHAPTER
20
T HE NEXT DAY Shaw watched with interest as the mystery lady did her shopping in Gordes. Men of all ages stared as she walked by in a sunhat
and knee-length skirt that the sneaky breeze would occasionally catch and pitch upward around her thighs. Then the men would
stare with even greater focus. While seeming to window shop along the street, Shaw watched as men approached her speaking
French, Italian, Greek, and English, at least by his count. They were offering to help her with her shopping, the language,
or perhaps assisting her off with her clothes in the privacy of their room. She politely declined all offers. She in fact
needed no help. She spoke fluent French and she knew the prices of things. And she could bargain. Shaw had watched her haggle
over a blouse, a decorative blue-and-yellow plate, a bottle of wine, and a dozen zucchini flowers presumably to later fry
up, until arriving at the prices she wanted.
That night, he was sitting at an outdoor café in Gordes contemplating what to have for dinner when he was surprised by her
walking up to his table.
“Parlez-vous français?”
“Oui, je parle français.” But he added, “Mais mon anglais est meilleur.”
She smiled warmly. “My English is much better than my French too. Do you mind if I join you? I’ve eaten alone the last few
times, and while it started out kind of fun, it grows old fast.”
He indicated for her to take a seat. “Please.”
She took off her hat and set it on the seat next to her before picking up a menu.
“What looks good?” she asked, lifting up her Maui Jims though the setting sun was dropping a bucket of glare right at her.
“Chicken puttanesca, or you can never go wrong with the old steak and pommes frites with salad.”
“Shall we order wine?”
“We’re in Provence. I think it’s the law.”
They gave their orders to the waiter, who promptly brought the selected bottle of red and two glasses. He poured and left
them alone.
“I’m sure this seems very forward of me,” she said. “Coming over to you like this.”
“I’m not sure there is such a thing as ‘forward’ anymore for men or women.”
“First things first, I’m Jane Collins. But Janie to my friends.” She held out her hand. With an amused look Shaw shook it.
“Bill.”
“American?”
He nodded. “You?”
“What it says on my passport.”
“I’m from D.C.”
“And what do you do in our nation’s capital?”
“As little as possible. I was a lobbyist, but I sold my practice and decided to see a little bit of the world beyond Capitol
Hill.”
“Do you have a family?”
“Let me play the proud dad.” He took out his wallet and handed her the picture of a girl and a boy that Frank had provided
him. “Michael and Alli. They’re back in the States.”
She handed the photo back. “Beautiful. So your wife’s not with you?”
“We’re divorced.” He slipped the photo in his shirt pocket. “The picture’s a little old. They’re both teenagers now.”
“You must have started early, you don’t look that old.”
“Keep drinking wine, I like the effect on your vision. How about you? What’s your story?”
“Nothing very exciting. My dad made huge amounts of money. He and my mom died way too early and I was the only child.”
“Sorry to hear that. I guess the money doesn’t make up for it.”
“I never thought it could, and I turned out to be right. I was young when they passed away, but I still miss them.”
“I can understand that.”
“But life goes on,” she said, staring off for a moment before looking back at him and managing a weak smile. “I’m rich, I
like to travel, see different places. It’s so beautiful here. So how long have you been in town?”
“A few days.”
“And after this?”
“Italy and then Greece. But I’m taking my time. My whole life has been run on a
“Really?”
“No, not really.”
CHAPTER
20
T HE NEXT DAY Shaw watched with interest as the mystery lady did her shopping in Gordes. Men of all ages stared as she walked by in a sunhat
and knee-length skirt that the sneaky breeze would occasionally catch and pitch upward around her thighs. Then the men would
stare with even greater focus. While seeming to window shop along the street, Shaw watched as men approached her speaking
French, Italian, Greek, and English, at least by his count. They were offering to help her with her shopping, the language,
or perhaps assisting her off with her clothes in the privacy of their room. She politely declined all offers. She in fact
needed no help. She spoke fluent French and she knew the prices of things. And she could bargain. Shaw had watched her haggle
over a blouse, a decorative blue-and-yellow plate, a bottle of wine, and a dozen zucchini flowers presumably to later fry
up, until arriving at the prices she wanted.
That night, he was sitting at an outdoor café in Gordes contemplating what to have for dinner when he was surprised by her
walking up to his table.
“Parlez-vous français?”
“Oui, je parle français.” But he added, “Mais mon anglais est meilleur.”
She smiled warmly. “My English is much better than my French too. Do you mind if I join you? I’ve eaten alone the last few
times, and while it started out kind of fun, it grows old fast.”
He indicated for her to take a seat. “Please.”
She took off her hat and set it on the seat next to her before picking up a menu.
“What looks good?” she asked, lifting up her Maui Jims though the setting sun was dropping a bucket of glare right at her.
“Chicken puttanesca, or you can never go wrong with the old steak and pommes frites with salad.”
“Shall we order wine?”
“We’re in Provence. I think it’s the law.”
They gave their orders to the waiter, who promptly brought the selected bottle of red and two glasses. He poured and left
them alone.
“I’m sure this seems very forward of me,” she said. “Coming over to you like this.”
“I’m not sure there is such a thing as ‘forward’ anymore for men or women.”
“First things first, I’m Jane Collins. But Janie to my friends.” She held out her hand. With an amused look Shaw shook it.
“Bill.”
“American?”
He nodded. “You?”
“What it says on my passport.”
“I’m from D.C.”
“And what do you do in our nation’s capital?”
“As little as possible. I was a lobbyist, but I sold my practice and decided to see a little bit of the world beyond Capitol
Hill.”
“Do you have a family?”
“Let me play the proud dad.” He took out his wallet and handed her the picture of a girl and a boy that Frank had provided
him. “Michael and Alli. They’re back in the States.”
She handed the photo back. “Beautiful. So your wife’s not with you?”
“We’re divorced.” He slipped the photo in his shirt pocket. “The picture’s a little old. They’re both teenagers now.”
“You must have started early, you don’t look that old.”
“Keep drinking wine, I like the effect on your vision. How about you? What’s your story?”
“Nothing very exciting. My dad made huge amounts of money. He and my mom died way too early and I was the only child.”
“Sorry to hear that. I guess the money doesn’t make up for it.”
“I never thought it could, and I turned out to be right. I was young when they passed away, but I still miss them.”
“I can understand that.”
“But life goes on,” she said, staring off for a moment before looking back at him and managing a weak smile. “I’m rich, I
like to travel, see different places. It’s so beautiful here. So how long have you been in town?”
“A few days.”
“And after this?”
“Italy and then Greece. But I’m taking my time. My whole life has been run on a
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