“Really, a home in the south of France was something she would have loved to show off about. Poppy brought it up as the hire car sped them up twisting roads. She’d sighed with pleasure at the view—red roofed houses—the vivid green of pine trees—the unique blue of the sea. It was spring, the mimosa still clung to some trees, not having been tossed and scattered by the Mistral. Hearing her sigh, Seth gave her a worried glance and asked if she was all right. “It’s so beautiful here, it’s a wonder J...asmine didn’t want to stay forever.” “I doubt she would have, but in any case she never came here.” “Really?” He was silent some while; in fact they turned into a driveway and pulled up in front of a cream-colored villa before he spoke. “I don’t really know why. Timing I suppose. Jasmine always maintained she didn’t like France, she preferred Spain.” “Yes, she did like Spain,” Poppy remembered. “She spoke Spanish too.” “Yes she did and quite well as I recall.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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