Captured Moments

CHAPTER TWO: THE LAST DAYS OF PEACE

The August heat lay thick over Saint-Rémy-de-Provence like honey dripping from a spoon. In Monsieur Dubois's café, the regulars had taken to gathering not just for their morning coffee, but for news. The radio, perched on a shelf between dusty volumes of Hugo and Zola, crackled with updates that grew more troubling by the day.

"Hitler's demands grow bolder," Marie heard one patron mutter over his coffee. "First the Rhineland, then Austria... now he looks to Czechoslovakia."

"Chamberlain will stop him," another replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

Marie wiped tables with mechanical precision, trying not to listen, trying to focus instead on the way sunlight painted patterns on the worn wooden floor. But even here, in their peaceful corner of Provence, the future cast long shadows.

Landon noticed her distraction that afternoon in the darkroom. He had been teaching her to print larger formats, and normally she was an attentive student. But today her hands trembled as she measured the chemicals.

"You're worried," he said softly, steadying her wrist before she could spill the developer.

"Everyone's worried." She set down the beaker, turning to face him in the red-tinted darkness. "Papa was reading letters from his cousins in Paris this morning. They say..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "They say young men should start preparing. That war is coming, whether we want it or not."

Landon's arms encircled her waist, pulling her close. The chemical smell of the darkroom mingled with his familiar scent – leather from his camera bag, soap, sun-warmed skin. "Let's not think about that now."

"How can we not?" Her fingers traced the collar of his shirt, remembering how just weeks ago she had been too shy to touch him so casually. "You're English. If war comes..."

"I'm half-French," he reminded her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And I'm here now."

They had fallen into an easy rhythm over the past weeks. Mornings belonged to their respective duties – Marie helping in the café, Landon working for the newspaper. But afternoons were theirs alone. Sometimes they worked in the darkroom, Landon teaching her everything he knew about photography. Other times they wandered the village's ancient streets, his camera capturing moments that seemed more precious with each passing day.

The newspaper's editor had taken a liking to Landon's work, particularly his eye for the small details of village life: old women gossiping in doorways, children playing marbles in the dust, farmers bringing their goods to market. But lately, he'd been assigning Landon to photograph military preparations – soldiers passing through town, young men signing up for service, families storing supplies.

"It feels like betrayal," Landon confided one evening as they sat in the café's garden after closing. The jasmine was in bloom, its sweet scent mixing with the lingering aroma of coffee and baked bread. "Taking these photographs... it's like I'm documenting the end of something beautiful."

Marie leaned against him, their fingers intertwined. In the gathering dusk, the stone walls of the old town glowed rose-gold. "Perhaps you're documenting the beginning of something else."

"Something worse."

"Something that will pass," she corrected firmly. "Everything passes, non? Even wars."

He turned to look at her then, his grey eyes serious in the fading light. "Marie... if things get worse... if war really comes..."

She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't. Not tonight."

Instead of speaking, he kissed her. They had grown bolder in their affections, though still careful to avoid her father's watchful eye. Tonight, though, there was an edge of desperation to their embrace, as if they could stop time through sheer force of will.