CHAPTER 16
Back at the farmhouse, in the outside kitchen, with its saggy, comfy sofa to one side and festoon lighting across the high ceiling, there’s bunting now too, making it even more homely. I’m wondering if Jen added it. I’m sitting at the table, nursing a glass of rosé that someone has put into my hands.
‘He’s taking over Henri’s?’ Rhi is flabbergasted. ‘He’s not selling it, but going to run it himself, just not as Henri’s?’ She throws up her hands angrily. ‘I don’t know which is worse. Selling up or just eradicating Henri from the building and business.’
I nod and shake my head, not sure in which order, and gulp some wine. My cheeks burn with humiliation, which is compounded by having had my bank card rejected in the small supermarket when I went in to buy groceries for the pickers’ dinner. Dear Fran?oise on the till told me to come back later to settle the bill when I was less upset and to borrow the trolley, which was loaded with the equipment from Henri’s as well as the food. I pushed it along the riverbank, past the clearing, feeling as if I’d become part of the homeless community there. I barely heard the shouts and jeers from a group of schoolboys who had gathered there, clearly having decided to play truant from school. Shocked, without a mooring, I pushed the trolley back to Le Petit Mas. Now I feel lost. If I’m no longer part of Henri’s, who am I?
After a couple more glasses of wine, feeling fuzzy, with a headache coming on, I head to my bed for a siesta, knowing I won’t sleep.
I wake with a start to the smell of something delicious. I’d fallen into a deep sleep, with nightmares about Henri’s place burning down and nothing I could do to save it. It’s not burning I can smell now, though. It’s a barbecue. On the one hand I want to thank God that Henri’s hasn’t burned down. On the other, it might as well have done. I throw myself back onto my pillows, pick up my phone from the bedside table and try to call Fabien. It goes straight to voicemail.
‘Phfffff!’ I drop my hand and the phone into the softness of cotton covers and let the smells from outside fill my nose and head. The scent of the freshly cut lavender from the field, in the cooling afternoon, with the initial smell from charcoal heating reminds me of something. It reminds me of … Fabien and me here, with Stephanie, JB and Tomas, Henri and Rhi, Carine and our other friend Lou with her new partner. Stephanie and JB’s wedding! The evening barbecue here at the farmhouse.
Voices and laughter are reaching me from the barn now, just like they did on that day, when Ralph ran off with the rings, as ringbearer, and Tomas chased him. A day of laughter, love and hope … when the future seemed full of possibilities and the celebrations went on for days. How have we come to this, with me here on my own, scared and worried, the business whipped out from under my feet, an empty bank account, wondering about Fabien, our feelings for each other, and no Henri to show us that everything would be fine in the end? Everything has changed. Even Stephanie and JB have moved into their own little place and are here less and less often.
Everything changes, seasons come and go. Like the lavender harvest. What will happen when it’s finished? If we finish it, because if I can’t find a way to bring in some money, I’ll have to let the pickers go.
I try ringing the bank to talk to someone about an extension to my overdraft or a loan, but I recently helped Stephanie pay for the bakery unit and the van so it’s no-go. I’m maxed out on credit.
I try Fabien, but the call goes straight to voicemail. I go to the window at the side of the house, following the smell of the barbecue, then head downstairs. Ralph is lying in the cool. Three years ago he would have been outside causing mischief, but everything moves on. I step out onto the terrace towards the lavender there. I grasp a stem and break off the head, its flowers separating in my hand.
Graham is prodding the charcoal with long tongs, looking thoughtfully into the flames. ‘What are you cooking?’ I ask, wondering what I can sell in the brocante from the farmhouse to bring in some cash.
‘Um, just sausages,’ he says.
Maria is making a spicy potato side dish. Jen has put up more bunting and is photographing it on her camera and posting it.
Marco is seemingly playing a game on his phone.
‘Damn!’ says Ed, tossing a spoon into a pot on the gas hob.
‘What’s up?’ I say, rolling the lavender blooms in my hand.
‘I was making a Proven?al chicken dish, but it’s just not quite there.’ He puts his hands on his hips. ‘It doesn’t … stand out.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ says Jen, putting down her phone.
‘That’s what Henri would say,’ I remember. ‘He’d tell you exactly that.’
And then I sprinkle a few of the lavender blooms from my hand into the sauce.
‘Try that,’ I say, and Ed stares at me as if I’d smeared Marmite over his caviar on toast.
He leans forward and sniffs, picks up a spoon and tastes. Then he looks back at me.
‘Well?’
‘It tastes of Provence,’ he says.
‘Exactly.’ I smile. ‘It’s the flavour of here,’ I say suddenly, as if Henri was speaking to me. ‘It’s one of our herbes de Provence. But be gentle with it. It can be overpowering if you use too much.’
The others turn to me.
‘Looks like Henri isn’t going anywhere by the sound of it,’ says Jen.
That brings a smile to my face. It was just a tiny chink, a memory of him and me in the kitchen, but it’s still there. I just have to find a way of reaching it and getting back into the kitchen.
Rhi appears from the drying room and joins us. She puts her hand over mine and squeezes it. We smile at each other.
The smell in the barn is fabulous against the backdrop of the drying lavender from next door. It reminds me of everything Stephanie and I learned together when she first arrived at the farmhouse with Tomas, where this journey began. I’d refused to go back to the UK and was left here with nothing but an overnight bag and Ralph. Stephanie and I were thrown together by a twist of Fate and the only way I could think of getting through those early days was to bake my way through a lavender cookbook. Stephanie helped with my French and I helped her learn to bake. Just as my mother had taught me. That’s the cycle of life, isn’t it, the memories we hand on?
The table begins to fill. Stephanie, JB and the children arrive. Rhi takes a seat next to me and tries to persuade me to sit. ‘I can’t. I should be cooking, helping.’ But Ed and Maria are managing perfectly well in the kitchen and Keith is taking over the sausages from Graham as he pours drinks.
Maria smiles. ‘Sit. There’s plenty of us here to help. You have enough to think about.’
‘Yes! Like how you’re going to get your restaurant back,’ Jen says firmly.
‘Don’t make a fuss. I’m fine!’ I hear Graham say to Keith.
‘Have some water, a sit-down,’ Keith says.
‘You’re fussing. I’m not a child!’
And with that Keith, upset, disappears to their bedroom.
I go to stand, but Maria beats me to it. ‘Here, let me help,’ Maria says to Graham, who’s beside the barbecue, embarrassed and cross.
‘After all, I’m from Australia, sort of. Barbies are what we do!’ She goes over to stand beside Graham, who is a little relieved.
‘Australia, UK, France, Spain … No idea where you’re really from, have you, Mar?’ says Marco, making me wince.
‘Might be good for us all to have some water,’ Maria says, pointing to the jug by the sink and the glasses. Graham heads to the jug, fills it and puts it on the table.
‘And it’s really hot,’ says Jen, passing round the glasses as the sun, despite dipping in the sky, is still fiercely beating down.
Graham takes a glass of water and drinks it.
‘Everything okay?’ I call over.
‘Yes, yes. Just hot. We’re not used to it in the UK, are we?’
‘No,’ I agree. ‘And Keith?’ I gesture towards the room that Fabien and I created, filled with antiques from the brocante, a wrought-iron bed, and hooks on the wall to match. Simple but homely.
‘I’ll go and see him now,’ says Graham, smiling at Maria who is turning kebabs made from all the veg in the bottom of my fridge, peppers, tomatoes, onions and mushrooms. She brushes them with oil, then sprinkles them with fiery spice from her tin.
I watch Graham go, hoping the pair haven’t had a falling-out. But it’s hot and hard to sleep. And the mosquitoes. Which reminds me: I go to the farmhouse kitchen and bring out the last of the lemons for everyone to cut in half and rub over themselves.
I remember my humiliation in the shop earlier, my cheeks burning at the memory, and I’m still wondering how I’m going to pay the bill. I’ll have to find some cash from somewhere. Zacharie has cut me off from the income I was relying on. With immediate effect.
I gaze at the happy group in the barn. I feel like the baddie in a cartoon about to burst their balloon.
I have to tell them I can’t pay for them to be here any more. I can’t afford the food. I need to tell them, and soon, so they can make new arrangements. Clearly getting back into the bistro isn’t going to happen. I have no idea what to do. I can’t move in on Stephanie, who is running the business that’s supporting her and her family. JB doesn’t make much from the brocante. Fabien would like to pay him more, but there just isn’t the money. Whatever Fabien makes from his tour will be the most he’s earned in a long time. And he needs it.
As we’re rubbing ourselves with lemon, it’s Tomas who hears it first. ‘Fabien! Papi Fabien!’ he shouts, jumping up and down. His younger brother does an excited dance on the spot.
‘Non, cheri,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not …’
Suddenly I can hear it too. My heart leaps. The familiar sound of Fabien’s truck coming down the long drive. Then my heart does a triple somersault, like an Olympic diver off the high board, as I see it pulling through the gates. I stand and watch as Ralph barks frantically.
The truck comes to a standstill, clouds of cream dust gathering around the wheels on the hot stony drive. I stand for a minute under the shade of the open-side barn as he steps out. He stares at me, then takes in the busy scene in the barn. I’m tense. What if … what if he’s come back to tell me face to face that he doesn’t want to be with me any more? What if he’s come for his stuff?
After our last phone conversation, I’m not sure where we are. Suddenly I feel like the Del who was first getting to know Fabien and really hoping he liked what he saw. God, what is wrong with me? When did I become so troubled about our relationship, so bloody insecure? When the mistral took away everything I had. Well, when she took away Henri and brought in Zacharie. The mistral that changed everything, just like it had three years ago.
‘Well, this looks busy!’ he says, and suddenly smiles. The smile I love that comes with a bucketful of reassurance. I rush forward and wrap my arms around him. ‘Good to know I was missed!’ he says.
‘Very much,’ I say quietly into his neck, breathing in his familiar smell and then, in a rush so the words tumble over each other, ‘And I’m sorry … things are going to be different. We need to make time for each other.’
He looks down at me, holding my arms. I want to kiss him and kiss him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’
‘Ah,’ he says, still holding my arms. ‘Actually, I’m only here for one night. We weren’t too far away, so rather than go out for a meal, I wanted to come home and see how you were doing with the harvest. We’ve barely been able to talk. I’m sorry. I just needed to see you. I have to go back later. I missed being here.’
‘Oh.’ My heart sinks. ‘But you’ll stay for tonight?’
He smiles. ‘Yes, of course. But I’ll have to leave early.’
And he kisses me, just like I’ve been dreaming of for the last couple of weeks. Finally we pull apart. I feel a rush of colour to my cheeks and my tired body suddenly feels alive.
‘Come and meet everyone,’ I say, as we wrap our arms around each other and walk towards the group. Keith has reappeared. He looks like he’s been crying, but has washed his face and joined the gang, standing with a glass of rosé in his hand, next to Graham.
Maria is serving with Ed.
‘Everyone, this is Fabien!’ I say, and Ralph stands proudly at his side, chin lifted as if we’re talking about him.
‘Well, we did hope you don’t go around kissing all male visitors to the farm like that!’ says Keith, making everyone laugh.
‘This looks like a feast!’ says Fabien, having shaken hands with everyone. He’s carrying little Louis on his hip and Tomas is attached to his leg. He hugs and kisses Stephanie warmly, JB too, then Rhi, saying he hopes she’s doing okay and that being here at Le Petit Mas de la Lavande is helping.
‘Has she told you?’ Rhi asks him.
‘He’s only just arrived, Rhi,’ I chide. ‘I’ve only just heard the news myself. We haven’t had a chance to talk.’ I think back to the snatched phone calls over recent nights, tired and snippy with each other. ‘And that’s why I couldn’t get you on the phone earlier. You were driving here.’
He turns to me with a sudden worried look. ‘What news? Is everything okay?’ He gently puts Louis on the floor, despite his protests.
‘Yes, well, no. I’m fine, it’s not me. It’s Henri’s.’
He frowns.
‘Henri’s son, Zacharie, has arrived, as you know. He came to collect Henri’s ashes from Rhi.’
‘Okay,’ he says slowly and evenly.
‘And to close down Henri’s bistro as we know it,’ Rhi rushes in.
‘Close it down?’ Fabien gasps.
I sigh.
‘He’s turning it into a high-end classic French restaurant, apparently. Called l’expérience.’
Fabien screws up his nose. ‘L’expérience?’
I nod.
‘He’s hoping for a Michelin star. He’s a trained French chef.’
‘But what about Henri’s?’
‘He says we served peasant food. And that he owns the building, so he can do what he likes.’
‘And the funeral for Henri?’
I let out a long sigh. ‘A private family-only service, apparently. I tried to change his mind but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Oh, là,’ says Fabien, reverting to French to express his disgust, rubbing my arm. ‘And the bistro now?’
I shake my head. ‘Locked.’
‘You should have rung me sooner. Told me to come back. I would have been here,’ he says, his eyes darkening with fury. ‘I should speak to him.’
‘I only heard this lunchtime. And there is nothing we can do. He’s right. He does own it.’
‘In the eyes of the law and all that,’ Ed puts in.
‘Dinner,’ says Maria.
‘Come on, let’s sit,’ I say. ‘You’ll love the food these people put on the table.’
‘You’re not cooking?’ he says in surprise.
‘No. I’ll explain later.’ Although I don’t quite know what to say. I’m like a racehorse that can’t run, a bird that can’t fly, a frog that can’t jump. I’m a cook who can’t cook. But I can still eat.
And we do: we sit, eat, drink, and Fabien gets to know a little more about the people around the table. Their travels, where they’ve been, where they’re going.
‘Jen knows her way around the engine of a camper van,’ I tell Fabien.
‘Had to! Lived in one in Spain for long enough,’ she says, and we quieten. This is something we’ve not heard from her before.
‘I thought you lived in London?’
‘I did. With my second husband Trefor. But before that I lived in a caravan on a small patch of land with my first husband, Dan, when we took the big leap of faith and moved to Spain to run a bar there.’
The rest of the group don’t know the full story yet.
‘We were building a house, near the bar. But between running the bar and building a house, we lost our way. I met someone else, a holidaymaker, and we ran off together. I’m full of shame about it now. My family didn’t want anything more to do with me when I left Dan. But Trefor and I had each other. Until …’
‘He died,’ Rhi finishes.
Jen shakes her head. ‘He didn’t die. Trefor left me. I was mortified. I had caused so much hurt, giving everything up for him. I should never have had my head turned. It was a moment of madness and I got caught up in the excitement of it all. After he left, I thought the only thing I could do was keep moving. I think it’s the guilt that’s kept me moving all this time. Not having to think about it.’
‘We can’t help who we fall in love with,’ I say, taking a small sideways glance at Fabien. He’s there to catch my glance and my cheeks colour.
‘But it wasn’t love. It was the excitement. Life had got busy with the bar and building the house. It was like the box of chocolates you’re not supposed to open because you’re on a diet. The temptation was too much for me.’
‘And then comes the feeling of sickness and the guilt,’ Keith finishes.
‘And now?’ I prompt her.
She looks around the group. ‘Van life. People think it’s cool and I’ve got it sussed, but the truth is I hate it. I absolutely hate it,’ she says, and we stare at her. And then she lets out a little laugh. ‘We always said that once we retired we’d go on the road. I thought it was exactly what I needed. Turns out it isn’t! I should never have left where I was in Spain. I loved having friends and staying in one place.’
Then Maria says quietly, ‘I wonder if I should have left the UK … or if I should go back.’
Marco frowns. ‘Why would you?’
‘Because it was my home,’ she says.
Marco peers at her as if she’s talking a different language. ‘Yeah, but Australia is like the best place ever.’
She shakes her head. ‘You think that. Maybe I don’t.’
‘Tsk,’ he says, and tuts loudly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. How can you compare anywhere to Australia? I said we’d do a tour of Europe, but I assume you’ll make the right decision and want to go back to Oz as soon as. I can’t wait to get back.’
Maria’s eyes fill with tears. ‘We cooked differently when I was growing up and my grandmother was alive. I miss it,’ she says, and I haven’t heard her speak like this before. ‘I miss her. I just have no idea of who I am or where I fit in. I’m not Australian, I was born in the UK, and my parents have mixed heritage. I miss my grandmother, even though I know I’m not of Indian heritage, because I was adopted.’ She shrugs. ‘I can’t work out me and where I fit. I thought cooking with the spice tin would make me feel more like her, like I belong.’
‘That was magnifique!’ Fabien leans back in his chair. ‘It must be very hard for you.’
‘It is,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’
‘I think you’ve fallen on your feet,’ says Marco, ‘your parents taking you on and moving to Oz.’
‘No matter where we’ve come from, we don’t forget the past,’ I say. ‘Or want to. It’s part of the journey.’
I have a feeling that Marco and Maria aren’t on the same journey, and from Maria’s face, I have a feeling that she may be realizing it.
We turn to gaze across the lavender field and the valley: the sun is setting and the sky is painted with colours that reflect those in the field.
‘I tasted lavender in there tonight,’ says Fabien, and Ed beams.
‘Del suggested it. She says it was how she’d learned to cook when she arrived. With lavender.’
‘There’s so much left. We’ll be eating this for days,’ says Jen.
‘I’m not sure it’ll keep that well,’ says Maria, looking at the vegetable kebabs.
‘No,’ says Fabien, and we look at each other. We know what the other is thinking.
‘Henri’s may have been taken over, but Henri is still here, in spirit, in all of us,’ Fabien says, his eyes on the table and the food.
I nod, a tiny spark trying to reignite in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know if it’s the warm night, the clear sky, the cicadas singing louder than ever, the fact that Fabien is here, or that it feels like Henri is with us in the chair next to Rhi where he should be. Maybe I won’t tell them tonight that I have to cut short the harvest and their stay. Just one more night to enjoy the food and the company.
‘Shall we?’ Fabien raises an eyebrow, making me smile.
I stand, then Fabien, Stephanie, JB and Rhi follow. ‘Henri may not be here, but his legacy is. Grab a bowl or a dish, everyone, and come with us.’ I’m smiling as I lead the way down the drive towards the riverbank.