Page 7 of Falling for Provence

‘What? Oh… from the lemon trees?’

‘No.’ Ellie’s smile widened as she caught a sudden flicker of something new.

Courage, perhaps? Hope, even?

‘From life,’ she said.

There was no point in putting any of the groceries away until there was somewhere clean to put them, so Ellie found a shady spot behind the shed to keep things out of the sun.

The house felt different as she entered it today, maybe because she knew what she would find. Or perhaps it was because she was alone and she wasn’t about to escape anytime soon. If this was going to work, she needed to find a connection to this house. To start caring about it at some level.

Finding a small fridge tucked under the wooden benchtop was a good start, and, surprisingly, it was cold enough inside for the small metal freezer compartment to be coated with white ice. Maybe Laura was right and there was going to be the less pleasant surprise of a large electricity bill in the near future. The shelves were far from clean, however, and Ellie knew she would need more than paper towels and a spray product to tackle thegrime. Was she going to have to find kindling and work out how to get a wood-fired cooker going in order to have some hot water available?

No. Hidden under a large wooden breadboard was an electric cooktop with two hotplates. She held her breath as she turned one of them on and didn’t let it out until the plate began to glow red. Then she twisted the top of the brass tap over the sink as far as she could, hoping that the spluttering and rust would eventually run its course. By the time she located a cast-iron pot in one of the cupboards, the water was definitely clearer, although the sputtering continued. She half-filled the pot, put it on the hotplate and went back outside to find one of the bags of cleaning products that Laura had selected from the supermarket that morning. She needed a scouring pad and bleach and cloths.

An hour later and the interior of the fridge looked hygienic enough to put food inside. She rescued the bag that contained milk, cheese, butter and ham and then went back for the bottle of wine. She had just closed the door on her culinary treasures when her phone beeped.

About to board

Laura’s text read.

But I’ve been online to pass the time. Make sure you’re home for a delivery late this afternoon xx.

More food? Or maybe some more clothes, Ellie thought. That would have been a brainwave. Who knew that cleaning out one small fridge could have made her tee shirt and jeans quite this grubby?

She looked even worse a few hours later, when she’d emptied kitchen cupboards, scrubbed them out, washed all the pots andput them back. She hadn’t stopped to eat anything, she realised. The crockery cupboard needed to be next on the list so that she had something clean to put food on to and eat it with, but she was tired already and needed to do something about where she was going to sleep.

Oh, help…

It wasn’t as if there was any choice about which bedroom she would use, because she knew she couldn’t even set foot in the one with the baby’s cot, but pigeon poo on the floor was almost as off-putting as bats hanging from a curtain rail. Was she going to find some new horror when she went to put clean sheets on the larger bed – like mice nesting in the mattress?

Ellie sank onto the cushions of the huge old leather couch in the living area. The combination of fatigue, hunger and a glimpse at the scale of the challenge she had taken on was suddenly overwhelming. Especially when she could feel every mile of the distance that was now between her and everybody she loved. Or even knew, for that matter. She was alone in a country populated entirely with complete strangers, most of whom she wouldn’t even be able to communicate with.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut was the only way to stave off tears that could end up being an admission of defeat. She’d made a start, she reminded herself. She had food in a clean fridge and clean pots and pans and basins in the cupboards under the sink. A small corner of the house was useable, and all she needed to do was gradually expand that area.

Cleaning the entire crockery cupboard wasn’t urgent. She could simply wash a single plate. And one wine glass. The thought of a cold glass of the local rosé she had chosen from a bewildering variety on offer in the supermarket was becoming increasingly appealing. She didn’t even have to make the bed today. It was already quite apparent that this couch would be more than comfortable enough to sleep on.

A bath was going to be essential, however, so Ellie kept her fingers crossed that the tradesman Noah had called would appear. She would never be able to summon the energy to carry multiple pots of hot water up the stairs to try and fill that old clawfoot bathtub, and, anyway, it needed scrubbing out and bleaching before she could even start. Imagining the effort that the task would entail made her sink back against the cushions of the couch, her eyes still firmly shut.

Her swirling thoughts gradually subsided and it was impossible to resist the lure of escaping completely into sleep. Just for a minute or two…

Startled into wakefulness by the sound of a truck stopping on the road outside the house and a door slamming, Ellie had a moment of confusion about where she was and what time of day it was. As reality rapidly dragged her back into the present, she noticed that the light had changed, softening into early evening. At the thought that this could be the arrival of the person who could supply her with the luxury of a hot bath, she had a hopeful smile on her face as she hurried to the front door.

‘Mademoiselle Gilchrist?’

She recognised her surname and nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Signez ici, s’il vous plaît.’

Ellie didn’t understand a word, but having a form and a pen thrust towards her made the meaning clear. Except… why would she need to sign something before any repairs to the hot water system had been made? The truck didn’t look like a tradesman’s vehicle, either, she realised. It was large enough to be blocking the narrow road, and a car was already waiting behind it.

‘Um… Sorry… what is this about?’

The young man’s sigh, along with an exasperated expression, let her know that he couldn’t be bothered with someone who couldn’t speak his language. An impatient toot from the waiting car added to the tension.

‘Venez avec moi,’ he commanded, leading the way to the truck. He waved at the impatient driver that he was blocking. ‘Un moment,’ he shouted, and then shook his head, waving a dismissive hand in Ellie’s direction. ‘Anglaise.’

It was patently obvious that the irritation was being explained by her nationality. Ellie felt her cheeks flush as she waited for the back door of the truck to be flung open.

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