Page 11 of Love In Provence
‘Pickers! They’re here!’ I say, panicked by their arrival.Although I’m expecting them, I’m not as organized as usual.
‘You go. I’ll carry on in here,’ says Rhi, picking up the mop and cleaning fluid to give the tiled floor a last going-over.
‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully, totally wrong-footed. Everything would usually be ready in their rooms, towels on the beds, little gifts of cookies, lavender in vases. I would have planned meals for the week too, including the first-night welcome dinner, and have a schedule for the harvest printed, showing where to start picking and more. But between Rhi arriving, Fabien leaving and Henri … I haven’t planned anything. And I still need to chase up the window repairer for the bistro. I hope nothing’s happened to the place over the last couple of nights.
I take a deep breath and step out into the brilliant sunshine, feel its warmth on my skin, comforting as ever, as the vintage camper van crunches and grinds its way to a halt in the middle of the drive.
‘Think the clutch has gone,’ says a woman of about my age with wild curly hair, leaning out of the driver’s window.
I wave a hand, trying to dissipate the smoke coming from the vehicle. Ralph is barking, like it’s a great game, and running around it.
‘Where shall I park? Not sure it’ll move for a while once I cut the engine.’
‘Over there.’ I point to a space a little further on in the corner of the parking area. ‘Do you think you can make it?’
She nods and, with more smoke and grinding and crunching, the van limps and lurches to the spot under the apricot tree where she cuts the engine. Everything goes quiet, apart from the cicadas chirping in the June heat.
‘Sorry I’m early,’ she says, as she gets out of the van and shuts the door with a bang, making herself jump. ‘Just wanted to make sure I actually got here, so I left at first light.’
‘Have you come far? I’m Del, by the way.’ I hold out my hand to shake hers, then notice mine is quivering and whip it away. ‘Sorry, been cleaning.’
‘I’m Jennifer. Jen. I was staying on a campsite not too far away but wanted to leave time in case anything happened with the van. Given the number of times it’s broken down and I’ve been delayed for a day or two, I like to plan ahead and keep moving. I worry that if I stop too long, I won’t get the old girl going again.’ She laughs. ‘I mean the van, not me! Already looking into places to go for the autumn and then it’ll be Christmas.’
Christmas? It’s only June. It’s like this woman is wishing the year away.
‘Well, I’m glad you’ve found us,’ I say. ‘And you’re here to help with the harvest.’ I’m trying to slip intofarm-manager mode. ‘It’s going to be a hot few weeks, so make sure you’re armed with sun cream, water and a hat.’
‘I follow the farm on Facebook. I love your posts from here – it’s just like I imagined – so I was delighted when you said you were looking for pickers.’
I look back at the farmhouse, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I love this place too. ‘Yes, this is the farmhouse. I’ve been here for three years now. And this is the lavender we’re harvesting.’ I point towards the field on the other side of the accommodation and the drying barn. We walk slowly towards the field as if drawn by its colour and scent.
‘This is beautiful,’ she says. As with most people who visit, I see her shoulders drop and relax when she looks out over the field. I do it every morning as the sun rises, heralding a fresh new day.
We stand looking out, just beyond the drying barn, at the deep purple plants, which resemble an intricately embroidered quilt, softly undulating down the hillside, offering comfort and peace. Right now, I could just lie down, shut my eyes and wait for some of that comfort and peace to assail me.
‘How does it work?’ she asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
‘Well, you and the other pickers will be here in the field. We start early in the morning, when the blooms are at their perkiest, to capture all the fragrance. We cutthe lavender stems, collect them in bundles and take them to the drying barn just there.’ I point to the weatherworn building, dark but with plenty of holes between the joints. ‘It looks a bit sorry for itself, but it’s perfect for drying the bundles, which need darkness and ventilation. Some people use fans. I just have holes that let in the breeze!’ I smile and so does she, staring out across the field to the town beyond, where we can see the church spire, then the terracotta roofs of the houses and shops around it.
‘And what about oil? Do you make that? How about soap?’
‘Not yet. That’s next. We hope to get a still, maybe for next summer if this harvest does us well. Then we’ll start to do oil, candles, soap and cleaning products. Lavender is so good for so many things … Well, make yourself at home. We’re expecting people to arrive at any time from now until tomorrow, ready for the picking, which should start any day.’ I step forward and break off a head of the lavender.Nearly there, I hear someone say in my head.You’ve got this. And I swear it’s Henri’s voice. I give a little cough and clear my throat.
‘I’m going to have to find out what’s happened to my van and how to fix it.’ Jen looks back at it. ‘Maybe try to order a new clutch online.’
‘That’s impressive,’ I say.
‘Necessary! Giving up your house to be a digitalnomad in a 1950s splittie isn’t for the fainthearted. And you’re happy for me to park here and settle in?’
‘Of course. This is where the camper vans usually are. Some people come with tents and set up over there.’ I point. ‘But this has the best views.’
‘It certainly does.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ I say. ‘My partner, Fabien, is the one who knows about cars and the like but he’s …’ I search for the words ‘… away at the moment.’ And that’s perfectly reasonable, I tell myself. He’s just away for a bit, until a new guitarist is found. He’s working away from home. It’s all fine. And it’s not like the money won’t be welcome. It will. He said so himself. I know he’ll feel better about earning something, with thebrocantebringing in so little at the moment. He needs to pay JB’s wages. Without my wages from the bistro, things would be very tight. So … Del, stop worrying about Fabien. He’s just away for a bit. He’ll be home soon, with no regrets, and life will get back to normal.
‘Is there anything you need or that I can do to help?’ I ask, trying to focus on my guest. ‘Although, as I said, cars and what goes on under a bonnet are not my forte!’
‘I have everything I need in here. My whole life in one place.’ She smiles, although this time it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Plus I have Google, and a fair bit of experience of this old girl!’ I watch her open theside door, then bring out a small folding table and a chair, a washing-up bowl and a drying rack with her washing on it, settling in, like Stephanie did in her caravan, bit by bit.
