Page 39 of Love In Provence
‘I don’t think you should be too hard on yourself. I’m quite sure that your partner leaving you is as much like grief as it gets. Especially when there’s so much hurt and betrayal in there.’
She looks at my empty plate. ‘Thank you. That was the first time I’ve cooked for someone since I started this whole van-life thing.’
‘And how does it feel?’
‘The cooking? Fabulous! It’s like a little bit of me has come back.’
‘And what about van life? Must be great, just you and the road, going where you like, carefree.’
‘Honestly?’
I’m running my finger around my plate, then licking the buttery remnants off it.
‘I hate it!’
Suddenly we both laugh, which I haven’t done for a while. And it feels good.
15
The following morning, I check my bank account. I’ve drunk far more coffee than is good for me. One thing I know for sure: I need to get Henri’s bistro bringing in income. I have to get the restaurant back … I have to start cooking again. I haven’t come this far to have it all taken away from me now. I need to fix this. Then I need to fix things with Fabien.
If last evening has shown me anything, it’s that people will come to the table if the food is good and the atmosphere convivial. That’s what Henri’s is all about and I have to make some money to help the harvest to the end. Zacharie can’t just push me out and cut off my income like this.
I text the number on my phone that Zacharie rang me from. I’m presuming it’s his phone.We need to meet and talk, I tell him.10 a.m. at Henri’s.
A reply pings back.You mean at the restaurant? Because, forgive me if I’m wrong, Henri is dead. I can practically hear the belligerence in the words on the screen and don’t rise to it. We need to find a way to work together, to open the bistro again.
10 a.m., I reply, not getting sucked into anything else.
I dress, lay out breakfast on the terrace, with bread and croissants from the van. Adèle, the baker, asks if there is any news on a service for Henri. I tell her that Henri’s son is here. He’s planning a funeral for Henri, but family only.
‘C’est dommage!’ she tells me. It’s a shame. I agree that it is.
I check in on the pickers and Rhi, telling her I have to go out.
‘Okay,’ she says, this time not as nervous at being left in charge. ‘We’ll be fine.’ The group around the table are tucking into baguette, butter and jam and another cake that Keith made early that morning in the outside kitchen. The smell of freshly cooked cake, sweet and comforting, fills the air and I’ve missed it since Stephanie moved into the unit.
‘You’ll be giving Stephanie a run for her money soon.’ I find myself smiling.
‘What’s this?’ Stephanie arrives with little Louis on her hip. ‘Wow! That smells good!’ she says, leaning over the table. Louis points at the cake.
‘Gâteau!’ he says, and Keith puffs up, like a little fat robin in winter showing his full red chest.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ I pull my shopping basket onto my shoulder, feeling much more like the old me than I have in days. ‘I’ll buy some food for tonight while I’m out. We can decide what to make when I get back. Hopefully with good news!’ And I feel as if everything is about to get back on track. Henri may not be here but we will carry on as if he is. The same for Fabien: I want everything to be back on track for when he gets home. His home as well as mine.
‘Is everything okay?’ Stephanie asks.
‘It will be. Just something I need to sort,’ I say, then kiss her and Louis.
‘Go for it!’ she tells me, as if she’s sensed my mission, then cuts cake for Louis and everyone else at the table as I head out of the door, rubbing Ralph’s head as I leave and telling him to be a good boy. I am going to get Henri’s up and running today if it’s the last thing I do.
My spirits lift even further as I approach the bistro to see the new window being installed and the signwriter’s van parked at the end of the narrow street. ‘Yes!’ I say. Thank God! It’s all going to be okay. The window is going in, the signwriter is here. We can reopen! I’m practically jogging towards the bistro now, eager to be back to normal.
I can see Zacharie standing outside, just like he was when I met him. Hands in his cream trouser pockets,staring at the outside of the building. He doesn’t turn to me when I arrive, hot and out of breath.
‘This is wonderful! You should have called me. I would have been here to meet the glaziers,’ I say, fanning my hot face.
‘It’s all in hand.’ He still doesn’t face me, just watches the men at work on the window. For a moment, I’m distracted by the company name and can’t help but think it wasn’t the one I booked. I must have misunderstood. I decide to take this moment to build some bridges and see if I can get Zacharie on board with inviting Henri’s friends to the funeral.
