Page 51 of Love In Provence
The car drives away and the priest glances at Carineand me on the far side of the square. He has the decency to look regretful.
‘No one was there. No one!’ I cry.
‘Let’s go and get a brandy,’ says Carine, and we turn up the alleyway towards her office, passing what used to be the bistro.
On the outside it’s unrecognizable. And then I see it. A sign, welcoming people to the restaurant’s opening … tonight.
‘Tonight! The day he said goodbye to his father. This is too much! Something needs to be done.’ But I still have no idea what.
I stand and stare at the new awning, the minimalist writing on the new window, ‘l’expérience’ all in lower case.
The red-and-white-check tablecloths are nowhere to be seen.
‘I know where there’s a really good bottle of brandy,’ I say. ‘Henri’s brandy.’
‘I thought Zacharie took the key from you.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know there’s a spare, just in case.’
I go to the geranium pot and lift it to see the key still sitting there.
‘Bingo!’ I’m fired up and angry.
For a moment I wonder if it will still work. I look up and down the street, then push it into the lock and turn it. It works. My heart is thumping. Looking over my shoulder, I push the handle, no longer brass but chrome, and let myself in.
‘Grab the brandy from behind the bar,’ I tell Carine, pointing. ‘The good one!’
While the front of the restaurant is practically unrecognizable, there are still reminders of the bistro in the kitchen, the bones of the place, the shape of it, the eyeline into the restaurant and the street beyond. I run my hand over the work surface. Here, I was happier than I have ever been. This place, Le Petit Mas, Stephanie and the children, I felt like I had it all. Now everything seems to be crumbling around me, as if I’m being punished for being happy.
Don’t wait until life stops being hard to be happy. I hear Henri’s words. A saying he lived by.
I look around the little bistro, taking in the changes. I walk upstairs. The pictures on the walls have gone, and in the apartment, there are more tables and chairs, more dining area. Nothing of Henri left at all.
I walk down the stairs. Carine is standing at the bottom, holding the brandy.
I slide the key onto the side, next to the trays of champagne flutes ready for tonight’s opening. I grab two of the bottles lined up there and head out into the alley as the day begins to heat up.
‘Let’s go back to Le Petit Mas, get drunk, angry and make a plan. There has to be a way to persuade him that he’s making a very big mistake in pushing Henri’s friends out. I’m not going to let that happen!’
20
‘Put on all the old favourites,’ says Rhi, buoyed up by her champagne cocktail, a favourite of Henri’s. ‘One sugar cube, two dashes of Angostura bitters, cognac and champagne,’ she says, pouring them for everyone. And we all raise a glass. I take a snap and send it to Fabien.
‘And some new ones.’ I’m looking at Maria and Ed. ‘Are you sure you all mean this? You’re happy to stay on and give the supper club a go to raise some money?’
‘Yes!’ they say, except Marco, who isn’t with us.
‘If Zacharie sees how popular our dishes are, he’ll know this is the sort of comfort food people want. Not high end with high prices! They want value for money, company and good food.’
‘What about the night market at the weekend? We could go and see if people like our cooking, hand out samples,’ Maria suggests.
‘Well, we could but that still doesn’t help us on where to hold the supper club,’ I say.
We spend the rest of the day going through recipes online, looking at the classics that Henri taught me, aiming to recreate them. If I do this, perhaps he won’t entirely have left us.
‘So, let’s decide how it’s going to work,’ says Ed. ‘We need this to pay for our keep and food. Don’t forget, the mayor said he thought we could.’
‘So, it’s like a pop-up. We cook, people come and eat as if they were in a restaurant and pay … a suggested figure, as a donation.’
