Page 57 of Love In Provence
I look at the sign, surrounded by fairy lights, propped in pride of place on the far wall. I’ll make sure Zacharie sees that it should be back where it was on the bistro. His dad’s place. Back to how things were around here. I refuse to let him wipe out Henri’s legacy.
I have an idea.
I pull out a pen and find a piece of paper in Fabien’soffice. I’m enjoying sitting at his untidy desk, taking comfort from it and remembering drinking coffee here on our first meeting. Now it’s full of crockery, and there’s a hotplate as well as the small gas burner. I take a moment to think what to write, then put pen to paper. When I’ve finished, I find an envelope and put it in. I stick down the flap and walk out of the office into the hot afternoon, out of the worn cream gates and down towards the bistro.
My chest tightens as I reach it, slowing, taking in the effect its makeover has on me. It’s strange seeing the place active at night. When it was Henri’s we just opened at lunchtime. By evening the bistro was closed, as if it had been tucked up for the night. Now it sleeps all day and is awake at night. I step forward quickly and slide the envelope into the letterbox. At least that’s still in the same place. Then I look up at the building.
‘I’ll see you again soon,’ I say. ‘Hang on in there.’
The door opens. ‘Have you come to book a table?’
It’s Zacharie.
‘Erm, no.’ I clear my throat and lift my chin. ‘I came to bring you something.’ I point at the envelope on the mat by his feet. He bends down to pick it up.
‘It’s an invitation,’ I tell him. He holds it in one hand and taps it in the palm of the other. ‘To our supper club.’
‘This evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I have a restaurant to run.’
‘Yes, I know. But I thought if you could get away just for a bit. You may like to see what we’ve done in memory of Henri. Join us for a glass of wine.’
He smiles again. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it! How do you say … “Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away”?’
I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic or if this is some kind of olive branch. ‘Good. I’ll see you there,’ I say, and hurry away. I don’t want to prolong the conversation. I’ve said what I need to say in the envelope, why it matters. A partnership between Zacharie and Henri’s could be fantastic. A blend of old and new. I just hope he takes in my idea for us to work together, blending ideas like we have here tonight. Nothing stays the same. Everything changes. We could make it work at Henri’s with change from both of us.
I hurry back to thebrocantewhere the excitement is building.
‘Okay, let’s do this! Let’s get this fusion feast on the road!’ I say to Ed, who smiles.
‘Henri would have loved this!’ Carine says, behind me. She’s carrying a bunch of flowers held together with curling ribbon.
‘Oh, Carine, they’re beautiful!Merci!’
‘They’re not from me. They’re from Fabien, sent to wish you luck for tonight. He wishes he could be here.’
And my heart leaps. I wish he were here too. The longer he’s away, the more I seem to be falling into a routine without him and I don’t want that. I want him with me! I want everything back to how it was before the mistral. Henri’s, Fabien, me and our little stitched-together family. Just as it was.
But everything is changing: Stephanie and JB are in their little house, him helping her with the business, partners in life. I’m so proud of them, yet melancholy that everything has to change. But I can’t let that happen to Henri’s. That sign needs to go back to where it was. I need to prove to Henri’s son that it’s the best thing for the business and the town, and that we can work together. And this is how I plan to do it. Tonight will be a great success, serving Henri’s meals, classics, with a twist, a fusion of flavours from all of us and our food memories. It’s about feeling at home around the table, wherever you have come from.
I inhale the scent of the flowers, wishing Fabien was here. But I’m determined to make this happen, to get us all back to how we were, whatever it takes.
‘I found a beautiful vase,’ says Keith. ‘Thought it would work a treat for those blooms!’
I turn to him.
‘In fact, I’ve found a few vases. I thought we could separate the bouquet and add them to the tables. Spread the joy, so to speak.’
‘That would be perfect!’ I say, and hand him theflowers. That way Fabien will be here in spirit, at each of the tables. Suddenly music is playing.
‘I found an old record player and some vinyl,’ says Ed. ‘Reminds me of Sundays at home before lunch. My father loved to play his records in the front room on a Sunday.’
‘He sounds lovely,’ I say.
‘He is. He and my mum both are …’ He hesitates. ‘Just a bit stuck in their ways.’
