Page 6 of Love In Provence
‘Sssh, no need for words,’ he says, and kisses me again. I start to stir, wishing we could fall back into bed, like we used to if it wasn’t a work day … sometimes even when it was a work day. It’s been a while since we’ve done that, though.
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was up already. I just fancied coffee.’
I spin round at the sound of Rhi’s voice. ‘Come in, grab a seat.’ I let go of Fabien, pick up the mug of coffee he’s made for me and place it in front of her on the wooden table in front of the French windows.
‘I don’t want to be in the way here. I could always go and stay at Henri’s. Or go back to the UK, stay with one of the kids.’ She sits down tentatively, her eyes drawn out towards the rows of purple lavender in the fields outside.
The kids Rhi is talking about aren’t kids, even though they’re her children. It took Henri’s first heart attack, not long after they’d got together, for Rhi to grasp that her grown-up children needed to stand on their own two feet and were perfectly able to do so. She put a manager into her hairdressing salon, then later sold it to her, with the accommodation above, and became nomadic, Henri by her side. The first heart attack had made them realize life was precious and they made the most of it.
I want to make sure Fabien and I do the same. Life has been too busy recently, what with my job at the bistro, hisbrocantebusiness, the lavender farm and helping Stephanie with the children. We need to take some time for ourselves. Once the harvest is in, I decide.
At that moment Stephanie arrives, still visibly upset, and the two children career into the kitchen, one to hug Ralph, the other heading straight for Fabien.
‘Oooof,’ he says, as Tomas throws himself at his legs, then starts a game of gunfire at him.
Stephanie puts two baguettes and a bag of croissants on the table and gathers plates from the cupboard. ‘Isaw the bakery van so I broughtle petit déjeuner,’ she says, in her usual no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point way. But I can tell this is her way of coping right now. Sticking to routines. It was the same when Ollie and I split up and I was here alone: routine helped – the bakery van arriving each day, walking with Ralph, then trying to make the next recipe in the lavender cookbook.
Rhi stands up to help Stephanie. Ralph stands by the French windows and I open them to let him out.
I look back at the busy, early-morning kitchen, then to the fields of lavender, nearly in full bloom, and breathe.
It’s a clear, bright early morning, as if someone has taken a duster and cleaned the window on the world. It’s why painters like Picasso came here to work – the bright colours after the dust has been blown away by the mistral. I step outside and watch the mist creep and curl through the rows of lavender in the field, breathing deeply, trying to control the anxiety that is bubbling just below the surface every time I think of Rhi’s words. ‘Henri’s dead.’
I look towards the orange-tiled roofs in the distance, the town I have come to love, as the church bells ring out for seven o’clock. I watch Ralph bouncing through the lavender field without a care in the world. Then I feel Fabien join me, while insideStephanie is preparing breakfast before heading to the unit for a morning of baking. I can hear her occasional sniffs as she makes hot chocolate for the boys, busying herself in the kitchen, where she clearly feels she needs to be.
‘I made you more coffee,’ Fabien says, in his deep, husky voice, handing me another mug, and I breathe in its aroma, which mingles with the early-morning fragrance. But there’s something else in the air, something I can’t put my finger on. Words that seem unspoken, hanging between us. Is it still about last night? Or is it that we’re lost in our own worlds, which have been shaken, rocked and tipped on their axes by Rhi’s news, and we don’t know what to say to each other to make it any better? The world seems to have stood still and I’m not sure how we’ll get moving again.
‘Merci.’ I smile and take it, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
‘Rhi is helping Stephanie with breakfast and the children. Do you want something to eat? You should eat,’ he tells me.
I shake my head and rest it against his chest again, breathing in the heady mix of him, already showered and dressed, the lavender and the soil.
‘The pickers start arriving over this weekend. It looks like it’s going to be a good harvest,’ I say. ‘I’m justgrateful you’ll be on hand to oversee them. What with the pickers arriving and Henri …’
His phone beeps with a message. I lean away from him and he pulls it out, reads it, types a reply and pushes the phone back into his pocket.
‘Who was that?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘No one.’ He looks at the view.
‘No one?’ I’m intrigued.
He turns his head back to me. ‘No one important.’ He tilts my chin and kisses me lightly. The phone beeps again.
He tuts.
‘Well, it must be someone.’ I laugh softly.
He pulls out the phone and types another reply, shoving it back into his pocket. ‘Just some old friends.’ He waves a hand dismissively. ‘Nothing important.’
There’s another ping from the phone.
‘Well, it must be something fairly important for them to keep messaging you.’
He tuts again, pushes his unruly hair off his face and pulls out the phone once more. This time he switches it off.
I look at him inquisitively.
