Page 17 of Love In Provence
But I know I owe them an explanation. Before I can say anything, though, Marco butts in. ‘Well, you did promise on the Facebook page we’d be fed well,’ he says, smiling, clearly trying to make light of the situation and tossing a hunk of buttered bread into his mouth. But far from making things better I feel everyone shift uncomfortably. Graham and Keith scowl at him.
He’s right, though. And usually they would be. But nothing about these last few days has been usual.
‘The thing is, we’ve had some bad news. A member of our community. A friend. A partner.’ I look at Rhi, who’s very pale. ‘A soul mate.’ We manage a tiny smile, a reminder that it’s okay to think happy thoughts about Henri, not just the big sad one. ‘You could say our family. He’s died.’ My throat tightens, and I take a big gulp of coffee. For a moment no one says anything.
‘Does that mean you’re going to cancel the harvest?’ says Marco, tossing more bread into his mouth. ‘I mean, I’m sorry and all that, only we’ve got a schedule we need to stick to.’
‘Oh, no!’ says Keith, looking as upset as if he’d known Henri personally.
‘We’d totally understand if you did,’ Graham says,spreading butter on his crispbreads and putting his knife neatly beside his plate.
‘I need to get the new clutch sorted before I can move on.’ Jen is clearly worried.
‘Our next stop isn’t for another three weeks,’ Marco says. ‘But there doesn’t look like there’s much to do around here if we’re not picking.’
‘Sssh.’ Maria taps his forearm. At first he seems bemused, then slowly reads the others’ faces and closes his mouth.
‘No, no.’ I raise my hands. ‘Someone pointed out to me that the one thing I should be doing right now is the harvest. It’s the one thing we can rely on at the moment.’ I look at Rhi and attempt another smile. She sends a watery one back.
‘So, have breakfast, drink your coffee and meet me up there.’ I point to the field where the mist is lifting and the sun is rising. ‘There’s a hut where I’ll hand out secateurs and explain everything to you. We’ll be cutting the lavender into bundles, tying them and getting them up to the barn where we’ll hang them to dry. I think a morning in the lavender field could be what we all need. It’s a beautiful place to be,’ I say, with a smile. Because it is.
‘Yes!’ They seem cheered.
I stand up and take my coffee to the edge of the field to inspect the blooms there. Rhi follows me. ‘It’s time,’ I say, running my hands over them. I lift my hand tomy nose, remembering what Serge from the neighbouring farm had taught me when I started with a few of his plants here. ‘Too early and we won’t get the full scent. Too late and buds will drop from the dried bundles,’ I say, picking one of the stems and sniffing it. Everything is changing. Serge has retired and Henri has gone.
‘The harvest is the one thing right now we can rely on. Come rain or shine, good year, bad year, it will keep coming round,’ I say, still inspecting the blooms, putting all my focus there, in the moment. It’s the only way forward.
I hear Fabien’s voice in my head:Henri wouldn’t have wanted you to let these people down. They’ve come to work … food and lodgings. Where else would they go right now?
I’m clutching my cup. Ralph barks.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Rhi says.
‘I know. Fabien said so too.’
We wander slowly over the stony ground between the rows of lavender.
‘Is everything all right between you two?’ she asks.
I stop and turn to her and she looks at me, puzzled. ‘I …’ I hesitate. ‘I’m not sure,’ I finally answer. This harvest, this sunrise, are the only things I’m really sure of.
‘I wish I hadn’t told him to go. It’s my fault he’s not here. I pushed him away, told him to go on the tour.And I really wish I hadn’t. I told him the money would be useful and I didn’t mean it like that. I was just looking for a way of persuading him that it was okay to go.’
‘And now he’s there?’ she asks.
‘And now he’s there … I think he quite likes it.’ I look at Rhi. ‘I miss him. I want him to come home.’
She stares at me. I know she doesn’t have the answers.
‘Come on,’ says Rhi, eventually. ‘Let’s get this harvest in. It’s the only thing we can do. We’ll do it together. It’s what Henri would have said.’
8
‘So, we’re picking this section first.’ I gesture to the sunniest spot at this time of the morning, at the bottom of the undulating field that rolls from the farmhouse, the terracotta terrace, towards the river. I can hear it murmuring as it meanders towards town, out of sight from here, but in the distance, I can hear the bells telling us it’s time to work. The smell is amazing, filling my head and lifting my heart. ‘It’s just about to bloom. We’ll collect it into bundles and they will go into the barn to be dried. It’ll be used as food flavouring and sold in bunches at the market.’ I pick off a few heads and pass them around for the pickers to smell. There, among the rows of lavender, with the early-morning mist lifting, the sun climbing into the sky, the scents of the warming soil, the lavender, the wild rosemary along the border, and the swallows circling overhead, I feelcentred, where I belong. ‘Lavender is good for so many things, not just as part of theherbes de Provencewe use in cooking here that give the local food such a distinctive flavour. It’s also good to aid sleep, but also for headaches, burns, spots, stings and bites. It’s used in creams, lotions, bath products, and even gets rid of the smell of pets in your home.’ I manage a smile as Ralph barks, then pants, as I give my usual talk, everything I learned from Serge and the internet. I can feel the sun on my face and the joy in my heart that this place has brought to me. It feels good to be here, doing the harvest, focusing my energy on it.
Stephanie waves as she leaves the farmhouse via the terrace to head out for her restaurant deliveries. I wave back, as if this was just another harvest. Although I know it’s not. The mistral seems to have changed that.
‘You use the secateurs to cut. Cut about an inch up the stem. That way, the lavender will grow back and keep blooming.’
