Page 28 of Love In Provence
‘And the job?’ Graham asks.
‘Gave me a sabbatical. Said I needed time for my mental health.’
‘So …’
He shrugs. ‘I couldn’t bear it, everyone looking at me. The one who’d walked out on his wedding, the big plans. I sat inside, watching cookery programmes. I didn’t even know I liked cooking. But it seemed to get me through the day. That and Facebook. To be honest, I wasn’t in a good place. So I booked to come here. Even asked Kim if she wanted to come, just some time on our own, without wedding talk. She thought about it, but turned me down. Said it was probably right for both of us, and I just needed some time out. Work out what happens from here.’ He goes back to focusing on the pan in front of him.
I’m about to ask him what will happen when he goes back when I hear a car coming up the drive. My heart doesn’t so much skip as practically trip over itself as I turn, hoping to see Fabien’s truck, hoping they’ve finally found a replacement bass player and he’s come home.
But it isn’t Fabien. And my heart dips lower than before. I think about what Ed said, about getting off the bandwagon and letting the world slow down.Maybe this is what we need, some time apart, I tell myself. I need to focus on what has to be done here. And being apart is reminding us of what we need for ourselves. But the age gap between us seems to taunt me as much as the physical distance between us. Suddenly Fabien seems closer in age to Ed than he does to me and I feel … How do I feel?
I watch the little white car pull up. Carine slides out, effortlessly stylish, despite bringing up Clémentine on her own and running the estate agency in town. She waves and I wave back. She and Fabien were best friends when we met. At first I assumed they were a couple, growing up together and staying close. But they weren’t. Carine kept her lovers close to her chest. Still does. But Fabien wasn’t one of them.
I walk across the white stones of the driveway to meet her. She kisses me on both cheeks. ‘Where’s Clémentine?’ I say, looking into the car.
‘With her father and his wife,’ she says, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It might not have been what Carine was expecting after a long-term relationship with the mayor, but they have worked things out and all seem happy with the arrangement. What works for one couple may not be right for another. Look at me and Fabien. Again I think of Fabien at Ed’s age and everything he may have hoped for the future, the band, his lifestyle. His commitment to the family made him give up life onthe road for thebrocante, and then he threw in his lot with me. Does he regret it? I remember Monique calling to him to go out and eat. He sounded relaxed, able to enjoy some time in the sun … I shake off the thought.
‘How are you?’ Carine says to me, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.
‘Hmm.’ I tilt my head from side to side, as I’ve learned to do here when things aren’t going as well as we’d like. ‘How about you?’ I ask in return.
She lets out a long ‘Phffffffff,’ then follows it with, ‘It still doesn’t seem real. Everyone is talking about Henri in town, wanting to pay their respects. Like, they can’t believe it’s happened. It seems he’s still just away, travelling.’
She looks out at the fields of purple, undulating down the hill towards the river. In days gone by a still would have been taken to it and oil made there with water straight from it. One day, there will be another still at the farm. I wonder if this was how Henri and Rhi felt when they gave up everything to go travelling. ‘One day’ became ‘today’.
‘I know what you mean. I think it’s the same for Rhi. She’s still in shock. And Henri is still in her handbag.’
Carine sucks the end of an arm of her sunglasses. ‘I have a question to ask you – and Rhi, of course.’
‘Okay,’ I say, intrigued. ‘Come in, she’s here.’
We walk around the farmhouse and stop to take inthe beauty of the setting sun over the purple field and enjoy the warm lavender-scented air.
‘How’s the harvest going?’ she asks.
‘Good. The weather’s just right. We’re picking in the morning, and we’re on schedule to finish on time.’
She nods approval in typical Carine style.
Rhi is sitting on the terrace, freshly showered and alone. She stands to kiss Carine on both cheeks.
‘Wine?’ I ask them.
‘Oui,’ Carine says, in her strong southern accent. The word sounds more like ‘whey’. ‘Un petit verre.’ She takes a seat, sits back, crosses one leg nonchalantly over the other and swings her sunglasses from her hand.
Ed arrives on the terrace. ‘Hi – oh, sorry, am I interrupting?’
‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘I was just pouring wine. Would you like some?’ I raise the jug at him.
‘Actually I was wondering if you had any parsley I could use.’
‘Of course. Here, you pour the wine and I’ll get it. I’ve got some growing out here.’ I point to a terracotta pot on the far side of the terrace.
He takes the bottle and glasses from me and pours, handing one to Rhi and one to Carine, who looks at him with interest, I note, as I come back to the table and hand him the parsley pot. Ed is evidently nervous.
‘Keep it over there. I can get anything else we need for the outdoor kitchen. Just let me know.’
‘Are you not cooking?’ Carine attempts to raise her eyebrows, but they stay where they are. She must have had some recent treatment there.
