Page 46 of Love In Provence
‘No matter where we’ve come from, we don’t forget the past,’ I say. ‘Or want to. It’s part of the journey.’
I have a feeling that Marco and Maria aren’t on thesame journey, and from Maria’s face, I have a feeling that she may be realizing it.
We turn to gaze across the lavender field and the valley: the sun is setting and the sky is painted with colours that reflect those in the field.
‘I tasted lavender in there tonight,’ says Fabien, and Ed beams.
‘Del suggested it. She says it was how she’d learned to cook when she arrived. With lavender.’
‘There’s so much left. We’ll be eating this for days,’ says Jen.
‘I’m not sure it’ll keep that well,’ says Maria, looking at the vegetable kebabs.
‘No,’ says Fabien, and we look at each other. We know what the other is thinking.
‘Henri’s may have been taken over, but Henri is still here, in spirit, in all of us,’ Fabien says, his eyes on the table and the food.
I nod, a tiny spark trying to reignite in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know if it’s the warm night, the clear sky, the cicadas singing louder than ever, the fact that Fabien is here, or that it feels like Henri is with us in the chair next to Rhi where he should be. Maybe I won’t tell them tonight that I have to cut short the harvest and their stay. Just one more night to enjoy the food and the company.
‘Shall we?’ Fabien raises an eyebrow, making me smile.
I stand, then Fabien, Stephanie, JB and Rhi follow. ‘Henri may not be here, but his legacy is. Grab a bowl or a dish, everyone, and come with us.’ I’m smiling as I lead the way down the drive towards the riverbank.
17
At the riverside clearing the solar festoon lighting has come on, strung from branches of the big larch tree there.
Heads turn as we arrive. There is a small group, some standing, some sitting on the blue settee, some with cans of beer. Dogs mingle with people who have either nowhere else to go or anywhere they want to be. There are some new faces. I stop, feeling overwhelmed. What if this place isn’t the same as it was when I put the sign up and left to start the harvest? What if it’s changed in that short time? Lots of things have. What if we’re not welcome here? Fabien looks at me and smiles.
‘No one ever turned down good food,’ he says, and I know Henri would have said exactly the same. I smile at him and remind myself all over again how lucky Iam to have him. I just hope he still feels the same about me.
I take a deep breath and stride towards the little whitewashed hut – frankly, it could do with a lick of paint. There’s rubbish in the doorway, sweets packets and bottles. Not something I’ve seen here before. I kick at the mess and plan to clear it up once my hands are free. I balance the dish of kebabs on the little lip to the hatch and grapple for the key to the padlock with my other hand. The door swings open and I let myself in, happy to be back in the little workspace with a warming hob and small sink. It feels good to be back. Then I open the hatch. Familiar faces are smiling at me. ‘Welcome back,’ they say in French.
‘Merci,’ I reply.
‘Henri is still here,’ one says, putting a fist to the chest.
‘He is.’ I usher those carrying pots into the shed, the makeshift kitchen where for years Henri brought the dish of the day from the bistro to offer to those who couldn’t afford a meal. Before he died, we were serving lots of people, many paying what they could for the food. Now, it seems, it’s just those in need.
Fabien explains to the pickers how this all started and how Stephanie came to rely on it as a place of safety when she was struggling as a young mum. Henri and the riverside clearing were her lifeline. Without it, who knows what would have happened to her and Tomas? It was the people here, looking out for oneanother, who helped us find her again when she went missing from Le Petit Mas, when life got too much for her. This place has a heart all of its own. Let’s just hope we haven’t left it too long to come back to it.
We serve bowls with a mixture of tonight’s dishes, the barbecued kebabs, the spicy potatoes, the fabulous chicken, with bread made by Keith. Jen quietly puts out pots of knives and forks as if she’s been a part of this all her life, and I suppose, from having worked in her Spanish bar, it comes naturally.
‘And you would come here often?’ I hear her asking Stephanie, who is helping her.
‘I knew there would be a hot meal for me and Tomas and no one would ask questions. It felt safe. Henri had a way of doing that.’
Graham and Keith look less sure of themselves, as does Maria, who stays in the kitchen with Ed.
‘No one ever turned down a hot meal, especially not one as good as this.’ I repeat Fabien’s words. Fabien is talking to the men he recognizes, telling them why he’s been away. It sounds as if he’ll be continuing the tour with the band. But this isn’t something we’ve discussed. Our eyes meet and my stomach flips.
This place holds a lot of memories for all of us. Some good, some bad.
We hand round the bowls of food and I put out the honesty box for those who can afford to contribute, but I’m pretty sure it’ll stay empty tonight. We’re justgiving people who need it a good meal. As they sit at the long table, just a few at one end and the odd one or two spread along it, it’s very different from when I left it. I’ve neglected this place, like I’ve neglected Fabien and me. And who knows if that can be brought back?
When the food has been eaten, the diners thank us, with a smile and a few words, and right now, that feels good enough for me. There may not be money for me to do this again until I can find a way of working. I kiss Stephanie and the sleepy children, who peel off to their little house in town.
‘It’s good to see you back here,’ says Samuel, whose face I recognized. ‘Merci.’
