Page 65 of Love In Provence
‘Del, are you coming to join us?’ she says, with only a hint of surprise in her eyes.
‘Non!’ I say crossly. ‘I have a supper club to run … an empty one! What are you doing eating here?’
‘I was invited,’ she says, and nods at the mayor.
‘It is hard not to support all the businesses in the town,’ he says.
‘B-but he closed down Henri’s,’ I splutter.
‘I know, I know,’ the mayor says. ‘But I must be seen to be supportive of all ventures,’ he says, sipping his peach bellini with a twist, whatever the twist might be.
‘It’s just one meal,’ says Carine, trying to calm me. ‘Del, he is Henri’s son. I think he would want us to be here for him.’
Hurt, eyes stinging, I turn away.
‘Ah, Del. Come to experience the real taste of France?’
I turn back to see Zacharie standing in the doorway, smiling, looking far more attractive than he should for someone who is quite so infuriating.
‘I have not,’ I say, with just a tiny shake in my voice.
‘What are you serving tonight? Fish and chips or shepherd’s pie?’ he scoffs.
‘At least I don’t have to resort to bribing customers to come in with cheap menus. The people at my table are there because that’s where they feel at home,’ I say. Just as this place was for me.
I walk away, feeling his eyes on me.
‘Del! Come back! Try the bellinis,’ calls Carine. But I keep walking, feeling let down, hurt and betrayed. Henri was their friend too.
Back at thebrocante, I wipe away the tears of frustration on the apron I left there.
‘They’re not coming. No one’s coming,’ I tell the group, with a hiccup, and start to blow out the candles and scoop up the cutlery.
‘No one?’ asks Jen. ‘But I thought they all said they’d be back next week!’
‘Zacharie’s event is heaving. He has the local press, and bloggers, celebrating the street and the local businesses on it. I think most of them are eating there for free tonight.’
‘So they’re eating for free and getting publicity.’
I take a moment. ‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘We may as well pack up and go back to the farmhouse. It looks like our supper club isn’t quite the success we thought it would be,’ I say. They are all as down-hearted and dejected as I feel.
‘Wait! We’re part of this supper club, aren’t we? This is why we started it. Somewhere we all felt at home, sitting round the table,’ says Ed.
‘Yes!’
‘Then what we should do is sit and eat,’ says Ed, firmly.
‘Ed’s right. We should remember why we started this in the first place,’ says Maria.
‘I agree,’ says Jen.
‘And we do! I haven’t felt so much at home since our boy left. It’s like a hole in my heart has been filled,’ says Keith.
So, we relight the candles and lay the tables with the mismatched cutlery, the polished glasses, and start to serve dinner, the baked Camembert and duckrillettewith bread and cornichons. Graham pours the wine.
