Page 66 of Love In Provence
‘Âllo?Am I too late?’ It’s Serge, the old lavender farmer. ‘I fell asleep and forgot the time. Have I missed the dinner?’
‘Not too late at all!’ I grin. ‘Come and join us.’
‘First people I’ve seen all week,’ he says. Samuel brings another chair and I move him to the middle of the group, then pour wine into his glass. He beams asthe group take seats around him and pass therilletteand Camembert, talking animatedly about the flavours, then asking Serge about the lavender harvest when he was young. He’s delighted to tell them about long days in the fields, cutting and drying the lavender and making oil. The lunches that would take place in the fields in the shade. Siestas afterwards and swimming in the river.
This is why we’re doing this, I think. Not for the bloggers or the journalists, but for the people who want to come to the table and feel among friends, at home.
‘Bon appétit, tout le monde,’ I say, just as I’m about to lift my glass. ‘To the chefs!’
‘Âllo?’ I hear, and my wine nearly shoots into the air, as my heart swoops and I whirl around.
‘Fabien!’ I run over to him and hug him hard. Then I pull back and gaze into his face.
He beams, pulls me back to him and kisses me.
‘I missed you!’ I say.
‘And I you!’ He tilts his head. ‘I have a favour to ask.’
‘A favour?’
‘I have the band here. We are on our way to the next festival so I told them of a place that makes amazing food. They are desperate to try it.’
‘Oh, Fabien. Thank you!’
‘You don’t mind?’ he checks.
‘Of course not! I’m delighted. Tell them to come in!’
He kisses me again. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind.’ He waves at the people by the gate. This is …’ He introduces them all. ‘And Monique.’
So, this is Monique.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she says, shaking my hand, and I feel I’m being give the once-over, sized up, as I’m doing to her.
We pull up more chairs around the table and glasses are filled. Serge couldn’t look happier, with Ralph lying at his feet waiting for food to fall.
‘Thisdaubeis amazing,’ he tells me, dipping his bread into the sauce, which dribbles down his unshaven chin. ‘Just like Henri used to make.’
Samuel grins. ‘It’s home.’ Fabien agrees wholeheartedly with him and they high-five. That makes my night.
We move on to dessert. Thetarte Tatin, simple and classic, little custard tarts that Ed made, and Maria’s chocolate mousse with the slightest hint of chilli, with fondant red chillies.
Graham puts his spoon into the custard tart, takes a mouthful and stops. ‘Oh, my God!’ He drops the spoon and claps his hand over his mouth.
Keith looks at him, worried. ‘Gray?’ he says.
Graham’s face falls, and suddenly he bursts into tears.
‘Gray!’
25
Graham’s face is in his napkin and he is weeping openly.
None of us knows what to do or say.
Finally he lifts his head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, reaching with a shaking hand for water.
