“Ah, of course it must be seen. Don’t miss Antibes!”
Arianna responded with a broad smile. “That’s my first stop, actually! How did you know?”
He grinned back. Once again, she was struck by the intensity of his eyes. She tried to pinpoint their mesmerizing color. Is it cerulean, cobalt, ultramarine, lapis? Such a blue blue . . .
“However,” Arianna continued as she became aware she was staring, “after hearing you describe Aigues-Mortes, and then listening to those of our group who visited there, I’m altering my route slightly. I’m going to leave early tomorrow and go there first.”
“Good idea!” he exclaimed. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“Then I’m going to drive to Aix-en-Provence in the afternoon and spend a couple of hours there before I go on to Antibes. What do you think? Is that too much driving for one day?”
“No, not at all. May I be so bold as to invite myself to meet you in Aigues-Mortes? It would be my pleasure to show you the secrets of that town.”
Arianna was surprised at the suggestion. She was also pleased to accept, knowing he would make her visit much more interesting than following a tourist brochure.
“That’s so kind of you,” she replied, brushing her bangs aside and suddenly feeling awkward. “I . . . I accept your offer!”
“If you tell me your phone number, we can text each other. I’ll let you know where we can meet. Come early to avoid hordes of tourists . . . say, nine a.m.? How does that sound?”
Arianna smiled her thanks, giving her head a slight nod. Her voice had briefly vanished as the realization hit her: I’ve just accepted an invitation to meet a gorgeous man by myself.
She was taken aback that she’d thought the word “gorgeous.” She felt guilty. I’m a married woman, and I can admire a man anytime. He’s going to show me this historic village, and maybe we will have lunch together. So what? We’re two acquaintances who have already spent time together. He’s a gentleman. I’m a lady. An adult. What the hell is my problem? I can do this.
She realized she had been standing there with a blank expression on her face.
“Is everything okay?” Jacques asked. “I mean . . . if I text you. Is that okay?”
“Oh yes, yes . . . sorry . . . of course.” She told him her number. “See you tomorrow. And thanks!”
She turned back to the buffet table, feeling ridiculously juvenile. Serving herself way too much salad, she was relieved when Joan came over to chat.
“Mon amie!” Arianna marveled at how Joan’s smile and eyes never ceased to light up the space around her. “Can you believe we’re all going to be saying au revoir tomorrow morning? In some ways it feels like we just got here, and yet, in others, it feels like we’ve been here a long time. It’s been awesome, hasn’t it?”
Arianna admired her ever-optimistic attitude. Instead of sounding sad about leaving tomorrow, Joan exuded glee about the time they had spent together and the friendships that had been formed.
They found a spot to sit and relived some of the moments that meant the most to them. It didn’t take long for the entire group to join the exchange.
“It seems to me your family has expanded,” Jacques teased Juliette and Maurice. “No one wants to leave!”
Maurice grinned as he looked around at everyone. “This has been a unique group.”
Everyone was excitedly talking about how the course had affected them and their work. There wasn’t one of them who felt it had not been a successful undertaking on many levels.
Individually, they each took a moment to offer their thanks to Juliette and Maurice. Gratitude abounded. Bertram outdid himself when he declared that their artists’ retreat represented “the umami of life. Ordinary days were infused with extraordinary flavor, the memory of which shall never fade. Today was an exquisite denouement to the entire experience.”
Arianna could see Juliette and Maurice were touched. Their words were grateful in return. Juliette’s eyes shone as she emotionally shared a thought with each of them individually.
Jacques bid everyone “Au revoir et bonne continuation” and invited them to visit him in the Camargue anytime. “I leave you with this quote from Horace: ‘A picture is a poem without words.’ I urge you to go forth and make beautiful poetry.”
“Keep enjoying yourselves here, and we will see you all back at the mas,” Juliette urged as she and Maurice excused themselves to walk Jacques back to his car. “We still have the rest of the day together.”
Some planned to go later that afternoon to Juliette and Maurice’s favorite wine store in town and arrange for a couple of cases of fine wine to be delivered after their departure. It would be a gesture of thanks to which all were contributing.
Cecilia had been off to one side speaking on her cell phone. She joined the group now, looking frazzled. “Gran, the travel company changed our reservation and put us on the overnight train to Paris. They’re concerned the transportation systems may strike in the morning. They are sending a car for us this evening to take us to the TGV in Avignon. It’s part of our package.”
Barbara frowned. “Oh, darn! That means we’ve got to get packed! I wasn’t prepared to say good-bye just yet. Never mind, good of them to take care of us like this.”
Arianna smiled to see that Barbara’s boundless energy had begun to return. She had given all of them such a scare.
For the remainder of the afternoon and evening, they were all going on a special tour of several photo galleries in Arles.
First, Maurice drove them by the ultramodern tower, next to the historic center, under construction and designed by the famed architect Frank Gehry. “As I mentioned, this unique complex will contain contemporary art galleries and archives. There will also be opportunities to rent studio space and artist housing. The cost is expected to be more than a hundred and ten million euros.”
“Aha!” Bertram exclaimed. “The LUMA Foundation is going to boost the fortunes of your beloved town and the arts communities long nurtured here.”
“Precisely,” Maurice agreed. “We’re excited! This will be an interdisciplinary art center, and of course, with our history of photography here, that will be a major focus—pun intended. Come back and see in a few years!”
Juliette quietly expressed her hope that the expected influx of tourists and visitors would not change the personality of the town.
Bertram explained to them, as Maurice drove to their drop-off spot, “The world-renowned Les Rencontres d’Arles is an annual summer photography festival that was founded in 1970. It’s famous for exhibiting material that’s never been seen by the public before. The exhibits are set up in displays all over town, from twelfth-century chapels to twentieth-century industrial buildings. It’s brilliant, simply brilliant!”
“Very, very cool,” Lisa murmured, giving a thumbs-up.
Marti said, “We’d really like to come back here for that some year. But today, I’m excited to see what the galleries will display.”
Their enthusiasm was palpable. As often happened when groups of people had bonded, there were talks of a reunion of sorts a year later, in July, to attend Les Rencontres and to paint.
Maurice said, “There’s not much point in us planning to tour the galleries as a group. There are so many exhibits that will distract us individually, we will be holding each other up constantly. Let’s plan to meet at our usual spot around seven p.m.”
Joan said, “Yes, we still have to pack up our wet paint carriers, and of course we want time to say good-bye to Barbara and Ceci back at the mas.”
“And aren’t we relieved that Barbara is there so we can say good-bye!” Arianna said, and everyone murmured in agreement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Before she went to bed Friday night, Arianna Skyped with Faith and described the slight change in her itinerary.
“Mom, it sounds like your art course morphed into much more. I’m googling all the places you’ve been visiting.”
As she had during an
y communication with her mother while she was in France, Faith assured Arianna all was fine on the home front. She reported that she spoke with Sophia every day and visited her father every second day, though he continued to be unaware of anything.
“Nothing has changed here. But something has definitely changed where you are. Mom, when you first arrived in France, your guilty feelings kept sneaking through your words. I’m not hearing that now.”
“Faith, when I tell you the past two weeks have been life changing, I’m not exaggerating. We’ll have a lot to talk about when I get home.”
The next morning, Juliette drove Arianna to pick up a rental car. They held each other in a long gaze after exchanging an emotional bise, and then a spontaneous hug.
“I’m repeating myself, but thank you for everything,” Arianna said, her voice filled with gratitude. “The time here was much more than I ever hoped it would be. You rekindled my love of being an artist. And—as you know—more than that, you gently encouraged me to open a door and explore parts of my heart I had locked away.”
Juliette’s eyes reflected her feelings. “De rien, ma chère Arianna. This course became a special experience for all of us. It was quite an amazing time together with a unique group of individuals.”
They stood hand in hand, smiling at each other for a moment.
Juliette continued, “Please keep in touch, and know you are welcome in our home anytime. I wish you only the best.”
As she left the streets of Arles behind, Arianna telegraphed a heartfelt au revoir to this enthralling town that had seduced her in so many ways, with the vestiges from ancient Roman times, through medieval rise and decline, to the spirit of van Gogh that lingered everywhere.
I will be back. I’m sure of that.
She was pleased the drive to Aigues-Mortes was straightforward. The morning was bright, clear, and warm: perfect conditions for a road trip. She had a great deal on her mind, and the less she had to concentrate on the road, the better.
Her thoughts turned now to the good-byes that had been said as the course at the Mas des Artistes came to a close.
It began with Barbara and Ceci’s departure the evening before. There was relief still mixed with concern after Barbara’s fall. Cecilia assured everyone that she would have Barbara see her doctor in Vancouver to follow up. They both promised to update the group.
The rest of the group left in the van with Maurice for the Marseille airport after early-morning farewells.
In both cases, everyone was dry-eyed and upbeat, filled with a warmth and with promises to stay in touch; Juliette assured them she would forward e-mail addresses. There was laughter as they all bised each other, and Juliette reminded them how she had predicted this would become something they would all adopt. There was no question the course was considered a great success, as much for the camaraderie as for the art lessons.
They all expressed certainty these friendships would endure.
Arianna and Bertram had found a quiet corner to say a heartfelt farewell and promised to Skype each other. I will miss dear Bertie in particular, Arianna thought as she waved good-bye.
Arianna was not a crier, at least not in public. She had certainly added many tears to the bathwater over the past two years. But today she felt strengthened by everything that had happened since she had stepped off the plane in Paris, and particularly since she arrived at the Mas des Artistes.
It continued to be a wonder to her that this group of strangers had bonded so strongly.
They had collectively decided that the mistral had something to do with it. Those two days of being housebound certainly had resulted in some “close encounters of the third kind,” as John had described it.
Arianna’s good-bye with Maximus had been tender. She would miss the charismatic cat that had offered her so many moments of comfort and affection.
The fortifications of the town appeared in the distance like a Disney set.
Arianna pulled to the side of the road and parked for a moment, taking it all in. The entirely walled, mid-thirteenth-century village of Aigues-Mortes was a study in contrasts. It sat before her like a mystical time-travel mirage, the walls surrounded by seven centuries of urban expansion. Instead of Crusader ships, powerboats and sailboats lined the canal that ran along the west side of the ramparts. A rail line paralleled a wall. Yet there the village remained in its ancient, simple splendor.
Is this where the arriving Crusaders gathered? she wondered as she drove into an almost-vacant parking lot. Her imagination filled with images and sounds of crowds of men on foot or on horseback from all over Europe, the air filling with foreign languages and smells. She was excited to go in.
As planned, she texted Jacques to let him know she was there.
He answered immediately, saying he would meet her at the main entrance with the two towers and arched passageway.
Today he did not look like a gardian. Wearing black jeans and a T-shirt that matched the blue of his eyes—cerulean, Arianna had decided—he waved as he saw Arianna and quickly walked toward her.
The bise followed naturally. Arianna felt very French . . . and comfortable, like meeting an old friend.
“Perfect timing,” he said. “I arrived just a few minutes ago. What would you like to do first?”
“I’m in your hands, Monsieur le guide touristique! Tour guide, did I say that correctly?”
He laughed, replying with a bow. “Magnifique. I like being in charge when it comes to introducing people to my neighborhood. Let’s walk through to the main square and have an espresso under the gaze of King Louis. I’m so glad you agreed to come early. No one is here . . . but that won’t last long.”
The charm seen from outside of the ramparts only intensified as Arianna stepped through the gates of the old town. The narrow streets, full of character, appeared to be in a perfect geometrical grid. “Like most medieval towns,” Jacques explained. “Only here, because the walls were never destroyed, the maze of meandering streets that accompanied the growth of other towns never happened.”
As they strolled, Jacques gave her the history in short sound bites. “King Louis IX was one of the most revered of French royalty. He is described as wise, fair, and a model of good government. He is also the only French king to be given sainthood. He reigned from the age of twelve in 1226 to his death in 1270.”
“Is that the same Louis who oversaw the building of that gem in Paris, the Sainte-Chapelle? I have to admit I never could keep all the kings straight.”
“One and the same, oui! He was quite a guy. The story goes that he fell deathly ill and made a promise to God that, if he recovered, he would lead an army to reconquer the Holy Land. To make good on that vow, he had to build a port from which the French Crusaders could set sail. Back in the day, this town was on the sea.”
Jacques pointed out small details as they strolled. Arianna chuckled as he was interrupted frequently by cordial greetings from shopkeepers and other people he obviously knew.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in this part of the country,” he explained with a grin. For the first time she noticed dimples deepen near the corners of his mouth.
It wasn’t long before they reached Place Saint-Louis, an open square bordered by leafy plane trees. Shaded terraces belonging to a varied selection of cafés lined three sides. Jacques led her to a corner table on one of the smaller patios and returned the jovial wave of a woman behind the bar. A waiter arrived promptly to take their order for two espressos.
In the middle of the square, a four-sided marble fountain was gracefully topped by an impressive bronze sculpture of King Louis. Arianna could see it was positioned perfectly so every visitor arriving through the main entrance gates would be aware of it. Overflowing flower baskets hung from lampposts that dotted the square. Broad benches offered opportunities to rest and absorb the beauty of the surroundings, and people were already sitting down.
“This looks like it would be a happening place once the crowds pour in,” Arianna observed as
they drank their espressos.
“When you can see through the mass of visitors,” Jacques added. “You’re lucky to get a seat by midday during the summer. It’s the best place to people-watch if you don’t mind crowds. And I do! As much as I think everyone should visit this town, I much prefer the open space of the manade—or even better, the sea.”
Arianna was surprised to hear him mention the sea. It had really never come up in conversation with him before. “Are you a fisherman or a sailor . . . or a windsurfer?” she asked, recalling seeing many windsurfers and parasailers on the previous Sunday.
“All of the above,” he replied. “Although my windsurfing ventures in recent years might be considered rather lame by the younger set. I’m happy just to cruise along with simply enough wind to keep me upright. No more riding the wild waves, I’m afraid. There are a few things in life to which we have to adjust as the years creep up on us.”
Arianna nodded. “I’ll say.”
He shared more history as they relaxed in the leafy shade. “People tend to focus on Louis and the building of the fortification and the Crusades. But there’s a rich history of the Greeks and Romans too.”
Their coffee finished, he suggested a walk around the ramparts. “Let’s do it now before it gets too warm. It will take us about an hour, but these are views you cannot find elsewhere. It’s magical, trust me.”
Just as she had felt during his presentation at the mas and again on Sunday, Arianna liked his candid enthusiasm. He bought a bottle of water for each of them, saying they would need it.
“It’s often wondered why Louis chose the mudflats of these mosquito-infested marshlands for his port. But in those days, the sea came very close to the fortifications.”
“Hard to believe today!” Arianna exclaimed.
“Louis traded some other lands with the local Benedictine monks who owned this area. He rebuilt the village and created a road to it through the delta and added some canals.”
Drawing Lessons Page 26
