Summer in Provence

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘Hi, deserter,’ Hannah’s voice trills down the line. My heart almost stops in my chest, so great is the joy I feel now that she’s finally reaching out to me. ‘I can’t stay mad at you for long. Besides, Mum and Liam have been on my case. Apparently, I’m being selfish.’ Her tone is apologetic.

  ‘You have a lot going on and I don’t want you worrying about Aiden or me. We’re fine, really. Sometimes it’s good to allow the people we love the freedom to discover more about themselves. Besides, you’re off doing your own thing now, so popping in for a chat most days was already a thing of a past.’

  ‘I know, but I miss you. And that’s why I feel bad for giving you a rough time, but you’re so far away, which makes it worse somehow. If you hadn’t bought that lottery ticket, I can’t help thinking that none of this would have happened. You’d still be back home with Aiden and everything would be on track. You guys are as much of an institution as Mum and Dad are.’

  I roll my eyes but say nothing. Even big sisters sometimes need to put themselves first and stop worrying about what sort of role model they are. Anyway, I wouldn’t be a very good one if I was sat at home worrying myself sick about Aiden, now would I?

  ‘I love the fact that you have your freedom now and I’m proud of you. This is a time for grabbing every opportunity that comes your way, and enjoying each and every moment. Don’t get bogged down worrying about things that might never happen. For you, or for anyone around you. Accept that life is all about constant change.’

  She gives a little laugh and I can imagine her pulling a face. ‘All right, all right, big sis. Guess I’m about to add another little worry to your list. Liam and I are engaged. Don’t go panicking; you haven’t really missed anything. We won’t celebrate properly until you and Aiden get back, but I am wearing the most gorgeous ring. He took me out to dinner to thank me for helping him do up his flat. Suddenly, a violinist appeared and Liam got down on one knee! Honestly, Fern, I nearly died of embarrassment, but I’m so happy.’

  I screw up my eyes in desperation, wanting so much to be there with her. But another part of me is crying out: Don’t rush into things, Hannah, because if you don’t experience that sense of real freedom first, it might come back to haunt you. As it has done for Aiden.

  What it is, I don’t really know. A sense of adventure lost for some, maybe. A sense of… what, for me? Decadence? Selfishness? You can’t recapture the exhilaration of being young and free when you are facing thirty and life is all about responsibility.

  ‘If that’s what you want, Hannah, then I’m happy for you both. And when we’re all back home together we can have a huge party to mark the occasion.’

  My mind is in turmoil. I did this to my parents and now my sister is doing it too – falling hopelessly in love at such a tender age and rushing headlong into it. But she sounds so happy and I can’t voice my concerns as that would make me a hypocrite. I want the best of everything for Hannah, and Liam is a wonderful young man, but it’s so soon. She’s experienced nothing really in the grand scheme of life. I didn’t understand that at her age, either – who does?

  ‘Thanks, Fern. I kinda thought you might give me a hard time as you aren’t here. I texted Owen, but he’s off doing some sort of special training thing. He replied briefly and said he’d phone me when he was back. How’s France?’

  I can’t shake the sadness I feel at the distance between us. I wonder how Mum and Dad reacted when Hannah broke the news. I know they will be concerned that she’s following in my footsteps, but we are two very different personalities. What we do have in common is that we’re both rather stubborn; it’s Owen who is more amenable and I guess being bossed around by his sisters, he learnt to be a little more laid-back.

  ‘It’s wonderful. Sunny. Friendly people and I’m feeling more relaxed than I have done in a long time.’

  ‘That’s awesome. You needed to chill out a bit.’

  I remember only too well the invincibility I felt as a teenager and truly believing those who disagreed with me weren’t living life to the full. An age thing, I remember thinking, whereas I was young and full of eternal optimism. Nothing was going to spoil my dream of the perfect life stretching out before me.

  ‘I’ve discovered that I’m an abstract artist at heart, so be warned. There will be changes when I get home as I’ll be swapping those mass-produced, chain-store pieces with the real thing.’

  ‘Wow. And I thought Aiden was being the brave one, heading off to far-flung destinations. Now I discover my sister is turning into one of those artsy folk. I hope Aiden’s prepared for all this when you get back.’

  As we say our goodbyes, I can’t help agreeing with her sentiments.

  11

  A Frisson of Excitement

  ‘That was very good. Aside from a few nerves at the start, Kellie and Taylor sounded like a real duo. Do you think Kellie sings?’

  Nico swings open the heavy oak door to the château and holds it ajar for me. As I step through, I remember my phone is switched off and I quickly turn it back on.

  ‘I’m guessing she does, but whether she’ll let down her guard enough to give it a go, who knows? She was very comfortable playing, though. It was good to see and everyone enjoyed it.’

  ‘You didn’t want to stay for the karaoke?’ Nico gives me a sideways glance.

  ‘Um, let me think about that for a second… that would be a no.’

  He laughs. ‘I don’t think you’re in the mood, anyway. You seem a little down tonight. Missing home?’

  Nico stops to push open the door to his studio and I walk on ahead, immediately taking a deep breath in. Little prickles begin to run up my spine. It isn’t just the overwhelming smell of the paint, but the reality hits that I’m going to create something that will, hopefully, end up on a wall at home.

  ‘I’m fine, really. I was wondering how easy is it to get canvases sent over to the UK?’

  ‘It’s not a problem. I ship them to the UK as well as most of Europe. I only exhibit in Spain, but I sell quite a bit from my website. There are customs forms to be dealt with, but the easiest way, if you’re going to do quite a few pieces, is to roll the canvases and transport them in tubes. Much cheaper and you can have them stretched and framed as and when you want.’

  Suddenly my phone begins to buzz.

  ‘Sorry, it’s my sister, I need to get this.’

  Nico nods and rather diplomatically heads down towards the far end of the studio.

  ‘Hannah, what’s up?’

  ‘Obviously Aiden still hasn’t managed to reach you, then. He rang me to say he’d tried calling you as there’s a problem, but I struggled to hear what he was saying. The signal was awful, so I said I’d get hold of you. Guess you haven’t been on his Facebook page, either. Who the heck is the woman in the last photo? I’ll send you a screenshot. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to call him, like now.’

  ‘Photo? Hang on, give me a moment.’

  I pull the phone away from my ear and see I have three missed calls. There are also two texts. They’re all from Aiden. Damn it, why didn’t I think to switch it back on immediately after the performance?

  Hannah sends through the screenshot and, glancing at it, I have no idea who the woman is, the only person I recognise is Aiden.

  I open the first message from Aiden.

  Trying to call you. We have to leave pretty sharpish as there’s a problem and we can’t stay here. I’ll try you again in a while.

  We?

  The second text doesn’t tell me much more.

  I’m safe and travelling with two other people. We’ve found someone willing to take us to Adelaide for a reasonable fee, but it’s a long drive from Coober Pedy. My battery is almost dead. I’ll phone you when I can, but there might not be many places to stop by the sound of it. Speak soon.

  ‘Hannah, I have no idea what’s going on, but Aiden’s text says he’s safe. I had my phone switched off as there was a musical thing going on here. And I haven’t seen
any of his posts.’

  ‘He put up four photos earlier on, about an hour before he called me. Aiden sounded panicky because he couldn’t get hold of you, Fern. There was so much noise, like a fight going on in the background.’ I can hear the fear in her voice.

  ‘Listen, whatever has happened, Aiden says he’s safe and he’s with two other people heading towards Adelaide now. Take a deep breath and calm yourself down – my phone’s back on now and I’ll keep monitoring it. I’m sorry this scared you. Aiden knows how to take care of himself and he probably panicked in case I tried to get hold of him and couldn’t get a response, that’s all. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. It was a bit of a shock with all the noise in the background and he sounded… scared. At least you’re in a safer place, I mean, what harm can you come to in a lovely little château in the French countryside?’

  I glance towards Nico, who has slipped off his cotton shirt and is pulling a T-shirt over his head. I avert my gaze, thankful that his back is towards me.

  ‘Aiden can handle himself, Hannah, and I’m sure he’ll be fine. Now go do something to take your mind off it. It might be a while until I hear from him as he said it’s a long journey and his battery was almost dead.’

  I feel bad playing this down when it’s tying my stomach in knots. But Aiden and Hannah have always been close and I know that on the few occasions I’ve fallen out with her, she always turns to him for advice.

  ‘All right. But as soon as you hear from Aiden, you will ring me, won’t you? Doesn’t matter what time it is, right? I just want to know he’s okay.’

  ‘Promise. Now stop worrying and don’t breathe a word of this to Mum and Dad. There’s no point in everyone losing sleep when it seems the crisis has already been averted.’

  As I’m about to slide the phone back into my pocket, I remember to turn up the volume to full. The next call I receive could be important.

  Glancing back at Nico, I see he’s been watching discreetly and he walks towards me.

  ‘You look like you’ve had a bit of a shock. Bad news?’

  I nod, then shake my head as I think about it and end up shrugging my shoulders.

  ‘I don’t really know. It’s Aiden, there’s been a problem. Ah, I forgot, my sister said he’d posted some photos, I’d better check.’

  As I yank the phone out again and open Facebook, Nico disappears. Aiden has posted four photos in total. The first one is clearly the mine as there’s an old, weathered sign, although I can’t quite make out the name. The next two are shots of the area which is just rough terrain. There’s nothing much to see except a moonscape of tumps, some low-level scrub and, in the background, several huge mounds of earth. The last one is of Aiden, standing in between a youngish man and a woman with dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail, the one Hannah sent me. There’s another man in the background who is carrying a pick over his shoulder. They’re all laughing and pointing at a sign that says Cook’s Kitchen. It’s no more than a shack in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Here, it looks like you need this,’ Nico says, holding out a glass half filled with red wine.

  I take it from him and he cradles his own in his hands, not sure what to say.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening. I had some missed calls and two short texts. Aiden says he’s safe but on the road, and he’s with two other people. He was at this opal mine in the middle of nowhere. I doubt I’ll hear anything further tonight. His battery was almost dead, but he told me that they’ve managed to get a lift to Adelaide. I think that’s more than a day’s drive, and I have no idea what the roads are like.’

  Taking a big gulp of wine, I quickly lower my glass, wondering if Nico should be drinking. He senses my concern.

  ‘As I said, I’m not an alcoholic, Fern. Everything in moderation,’ he adds, tipping his glass in my direction.

  I smile, half apologetically, not wanting Nico to feel I don’t trust him. ‘Well, I doubt whether Hannah or I will get much rest until we hear from him. It’s all my fault as I shouldn’t have missed his calls and now my sister is worried sick, too. It’s so frustrating not knowing what’s going on.’

  ‘I have the perfect solution.’ Those dark eyes seem somehow a little softer under the studio lighting. ‘Here, hand me your glass. Now, let’s get you all set up. If you aren’t going to be able to sleep, nothing is more relaxing than painting, I promise you.’

  Nico sounds enthused, but that little lift I had when I first entered the room has dissipated and he can see that.

  ‘I only buy linen canvas and I’ve stapled one to a board and prepared it for you with two coats of Gesso. It primes the surface ready to take the paint. Once it’s finished, I can make up the wooden framing and stretch it for you, if you prefer. Or you could simply store it rolled so it’s easier to transport.’

  Nico lifts the large board with ease, but the width is the span of both of his arms almost fully extended.

  ‘It’s enormous!’ I gasp as he lifts it onto the bottom track, which is only a couple of inches off the floor. He shows me how to secure it with a special clip either side.

  ‘I’m going to suggest you work with acrylic paint, simply because it dries much quicker.’

  He stands back, joining me to gaze at my very own blank canvas.

  ‘Where will I start? What do I paint?’ I feel almost overcome with a mixture of fear and excitement.

  ‘Well, begin by sketching out a few ideas.’ He walks over to a large cupboard with floor-to-ceiling doors and effortlessly slides one across. Lifting out a flip chart on a stand, Nico carries it across. ‘Of course, you might prefer to paint something from a photograph or try a still life. I could set you up a small table. The painting in your room is a view out over the forest from the courtyard.’

  You can do this, Fern, that little voice inside my head reassures me.

  ‘Great. It might take me a while before I can actually pick up a brush, though. I don’t want to waste a perfectly good canvas.’

  Nico throws back his head and laughs. ‘You are surrounded by stacks of canvases that will probably never go anywhere. Never destined to grace a wall but only to lean against one. And then there are those which seem to soar from the very first brushstroke. Here, grab this.’ He bends down to pick up a folded cloth draped over one of the rails. ‘If you don’t want me to see your work until it’s finished, then simply cover it with this muslin. I won’t cheat, I promise. Now, let me show you the one I cannot finish at the moment because my muse has temporarily deserted me, it seems.’

  That instantly transports me back to the other night. Nico was muttering something about that, but I can’t remember his exact words. Muse, yes, he mentioned that and – oh, he called me an angel.

  When I turn, as he gently lifts the drape of fabric away from one of the canvases, my jaw drops. I thought the partially finished street scene that he said was his home town was amazing, but this is something very different. Elegant, painted with love in every single brushstroke. But only a third of the canvas is covered. The background has already been brought to life, but there is only the outline of a face and the form of a woman, without any real detail. It stares back at us hauntingly, the emptiness as distracting as a gaping hole in the canvas.

  ‘It’s the lake here, isn’t it? But that isn’t the lady your father painted, I mean it’s not your mother and yet it’s in his style.’

  He shakes his head. ‘No, it’s not her. Although she was the one who inspired the setting for this piece. She often disappeared when my father’s moods became unbearable and I’d always find her sitting down amongst the long grass, looking out across the water. She said it was her little slice of heaven.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, Nico. But why are you having problems finishing it? It couldn’t be more perfect.’

  He stares at the canvas for a few moments in total silence.

  ‘This woman often comes to me in my dreams; the angles of her body as she sits, legs curled u
p, are in here,’ he taps the side of his head, ‘but when my brush touches the canvas, it simply doesn’t happen. I need a model. Ceana sat for me once, but we both knew it wasn’t going to be quite right. I sketched her in several poses but came away without inspiration. This is one painting where I have to take my time because it’s my homage to the breathtaking beauty of a woman, both inside and out. So, it sits, patiently waiting for my muse to appear.’

  I’m holding my breath, such is the intensity of the emotion attached to his words. And, somehow, I understand. Doesn’t every artist have a muse?

  ‘You and Ceana are very close. Have you known each other a long time?’

  He busies himself for a moment, turning away to straighten one of the canvases.

  ‘Quite a while,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘I went through a rather depressed period a number of years back and she helped me through it. It feels like a lifetime ago, now.’ He turns back to look at me. ‘Because of that we will always be friends; that often happens between counsellor and patient. Now we share a common goal, borne out of our respective experiences in life. We’d like to expand the business here to include a well-being centre. A place of healing. Ceana’s background as a practitioner of mindfulness and holistic healing gave us the initial idea. The dream is to enlist another professional to help take it forward.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea, Nico. There’s something about this place that is so welcoming and comforting that it’s easy to settle in. To take that a step further is a natural progression from what I can see. Even among the people here this week, everyone seems to have something sad in their lives they are holding on to, maybe without even realising it. I’m surprised you haven’t already ventured there.’

  Nico eases his shoulders downwards in a circular motion, stopping to run a hand across the back of his neck. His arms are powerful, and I find myself watching his every move. He’s beautiful to look at, like a painting. A man so vibrant and with such big dreams.