Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

  He shrugs. ‘Let’s hope I can keep it all together, then.’ With that, he picks up his brush, tilts his head forward and begins to dab very tentatively at the leaves. From where I’m standing, with the soft glint from the inset lights above us, they seem to shimmer as if they’re moving. I realise that I’m watching a genius at work and the inspiration comes from deep down within him. That thought makes me catch my breath.

  There’s passion in this life and then there’s passion. One is transient, sexual, shallow. The other is all-consuming and affects every single thing you say, touch, do or think. And that’s something I was never able to appreciate, or understand, before I met Nico.

  I walk away as quietly as I can, shutting the door behind me. My heart is pounding in my chest. The excited knot I can feel in my stomach is exhilarating. Nico has awoken something in me and I can only hope that it’s merely a dormant desire to create and nothing more.

  But what I’d give to sketch him while he’s painting. Inside my head, I can already imagine the brush against the canvas as the sketch is turned into something alive and vibrant. Like a living flame, I’m a hapless moth dazzled by his brightness.

  December 2018

  17

  Teamwork

  As the winter chill starts to bite, first thing in the morning and late at night, there’s a real buzz in the air. The days are still quite mild, given the temperate climate here, and the sun is keeping the daytime temperatures very ambient. The retreat has only been closed to visitors for the last four weeks as the bookings kept coming in. We all knew that Nico needed the funds, because we’ve had to draft in two local builders to help with the conversions; so, it’s been a period when everyone had to work even closer together and we’ve become more than a group of peers, we are a family.

  Every one of us has turned their hand to tasks that, quite frankly, none of us ever expected we’d have to tackle. I’ve climbed ladders to paint ceilings and also learnt how to spin wool so I can help Dee-Dee. Her textile workshops have been centre stage this autumn. I’ve also learnt how to bake bread and make chutney according to Margot’s strict guidelines.

  The screen on my laptop lights up and it’s Aiden, Skyping me. We talk every Saturday morning as that’s when he has a few hours off, but we rarely text these days. Sure, we send photos back and forth as little updates, but we’ve both been so caught up with what we’re doing.

  ‘Hi, darling. You look tired.’ The words tumble out of mouth before I can stop them. Tired, but content, I see, and that cheers me a little. He’s in south-eastern Mexico on a twenty-four-week internship at a Save the Children Centre in Playa del Carmen. Volunteers pay to enrol on the programme and are involved in the continuing education of vulnerable and special needs children. They also assist local veterinarians as it’s part of a wider community project that fits with the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals. It can be harrowing at times, he’s told me, but Aiden has thrown himself into it with great enthusiasm. At night he studies Spanish and he seems happier, more fulfilled.

  We take a moment to just look at each other and I place my fingertips on the screen. Aiden does the same.

  ‘I’ve been helping to build a new boundary wall. A labourer’s job is physically demanding. Owen would be proud of me. I feel like I’ve completed the poor man’s boot camp.’

  ‘I can identify with that a little. I feel so trim these days because I rarely get to sit still. Even when I’m painting, I tend to stand and pace back and forth. There’s always something to do here and now everyone is beginning to get in the festive mood.’ My upbeat tone evaporates as it reminds me that we are facing our first Christmas apart since we exchanged our wedding vows.

  He pulls a face. ‘I know. But your parents will be over in Wales at their holiday cottage and Owen will be sampling the delights of Newquay with his mates. Hannah is flying off with Liam and his family to ski in Austria. It was always going to be a very different celebration for us as a family this year, anyway. My parents might even have invited themselves over from Greece to keep us company.’

  He gives me a sardonic smile. Aiden’s parents took early retirement and sold up in the UK to live on the island of Corfu. They’d holidayed there at least once a year for more than twenty years and had gained a lot of friends in that time. They joined an expats club and now have a hectic social life, which is lovely, but whenever Aiden has flown over for a short visit, it certainly hasn’t been a rest.

  Joss walks behind Aiden, turning to give me a brief wave.

  ‘Hi, Joss,’ I call out.

  She never stops to chat and that bothers me. Not because it’s rude, but because… well, I guess I can’t help thinking she’s avoiding me. She’s probably trying to give Aiden some privacy as he usually calls from a communal room.

  ‘We can have our Christmas in July when we get back,’ I continue. ‘Hopefully we can get everyone together for at least a long weekend and I’m sure your parents will be eager to pay a flying visit. Mum and Dad will want to hold an engagement party for Hannah and Liam, too, so maybe we can tie that in at the same time. It’s going to be all go.’

  He chews his lip and I know how he feels. It’s hard to talk about going home when it’s still such a long time away.

  ‘You’re right, but we’ll cope somehow. How’s the painting coming along? Any new canvases?’

  I give him a mirthful look. ‘Incredibly well. I’m ordering paint and canvas every other week. The problem is that I don’t know what I’m going to do with them all. I need to sort out and discard the ones that turned out to be a painful part of the learning process. But I’m pleased with my little collection, Aiden. And I’m finding inspiration everywhere.’

  His smile comes from his eyes. ‘I’m glad you’ve managed to release your inner muse. I’ve never seen you so… well, you’re glowing. No more wrinkled brow and pinched nose. You’ve learnt to relax and not to worry all the time. I like that.’

  Muse. I wish he hadn’t said that word. Nico hasn’t mentioned it again, but it hasn’t gone away. The request continues to hang in the air between us like a half-finished sentence. Sometimes I catch Nico looking at me and I know he’s thinking of the unfinished painting languishing in the corner.

  ‘Have you decided where you’re going when your time in Mexico draws to a close in January?’

  Aiden swivels in his seat to see what’s going on behind him and waves to a small group of people gathering near the doorway to the recreation room. He spins back around, giving me a sober look.

  ‘Our permits only give us a couple of days’ leeway before we have to leave the country. It means making a decision really soon so we can get it all sorted, but the Mexico trip has been costly – the internship alone cost five grand. I’m thinking Thailand, but I have to look at the finances. This volunteering lark isn’t cheap and with flights, visas and the cost of a few excursions, it mounts up.’

  He’s still saying we all the time. I know he hates anything to do with paperwork, but can’t Joss go off and do her own thing? It’s not rocket science, and I’m sure Aiden could figure it out. It makes me feel so sad and… a bit forgotten. Aiden and I used to be the only we in his life and now another woman has taken my place. I try not to dwell on this subject, because it will serve to make me even more paranoid and needy.

  Lots of people go backpacking on their own and team up with people they meet along the way. It’s safer and that should be my main concern, I keep telling myself. Safety in numbers.

  ‘Well, don’t let the cost deter you, darling. The money we set aside is a shared pot and I certainly won’t be spending anything like fifty per cent of it. Even if I come back with a trailer load of rolled-up canvases. I want you to return to the UK feeling you packed in as much as you could.’

  The background noise is growing.

  ‘Okay. Thanks, babe. It sounds like our transport has arrived. A group of us are going to help out in one of the animal shelters today. Have you spoken to the family this week?’
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  ‘Yes. Mum sent another long email and Hannah and Owen are busy, but fine. They all send their love. I rang your mum, but it was only a quick chat as they were just heading out to a supper party. Honestly, when I get back I’m going to feel like I haven’t missed a thing.’

  Aiden leans closer to the screen, trying to blot out the escalating noise coming from behind him and having to raise his voice. ‘Well, for me it’s going to feel like a dream from which I’m just waking up, I suspect. I can’t imagine getting ready for work again and our big adventure will be a dim and distant memory from the past. But it’s helping me to put life in general into perspective and that’s a good thing for us, Fern.’

  Is he saying that just to reassure me? His direct contact with everyone is patchy and it has been noticed. I keep making excuses for him, which I hope are real. ‘He’s out of signal,’ I say, or ‘His workload is demanding and he can’t simply walk away when people are suffering and your efforts make a difference.’ Which is true.

  But Aiden sounds nostalgic today and I wonder if he’s a little homesick for our old, familiar life together. I’m hoping it’s a good sign that he’s already starting to think about picking life back up again after our adventure. I know how much I miss just being in each other’s company, aside from the physical aspect. Simply to have Aiden’s arms around me, to feel his body pressed up against mine and the softness of his kiss, is a tense longing I can’t shake.

  And I hate all the goodbyes. When we disconnect, my heart sinks for a moment. It’s always the same, whether it’s with Aiden, my parents, Owen or Hannah. I want to hang on for one more second, the old me kicking in and that awful ‘will I really see them again?’ feeling comes back to haunt me. But I’m able to look at life a little differently now too. I’ve discovered that learning about other people’s lives helps to put your own into perspective.

  It’s important to appreciate the gift of good health and understand that happiness is a state of being. Learning what lifts your spirits, rather than focusing on what you can attain, or measuring yourself by other people’s standards, is key.

  There’s a real satisfaction that comes from knowing Aiden and I have always worked together as a team – well, up until now at least. But what I hadn’t quite grasped was that there are so many people whose childhood, tragically, scars them for life. Sometimes, through no fault of their own, or the people looking after them. That’s humbling because my family are so very lucky in many ways and maybe we tend to take that for granted.

  ‘Hey, am I interrupting anything?’ Nico appears in the doorway of the day room, dressed in that tired, old, knitted jumper that looks like something not even worthy of a jumble sale.

  ‘No. Just finished a call.’

  ‘Ah, I wondered why you were in here all on your own and didn’t pile into the minibus with everyone else.’

  ‘I wasn’t being unsociable, but Saturday mornings always leave me feeling a bit sad.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve come to take you out to lunch. No arguments. It’s my treat and I’ve booked a table in my favourite restaurant on the outskirts of Figanières. Bring a coat and wear some comfortable shoes as there’s a bit of a walk involved; it could get a little windy.’

  I gasp and splutter. ‘Are… are we celebrating something?’

  He looks at me with a gleam in his eye. ‘We are. All will be revealed. Fifteen minutes?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes.’

  I pack up my things and march off to my room. A quick brush of my hair, change of jumper, squirt of perfume and a slick of lipstick and I’m done. But when I slip into the old Citroën, I notice that Nico has made an effort. He’s wearing cologne and a shirt, beneath his padded jacket.

  ‘Wow. This must be a momentous occasion,’ I remark, wishing I’d changed out of my jeans. Admittedly, they are my dressy weekend jeans, not the colourful, paint-splattered ones, or my working leggings.

  ‘It is and I will reveal all when we arrive at Chez Lucien. It’s up in the hills, on the slopes of the village. I think you’ll enjoy the scenic drive and you get a much better view of the mountains beyond, the higher we climb.’

  The Provence-Alpes region is referred to as the gateway to the Côte d’Azur. Obviously, people celebrate the beautiful sea views of the renowned French Riviera, but inland, and just beyond le Bois-Saint-Vernon, the deeply wooded mountains are truly a sight to behold. While the forest around the château was glorious when it was wearing its autumnal coat, now it’s looking sparse in places. Only the pockets of evergreen trees give a flash of colour.

  But up in the mountains, that’s reversed. The large variety of fir trees extend for acre after acre, interspersed with small swathes of deciduous oak trees that are simply swallowed up. The mass of green has a bluey tinge and even as a distant backdrop from the château, I keep finding myself striving to catch a glimpse at every opportunity.

  ‘As we climb it gives you a real feel for the terrain.’ Nico inclines his head in my direction. I find myself staring at his hands as he lovingly grips the steering wheel. To me it’s just an old Citroën, but it’s clear he loves this car.

  ‘You’ve had this car a long time?’ I ask, and that raises a little smile.

  ‘Cette vieille dame? This Citroën GS came with the property and belonged to my grandmother in the day, way back in 1978 when she had her from new.’

  ‘That accounts for the colour then,’ I reply without thinking, and his head tilts back as he begins to laugh rather softly.

  ‘After the psychedelic 60s, the colours of autumn were the symbol of the next decade, apparently. They called it burnt orange. Anyway, lots of manufacturers offer this colour now, so it’s back in vogue.’

  In vogue. I doubt that would ever worry Nico – he’s a man who loves vibrant colours, anyway.

  ‘I’m not a car enthusiast, but I’m pretty sure she counts as a classic now – if I can keep her going, of course. The local garage has replaced just about every working part on her over the years.’

  He reaches out, placing his hand on the dashboard and patting it affectionately.

  As the journey continues, I can’t help marvelling at the scenery. Nico winds down the window a little, letting in a gentle breeze and the air is filled with the smell of the fragrant pine needles and cones. The floor of the forest is carpeted with them and they’re nature’s own, very abundant air freshener.

  The road winds rather dramatically and even amongst the towering trees it’s easy to catch the odd glimpse of a number of beautiful villas set back from the road. A kilometre or two further on and we’re passing a large cultivated area: row upon row of grapevines indicating there will be a cluster of buildings somewhere close by. And then I see the sign for the vineyard.

  ‘I recognise that name. You serve this wine back at the retreat. I love their rosé.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve known the owner for quite a long time. The soil here is good and it reflects in the quality of the grapes. And, of course, Provence is famed for its wonderful olives and oil, apricots and the lavender fields. But you’re no stranger to France.’

  ‘I’ve been to Provence before, but not quite this far to the east. We did the lavender trail in July once, but that was in the Luberon. It was the first time I’d heard it referred to as blue gold. A trip to Les Agnels Distillerie de Lavande included a tour of the processing plant and fields. The depth of the colour is imprinted on my memory as if it was yesterday. It was an endless glow of deep, purply-blue extending out over a vast plain, with the smoky-grey mountains on the horizon. It was unbelievable.’

  He smiles to himself. ‘The artists’ trail, they call it. The colours and light of Provence and the Côte d’Azur inspired so many – Picasso, Matisse, Chagall, Van Gogh. It was a pilgrimage.’

  I turn to look at Nico, studying his side profile intently. It’s obvious that driving this car gives him great pleasure. Maybe it triggers old memories, I can’t tell, but he looks content, carefree even, as he continues talking.

  ‘Figani
ères itself is a small, picturesque, medieval village sitting on a hillside ridge, but it’s high enough for the surrounding views to be spectacular. Personally, I think this area has it all. Fine weather, timeless architecture and natural beauty. Who could ask for anything more?’

  The landscape is already beginning to change again as the incline levels out. We’re now passing endless orchards of evergreen olive trees and the leaves flashing past the window are like a waving stripe of soft, muted green. A ribboned scarf of colour floating in the breeze. It’s much brighter now, without the tall trees towering over us and closing in on the road.

  ‘My mother always complained the twists and bends of the snaking roads made her sick to her stomach. But really she was an impatient traveller, like a child who is only interested in how soon they will arrive at the destination. That was a great pity, because the scenery is spectacular and deserves to be savoured.’

  ‘I suppose the forest is full of boar and deer?’

  ‘Yes. Predominantly red deer, the smaller roe deer and wild boar. But a little walk will send foxes, hares and rabbits scampering for cover. Occasionally, there is an accident when one of the larger beasts is in chase and vaults across the road. The boar tend to amble along the verges grazing, as if they are waiting for the right time to cross, but a collision with either a boar or deer could be catastrophic.’

  A few kilometres further on, the view changes once more and now dense, Mediterranean shrub land with steep, rocky cliffs rises up. To our left, though, tantalising glimpses of turquoise blue sea, way in the distance, meet a cobalt-blue sky on the horizon and seem to blend into one. The magical vista comes and goes in gaps between large runs of shrubbery.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Nico reflects, a sense of pride in his tone.

  ‘That purplish red of the cliffs is vibrant – stunning, but I’m trying hard not to worry about how steep it is, or how high up we are going.’