Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

‘I could say the same thing to you,’ I retort. I won’t let him pin this on me when he’s clearly not himself, either. We’re bringing each other down with the negative vibes in the air.

  ‘There’s little point wasting our time, Fern. This isn’t happening tonight, is it?’

  I nod in agreement. ‘My head is so full of stuff right now.’

  ‘With Christmas just two days away, it must be hard for you. Is this the first time you haven’t been together as a family to celebrate?’

  I dip my brush in the jar of water and swish it around, extracting it and mopping up the moisture vigorously with the rag. Tonight, we ought to feel jolly; the second batch of visitors left yesterday, and it was another successful week under the new regime. We’re closed until the seventh of January now, albeit there are going to be some in-house training sessions. Even Ceana opted not to go home to Scotland for the holidays.

  The snow hasn’t helped, although it isn’t too bad here, merely a light dusting over the sheltered forest plateau. Further afield, though, travel has been a real problem. Maybe one or two of the others would have made an effort to be with their extended families, but no one seemed unduly upset about it. This is where we feel comfortable right now.

  ‘Yes. Hannah is in Austria and Owen is back from his two-week stint overseas and on holiday in Newquay with a group of his army pals. Aiden is counting down the days until he heads off to Thailand. Mum and Dad are snowed in with relatives in Wales, which wasn’t a part of their plan, so even if I was at home, I’d be on my own. But it doesn’t seem real somehow.’

  Nico eases himself up off his stool and beckons me. ‘For a natural-born worrier that’s a harsh lesson to learn – that the people you love can function without you fussing over them. They might not be quite so comfortable having to sort themselves out, but they’ll cope. Come. I have something to show you.’

  I pull the baggy T-shirt over my head, careful not to get any fresh smears of paint on my pristine jumper. Smoothing down my hair, I walk across to follow Nico out through the studio door and into the hallway.

  It’s so quiet and dark, he uses his phone to light our way, tapping it whenever it begins to fade. Suddenly he diverts into the kitchen, rummaging around to find a candle and some matches.

  ‘Candlelight? There are no guests at the moment, remember?’ I muse.

  ‘We need our eyes to be accustomed to the dark. You’ll see why, in a moment. Here, we’ll take one each.’

  He slides a slim, tapered wax candle into the centre of a cup-shaped metal holder sporting a sturdy handle. I wait as he lights a second candle and then hands one to me. It’s an antique and quite heavy.

  ‘This way,’ he calls over his shoulder, before heading out the door.

  I wonder if he feels unnerved now the guests have gone and with everyone else lodging in the courtyard accommodation. It must seem strange. The château is large; the wood creaks and the pipes groan at night, as one would expect from an old building.

  Even by candlelight, the shadows seem to stay close as we continue up to the top floor. There’s a lot of history in this building and it weighs heavily upon me at times, almost as if I can feel a presence, but it’s elusive. I wonder if Nico feels that, too?

  We pass my old room and head towards the end of the corridor and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. There’s a narrow door I can’t say I really took note of before, but then I never walked along to this end of the landing. Nico swings it open and ahead of us is a steeper set of stairs rising up into the eaves of the building.

  I hesitate for a moment.

  ‘It’s fine. The treads are a little narrower, so make sure you hold on tight to the rail as we go up. It’s worth it, I promise you.’

  If I thought the landing was dark, the stairs seem to close in around us even tighter and the candlelight flickers wildly in the confined space. But when we’re at the top, it opens out again and I can see the whole attic is boarded. There are a series of interlinking rooms which are mostly empty. With a few boxes stacked in one corner of the first room and several items of furniture set back against a wall, it’s a cavernous open space with only a fine layer of dust that flies up, tickling my nose as we walk.

  Heading on through into the next room, Nico suddenly draws to a halt, gazing upwards. I join him, and we stand together, bathed in the soft glow from the candlelight.

  He places his metal holder on the floor to go off in search of something and returns with a couple of thick blankets. There is a distinct chill in the air, away from the warmth generated by the old heating system in the main part of the building. Any heat up here will dissipate quite quickly as it’s shut off and not designed for habitation.

  I watch as he throws two of the blankets on the floor and then raises his candle up towards his face to blow on it. I follow suit.

  ‘Here, pull this over you,’ he instructs as he sits on the floor, waiting for me to join him.

  We lie back staring up at the navy-blue sky framed in the large skylight. In the murky-grey darkness, it looks like a painting. As my eyes continue to adjust, the night sky is studded with a trillion stars.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Nico. A living canvas.’

  He turns his head, but I can’t really gauge his expression, just noting a little gleam as the moonlight makes his eyes sparkle, indicating that he’s smiling.

  ‘I come here whenever I can’t settle. It reminds me that there must be more to life than what we know. The universe is too vast for us to assume our little planet is it and there is no other life out there. It’s a rather arrogant assumption anyway, isn’t it?’

  I keep scanning the heavens, as with every passing moment it’s like peeling away the layers and the longer I look, the more I can see. The flatness begins to open up, revealing depth and perspective in a way I’ve never witnessed before. Almost like the light at the end of a long tunnel, focusing the eye and extending one’s view.

  ‘It’s a scary thought, though.’ One I tend to push to the back of my mind. ‘How many shooting stars have you seen?’

  ‘A couple, over the years,’ Nico confesses with a rueful smile. ‘But then I do a lot of sky watching. Enough to know that if you see one, it’s special. You’re the first person I’ve brought up here. This was my mother’s secret hideaway; we used to creep up very late at night to lie back, chat and marvel at God’s creation.’

  He expels a few deep breaths, as if he’s following one of Pierce’s relaxation exercises.

  ‘So, why are you feeling unsettled tonight?’ I ask, wondering if it’s because the château is a lonely place when Nico is here on his own. Do old memories come back to haunt him?

  ‘There’s been another email about the last painting.’

  I turn to face him, hoping it’s going to be good news. ‘That’s a positive step, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really. My agent decided to do a courteous follow-up, hoping to recommence talks. He was informed that the gentleman died shortly after our last correspondence and his family don’t wish to discuss the sale of the painting. It’s over, and that was made very clear to him.’

  I close my eyes, feeling his distress. ‘Maybe they can’t bear to part with it because it’s a prized possession. Doesn’t that mean it – and you – are safe, Nico? If they were going to sell it, to have someone eager to purchase it knocking on their door would surely mean they’d have named a price. Don’t see this as bad news; it’s just not quite the result you were hoping for.’

  He rolls on his side and I turn in to face him. We’re no more than two feet apart, close enough to make eye contact now, even in the gloom.

  ‘Things don’t always work out as we want them to, do they?’ he murmurs. ‘Did you love your husband from day one?’

  It’s a strange question to ask, but I guess he’s just curious.

  ‘Yes,’ I admit, ‘with all my heart. People are cynical about instant attraction, or at least say it won’t last when two young people fall so madly in love. But it can if you n
urture it and don’t take each other for granted.’

  Nico is studying my face. ‘But he let you go for a whole year. That’s a big risk; why take it?’

  It’s so hard to explain to someone else because most people won’t understand. You have to live our life to comprehend how we got to this place we’re at right now.

  ‘It was a bigger risk to look back in years to come and wonder “what if?” Or feel resentful about the things we didn’t get to do. Neither of us wanted that. We needed to know for sure whether we were strong enough to get through another big change in our lives that would take us in a new direction. I didn’t go into this willingly, but I’ve learnt so much about myself. I will freely admit now that, as tough as it’s been, it has been worth it. I had no idea my creative side had been stifled and was clamouring to get out.’ I can hear the optimism in my own voice as I speak.

  Nico adjusts his position, moving his arm up and sliding it beneath his head so he can see me better. I do the same. I can feel his breath on my face and as I breathe in there’s a note of citrus from his aftershave that seems to wrap itself comfortingly around me.

  ‘I suspect that because you’ve always put everyone else before yourself, Fern, there never was time for you. You’ve changed so much since that first day you arrived here. Nervous, uncertain and so obviously outside of your comfort zone. What if when you go back it no longer feels like home? Would you come back here and be a part of this going forward?’

  My heart thuds in my chest as a sadness washes over me. Sadness for Nico, and sadness for me being unable to answer his question. What if he’s right? Haven’t those exact words passed through my mind on several occasions? I keep pushing it away, because I have another life and people are expecting me to return to it. I’m not here because of divine intervention. None of this was supposed to happen and it would be so very wrong of me to take it as a sign or regard my time here as meaningful; or worse, life-changing. I’ve seen the results when people make silly mistakes and live to regret them.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I admit. ‘Too tired to think.’

  ‘I’ll walk you back across the courtyard when you’re ready. Life without you here is going to feel… lacking in some way. Different. And, rather empty, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, Fern, but for me it will be a day I will never forget, when I am forced to watch you drive away.’

  Neither of us make any attempt to get up; we both roll over onto our backs and continue gazing upwards, contemplating what lies beyond what we can see with the naked eye. When eventually our bodies begin to ache, we head downstairs in a companionable silence.

  We’re both in a sombre mood and yet, in less than twelve hours we have a special visitor coming and everyone is looking forward to it. Patricia is a very reserved and quiet lady, but she managed to get to know each and every one of us during her stay here.

  Let’s hope that after a few hours’ sleep both Nico and I feel more festive. There’s no point dwelling over things we are powerless to change and maybe it’s time to accept that fate already has a plan.

  25

  The Unexpected Christmas Present

  Margot is like a sergeant major, directing us all as we trim up the day room ready to complement her festive French buffet. The guys have been out gathering greenery and Pierce volunteered to help Bastien cut down a fir tree.

  ‘Um… it’s a little lopsided,’ I inform them, as they stand holding it upright in front of me. ‘But it will look absolutely perfect if you can turn it a little bit that way,’ I direct, pointing to my right and hoping the sparse section will be hidden in the corner once they ease it back into position. ‘Yep. You’ve nailed it, well done.’

  They both look rather pleased with themselves, their faces still red from the exertion and the sting of the bitingly cold wind.

  Ceana is already unpacking the decorations and laying them out on the sofa. Behind her, Kellie, Taylor and Dee-Dee are working from a trestle table, assembling small bunches of holly, ivy and mistletoe. Nico is at the top of a ladder busily hanging them from the large oak beams as Odile hands them up to him.

  It’s wonderful to see everyone working together, and hear their banter.

  The door to the kitchen opens and the smell of meat roasting in the oven makes my stomach grumble.

  ‘No music?’ Margot calls out as she walks across to the table to lay out a couple of platters.

  Bastien jumps up, pushing the last rock into the bucket to stabilise the tree, while Pierce gingerly holds it in place.

  ‘I’ll sort that now, Margot. Do you need a hand?’ Bastien enquires, always the kind-hearted one, first to offer help.

  ‘Please. There is much to be done.’ Today she’s dressed all in black, as usual, but she’s wearing a little blue scarf, tucked in at her neckline. That’s a sign that she intends to let down her hair and dancing will ensue.

  The clock is ticking, but as I scan around, the ambience is truly wonderful. Christmas starts here, now. Everyone has switched off from work and it feels like the festive holiday has finally begun.

  I’m so happy that Patricia is dropping in to see us, because everyone is putting in that extra little bit of effort in her honour. When she was here, I worried when she shied away from some of the group activities, but on an individual level she made time for everyone. It will also be a real pleasure to meet her husband before they head off to their holiday cottage for a relaxing Christmas. She’ll no doubt be relieved that he’s well enough to drive, and that’s a blessing.

  ‘I’m just popping into the garden to see if I can add some colour to the table centre,’ I say, leaning in to Ceana. She gives me a brilliant smile and it’s clear she’s feeling the festive vibe. ‘I won’t be long and then I’ll help you decorate the tree. There are still a few roses in bloom, nestled back against the high wall to the rear. I’m sure Nico won’t mind me rescuing them for us all to enjoy.’

  ‘Great idea,’ she muses. ‘A little pop of colour in winter is a treasure.’

  We exchange nods and suddenly it strikes me how much brighter she’s been since Pierce arrived. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? He’s also much more easy-going now, but then I’ve come to understand that he’s a man who lives by his ethos. Order in everything is his favourite mantra and until that has been achieved, he can’t relax.

  I can’t help wondering whether Ceana’s happiness is because she’s grateful to Pierce for taking a lot of the pressure away from Nico, or whether it’s personal. It would be wonderful if there’s a spark developing between the two of them. Loneliness is a terrible thing, and these two are workaholics who would both benefit from being with someone who can empathise.

  I text as I walk, just quick responses to Owen and Hannah’s one-liners. Aiden was very subdued again yesterday morning on Skype. I think as the days pass, he’s feeling torn about leaving the project. He’s grown very close to several people and one family in particular. Having helped rebuild their house after a fire, I sense he feels guilty about heading off to travel simply for the fun of it. But the community development internship in Mexico is for twenty-four weeks, and that’s driven by the Mexican Immigration Laws; the voluntary workers visa applies to those undertaking non-remunerated work and if he stays on he'll be in breach of that.

  But what I fear most is that his relationship with Joss is changing. He never mentions her, but she’s always hovering in the background. Maybe I’m being a little paranoid as they are part of a much larger group now, or maybe he feels awkward about their friendship.

  I let myself out of the back door of the château to traipse around in the garden with secateurs in hand. My stomach is churning as I think of Aiden. Nico asked what would happen if when I return it’s not the same. What if the man I married is different; so different I don’t feel I know him any more. I thrive on having people to take care of; that’s the role I’ve carved out for myself – daughter, sister, wife and homemaker. But they are all surviving without me fussing over th
em and when I go back it will be just the two of us trying to pick back up where we left off. Will Aiden and I feel like strangers for a while as we get used to being a part of a couple again, or the lovers we used to be?

  The impression I get of Joss is that she’s a free spirit, living her life to the full on a daily basis. Which is fine, because she’s free and single, from the little Aiden has said about her; she doesn’t have a husband and responsibilities at home to put first. Life is easy when you only have yourself to please.

  I wonder if Aiden finds that energising and exciting. He’s been in a committed relationship for all his adult life and I wonder if anything has changed in him since we’ve been apart.

  At last I stumble across what I’ve been looking for in the garden. Still partially hidden and tucked away in the far corner where the two high, stone walls meet is a little cluster of colour. Brushing aside the overhanging winter-flowering jasmine, I snip away gingerly until I have a little posy of deep red blooms. The smell is wonderful against the sweet jasmine and I stand for a moment, enjoying the floral notes as I suck in the cold air. It jars on my teeth, but it’s invigorating.

  Is my life about to change forever? I wonder. Does my old life even exist any more? I can’t imagine a day passing, now, without wanting to paint. Will Aiden understand how important it has become to me? And how will he settle back into our cosy little life together, after being exposed to such a wide range of new experiences? From poverty and desperation, to the wonders of the world – then back to domestic bliss. It sounds crazy when I think about it like that.

  Until our adventure is over, we won’t know for sure, but I miss him so much. I’m getting used to the separation, but it still doesn’t feel natural. It’s as if a part of me is missing and I won’t feel complete again until we’re together once more. Or am I kidding myself it’s as simple as that?

  * * *

  When a rather smart-looking, black motorhome pulls into the car park, Nico and I make our way across the courtyard to welcome our visitors. But, to our surprise, it’s Stefan who is behind the wheel. As he steps out to walk around and open the passenger door, I wave out to Patricia, who is beaming back at me.