To Provence, with Love

by T A Williams

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  The conversation lapsed once more and it was almost a relief when he glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get on. I may see you later, then.’

  ‘A tout à l’heure, Gavin.’

  ‘A tout à l’heure, Faye.’ He whistled and George the dog leapt obediently up onto the quad bike again as he started the engine. With a nod of the head towards her, Gavin set off along the track again.

  As he receded into the distance, she and Marlon watched them go. Faye was pleased she had been able to get him to open up a bit, even if it had been a struggle. It was good to have met somebody down here around her own age she could talk to from time to time. As she watched his broad shoulders disappear behind the remains of a dry stone wall, she reflected that she had enjoyed his company, and she particularly relished the fact that he, unlike most of the men she met, hadn’t tried to hit on her. Maybe she and he could just be friends. She glanced down at the dog.

  ‘And we all need friends, Marlon, don’t we?’

  ***

  When she got back to the chateau, Claudette was alone in the kitchen, working at the sink, and something in the oven smelt really good. Marlon flared his nostrils upon arrival, before heading for his water bowl while Faye took the opportunity to find out a bit more about the lavender farmer.

  ‘Hi, Claudette. I’ve just been talking to a man called Gavin. He’s the local farmer, isn’t he?’

  Claudette half-turned towards her, an expression of deep compassion on her face. ‘Poor Gavin. So very sad. Have you heard about the accident?’

  Faye nodded. ‘Yes, Obelix … Albert, your son, told me.’

  Claudette nodded soberly and returned her attention to the sink. ‘How was he? I’ve hardly seen him for months and months.’

  ‘Physically, fine.’ An image of his broad shoulders and strong arms filled Faye’s head for a moment and she repeated her assertion. ‘Yes, definitely fine. But he’s very quiet. Trying to get him to talk is like getting blood out of a stone.’

  Claudette nodded soberly. ‘Poor Gavin. He’s never really recovered from that awful accident … He was in hospital for ages.’ She fell silent for a few moments, clearly unwilling to talk about their neighbour, before taking a big breath and resuming her normal, more cheerful air. ‘In fact, this is one of his chickens I’m preparing for dinner tonight. Miss Beech likes his chickens. What about you? What are you having for dinner?’

  ‘I’m just going to make myself an omelette. I really mustn’t get into the habit of eating too much.’ Even without seeing Claudette’s face, she could sense her disapproval of such a notion and smiled. ‘I’m going to pop down to Gavin’s farm in a minute to pick up some eggs.’

  ‘I’ve got eggs here you can have, Faye. There’s no need to go out again.’

  ‘That’s all right, Claudette. I’ve told him I’m coming now.’ As she said it, Faye registered that she was looking forward to seeing him again. ‘His French is amazing. And his English of course.’

  ‘Well it would be, he grew up here. His father was English and his mother was a local girl from here. They both died a few years back and then, of course, there was the accident and Gavin came back and took over the farm. So sad.’

  ‘Came back?’

  ‘He worked for a big company in London, or so he said. From what his father told me, Gavin did an awful lot of overseas travel.’ Claudette lowered her voice. ‘Between you and me, I think he was in the secret service. You know, a spy.’

  ‘Wow. I’ve never met a spy before.’ No sooner had she said it than Faye realized how silly a remark that was. ‘Mind you, I suppose the whole point of being a spy is that nobody knows that’s what you do. Who knows? Maybe I have met spies before. And do you think he’s happy as a farmer? It can’t be as exciting, after all.’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him, won’t you?’

  ***

  Faye left Marlon snoring in the kitchen when she went down to buy the eggs. It was still hot outside as she walked the few hundred yards down the hill to the farm and the scent of lavender was particularly strong. Presumably it wouldn’t be long before they harvested it. She resolved to ask Gavin to tell her more about what was a very unusual harvest, so foreign to somebody from England. Presumably it was for the perfume industry, but that was about as much as she knew.

  When she reached the farm, she was greeted by George the dog, followed by his master. Gavin had clearly just been to the chicken run as he was holding a basket full of eggs. When he saw Faye, he managed a real smile and she found herself smiling back at him.

  ‘Hi, Gavin. Are those for me? I’m not sure I need quite that many.’

  ‘Hello, Faye. You take as many as you want. The others are going down to the Coq d’Or. Yvette the cook always buy her eggs from here.’

  ‘Could I maybe just have half a dozen?’

  ‘Of course. Just hang on and I’ll get you a bag.’ As he disappeared into the farmhouse, Faye checked the blackboard on the wall outside and prepared the right change for him. It was a big farmhouse, well maintained, painted white with, appropriately, lavender-coloured shutters at the windows. The farmyard itself was uncluttered and far cleaner than many she had seen. Clearly, Gavin knew what he was doing as a farmer, even if he had been a spy before.

  ‘Here you are. Six eggs. And I can guarantee they’re fresh.’

  ‘Thanks a lot, Gavin.’ He was smiling again and she could see that he was happier now that he was talking about practical, everyday things. She smiled back at him. ‘Somehow, I think you’ve got yourself a regular customer. Here.’ She handed over the change and took the paper bag gingerly.

  ‘Thank you. I need all the customers I can get. So, you’re staying until Christmas?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m living in the guest apartment in the old stables up at the chateau.’

  ‘I’ve heard it’s been done up beautifully. What are you going to be doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Faye hesitated. Just as she hadn’t revealed much to Obelix when she had met the giant and his equally gigantic hound, she decided she had better delay telling anybody about her true mission until she had cleared it with Miss Beech.

  ‘Do you mind awfully, Gavin, if I don’t tell you yet? I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a secret or not.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, but that sounds very mysterious – all very cloak and dagger.’ Faye was delighted to see him looking and sounding more animated and she decided to tease him a bit.

  ‘Well, you should know all about cloaks and daggers.’

  ‘I should?’ She heard the puzzled tone to his voice.

  ‘Claudette tells me you used to be a spy.’

  ‘I used to be a what?’ Seconds later she heard him erupt into a snort of real laughter. A big smile transformed his face in an instant and Faye got a glimpse of how he must have been, before the accident. ‘She’s priceless, she really is. Is that what she told you?’

  ‘Something about you claiming you worked for some big company, but really being James Bond.’

  She could hear him chuckling to himself although his eyes were once more trained on George who was now sprawled out on the ground at their feet. ‘Well, the first part’s right, but not the second. No, no licence to kill, I’m afraid. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you too much.’

  ‘Not at all. Spying sounds terribly dangerous. So, what was it you really did?’

  ‘After doing a degree in food science, I worked for a big multinational, specializing in food. I used to travel all over the place, mainly trying to encourage foreign supermarkets to start stocking British cheese.’ He was still staring down at his feet but then, with an effort, he looked up again and summoned another smile. ‘Somehow, I don’t think James Bond would have had the expertise for a job like that. Shooting somebody’s got to be dead easy compared to telling the difference between a mature Cheshire and an overripe Lancashire cheese.’

  Faye giggled, enjoying his company and feeli
ng really pleased that she had been able to shake him out of his dejection, at least temporarily. ‘And now you’re home and you’re a farmer.’

  ‘Now I’m home and I’m a farmer.’ Abruptly his tone changed, the humour dropping away. Faye instantly regretted introducing the change of topic and did her best to return the conversation to happier thoughts.

  ‘And you’ve chosen a lovely part of the world for it.’ She glanced across at him, hoping for another little smile, but the veil had fallen across his face once more and there was no mistaking the fact that the momentary lightening of his mood had passed. He looked at his watch again and made his apologies.

  ‘Anyway, I really must get on. I’ve got a cow in calf and somebody needs to be with her all the time. I’m glad to have met you, Faye.’

  She held out her free hand. ‘Me, too, Gavin. I hope to see you again soon. Good luck with your cow.’

  He shook her hand and she went out onto the road and set off back to the chateau again. As she walked slowly up the hill, Faye found herself thinking about him. It would be really good, she thought to herself, if she could help him to confront his demons and overcome the grief or whatever it was that was troubling him. The moments of humour she had witnessed had shown her that, beneath that pall of despondency, there was a fine, friendly person, desperate to get out. And, as she had told Marlon, we all need friends.

  Chapter Five

  Faye’s sessions with Miss Beech were fascinating. Gradually, as the days went by, Faye learned all about the surreal world that was Hollywood back in the Fifties and Sixties. That was the time of McCarthyism, with rabid anti-Communist views sweeping the country, and accusations being thrown around at all and sundry.

  Hollywood itself was still controlled by a handful of movie moguls, and no film, no matter how good the screenplay, made it to production without their authority. But times were changing and even these big production companies weren’t finding it easy to make a living. The advent of television was starting to hit profits and the young Anabelle Beech had found it very hard to break into the movies.

  Her first speaking part had been in a low-budget crime story, set in the Deep South. Faye had never even heard the name of the movie before, so she went down to the cinema and watched it, noting each time Miss Beech appeared. On all three occasions the actress was wearing an apron, playing the part of a waitress in a diner, and the sum total of the words spoken by her amounted to just nine. When Faye saw Miss Beech next morning and told her what she had been watching, she was in for a surprise.

  ‘Well, what did you think of my baptism into the movie industry, Faye?’

  ‘I saw and liked your appearances, all three of them.’

  ‘And did you hear my lines?’

  ‘I counted nine words altogether.’ Faye was about to read them out when Miss Beech laid her hand gently on her arm and stopped her.

  ‘If I remember right, they were: “You want more coffee?” “Sure thing.” “Same to you.” All in my best attempt at a Louisiana accent.’ Faye saw her run over the words in her head once more, before nodding. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s right.’ She gave Faye a smile. ‘Not bad after sixty years, eh?’

  ‘What a memory!’ Faye was genuinely impressed. ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s not so surprising, really. Those were my very first lines. Of course I’m going to remember them.’ The old lady was looking out through the window towards the distant hills. ‘Sort of like your first kiss – some things you never forget.’

  In spite of herself, Faye found her brain flicking back to the very brief and unsatisfactory snog she had had with Martin Connelly, when she was barely a teenager. This had taken place in the coach bringing them back from a school trip to some boring old stately home and, in its own way, had been as disappointing to a teenage girl as the old house had been. For a moment the metallic taste of his retainer returned to her lips and she reached for the remains of the cold tea in the bottom of her mug to rinse her mouth. Meanwhile, Miss Beech was still reminiscing.

  ‘Looking back on it now, it’s as if it was only yesterday. Can you imagine, Faye? I had travelled all the way from England by transatlantic liner, third class, and then across the whole of the USA on a train. All by myself. The train journey took almost as long as the boat. I’d scrimped and saved by working all hours in a café back in England to pay the fare and I arrived in LA virtually penniless. Then it was more waiting at table to keep me solvent while I did the rounds of all the casting agencies until, miraculously, I got that part.’ She turned back towards Faye, her smile broadening. ‘At least I couldn’t say I was being asked to play an unfamiliar role.’

  ‘Did you get to mix with the stars of the movie?’

  Miss Beech shook her head. ‘I never so much as exchanged a single word with any of them until my very last day. However, just before they paid me off, the director took me to one side, wrote a phone number on a scrap of paper, and gave it to me. I thought it was his, until he told me it was an agent’s. “Use my name. I’ve spoken about you.” That’s what he said.’

  ‘And what about the agent? Did you get to see him?’

  ‘Her. She was one of the very, very few women in the industry at the time. She saw me, took me under her wing, and got me two more speaking parts in close succession, one in Revolution. It was about the Russian revolution. Have you seen that movie?’

  Faye shook her head and smiled. ‘I’ve a feeling I’m going to enjoy tonight’s homework.’

  ‘It was set in Europe and a lot of it was shot over here. Of course, minor actors like me never set foot outside Hollywood. My bits were all shot in the US, but there were enough of them to get me noticed, and that’s the moment my career took off.’

  Faye quizzed her for an hour, until she could see the old lady was tiring. By the time they broke for lunch, she knew she already had more than enough material for the first few chapters. If Miss Beech’s reminiscences continued to be so rich, there looked like being no shortage of subject matter and Faye’s problems were probably going to become what to cut out, rather than what to put in.

  Faye’s days were soon fully occupied with collecting and collating Miss Beech’s reminiscences, reading, watching movies, swimming, and walking the dog. From time to time as she and Marlon were out in the fields, she bumped into Obelix and his dog and, occasionally, Gavin on his tractor, his quad bike, or on foot.

  One afternoon she was sitting up on the hillside on the big rock that was now her regular stopping-off point when she heard an engine and saw Gavin’s quad bike coming through the scrub towards her. She gave him a smile as he pulled up opposite her and turned off the engine. As usual, Marlon ran over to greet him, although there was no sign of George today. ‘Hello, Gavin. It’s good to see you again.’

  She was delighted to see him manage a smile as he reached down to scratch Marlon’s ears. ‘Hi, Faye, how’s things?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ Faye was greatly heartened to see him looking and sounding a bit more relaxed – not completely relaxed, but a definite improvement. She suddenly remembered something. ‘How’s your cow that was expecting? Did it all go well?’

  ‘Everything’s fine. Mind you, she kept me up until four o’clock in the morning before finally producing a healthy little girl calf.’

  ‘That’s good. What are you going to call her?’ Faye hesitated. ‘Or maybe you farmers don’t give names to your animals.’

  Gavin shook his head. ‘I do. If I had a big farm with hundreds of animals it’d be impossible, but we only have a handful of dairy cows for milk, butter, and cheese, so they all have names. This little girl’s going to be with us for a good few years, so she deserves a good name.’

  ‘So what’ve you called her?’

  Just for a moment, a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. ‘To be totally honest, I called her Faye. I hope you don’t mind.’ He glanced apprehensively at her. ‘I would hasten to assure you that you look nothing like our new arrival, apart maybe from the
big eyes.’

  Faye was secretly rather pleased that the first name to come to his mind had been hers, but she decided to play him along a bit anyway. ‘So the first name you think of when you see a cow is mine? I’m not sure how I should take that.’

  ‘Take it as a compliment, Faye. I love my cows.’ Before she had time to reflect on just what he meant by that, he went on. ‘If it makes you feel any better, we’ve got a fine old pig called Napoleon.’

  Faye couldn’t help laughing. ‘That sounds very Animal Farm.’ She decided to change the subject. ‘I’ve just been admiring the view as usual.’ It was indeed a magnificent view, down over the predominantly agricultural land, the fields interspersed with farms and houses, many ringed by cypress and holm oak trees, so as to give shelter from the relentless sun. The chateau was clearly visible on its little hillock as was the stable block where she now lived. It was enchanting and she couldn’t get enough of it. ‘Do you ever get bored with it?’

  His eyes followed hers and his voice had a faraway note to it as he answered. ‘Never. I love it. I think I told you I was brought up here, so it’s the place I think of as home. My mum and dad took over the farm when I was just a little nipper and I lived here right up to the point when I went off to university over in the UK.’

  ‘And did you say you studied science?’

  ‘Food science at King’s. I’m a bit of a science freak, to be honest. I suppose you could call me a nerd.’ Faye couldn’t see anything nerdy about him in the slightest. Very much the opposite. His eyes flicked back from the view to Faye’s face. ‘So, I suppose you must be finding Provence a bit different from the big city. Where were you before? London?’

  Faye was really glad to have got him talking and she did her best to keep the conversation flowing. ‘Yes, I worked as a teacher in a south London school, but I could only afford to live a long way further out. My commute to work cost a fortune and used to take me almost an hour, longer if the trains were playing up – which was nearly always. Down here it’s only about twenty steps across the courtyard. No trains, no buses, no underground. It’s amazing.’