by T A Williams
He gave no response, but she had the distinct feeling he agreed with her. Or, at least, he would do when she gave him the last bit of pastry.
Chapter Seven
Outside the window next morning, the overnight rain had almost stopped, but the sky was still overcast. The Mistral had picked up and Faye could see the top branches of the trees waving about. However, here in Miss Beech’s study all was calm and an aroma of good coffee was in the air.
As Miss Beech talked into the telephone, Faye rubbed the Labrador’s tummy with her foot and he grunted and stretched luxuriously. Faye also stretched, and managed to suppress a contented grunt of her own. She was feeling wonderfully relaxed after yet another really good night’s sleep, but her relaxed state was soon interrupted.
The sound of the bell announced the arrival of somebody at the gates and the dog raised his head, a low growl escaping his lips. Seconds later, as they heard the postman’s little yellow van coming up the drive, Marlon leapt to his feet, emitting a cavernous bark that frightened the life out of Faye, before charging out into the hall, where the single woof turned into a volley of barking that only stopped when the van drove off again.
Faye shot a glance over towards Miss Beech and saw her looking unperturbed. Apparently unaware of the noise, she finished the call and set the phone down. As she did so, the dog trotted back in and, job done, slumped down at their feet once more. Faye pointed an admonitory finger at him and mouthed the words ‘Noisy blighter.’ The dog looked completely unrepentant.
‘So, where have we got to?’ Miss Beech gave a sweeping wave of the hand towards the pile of papers on her desk.
Faye shook her head to clear her ears of the residual ringing from the dog’s outburst. ‘I’ve written up what you told me you were doing in 1956 and it’s looking quite good. I could show it to you now, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll hang on until I’ve done at least a couple of chapters. That way, you’ll get a better feel for how the whole thing’s developing.’
‘Of course – that sounds like a very good idea. So, would you like to talk about 1957 and beyond now?’
‘Yes, please.’ Faye glanced down at her notebook. ‘So, by 1957, were you getting famous?’
‘I wouldn’t say famous, but better known, yes. My agent was getting me bigger and bigger parts and I was keen, very keen, to do well, so throughout the second half of the Fifties and most of the Sixties I barely had a handful of weeks off. Free time was in short supply.’
‘And what sort of effect did that have on your private life?’ Faye waited anxiously to see how Miss Beech would react to a personal question.
‘Catastrophic, to be honest, Faye. My first marriage barely lasted three years and now, looking back, I can see that the main reason it all broke down was that we hardly ever saw each other. My first husband was also an actor so, between us, we were working all hours on different movies and more often than not, one or both of us would be out of state or even overseas. Not a recipe for a happy marriage.’
Faye didn’t push Miss Beech to reveal more, but she was pleased to have been able to steer her gently towards more personal reflections. By lunchtime, she had filled numerous pages with notes and couldn’t wait to get back to her computer. As she passed through the kitchen, heading for the back door, she bumped into Obelix, who looked up as he saw Faye come in.
‘Hello, Faye. I’ve got a favour to ask of you.’
‘Of course, Obelix, what sort of favour?’
‘You’re a teacher, right?’
Faye nodded.
‘We were wondering if you might be able to help us out.’
‘We …?’
‘The Cave Cooperative, the local wine producers’ association. You see, more and more local farmers are trying to sell their wine direct to the public. You know, putting up signs and trying to get tourists and passers-by to come to their farms, taste the wine and, hopefully, buy it from them.’
Faye nodded. She was familiar with these winemaking cooperatives. Most French wine, in all but the biggest vineyards, was made in this sort of very local, communal way. ‘And where do I come in?’
‘Well, you see, lots of the tourists don’t speak French, or at least not good French, not like you do. But most everybody who comes through here speaks some English. We were wondering if you might be able to run a course for local wine producers, teaching them how to talk to potential customers in English. Would you be interested, maybe? They would be happy to pay you, of course. And, if you really were thinking about staying on down here, maybe you could expand the operation in the new year …’
Faye gave it some thought. When all was said and done, she had been a teacher for six years and she knew she had it in her blood. Although she would be the first to admit that she wasn’t missing her most recent teaching job at all, she had enjoyed teaching in the early years and she knew she was good at it. Although she was fully occupied with Miss Beech’s biography, teaching a class would be an outside interest that would also have the added benefit of introducing her to a bunch of new people and getting her into the community. And, like Obelix was suggesting, if she were to decide to stay on after the book was finished, this might develop into a valuable source of income. She nodded slowly.
‘I think I might enjoy that, Obelix. Of course, it’ll depend on how many people come forward and what level they are. What do you think they’re talking about in terms of hours per week? My first responsibility is to Miss Beech, so I could only do evenings or weekends.’
‘We thought maybe a couple of evenings a week.’ Obelix was looking buoyed by her answer. ‘There’s a good seminar room at the town hall you could use. How about I set up a meeting between you and the committee?’
‘All right, Obelix, do that. We can sit down and talk the thing through.’
***
Outside it was still drizzling slightly, although a few blue patches were starting to develop in the sky, as the strong wind whipped the clouds out of the way. Faye went up to her flat, poured herself a glass of water, and took an apple out of the bowl before resuming work on the book. Once again, she lost herself in her writing and this time it was almost six o’clock before she surfaced.
Blinking, she stood up, stretched, and walked over to the kitchen area and put the kettle on. While it heated up, she went across to the window and looked out. To her relief, the rain had stopped and the sky was predominantly blue once more. She made herself a mug of tea and debated what to do. She was still trying to decide whether to go for a swim, or for a walk with the dog, when she heard a tap on the door below and turned to call down the stairs.
‘Come in. It isn’t locked.’
‘Hello, Faye.’ It was Claudette. ‘I brought you some biscuits.’ The smell wafting up the stairs was unmistakable. ‘And Miss Beech wondered if you’ve nothing better to do if you’d like to join her for dinner tonight.’
‘Oh, Claudette, that’s ever so kind. I think I’m becoming addicted to your biscuits. I’d better be careful how many I eat.’
‘Look at you. You’re slimmer now than when you arrived. Of course you won’t get fat. You need to eat, you know. Tell me …’ she gave Faye an accusing look ‘… what did you have for lunch today?’
‘Erm, to be honest, just an apple.’
‘See what I mean. Now, what shall I tell Miss Beech about tonight? Are you free?’
‘Yes of course. I’d love to have dinner with her. Seven-thirty?’ Claudette nodded. ‘Well, I’ll just drink my tea now and eat some of your delicious biscuits, and then I’ll take Marlon out for a quick walk if he’s interested.’
‘I think we both know the answer to that one.’
***
This time Faye tried a new route that Obelix had explained to her the previous day. This took her down the hill towards the village but then, just before the farm, a rough path led her off into the lavender fields. This proved to be an amazing experience, although the ground was sodden and she had to pick her way through the puddles.
>
The perfume was overwhelming and she could smell the flowers long before she rounded the corner and saw them. The view itself was spectacular: line upon line of meticulously trimmed purple lavender plants stretching away into the distance, giving the appearance of a patch of colourful corduroy spread across the contours of the landscape.
Although the sun was by now low in the sky, the air was humming with bees and, after the rain, it was clear enough to see right up to the high mountains in the far distance. The sky itself was a bright blue, wiped clean by the rain and the wind, and the combination of strong colours had her reaching for her phone to take some photos.
As she was kneeling down, trying to get a rather arty shot along the rows, she heard a movement behind her. Remembering the snake from the other day, she whirled round, close to panic, lost her footing in the slippery mud, and ended up on her bottom. She looked up to find Marlon and his brother George, both smiling, or so it appeared. Behind them, Gavin was also smiling and it suited him.
‘It’s all right, Faye. It’s only me. Sorry if I startled you.’ Gavin came over to stand above her while George was sniffing Marlon in a brotherly sort of way. ‘Can I give you a hand?’ He extended both his hands and she caught hold of them, feeling his strength as he lifted her to her feet.
As her bottom was pulled free of the clingy mud, there was a most unwelcome farting sound, and she thought she was going to die of embarrassment. Feeling her cheeks burning, she looked up into Gavin’s eyes and saw him struggling manfully, but unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face. After a momentary internal debate as to whether to explain or ignore what had happened, she took the plunge.
‘Just for the record, that was the mud.’
‘But of course.’ In spite of her discomfort, she was greatly cheered to see a real grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. He released his grip on her and she slid her phone into her pocket before running her hands round the back of her shorts to check the extent of the disaster. Unsurprisingly, they came away brown and sticky. She wiped them against her thighs to clean them as best she could and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry about that, Gavin. It’s just that I saw a snake yesterday and I was afraid it might be another one. I’m scared stiff of the things.’
‘A snake?’ He sounded surprised. ‘Yellowy-grey colour?’ She nodded. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s a grass snake – we call them couleuvres – they’re harmless, unless you’re a mouse or a frog.’
‘That’s what my dad told me, but I just hate the things.’
‘Was it a big one? We’ve got one that lives over by the chicken run that’s getting on for two metres long.’
The thought of a snake, harmless or not, that was longer than she was tall, was totally terrifying, and it must have shown on her face. Gavin was quick to provide reassurance. ‘You were really lucky to see one. They’re getting more and more rare since the hunters are no longer allowed to shoot the birds of prey. The buzzards, and occasional eagles, round here like nothing better than a snake for breakfast. You don’t need to worry. You’ll probably never see another one.’
‘Well there’s one thing you can be sure of, Gavin: I won’t be visiting your chicken run.’ Faye shuddered at the thought.
‘Do you want me to take a photo of you in the middle of the lavender?’ He stopped and corrected himself. ‘On second thoughts, just at the edge of the field might be better. We don’t want you falling over again. Here, let me have the phone.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Just keep facing front and nobody will be any the wiser.’ He took it from her and proceeded to take a series of photos, some with her accompanied by Marlon, some flanked by both dogs.
‘When does the lavender get harvested?’ She took her camera back from him. ‘It must be back-breaking work.’
‘Not nowadays. It’s all mechanical now. And the answer’s very soon.’ He glanced up at the sky for a few moments. ‘I would think less than two weeks’ time, weather permitting. You should come along when it happens. The scent is something else.’ He was looking visibly more relaxed each time she met him and Faye nodded to herself, well pleased. She wasn’t sure whether she might even have been partly responsible for getting him to come out of his shell, but, if she was, she was very happy for him. And Dominique.
‘That sounds delightful.’ And it did. ‘I suppose the bees will be a bit unhappy when you take all their flowers away.’
‘They’ll be fine. Don’t forget, all the gardens round here are full of flowers at this time of year and you’ve seen all the wild flowers there are all over the place. There’s more than enough for them all. Besides, I’ve got a field of roses over there, right beside their hives.’
‘I didn’t know people farmed roses as well.’
‘Very much so, but not as cut flowers for florists’ shops. The rose petals go to the same perfume company as the lavender. There’s not much to see now, though. The roses we grow were already harvested in early June, but, even so, my bees have no shortage of pollen at the moment.’
‘Your bees? You have your own beehives?’
‘Definitely. Bees are the best friends of the lavender or rose farmer and the honey they make is amazing. I tell you what, why don’t you come back to the farm with me now and I’ll give you a jar of lavender honey? You can’t come to Provence without tasting it.’
Together, accompanied by the two dogs, they walked down the side of the field towards the farm, Faye praying that they wouldn’t meet anybody en route. She had few illusions as to the spectacle her soggy brown backside would offer to curious passers-by. Luckily, they met nobody. As they walked, Gavin told her how he harvested the rose petals for the perfume makers. Faye was very impressed.
‘My memory of farms back in England is of an overwhelming stink of manure. How fabulous to have a farm that smells good.’
‘Not all of it’s good, like old Napoleon the pig for instance, but yes, at certain times of year, the place does indeed smell pretty amazing.’
‘I bet you’re glad you’re a farmer in a place like this.’ No sooner had the words come out than Faye could have kicked herself. His expression changed in an instant and the happiness dropped from his face, replaced by that familiar bleak look. However, only a matter of seconds later, she saw him attempt to muster a weak smile.
‘I didn’t really have any choice in the matter.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you all about it some time … Anyway, we’re here.’ They had entered the courtyard in front of the fine long Provençal farmhouse. She followed him over to a door in the far wall.
‘Do you want to come in and clean yourself off?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll only make a mess. I’ll be fine. I’ll just wash my hands at that tap over there; don’t worry.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. Hang on a moment and I’ll find you a towel. And the honey’s just in here by the front door.’ He slipped inside, leaving Faye outside in the courtyard with the two dogs, wondering if Dominique was going to come out to speak to her. She went over to the tap on the outside wall, bent down, and set about washing her hands. As she was doing so, she felt an uncomfortable cold, damp, sensation as the mud oozed all the way through her shorts to her skin. Seconds later, the cold, damp sensation increased as she felt something touch her bottom. She shot to her feet and whirled round to see both dogs wagging their tails enthusiastically, their noses now a muddy brown colour.
Mercifully, Gavin was still in the house and there was time for her blushes to subside before he returned, holding a towel and a jar of golden honey with a purple label. ‘Spread it on your baguette in the morning or take a spoonful to calm a sore throat. I’m convinced it’s got medicinal properties, you know.’
‘That’s wonderful, thanks.’ Faye dried her hands and gave him back the towel, then glanced across to where the two dogs were drinking from the same big bowl of water. ‘Marlon knows he’s back to his old home, I see.’ She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost seven. ‘I must dash, I’m afraid. See you, Gavin, and th
anks again.’ And she squelched her way back up the hill.
***
Dinner that evening was another triumph for Claudette. It wasn’t a big, heavy meal. In fact it was light, delicate, and exquisite in its simplicity. It started with the very best cheese soufflé Faye had ever tasted, fresh from the oven, billowing upwards from the little ramekin in which it was served like a chef’s hat. Eddie produced a bottle of a stunning Burgundy to go with it and Faye, who now realized how hungry she was, had to struggle to stop herself from wolfing the food down in a matter of seconds. Every mouthful of the soufflé was just perfect and when she finally set down her fork, she was still in awe.
‘Claudette’s amazing.’ She looked across the table to where Miss Beech was still eating. ‘I’ve never eaten anything so wonderful in my whole life.’
‘It’s the cauliflower. That’s her secret ingredient. That and using the right cheese, of course. And you’re right; she’s an absolute treasure. Of course, her family’s been working here at the chateau for generations, and I’m sure some of her recipes have been passed down from one to another.’ She smiled across the table. ‘Just think, maybe people were eating this exact same dish hundreds of years ago.’
Maybe it was the food making her nostalgic or maybe this morning’s reminiscing had stirred Miss Beech’s memory because, to Faye’s delight, she started, pretty much for the first time, to talk about her childhood. Faye listened, spellbound, wishing she had brought a notebook, and trying hard to remember everything she was being told.
‘My mother was a good cook, but not in Claudette’s league. Mind you, we were as poor as church mice, so she couldn’t afford anything expensive; but in her way, she did very well all the same.’
‘And that was in Plymouth, I think you said?’
‘That’s right. My father was in the navy and he was based in Devonport before the war.’ Miss Beech reached for her wine glass and took a sip. ‘He was killed in 1942.’
