The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1)

by Patricia Sands

  A male vocalist joined Molly for a few duets before Molly stepped down and made her way back to their table. Just before she reached them, she signaled she would be a minute and went over to the bar.

  In spite of the dim lighting, Katherine noticed Molly greeted with a light kiss on each cheek by an attractive, dark-haired man of an indeterminate age. They spoke for a moment before she returned to the table alone.

  Brimming with curiosity, Katherine asked, “Did I notice a priest’s collar under that handsome fellow’s jacket?”

  “You certainly did,” Molly answered. “That’s Father DeMarco. He’s very involved in street ministry in this area, and he often drops by. Needless to say, weekends are his busiest time around this neighborhood.”

  “He’s the priest from your church as well, isn’t he?” asked Katherine, realizing where she had seen him before.

  “Yup, that too.”

  Andrea chimed in, commenting on his rugged good looks. “What is a guy that hot doing as a priest? I’ll bet his Mass is well attended by the ladies.”

  Terrence rolled his eyes as Katherine chuckled, and Molly squirmed ever so slightly before she smiled and nodded.

  A plate of warm flatbreads accompanied by hummus, a hot pepper dip, and a bowl of olives arrived at the table while the band took a break.

  “My treat, guys,” Molly said, grinning. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

  She accepted their murmurs of thanks and appreciation as they all dug in.

  At midnight, after two more sets with sounds that just kept getting better, Molly stayed behind for one last set while the others went back to Katherine’s, where Andrea and Terrence were staying overnight.

  Lingering over breakfast the next morning, Katherine gave them a copy of her flight info and ran through her planned itinerary. She had a couple of contact phone numbers of people near the property in France who could be called for any reason.

  “You were right about the great preparation and care people put into organizing their exchanges,” she said to them.

  “Kat, we’re so excited for you!” Andrea exclaimed, tears filling her eyes, “This is going to be such an awesome experience. I just know it!”

  Terrence nodded, adding in a worried tone, “I hope you won’t regret going alone.”

  Shooting him a quick narrow-eyed look along with a shake of her head, Andrea pulled the conversation into positive territory again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Terry, Kat’s a big girl! She knows what she’s doing and she’ll be more than just fine!”

  Kat laughed and hugged Terrence, thanking him for his concern. “You know, I’ve had moments of thinking I must be crazy to go alone, but honestly I do feel excited at the prospect now. Besides, I need to do this—for me.”

  14

  The Friday morning of her departure, Katherine was up earlier than usual, filled with excitement. Mentally going through her checklist, she called the limo service for a 4:30 p.m. pickup.

  With an early-evening flight, she had factored in the unknowns of rush-hour traffic.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Andrea had agreed when they talked about it on the weekend. “There’s always a jam-up by the airport, even at the best of times.”

  Katherine was leaving the office at noon so she would have the afternoon for last-minute details. There was a meeting that morning she didn’t want to miss or she would have taken the day off. But the truth was she didn’t need to.

  Ha, I’ve had my bags packed for a week!

  Taking Katherine by surprise, Lucy made a presentation on behalf of the staff.

  The others looked pleased as Katherine unwrapped a compact video camera.

  “Oh my gosh! You shouldn’t have. I’m really . . . quite, um, embarrassed . . . but thrilled. Thank you!”

  Dr. Henderson put his arm around her shoulder. “This past year hasn’t been the easiest for you, so we hope you enjoy every minute of this trip.”

  Blinking, Katherine smiled through her tears. “I plan to put every effort into doing just that.”

  It would be another hour before her flight was to board. She had checked approximately six times.

  Not that I’m excited, especially with my new best friend in hand, she thought with a smile as she took out her e-reader. She had reread all of Peter Mayle’s books about Provence during the past two months and downloaded his Provence A to Z: A Francophile’s Essential Handbook to amuse herself on the flight.

  Katherine had purchased her first e-reader for this trip after years of denying she would enjoy using it. Much to her surprise, she discovered she liked it very much, and she had enough material downloaded to last a very long time.

  She had loved the entire experience of preparing for her adventure. She had spent the previous Sunday with Andrea and Terrence. To her delight, Andrew, Kate, and Jack were there for dinner, especially to say bon voyage. Andrew’s desire to visit his grandfather’s birthplace had only intensified since he first announced his plans. He was anxious to share his thoughts about it.

  Katherine had called him the weekend his parents told her of his decision, and she realized then he would not be dissuaded.

  He’d done an impressive amount of research already.

  “There’s an agricultural co-op just outside the town now that’s focusing on organic products, so I’m going to spend some time there as well. I’m really hoping that by meeting some local people, I might even meet someone who has a link to the past.”

  Katherine was amazed at the local information he had acquired.

  “It’s all there online, Aunt Kat,” he said, “including photos, videos. It’s so easy to find out about anything these days. You should take a look. Mom did.”

  Andrea looked at Katherine sadly and shook her head. “It’s very, very difficult to read all the information from the war years, but there are photos, Kat. When you are ready, you should look at them. I cried the entire time, but somehow in the end it helped me to actually picture where they had lived before all hell broke out.”

  Katherine nodded and said she would, asking Andrea to send her the links.

  As coffee was being served, the children presented Kat with a beautiful leather-bound journal and Montblanc pen.

  “We know it’s a German pen, but it sounds French!” they said, laughing and kissing her.

  “Keep a journal, Aunt Kat. In fact, Mom is going to show you how to create a website tonight so we can follow your adventure that way!”

  Molly had taken her out for dinner the night before she left.

  “Voilà, ma chère amie!” Molly handed Kat a small, brightly wrapped package.

  Katherine unwrapped a tiny iPod shuffle and looked at the attached piece of paper. “Fantastic! Oh, thanks, Moll! Piaf, Aznavour, Brel, Hallyday . . . oh, even Dalida!”

  There was also some North African music and then a name that brought a quizzical look to Katherine’s brow.

  “Zaz . . . ?”

  “Oh yeah! My new all-time favorite—Zaz. Kat, when you listen to her song ‘Je Veux,’ you won’t be able to stop smiling or dancing around. You’re going to love it.

  “Such a thoughtful gift! Thank you so, so much! Merci beaucoup!”

  Molly grinned back.

  Katherine continued, “Oh, and thanks too for offering to pop in on the Lalliberts while they’re at my house. I’m sure they will appreciate it. I’ve left them your phone number along with Michael and Susan’s, and also Andrea’s.”

  “That ought to cover everything,” Molly confirmed. “Sounds like you are all set.”

  “I’m ready to go. I’m excited, and I don’t think I’m ignoring any other feelings.”

  “Well, with everything that’s happened to me lately, I’m feeling scared about you by yourself in a frickin’ little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m not going to be as alone as you think. I told you that house is in a vineyard property and there are other people in the main house just five minutes away—five minutes’ walk, not dr
ive.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And the farmhouse has an alarm system. So I’m not exactly unprotected.”

  “Well, why do they have an alarm? Have they had problems? Did you ask?”

  “They were very up front about it and said everyone in their area has an alarm, as there have been problems. Where aren’t there these days? But they have never had anything happen.”

  Molly shrugged and talked some more about her concerns.

  “Okay,” said Katherine, “There’s one more thing I haven’t told you. I might be looking after their dog too. A yellow Lab.”

  This was a surprise. Kat explained that the dog was an option.

  “At first I thought I would refuse but then decided it might be nice to have the company.”

  “But you’ve never had a pet!”

  “I know. Crazy, huh? I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I just want to do all these things I’ve never done before. They said the dog is happy to sleep outside or can stay at the main house—whatever that is—if I don’t want him in the farmhouse.”

  Molly stared at Kat and shook her head. “Shut up! I can’t wait for you to get home, to hear all your stories.”

  “I’ll call you from there or Skype from the gas station! We’ll just have to organize around the six-hour time difference, which could be a problem during the week when you’re at work. Speaking of phone calls . . .” said Kat.

  “Nothing since the lovely floral delivery,” Molly said, looking a bit pale.

  “Fingers crossed that’s the end of it,” Katherine toasted, raising her wineglass.

  Recalling all this as she sat at the gate, Katherine felt slightly overwhelmed and very fortunate.

  Putting her Kindle away when she heard the boarding announcement, she stifled a smug grin, joined the lineup, and was soon settled into Air France’s business class. She had often wondered when she would get to use her travel points since James wouldn’t fly. They’d collected a ton of them, only to use them for hotels. Now she was reaping the benefit—and loving it, she thought with a smile.

  Too excited to sleep, she killed some time by watching a couple of movies before she finally closed her eyes in the comfortable fold-down-flat seats. The next thing she knew, lights were turned up and the cabin was full of activity as breakfast was served. Organizing her things, she prepared for arrival at Charles de Gaulle Airport.

  France! I’m really here in France! was all she could think in the terminal as she let the sound of French voices and accents fill her head.

  After collecting her luggage, she found the TGV easily enough thanks to the clear signage. She could board directly onto the train to Avignon from the airport without having to go into Paris.

  After checking the departure notices, it was a short walk to the platform. Validating her ticket with the time-stamp punch in one of the yellow machines, she was glad she had read about this in advance. The machines weren’t too easy to spot.

  The 8:00 a.m. TGV left on the dot, as advertised. True to its name, the ride on Le Train à Grande Vitesse was a thrill, the countryside flying by as the train exceeded three hundred kilometers per hour. In well under three hours she arrived outside Avignon. The slick TGV station was located ten kilometers outside the town, with the car rental office conveniently next to it. Rolling her luggage along, she discovered a note on the office door.

  “Fermé pour le déjeuner. Réouverture à 14h 30.”

  I’m in France! Open at two thirty after lunch, I’d forgotten about that. Now what do I do for three hours?

  Back in the station she was surprised to discover that there was nowhere to store her luggage. For a moment, she felt a desire to not be so alone and for someone else to be making a decision.

  How did I miss this information when I did my trip research?

  Seeing a small bus, she waved to the driver, who stopped for her. Using hand signals and limited vocabulary eventually solved the problem. There were storage lockers in the other Avignon TGV station right in town and this bus would shuttle her there. Who knew? Trying not to berate herself too much, Katherine slowly shrugged off feelings of inadequacy and aloneness and began to see the delay as an opportunity to explore.

  A ten-minute stroll through twisting medieval alleys brought her to Place du Palais. Katherine stood in awe at the beauty of the immense Palais des Papes, the Palace of the Popes, flanked by its four massive towers. Built in the 1300s, it was the size of four normal French cathedrals, and she could see why it was described as one of the most important Gothic structures in Europe. Breathtaking didn’t describe it.

  Fantastique!

  She wrote postcards to Andrea, Molly, and Lucy as she sat in the square opposite the imposing palace. Her phone beeped to indicate a text coming in, and Katherine was thrilled to see that Andrea had received the text she sent her from the station saying she had arrived safely. At least they could communicate that way.

  Feeling surrounded by history, she smiled with satisfaction as she treated herself to a papaline, a chocolate truffle filled with liqueur distilled from sixty locally picked herbs. Having two would be decadent, she told herself. So she did.

  The friendly navette driver had informed her there was a thirty-minute bus tour around the town, which left from the square.

  She found the history fascinating, listening to the English version on the headphones supplied. Until she read up on her history before leaving for France, she had forgotten that the seat of the Roman Catholic Church had actually moved from Rome to Avignon in the 1300s, remaining there about seventy-five years. It was surprising how much remained from that time.

  The famous bridge was a disappointment. After singing “Sur le Pont d’Avignon” for so many years as a schoolgirl, she had expected it to be much larger. Only four arches remained of a bridge that once spanned the Rhone, but it was still exciting to see, she decided.

  Drinking a café crème afterward, she recognized the first hurdle she would have to cross during her visit. No caffe mocha to be found! Everyone appeared to drink espresso or the standard French coffee, ordered as café. The waiter had been kind enough to suggest a crème might be what she wanted. With the addition of three sugar cubes, it would have to do.

  I promise myself I won’t even look for Starbucks while I’m in France. It just doesn’t seem right.

  It was three o’clock when Katherine picked up her rental car. The man in charge apologized for not speaking English, indicating his absent colleague did. Between them they managed to communicate with a mix of languages, smiles, and nods.

  She quickly became aware that while her French immersion education from so many years ago had actually left residuals, her vocabulary was another story. At least it should make for some funny stories when she got back.

  The paperwork was complicated and again Katherine wished she wasn’t the one who had to fill it out. Once she had finally completed the information, the agent helped load her bags into the trunk. Wishing her a bonne journée with a wave, he went back to the next customer as she started her car. It was a peppy blue Citroën with a manual transmission, and even had a GPS system. Her excitement growing, she entered the village name and positioned her seat.

  Sainte-Mathilde was located halfway between the villages of Gordes and Roussillon. Katherine felt as if she had already driven the route with all the time she had spent on Google Earth. She would be there in less than an hour, according to her directions. It looked like a beautiful drive, very straightforward, although there were a lot of squiggles on the map. After the earlier arrival fiasco, she hoped her research had been accurate.

  Starting the car, she pulled onto the road with a lurch as she changed gears. She was overcome for a moment with memories of her dad teaching her to drive a stick shift. He had been so patient with her.

  Once you learn to drive a manual transmission, you don’t forget. She heard his words, smiling as she sailed smoothly along after she awkwardly finished the necessary gear shifting.

 
Leaving the more urban area, Katherine encountered her first challenge: roundabouts. Ronds-points, she reminded herself. Think in French here!

  Holding her breath, she entered as confidently as possible and, as the GPS directed, made a left at the second exit. The vehicles already circling have the right of way, she had read. After a few more, Katherine felt she had them mastered.

  Oops, perhaps not, she muttered as she found herself not quite sure of her exit in a later one. Shifting gears hesitantly and going around a second time, someone swerved in front on her right, cutting off her exit, and around she went again.

  Oh brother, I’m having a Griswold moment, she sighed, remembering European Vacation, which she had watched with her nephews and niece many times.

  Gripping the wheel, she took a deep breath as she swerved quickly, counted to the third exit, and veered off onto it.

  Maybe I do need a bit more experience, she conceded, for a moment unsure whether to laugh or cry.

  The roads gradually became narrower and less busy, which allowed her to take a longer look at the pastoral countryside. As she rounded a corner, cresting a small hill, she suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road and burst into tears.

  In front of her was a postcard scene from Provence in June. An enormous field of golden sunflowers glistened with an intensity that was hard to believe, as if someone had plastered a “Visit Provence” poster smack in her face. To one side was the classic mas, with its outbuildings, the shades of the yellow-gray limestone farm structures softened by the midafternoon sun. Traditional weathered blue shutters on the south-facing windows and doors were flung open on this fine day. It was a scene Katherine had admired in so many books and movies. She couldn’t begin to count the number of images exactly like this that had filled her computer screen in the past month. And now there it was. And there she was, overwhelmed by the moment.