Looking out across the calm sea, as Saint-Tropez faded into the horizon, she had an epiphany of sorts about what really mattered in her life at this point: freedom to be herself, do as she pleased, and be content with her choices. Because of the controlled, seemingly safe world in which she had lived until the past year, she had always maintained a certain skepticism about the unfamiliar.
I can’t continue to blame James for that. I obviously bought into his way of doing things, for whatever reason.
In the space of mere months, she had thrown herself headfirst into the unfamiliar and discovered it to be a wonderful place.
Carrying her bag, Nick walked Katherine back to her place. He was still steaming and indicated he was going to contact his lawyer and get the harassment cleared up.
“I can’t have this situation hanging over my head indefinitely. It’s annoying, embarrassing, and could possibly get quite complicated for no good reason. I’ve got to see my lawyer and get to the bottom of it.”
Katherine nodded.
Taking her face in his hands, Nick kissed her gently. “What happened between us last night was beautiful—in its own crazy way. I’m sorry I fell asleep. Christ, am I sorry about that!”
Katherine started to speak, but he put his fingers to her lips.
“Shhh, let me finish. I’m sorry our trip had to end as it did, and I hope I can make it up to you. I’ll call you this evening and we can make some plans.”
“Nick, I’m hungover and need to go to bed this minute. Come for breakfast tomorrow, or brunch, lunch, whatever. Okay?”
He called early the next morning, saying he had some unexpected business he needed to address immediately and was flying to London that afternoon for a few days.
“I’m so sorry, Kat. Man! I seem to be doing a lot of apologizing all of a sudden! I’ll call you from London, and I’ll miss you.”
Katherine wasn’t so sure she would miss him. She felt a pang of guilt over her loss of control that weekend. On the other hand, she was feeling more alive and in tune with her body than she had in years.
50
Kat was on Skype with Molly late Thursday night, dinnertime in Toronto. They had already discussed the Saint-Trop weekend in detail a few days earlier.
“I’m glad you finally broke through and had a fling, Katski. Don’t worry about how it all went down. Obviously the police realized you were an innocent bystander.”
Katherine admitted wrestling with some guilty feelings. “I just keep reminding myself I’m not sixteen years old and to get over it, and basically I am over it. And you’re right—it did feel good! But that business with the gendarmes did cast a definite pall over everything else.”
She remarked that she had a good time hanging out mainly in women’s company this week without anything that looked or felt like a date on her calendar.
“Of course, I’ve spent time with Philippe cycling and at the market, but that’s just kind of been our normal stuff. We haven’t gone to dinner or anything this week. I think he’s holding back a bit because we’ll be going to Joy’s for the weekend. He’s really careful about not appearing overbearing, and I like that.”
“Yeah,” Molly agreed. “Nothing is going to happen there anyway from all you have said.”
“For sure,” Katherine agreed. “There’s no pressure.”
“Who would ever have guessed there was so much that was actually really frickin’ interesting to learn about cheese?” Molly asked. “That just cracks me up!”
Nick had been in London all week, and Kat had not found his absence an issue. In fact, she liked having her life entirely back to just her choices again.
She had kept the week low-key. On Monday evening she had her weekly bridge lesson with seven women whose company she was beginning to enjoy very much, as well as a dour, strict teacher.
Tuesday morning brought a lesson on Roquefort and intriguing details of the centuries-old caves in which it ripens. Philippe knew of Kat’s weekend trip on Nick’s boat and asked, in a reserved voice, if she had enjoyed visiting Saint-Trop. Katherine hoped he didn’t notice her face reddening. “It’s a beautiful setting and town, but not my kind of place,” she replied before quickly returning the chat to cheese. She wondered if she imagined a more relaxed tone in his voice after her unenthusiastic comment about the weekend.
Cycling that evening was followed by a cold beer with the group, including Philippe, who walked her home. As they parted, they confirmed the details about the departure for Joy’s on Friday.
Wednesday was her international women’s hiking and French conversation group. During the half-hour train ride along the coast, Katherine thought how her life was feeling full. Living on your own doesn’t mean you have to be lonely, she mused almost with surprise.
For the past two weeks, she had been taking an afternoon cooking course in town on Thursdays. There were two more to go, and she was feeling inspired to cook again, but now a Mediterranean-style cuisine.
Ever since Molly’s departure, practically every day began with an early-morning yoga session, no later than seven, followed by her walk around the village. Her camera was stashed in her panier, along with her dictionary. The number of shots she took had certainly lessened, but inevitably something new would catch her eye: angles, light, shadows, fine details that only the passage of hundreds of years could create.
The thrill Kat experienced from these quiet walks, with the village just beginning to come to life, never diminished. In the almost empty maze of narrow cobbled streets, the centuries seemed to unravel.
Even though this historic old village is a popular tourist destination now, if you free your mind and stop to listen, you can still hear echoes of its long and storied past.
After making her market purchases, she would stop in at a nearby tabac and pick up the morning edition of Nice-Matin. With her trusty dictionary close at hand, reading the newspaper from cover to cover was her daily French lesson, along with language podcasts on her iPod.
The boulangerie lineup, tastings in the wine shop, the curmudgeonly waiter at her favorite café, chats with the delightful owner of the English bookstore—all were feeling so right; like it was the way her life was supposed to be. She felt surprisingly connected to the rhythm of the routine she was establishing. I’m doing things for me—no one else.
Driving up to Sainte-Mathilde Friday evening, Katherine and Philippe had almost reached Joy’s house when she felt her cell vibrate yet again. Purposely silencing the ring before she got into the car, she checked and saw it was Nick calling and chose to ignore it.
“I was not making jokes when I told you they will put you to work! The grapes are hanging in heavy clusters, and le ban de vendanges has officially been declared. We’ll be clipping the stems from dawn to dusk with a big fête in between!”
“Joy advised me to bring old, sturdy shoes,” said Katherine, “and she warned me it was hard work—and good fun. Tell me more about the traditions.”
“La vendange goes back to the Middle Ages, when the local seigneur would declare conditions were right for the harvest and le ban, the proclamation, would be posted in the village or town square. I assure you in these past weeks there has been much tasting, testing, and checking. La météo—forecast of weather—has been closely watched and now, while the sun is shining, the time is right.”
Talking about the harvest led them to talk about the importance of traditions in communities and cultures and how such customs were disappearing in today’s world. Philippe expressed his pleasure at having these established rituals passed on from generation to generation.
“It’s the recognition and celebration of traditions that help each generation remember where they came from. They help ground us even as we are making our own way in life. I believe they really matter, but I know many people don’t.”
“I feel the same way,” Katherine said. She described the Hungarian celebrations her parents taught her and what a meaningful place they held in her heart. “In North A
merica, apart from our aboriginal people, the traditions all come from other places in the world. What appeals to me in Europe is how each country’s traditions have been established for centuries and continue to be passed down.”
The conversation became increasingly personal as each expressed how good it was to create your own family rituals. Philippe spoke haltingly about his family life before his wife became ill. Katherine spoke of her childhood rituals with her parents and was reminded there were few such memories from her marriage.
Their exchanges lightened, and soon Kat was in stitches as he described other aspects of life in France from a native’s perspective. Philippe had an eye for small details of human behavior and a way of interpreting them in an entertaining fashion.
Before they knew it, Pico was prancing around by the car door, waiting to greet them.
Henri and Sylvie were manning the front terrace. “Bienvenue! We are the official outdoor greeters, along with Picasso,” they said with a smile as Antoine appeared with a tray of filled wineglasses, “and we are particularly thrilled to welcome the two of you!”
The atmosphere in the manoir was friendly and festive. The grand entrance hall was filled with people, wineglasses in hand.
“At la vendange, no one would consider to drink anything else,” Philippe whispered to Kat.
Saying he would bring their bags in later, he was immediately swallowed into the crowd of old friends and family, while Mirella warmly took charge of Katherine.
“We are so thrilled you are here, ma chère! Of course you know several people here now, and let me introduce you to the others. Sadly you have missed my husband again! He has made a promise we will come south specifically so he can meet you the next time he is home!”
Again, Katherine felt welcome and comfortable as she was drawn into the lively chatter in the room.
Joy was bustling around making certain everything was going as planned, and after a quick happy embrace with Kat, assured her they would have time for a good visit later that evening. “I’m so interested to hear how you find life on the coast and in Antibes in particular.”
Kat’s smile revealed her delight when François appeared at her side, his balance assisted only by an ornately carved walking stick. He was feeling much improved since he had arrived back in the village, he told her. They found two chairs and sat chatting at length before he said he must call it a night.
“I only came to see you. I’ve decided I’m too much of an old man for such grand parties, and I’m very comfortable with that. Promise me you will come to visit again so I might show you my humble abode that is bringing me so much peace.”
“I promise,” Katherine vowed, appreciating even more the company of this wise man.
Finally having a moment when she could politely do so, Kat went upstairs to the ladies’ room. On her way back down the grand staircase leading into the party area, she happened to catch sight of a very attractive young woman who made her way across the room and swept Philippe into a tight embrace. It was not the French way to greet someone, and Kat was taken by surprise when Philippe appeared to respond with equal pleasure, covering the young woman’s face with kisses. Several people standing near them were applauding and smiling warmly.
Feeling a response she could only identify as jealousy, Katherine stopped on the stairs to watch.
Speaking with great animation, Philippe embraced the woman several more times as many people stepped up to kiss her cheeks and exchange greetings.
Obviously I haven’t known everything about him, but why am I reacting like this? she wondered, surprised at the strength of her emotion.
She was startled out of her thoughts by a hand on her elbow. Joy introduced her to some old friends, and Katherine attempted to stay engaged in conversation. The couple had visited Toronto and were delighted to speak about their experience with someone who knew the city. Struggling to look like she cared about the chat, she desperately wanted to turn around to see if Philippe was still with the beauty. She felt warm and slightly nauseous.
After what felt like much longer than it actually was, she excused herself and turned to see if she could find a way to go to her room. The sudden urge to remove herself from the presence of Philippe and any young woman was overwhelming.
Looking around the great hall, his eyes bright and face flushed, Philippe noticed Katherine on the stairs, waved, and made his way toward her, bringing the woman with him, his arm comfortably around her shoulder.
Katherine jolted herself out of the moment, walking to the bottom of the stairs with a forced smile.
Philippe deftly had the two women face to face. “Adorée, please meet Katherine Price from Canada.”
With a warm look back at Philippe and a bright smile, the beautiful young woman took Katherine’s awkwardly outstretched hand to shake.
Kat felt as though an obviously phony smile was betraying her confused emotions.
“Katherine, I want you to meet my daughter, Adorée. I had no idea she would be here!”
Laughing, the young woman with long chestnut-brown hair leaned in to greet Katherine with bises.
“I’m so thrilled to meet you! I have heard lovely things about our family’s new Canadian friend,” she said.
Katherine smiled sincerely now and hoped her sigh of relief was inaudible.
“My father should know I would never miss la vendange!” Adorée explained to Katherine. “But I always give him my flight arrangements, and this year I thought I would play a trick and tell him I was just too busy at work to get away.”
The surprise only added to the festivity of the evening, but at 11:00 p.m. Joy rang a bell and announced everyone had to leave and go to bed immediately. “Dormez bien,” she added with a twinkle in her eye. “We begin at dawn tomorrow morning, which will be precisely 6:27. Bonsoir! Bons rêves! À demain!”
The morning began with coffee and the usual croissants, pain aux raisins, and pain au chocolat.
“Allez vendangeurs!” rang through the air, and the backbreaking work began. The air had a healthy coolness at that hour, and everyone attacked the vines with careful but vigorous efforts, clipping bunches of grapes and placing them in baskets at their feet. The contents of the baskets were emptied into bins placed along the rows, and others were assigned to load these bins into trailers attached to tractors. The tractors would then begin winding their way along the narrow country roads to deposit their cache at the wine co-op.
Katherine was amazed at the parade back and forth along the bordering roads she could see from the field. Tractors of every size pulling bins and wagons were accompanied by massive mechanical harvesting machines. The procession was endless through the entire day.
She was told that until the early 1970s, every grape in France was picked by hand. As well as the friends and family, who might only pick on the weekend, at the other end of the vineyard, grape pickers from Spain were employed until the job was done.
Picking grapes all day was no easy task, Katherine realized as the hours passed, and she congratulated herself on remembering to bring Advil with her. Straightening her back and stretching on a regular basis, she was thankful for the benefits of the yoga sessions on her terrace most days.
Toward the end of the afternoon, Philippe and Adorée found Katherine, who had been picking with the Lalliberts. They instructed her to turn in her clippers and basket for the day and whisked her over to the co-op so she could see, smell, and hear the excitement of watching the grapes go into the machines for processing.
After being carefully emptied from their box or basket, bad or unripe grapes were removed before the rest went into a de-stemmer/crusher. Stems and leaves were separated from the grapes in that machine before they dropped onto a sorting tray and then onto yet another tray to wash any airborne particulates that may have adhered through the growing season.
“No bird poop, please!” Adorée exclaimed.
Philippe explained how the grapes then go into a grape crusher to separate the skins a
nd begin the juicing process before it all went into the grape press to extract any remaining juice from the skins. The juices ran through hoses into barrels and vats to begin the fermenting process.
“It’s all done with such military precision!” Kat observed as her camera shutter clicked away, capturing the deep rich colors of the enormous mounds of grapes. The satisfaction of the growers’ smiles as they watched the process and congratulated each other on a fine harvest provided wonderfully authentic portraits of grizzled faces at the end of days of hard labor.
Musty sweet smells of fermenting grapes filled the air.
Philippe and his daughter laughed as Katherine insisted on getting as close to the action as possible, her shoes sticking to juices that covered the floor. “An occupational hazard,” they explained. “Now the next best part begins, as we will feast tonight back at the manoir. Antoine and Hélène and their kitchen army have been cooking all day.”
Adorée took Kat’s arm as they walked back to the car. “If you thought last night was a party, just wait! Here’s the drill—shower, snooze, and be ready for une grande fête!”
“Then be ready to do it all over again in the vines tomorrow,” Philippe added.
Driving back to Antibes on Sunday evening, Katherine was barely able to keep her eyes open.
“I’m sorry, but I know I’m going to fall asleep any minute,” she said.
Philippe chuckled knowingly. “I would be amazed if you didn’t. This weekend was hard labor and hard partying. Go to sleep and don’t worry about it.”
Philippe took the key from Kat’s hand and opened the door to her house. Much to her embarrassment, she had slept during the entire drive. Turning down her invitation to come in for a drink, Philippe said, “Now it’s my turn to, as you say, crash. I need to lie down very quickly.”
They both laughed.
“But I want to invite you to come with me tomorrow afternoon for a few hours. There’s something I would like to show you.”
The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) Page 37
