The First Noël at the Villa des Violettes

by Patricia Sands

  Kat’s eyes began to tear up. “Oh no! You said there wouldn’t be anything that involved us. And that sting was practically in our front yard … practically …” She gulped and coughed.

  “Nobody is going to come near us. The police will be watching the coast. The gang may drop a few divers in the water, and then they’ll be caught. Simple as that. In fact, the inspecteur mentioned they had a special electronics monitoring setup near the spot.”

  “Hmm,” Kat muttered, “didn’t they refer to something like that at the time of the sting? But then they never elaborated…” Her voice died off, and she became lost in thought. She had never been more frightened in her life than when that whole wild episode began with a note on their car windshield in Antibes and a wild death-defying car chase on the way to Entrevaux.

  Suddenly, she had a sickening feeling about her recent early-morning suspicion that there was someone in the garden. She mentioned it to Philippe now.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you quite sure you saw something? Or is it because of what Inspecteur Thibideau said? The power of suggestion …”

  She shot him a quick look of annoyance. “Of course I’m not embellishing the situation. I thought I saw something or someone. I just wanted you to know. Maybe we should report it.”

  “Bien sûr. I will check things out as soon as I get home. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so flip.”

  Swallowing back her fear, Kat decided this situation was not going to get the best of her. She could deal with it. In fact, when she got home, she would go look at that end of the garden herself. As Molly would say to her, Pull up your big-girl pants, Katski.

  “Fais-moi confiance. Trust me,” Philippe urged as he leaned across the table, kissed her cheeks lightly, and patted her clenched hands.

  They talked for a few more minutes, and she felt increasingly reassured by Philippe’s words. The warmth of his gaze never left her eyes. She trusted the emotions they conveyed. That, too, had been a learning experience after being married to someone who seldom really looked at her. James had always talked through her or past her—that is, when he managed to actually discuss something.

  “I’ll be home by two o’clock,” Philippe confirmed. “We have a special guest arriving at half-past three, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Yes,” Kat confirmed, relieved and distracted for the moment by the change of subject. “Andrew emailed this morning from his connection in Zurich to say his flight here was on time. I double-checked with Bernadette, and she will pick him up at the Nice airport. She’s looking forward to her first official duty for us.”

  Philippe laughed heartily. “No one could give new arrivals a better—and more amusing—introduction to the Côte d’Azur.”

  Bernadette was another colorful personality in this new life of Katherine’s. The raucous wild-haired chauffeur/taxi driver from Marseille had been sent to pick up Molly and Kat when they first arrived in Antibes in August for Kat’s home exchange there.

  She had since become a friend. When the Villa des Violettes finally opened for business in the new year, she would be the driver for guests, along with her regular business. Today she was picking up Kat’s nephew, Andrew, who was coming for a short visit from Canada on his way to a job in Ukraine.

  “Come see the cheese I’ve set aside for us,” Philippe said as he paid the bill and they stood up to leave the café. “It’s something different. I thought I would practice on Andrew. You can tell me if you want anything else.”

  “I want to say bonjour to Gilles anyway,” Kat said, feeling pleased that Philippe credited her knowledge of cheese. He often teased her about being his best student, and she continued to learn as they developed the website together.

  Gilles greeted Kat warmly. “Great news that your nephew is coming to visit. Of course you will bring him by the market.”

  “Absolument! I want him to meet all of our family.”

  After a quick exchange of gossip, she picked up her panier and prepared to set off.

  “No need to stop at the poissonerie,” Philippe said. “I’ve already picked out our fish for tonight—a fine dourade, as you suggested. I can collect it on the way home. You go ahead, I’m sure Simone is eager to see you. Take her this special chèvre that arrived this morning. She will love it.”

  He handed her a carefully wrapped small packet, which she put in her panier.

  “She will be pleased. À très bientôt, chou!” she whispered in his ear. Then she was off after a flurry of bises. She was determined not to let her simmering anxiety show.

  Kat’s next stop was the flower stalls. She liked to support all three vendors. Each one had great selections and variety of blooms. Add to that their reasonable prices, and flowers were something she couldn’t resist. She still could not get over how the markets sold beautiful bouquets for a quarter of what they would cost in Canada.

  Today, from the first stall, she chose lush bunches of white lisianthus, along with some in the deepest shade of rose, for the salon in the villa. From the second vendor, she added soft pink roses with a subtle fragrance for their bedroom. The third flower seller was the charm! Kat had never considered amaryllis blooms as cut flowers before, but there they were. And they were stunning.

  The double layers of glistening white petals were lightly marked with delicate traceries of red. The blooms were opulent and massive. “Exquisite,” Kat said to the flower seller, “simply exquisite.”

  I’ll take some for Simone, too. She will love them!

  “These must go in the front foyer and the salon. Everyone needs to enjoy them!” she said to the vendor, as she pointed out three bunches.

  Smiling proudly as she wrapped the stems, the woman told Kat the flowers had just arrived that morning and she was selling out quickly.

  As Kat filled her panier with flowers, she felt a glimmer of excitement that her Christmas decorating would soon be underway. These might be just what she needed to help alleviate her Christmas conundrum.

  Unfortunately, now there was an underlying fear about the Russian drug gang coming back into their lives. That she could not deny.

  8

  “Mon Dieu!” Simone declared, as Katherine held the bunch of amaryllis out to her. “Mille mercis! These are divine!”

  “Aren’t they? I’ve only seen them growing in pots from bulbs before. They reminded me of your paintings.”

  Simone’s walls were covered with massive floral paintings like the one she was currently working on. Each painting was of a single bloom in a vivid color. Kat thought the effect was like being in a giant’s garden.

  “And I haven’t painted an amaryllis yet,” Simone said. “These will be perfect models.”

  Simone led the way into the kitchen and showed Katherine where to find the proper vase. As Kat placed the flowers on the counter, she smiled as she noted the kitchen was spotless; there were no telltale signs of Simone’s early-morning painting or baking sessions.

  How does she do it?

  “I also have something for you from Philippe,” Kat said as she handed the cheese to Simone.

  Simone’s faced glowed with delight as she unwrapped the packet of chèvre. Kat insisted she put it in the fridge and save it for a special moment.

  “But this is a special moment,” Simone protested.

  “Not special enough. Although I appreciate your sentiment, ma belle,” Kat countered as she held open the refrigerator door. “You know what I mean—you will have other guests to entertain during the holidays.”

  Simone frowned playfully as she rewrapped the cheese and placed it in her fridge.

  “No wheelchair or cane this morning!” Kat exclaimed with delight, pleased to see that her nonagenarian friend seemed to be having a good day. She knew that Simone lived with a great deal of chronic pain, although she never complained.

  “Rien!” Simone replied, her eyes sparkling. “I’m feeling quite well today. I’m not sure if it is thanks to some new medication, which I am reluctantly taking, or the nutritio
us smoothies I’ve been making.”

  Simone stayed aware of the latest research on so many topics. She was a wealth of information and shared it generously without being overbearing. She showed no signs of slowing down, except for the limitations that arthritis placed on her from time to time.

  Since Kat had texted Simone to say she was on her way over, tea was already steeping. In her usual fashion, Simone also had whipped up a tempting meal. Today it was a leek and tomato quiche, just out of the oven and sitting on the table, along with the inevitable French salad of simple greens with a light vinaigrette.

  Kat raised an eyebrow as Simone gestured to her to take a seat at the table. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “Alors, une pause casse-croûte—just a little snack.” Simone suggested this in a way that Kat knew was not to be denied. Her warm hospitality simply flowed naturally and wrapped around her guests without them even realizing it.

  Simone served them each a small portion as they sipped her tasty tisane. Today Kat thought she detected a combination of mint, lemon, and some other herb she could not identify.

  “Chérie, I thought you might have time for a quick déjeuner while you were here. Otherwise I suspect you wouldn’t bother eating lunch.”

  Laughing, Kat said, “Simone, you know me better than I know myself.”

  Simone nodded, with a wry smile. “La sagesse de mon age.”

  “You are wise. Of that there is no doubt.”

  “With all the life I’ve lived, I haven’t had any choice in the matter, chérie! Henri Frederic Amiel said, ‘To know how to grow old is the masterwork of wisdom.’ I choose not to doubt him.” Her happy laughter sounded like the tinkling of glass bells.

  Kat always felt better after just a few minutes with Simone. Along with her warmth and intelligence, she reminded Kat of her own mother. Whenever she was with Simone, Kat felt her deep well of loss gently fill.

  They chatted comfortably about the letter from the mairie and the plans that would be set in place in the new year. Simone shared stories of other times the surprising discovery of Roman ruins had interfered with building projects in the village.

  Kat listened with great interest, always keen to know more about the history of her newly chosen home. She savored another bite of the creamy quiche, closing her eyes as she murmured, “Mmm, this is delicious.”

  “Comme toujours, c’est le beurre,” Simone said, followed by a wink.

  “I know, I know—le beurre d’Isigny. It’s all I use now, too,” Kat replied.

  Simone had long before explained to Katherine how her family had made their living crafting beurre d’Isigny when she was a child on a farm in Normandy before World War II. An intense study of French butters had followed for Kat under Simone’s unbiased guidance. After a blind taste test, the Isigny butter had won, hands down.

  “And is this a new tea blend you have concocted? I like it.” Kat wondered if she was chattering too much, trying too hard to conceal a simmering fear inside her.

  “Oh, by the way! Was that Bob Dylan I heard singing “The First Noël” in the background when we spoke earlier?”

  “Mais oui! It’s his Christmas in the Heart album! Don’t you know it?”

  Kat admitted she was not aware Dylan had recorded any Christmas albums. Somehow that didn’t fit her image of the singer. “Of course, if anyone would know, it would be you.”

  Simone smiled sweetly. “I will play it for you, when you are here for a longer visit. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Simone’s phone dinged with a text. As Kat moved to get it for her off the counter, Simone halted her with her hand. “Non, laisse là, chérie. It can wait, whatever it is.”

  Texting and using a cell phone were two changes Katherine had convinced Simone to accept into her life over the summer, and Simone admitted that they were positive additions.

  “You may persuade me to embrace this new technology, after all. But I am determined not to be a slave to it.” Simone repeated this occasionally, always with a sparkle in her bright blue eyes.

  There were times when Katherine wondered if Simone really was more tech-savvy than she let on. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite explain, but there had been moments—such as last autumn, when Kat had spotted what looked like unusual receivers and other high-tech sound equipment high up on a shelf in Simone’s studio.

  She put the thought aside. She also had decided she was not going to mention the Idelle situation to anyone. For now, at least.

  They continued to enjoy their meal in silence for a few minutes. Then Simone reached over again and took Kat’s hand. “Dis-moi, chérie. Tell me what is troubling you.”

  Katherine was taken aback, thinking she had been quite relaxed. She attempted to avoid answering.

  “Rien du tout! Nothing at all …”

  “I can see it in your eyes,” Simone continued, undeterred. “Something is not right.”

  Katherine closed her eyes briefly. Was she that easy to read? Her jaw tightened. She knew she had to tell the truth. No one was more intuitive than Simone.

  She let out a loud sigh, and then blurted out, “I’m working myself into a state over how we’re going to celebrate Christmas and Noël at the villa. Remember last year we went to Joy’s in Provence and she treated us to the most wonderful fête de Noël? I want to keep some of those traditions, especially in food and drink, along with Hungarian traditions from my childhood and Canadian details. I want to display my Santa collection that my ex-husband frowned upon and include our collection of santons, with all of the information I’ve learned from you, and—”

  Simone waved her hands in the air. “Attends juste une minute! Tu réfléchis trop. Chérie, you are overthinking. Arrêtes!”

  Katherine took a breath and looked at her.

  “Vraiment? Is that what it is? I’ve got myself worked up because I’m overthinking?”

  “Kat. Je t’adore. I love you. Yes. It is that simple.”

  Kat ate a bit more of her quiche as she mulled over Simone’s words. Deep down, she knew it was true. She was doing a number on herself.

  Simone continued. “It’s obvious how much you love this time of year. I remember how you described every detail about your Provençal fête de Noël last year. It meant so much to you to be so warmly invited to share those traditions with Joy and her family. When you so graciously guided me through setting up my crèche last December, after all those years, you told me about your childhood Christmas traditions. I know how much all of that means to you. Je te comprends.”

  Kat’s eyes locked with Simone’s. Her mouth slowly turned up into a smile.

  “You know, I just chatted with Molly and told her how I was feeling. She gave me a similar talking to. Now that I’ve listened to myself blurt all that out to you—and you’ve called me out on it—I’m getting the message.” A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

  The corners of Simone’s eyes crinkled with understanding. She shook her head and gave Kat a look of mild reproof as she patted Kat’s hand. “I know you will figure out how to include all the important aspects of your experiences. But let it be fun. Don’t get your head all twisted about it and feel pressured. Enjoy the experience … and I will gladly help you.”

  Kat’s face registered surprise. “Really? Does that mean you will celebrate Noël with us this year? Even though you told me last year that you always like to be alone for the holiday?”

  Simone nodded. “Avec plaisir, chérie! This year I am ready to be with you.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy that would make us. Philippe will be delighted too! Gosh, I do feel somewhat better—not completely out of crisis mode, but getting there!”

  Simone narrowed her eyes and focused her gaze on Kat again. “Et quoi d’autre? What else? I don’t believe your Christmas crisis is what is putting fear in your eyes. It may have you in a state of confusion, but not fear—and I saw fear.”

  Kat’s attempt to protest was cut short. Simone was waiting for a response.


  Kat felt conflicted. Should I mention the drug cartel issue?

  9

  “Dis-moi, s’il te plait. How can I help you?” Simone asked, calmly but firmly.

  Kat knew there was no way of distorting the truth with her wise friend. She repeated her conversation with Philippe after his visit with Inspecteur Thibideau.

  “Zut alors!” Simone grumbled, coming as close to uttering an oath as she ever did. However, Katherine had the odd feeling this was not news to her. Simone already knew.

  Just like last year.

  Simone comforted Kat. “No wonder you are feeling troubled. Anything connected to those horrible months is upsetting.”

  Kat squirmed without realizing it.

  Simone continued, her voice reassuring, “I believe Philippe has the right perspective, though. Last year was personal, with Idelle attempting to blackmail Philippe and gain some ownership in your property.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Kat nodded again. Simone was right.

  Simone continued, “You understand that because Philippe’s late wife, Geneviéve, was her daughter, Idelle’s horrid husband pushed her. He wanted Philippe’s property for his drug business. Obviously, Idelle learned she has no claim. She clearly saw that Philippe has moved on with his life. C’est tout avec elle. She’s out of the picture.”

  Her face pinched with concern, Katherine pressed on. “I’m still worried that anyone connected with that drug cartel might drag us in somehow. Things might get violent again!”

  “Non!” Simone stated, almost too firmly. “I know the inspecteur will make certain that does not happen. Those people are after something that fell into—or was thrown into—the bay. Nothing more. They may make an attempt to retrieve it and we”—she cleared her throat—“er … he and his department will have the situation fully under control.”