She had certainly always appreciated the reliability of her quite handsome income. Combined with solid benefits and a good retirement plan, her job so far had been quite rewarding, entitling her to a lifestyle many envied. But now, soaking in the scented bubbles of her bath, she wondered whether there could be more to life than promoting products no one truly ever needed for survival or happiness for that matter. She admitted it was increasingly difficult in New York to avoid the trap of materialistic expectations. She had been truly shocked though by the level of poverty she had witnessed in Thailand, and even more surprised by the people’s seemingly unwavering resolve to live every day to its fullest, filling each day with smiles and joy, even though they were often missing what Lily considered to be very basic essentials. The dichotomy had truly resonated with her; little by little she had come to concede that happiness was obviously never defined by materialistic possessions. So what was she doing in advertising?
However, what else would she do if she were to resign tomorrow? She did not really think she was good at anything else, nor did she have any other skills. In her usual non sequitur manner, whenever she was filled with angst, her thoughts then turned to her late brother, as they so often had since his death. In a way she had known him so well and so little too. What could have prompted him to get involved with someone like Paul Patek? How wonderfully spontaneous of him to have followed him and his niece to Koh Samui. She doubted she would ever have accepted the invitation of a stranger, lest she came to feel obligated to him, or indebted, which was even worse, or trapped, which was unthinkable. In all likelihood, she would have been suspicious of his motives and immediately questioned his generosity, yet she recognised it had never been a part of Louis’s DNA: her brother had always embraced whatever came his way, naturally following the ebb and flow of life, rarely resisting it. He did not provoke events: he lived them. He did not anticipate: he reacted. Louis’s hedonistic nature saw him pursue pleasure in all its forms, whereas Lily accepted that not every day in life was meant to be enjoyable; she worked hard and considered challenges and adversity as part of the course. She had nonetheless always been tolerant of her sibling’s choices even though his lack of tenacity and motivation had often driven her mad; she never understood how he could run a gallery one day and foster emerging talents and help on a documentary the next; enthusiastically begin a course one month and drop it the next, and change addresses as often as he did a pair of jeans, without ever fully unpacking. Lily believed in stability, looking at every task and at every day as another stepping-stone towards achieving her idea of success and towards maintaining the comfortable status quo she most revelled in. Suddenly hit by jetlag, she dialled her favourite take-away restaurant, a stone-fired pizza place called NONNO, conveniently located less than a block away, ordered a mellanzana and turned on the Movie Channel to look for a film. Her glass of wine was still half full when she fell asleep.
Lily dreamt of wild horses. She dreamt of galloping horses, of wide-open steppes, of skies so low that they met the sea just above the grasses. She could smell the sea air and taste the salt on her parched lips. The wind caressed her hair and her hand the horse’s mane. When she realised that the saddle’s leather skinned her inner thighs, she discovered that she was as naked as Lady Godiva. She giggled in her sleep and her cat jumped from under the blanket where he had snuggled. Outside her windows the snow kept falling, diffusing the streetlights and muting the traffic roar. Lily wondered why she was naked. It seemed so inappropriate and yet so right. She felt free. When was the last time, she wondered, she felt so free? The answer smacked her in the face: it was when she had walked out on her husband all those years ago, and bravely moved out on her own. Lily woke up with a start, her heart bumping erratically in her chest. She just held the answer to her malaise: that was it! She needed to be free again from everything which held her down. Tomorrow was not soon enough. She needed to act and right away. The sensation devoured her whole and she knew at that very moment that nothing else mattered. She would not rest until she tasted again the unfathomable sensation of pure freedom. It meant survival and, overnight, it had become her holy grail.
It took Lily less than 6 weeks to turn her life around: she quit her job, cashed in her 401K plan, resigned the lease on her brownstone, packed her furniture and personal items, put them in temporary storage and booked a one-way ticket back to Paris. She had yet to tell her parents or her sisters. She had not bothered explaining it to her friends either; first of all, she was certain they would not understand and would try their best to dissuade her, and secondly, she did not believe that her change of heart was any of their business. From the moment she had taken the irrevocable decision to change her circumstances, she had started researching real-estate opportunities in the southeast of France, a region always dear to her for its savage beauty and temperate climate.
Finally, the week before, had come the phone call she had been waiting for. A maas, fitting exactly her requirements, had been found. It was located south of Nimes and Arles, in the marshy delta region known as Camargue, a stone throw away from the picturesque town of Saintes Maries-de-la-Mer. Lily had been terribly excited. The lapidated residence needed work. Unfazed by the renovations ahead, Lily refused nonetheless to compromise on her vision. Since it was Louis’s money which had helped her purchase the vast property, she baptised it Maas de Samui in his honour, a name the locals did not even question. Her first act as proprietor had been to paint a rough-hewn board and nail it to the portal leading to the former grand ranch house. For the following twelve months running, she rarely saw her parents, made believe she was still living in New York and was all in all completely unavailable. Since no one had been able to reach her, her mother had worried about it, imagining that she had been overcome by depression, begging her sisters to talk to her, but Lily and Sophie confirmed they had struck out as well. In fact Lily had wanted to avoid all possible interference into her new project, no matter how well meaning the advice might have been. Too focused to really care what others may think of her, she had barely felt guilty. She knew that when she was ready, she would make amends and hoped that, in time, everyone would forgive the cloak of secrecy which had surrounded her for the best part of a year.
On the first weekend of May, eighteen months after their return from Koh Samui, Lily held her grand opening. Her sisters and parents had been invited the day before under the pretext that she had rented a house for the long weekend, insisting it would be fun to be all together. They had all accepted the unexpected invite, including Sophie, who, by sheer coincidence, had been putting the last touches on a wedding she was organising for an Australian celebrity at the Hotel du Cap for the following month. Lily had picked them all up in a mini-van at Nice Airport and Stephanie surprised her by coming along with her long-time boyfriend, Alexandre. As soon as they drove through the massive entrance gates of the Maas de Samui, Stephanie and Sophie twitched at the name. Outcrop buildings, all freshly painted white and highlighted by cobalt blue shutters framed the main residence. Odorant jasmine climbed every wall on sight, all the way up to the roofs covered in pale yellow tiles.
Since their flight had landed late morning, a long table, with crisp white linens had been set on the rear terrace at the back of the house. A cold lunch was already laid out with wine bottles chilling in terra cotta wine sleeves. Lily’s face beamed in anticipation of their reaction. With their weekend bags promptly whisked away from the trunk of the car by a couple of young strappy boys, no one had a chance to react to anything beyond admiring the enticing display of cold cuts, pates, salads and oysters covering the table.
“What an amazing spot!” admired Sophie. “What a great idea!”
“Please sit down,” replied Lily excitedly, barely able to contain her news. “I’ve something to tell you!”
Her parents looked quizzically at each other and her sisters smiled: whatever it was, it was making her happy, and that was all that mattered.
“Maman, Papa,” began L
ily a touch nervously, tapping on her crystal glass with the side of her knife. “Welcome to Maas de Samui. By the way, it’s mine. I’ve built it. In truth, I’ve been living here for the past 12 months. Tomorrow, the facilities before you will open to the press. It was designed as a luxury post-traumatic centre.”
A stunned silence fell over the table. Her mother blanched. Her father shook his head in wonderment, looking all around. Her sisters remained speechless.
Her mother was the first to recover her voice.
“What do you mean you’ve lived here for the past year? You mean you’ve been lying for 12 months! How could you move back to France without letting us know? How incredibly insulting of you and how inconsiderate! Your father and I thought you were so depressed you avoided us and we had been aching over it!”
Her mother’s fury was barely contained. Putting a conciliatory hand on his wife’s arm, her father butted in.
“What do you mean it’s yours? What do you mean by post-traumatic centre? How did you come up with the funding for such a place?”
Completely taken back by the critical onslaught, Lily replied petulantly, “It’s mine because I’ve paid for it. Paid for the land. Paid for the renovations. Paid for the permits; I had set the money aside for my future and here it is,” she said, discreetly winking at her sisters. “Let me explain, after Louis died, I asked myself what people generally did to recover from such a traumatic shock. Extensive research showed that most people go to grieve alone because they have nowhere to go. Yet if given the choice, they would prefer company to isolation. Often they embark on a trip of a lifetime. They wish to be taken care of and looked after and enjoy a change of scenery. They need time to get in touch with themselves and heal properly. I started to think about what I needed when Louis died. So, Maas de Samui has been conceived as a luxury post-traumatic recovery centre which will only be available to those who suffered a traumatic experience and need some time off to recuperate. It hasn’t been designed either as a luxury spa or a luxury hotel per se, even though it boasts the facilities of both; in fact it would only welcome those who need to recover from PTSD after a harrowing operation, after the loss of someone, after a high-jacking, a rape or whatever. It doesn’t s pretend to be a clinic though, but somewhat of a hybrid between comfort and palliative care. I have hired grief counsellors and psychologists, all specialising in post-traumatic disorders. I’ve received the full backing of the French medical board. The idea is for the guests to be pampered and put back together, so that when they leave they’re emotionally better equipped to deal with whatever hailed them. After lunch, I propose to take you on a tour.”
“What do you know of post-traumatic care?” repeated her mother undeterred, “You’ve never taken care of anyone in your life but yourself! The loss of someone isn’t remedied by pampering. You’ve absolutely no idea! This is crazy!”
With this parting shot, her mother, furious, left the table. Sophie and Stephanie had yet to say a word. Leaving the table as well to go and look for his wife, their father upset by the outburst, looked at her.
“Why didn’t you get your mother involved in all this? In my opinion, it’s such a fantastic idea! It would have helped her as well. She has been so despondent since your brother died. It would have kept her busy and been good for her, yet I understand you wouldn’t want to put up with her meddling… Congratulations, honey, it looks like a beautiful place, but let me go after her to see whether I can help calm her down.”
“Well,” said Sophie to break the tension, “you’ve certainly kept this a secret! But let’s leave lunch for a minute and give us the tour you promised instead. From the little I’ve seen, I love the place already!”
Reluctantly, Stephanie, who hated seeing her mother so upset, followed suit, Alexandre in tow.
First, Lily led them to the guest rooms, all located in the outcrop buildings. They counted 20 rooms in all. White washed walls and sturdy yet elegant white lacquered furniture were the norm in each. Lily had devised a different colour scheme for each room but soft whites, light blues, greys, taupes, pale yellows, effervescent greens and beiges predominated. On each hand-carved door, the room’s name had been chiselled; each was that of a French 19th century Impressionist painter. Accordingly, each room displayed high quality reproductions of that artist’s work, along with landscape photographs and original drawings, whenever Lily had been able to afford it, all designed to convey a sense of quietude and lightness. In complete contrast, the communal rooms were charged with energy and followed a western ranch flavour, with cow rugs thrown on the polished creamy concrete floors, with deep leather couches scattered around the room. Original paintings and antique prints of wild horses adorned the walls. The curtains, pillows and tablecloths were cut from Provencal fabrics yet avoided the more commercial olive, blue and yellow prints usually associated with fabrics made in Provence, preferring deep corals, variegated blues, translucent yellows and motley greens instead. A large bar area with a snooker table and a plasma TV completed the ensemble. On the other hand, the dining room opened up unto a vast peaceful quarry stone terrace overlooking the Alpilles dotted with olive groves and vineyards. It was a most magnificent vista.
Lily had bought the piece of land so that it would not rest on the delicate lacework of sea and sand, where mosquitoes reigned, but was angled so as to overlook the marshes on the east, a view shared by most of the guest rooms, while facing due south. Several smaller, more intimate rooms, each dominated by a large open fireplace, looked out to the mouth of the river. Everywhere her eye for detail and comfort reigned supreme; it was obvious that the build had been loath to compromise on the quality of the finishes. After visiting the guest accommodations, Lily showed them the spa treatment rooms, complete with a 25 metres pool, a Jacuzzi, sauna and steam rooms, salt and mud baths. The ‘shrink’ offices were located in a separate building all together, offering shade and privacy. By the end of the tour, Stephanie and Sophie were duly impressed by the entire set-up. They both admitted it had been a true tour de force to accomplish all of that in just over a year. Obviously Lily had spent their brother’s inheritance wisely and they were proud of her.
By the time they walked back to the lunch table, her parents were chatting animatedly. The stopped when the girls walked back to their side.
“I still don’t understand what prompted you to do all this,” said their mother, her tone slightly more conciliatory than before.
Sophie, exasperated, rolled her eyes, since the answer was so terribly obvious to her.
“And your father and I wonder where you got the money. Surely you weren’t that well paid in your previous job! And you know that both your father and I find it quite offensive that you didn’t ask for our help. It could have been done so much better’ she added, unaware of the bite in her words.”I concede the bedrooms are very tastefully done, but I do question this American Far West theme you imposed everywhere else. You know it’s not my style."
Sophie, watching Lily’s face turn a shade of red, which usually signalled she was about to lose control, quickly interrupted their mother.
“Maman, come on: it’s beautiful, you have to admit it! The locale is unbelievably breath-taking. Lily has thought of everything. The Far West theme, as you call it, makes complete sense in a region known for its wild horse herds: it will certainly appeal to an International clientele. The para-medical side of this luxury centre is fantastic! I would definitely come here: I wish something like this had existed after Louis’s death. I would have happily come here to lick my wounds, instead of banging my head against a wall at home, all on my own. The whole thing is a wonderful idea!”
“Yet,” concurred Stephanie, who had not said a word until then, “I would agree with Maman on one thing: I don’t see the point of all the secrecy beforehand, of doing all this behind our backs. It’s somewhat hurtful. We were worried sick about your mental health, Lily, and you ignored us. It’s quite selfish of you and we could have all contributed. Aren’t we suppose
d to be there for each other?” she said, put out.
“Can’t you see that it’s just the point?” replied Lily incensed. “I didn’t want any interference. I wanted it done my own way, American Far West and all. Now that the fundamentals are bedded down, I’m happy to listen to your suggestions. As long as they are constructive, of course,” she added, throwing a defiant look in her mother’s direction.
It was hard to disagree; it had not been their vision to start with, yet each one of them would have been culpable of trying to inject their own taste and personality into the project and Lily, incapable of reconciling all divergent viewpoints, would have walked away half way through. Lily in fact had taken family dynamics into consideration by keeping them well away from Maas de Samui and no one could really blame her for it. They turned to their lunch and ate in silence, each one lost in their own thoughts.
Over coffee, Lily announced that she had ordered horses to be saddled, proposing to take a ride after lunch. Everyone was keen, except for their father who had always feared the animal, preferring to admire them from afar. It would also give him the opportunity to look things over on his own, and he was looking forward to it. He wished them luck, without any regret. The promenade through the vibrant marshes on brilliant white horses, listening to the bill clacking of the chimney storks, galloping past dreamy pink flamingos, tasting the salt air on their tongues and feeling the warmth of the wind in their hair, did wonders in altering everyone’s mood and for the rest of the day, it was only laughter and animated conversations.
Lily had enlisted the help of her old New York firm to oversee the launch and ensure that the world press would be on board to give her the publicity the success of such venture entailed. She had carefully selected who could attend, and journalists had vied for the prestigious invitations. On opening day, the press, along with a smattering of hospital administrators from around the country were treated to a gourmet lunch, followed by a horse-riding promenade by the sea, for those who were keen to experience the beauty of the Camargue marshes. All treatment rooms had remained open for the afternoon; more than one journalist took the opportunity to sample the array of restorative treatments which Maas de Samui had on offer and were all praise as to the results. The subsequent articles showed their commendations of the irreproachable facilities. Moreover, a few of the gypsies, already converging on Saintes Maries-de-la-Mer to celebrate their annual pilgrimage, which was to take place on the third weekend of May, provided that evening’s entertainment, with acrobats, jugglers and palm readers topping the list. On the rear end of the property, Lily had indeed allowed an entire family to park the usual horse-driven wagons, complete with hanging gas lights, lace curtains and brightly coloured facades to add a folkloric touch to the already electrically charged atmosphere. In exchange they had agreed to entertain her guests. It had been a small price to pay.
The Samui Conspiracy Page 29