Escape to the French Farmhouse

by Jo Thomas

  Tomas starts to drag a chair over towards the work surface. Stephanie stops him.

  ‘No,’ she says, putting the chair back.

  His face crumples and he starts to cry.

  ‘Oh, it’s fine,’ I say. I used to stand on a chair beside my mother in the kitchen. He looks at me hopefully, the tears stopping. But maybe it wouldn’t be safe to have him there.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not my place,’ I say. ‘I …’ I don’t know how to get out of the hole I’m digging for myself as Tomas’s cries start up again. He tugs at the chair, which Stephanie is holding.

  ‘Whatever you think best,’ I say.

  She gives it a moment’s thought. ‘Okay – mais fais attention,’ she tells Tomas and helps him pull the chair to the counter. She and I stand at either side of him to stop him falling off. I pull the book towards us and turn the page. Tomas points to a picture and shouts, ‘Ça! Ça!’ I prop the book up, hoping we can make a dessert that will suit Henri and please Tomas, our chief taster.

  ‘Right.’ I take a deep breath. I look at the recipe. ‘Looks like we’re making chocolate and lavender cake. We’ll need flour, eggs and the big mixing bowl.’ Stephanie, keen to please, dives for the box of cookery stuff and so do I. We collide.

  ‘Désolée.’

  ‘Sorry,’ we say at the same time.

  ‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘You read out the recipe and hold on to Tomas. I’ll get the ingredients.’ After that, things go a little more smoothly, although when it comes to the flour, Tomas ends up covered with it from head to toe as he tosses handfuls in the direction of the bowl, himself and the floor.

  Eventually, we’re proudly pulling our cakes from the oven. ‘It’s such a big order,’ I say, as we dust icing sugar over the chocolate and lavender cakes, with lavender sprigs and flowers stripped from the stems, just as the recipe told us when Stephanie read it aloud. ‘I’m sure he won’t sell it all.’

  ‘Henri always makes plenty.’ Stephanie smiles. ‘Enough for everyone.’

  ‘How do you know him?’ I ask, as we put the cakes out of Ralph’s reach on the work surface.

  There is a moment of silence. Then she says, ‘Henri was there when I needed him most. It’s what Henri does. He catches people before they fall.’

  Lovely kind Henri. Isn’t that exactly what he’s done for me?

  We walk into town, past the clearing by the river, carrying the cakes carefully between us. Just a few people are there, a couple playing chess, all sitting in the shade of the big pine tree.

  ‘Bonjour,’ they greet us.

  ‘Bonjour,’ I say. This time Stephanie doesn’t hurry past but greets the group with a small smile. The smile of someone who has found a little bit of contentment.

  After dropping off the desserts and drinking a coffee with Henri, we head back to Le Petit Mas. Stephanie spends the afternoon cleaning the gypsy caravan and there are moments when I think I hear her singing. I sit in the shade outside and wonder what else I’m going to do. I’m making desserts and biscuits for Henri and the stall, but will it be enough? I look at Le Petit Mas. Could I make a go of this place as a chambre d’hôte? A place for people to stay and benefit in the way Stephanie, Tomas and I have?

  I sit down with a pen and some paper, looking out over the bare field that undulates away from the farmhouse to the river that is the boundary to our land. Across the valley, sunflowers nod, and the field of lavender is so purple it seems unreal.

  As I’m sitting there, notebook in hand, I hear a car pull into the drive and Ralph’s enthusiastic greeting. Who’s he knocked over now?

  I stand and walk quickly around the corner. To my annoyance my stomach flick-flacks when I see Fabien’s truck and Ralph sitting up smartly as Fabien pats him.

  Carine slides out of the cab, dusting herself down with a glance of disgust at her mode of transport. She comes over to me and kisses me. I look at Fabien, just behind her, and he leans towards me to greet me. I haven’t seen him since he found me yesterday with Henri, having lunch, and it feels weird that I haven’t explained why it happened. But I’m pleased Carine’s there as Fabien leans in to kiss me, without touching me. My skin leaps at the smell of his.

  ‘I brought the table back. All fixed,’ he says.

  ‘That’s so kind of you. Henri says I can leave it in the restaurant from now on,’ I say. ‘Save you bringing it to and fro.’

  ‘Henri?’ Fabien raises his eyebrows and I think he’s going to follow it up with ‘Again?’ But he doesn’t. I have to explain that Henri is just a friend. I’m not looking for a partner. But now isn’t the time. ‘I’ll drop the table there, then,’ he says.

  ‘And I just came for the ride to see how you were settling in and if you’d thought any more about my idea of the chambre d’hôte,’ says Carine.

  ‘Come in, sit down,’ I say quickly, and guide them to the side of the house and the terrace. Just at that point Tomas comes running out of the clearing, pretending to be a dog, barking.

  Carine and Fabien stop and stare. Fabien bursts out laughing. Carine looks as if she’s waiting for a wasp to fly away.

  Stephanie follows Tomas from the clearing, calling him. She pauses and, for a moment, they all stare at each other, then Stephanie’s head drops. I can see she recognizes Fabien and Carine from the town. I step in to break the silence.

  ‘This is Stephanie. Stephanie is my new assistant. Chambermaid and kitchen assistant,’ I say, thinking on my feet, wishing I could come up with a really good title. Clearly Stephanie has been transported back to her reputation as the young single mum who sometimes steals.

  Fabien moves forward and puts out his hand. ‘Bonjour, Stephanie,’ he says. ‘Bienvenue.’ He speaks as if she’s new to the area and starting a whole new life, just like me.

  ‘Bonjour.’ Carine is keeping a wary eye on Tomas, who is running around a little too quickly for her liking by the look of it.

  ‘Let’s have coffee,’ I say. ‘Stephanie, come and help me.’ She looks at me gratefully, clearly glad not to have to explain how she ended up at Le Petit Mas.

  ‘I have something for you,’ says Fabien, going back to the truck. ‘I’ll get it while you make coffee.’

  As we bring out the tray with some of the chocolate cake, I spot a box by the table. I put down the coffee and cut the cake.

  ‘Le cadeau!’ Carine scolds Fabien good-naturedly.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he says, pulling himself away from Tomas and Ralph. ‘It was Carine’s idea.’

  ‘This is my way of making sure you stay!’ She smiles.

  Fabien hands me the big wooden box. ‘Fine lavender plants,’ he says, and as he hands me the box, our fingertips touch, jolting me. ‘A friend of mine has a farm over there.’ He points to the lavender field across the valley. ‘But he’s getting on and finding it hard to manage, these days. He sells in the market.’ I remember the old man who gave me the lavender at the antiques market. ‘He sent these, wished you luck and tells you to keep smiling!’ I look down into the box at the six plants.

  ‘It’s a start!’ says Carine. ‘You’ll bring Le Petit Mas de la Lavande back to life.’

  I’m thrilled. What a thoughtful gift.

  ‘You’ll need more lavender if you’re going to continue to cook with it for the stall,’ Fabien says.

  ‘And for Henri,’ says Carine.

  ‘And Henri,’ Fabien says quietly.

  ‘Thank you so much! I can’t think of anything I wanted more!’ And then a thought strikes me. ‘May I meet your friend? I’d like to ask him how to plant and care for them.’

  ‘His name’s Serge. Of course I’ll take you to see him,’ says Fabien.

  Our friendship may be getting back on its feet. This was Fabien’s idea. He wants to help me stay. He wants to help me work with Henri. I feel a huge wave of relief wash over me. I smile at him, and he smiles back.

  ‘De rien,’ he says, with a hint of regret. It’s clearly his way of saying sorry. I’m so grateful for it. I hated the t
hought of having to avoid him, knowing he was in town, looking out for him. It’s going to be fine, I think.

  Tomas tugs at his hand and pulls him away to play on the grass in front of the field. Stephanie lingers in the background. ‘Come and join us!’ I say.

  ‘I will just make more coffee,’ she says, and I feel a little bubble of pride at how quickly she’s learning.

  Carine and I watch Fabien as he plays tag with Tomas – and Ralph, who is running around barking.

  ‘How long have you and Fabien been together?’ I ask.

  Carine lets out a long laugh, and blows cigarette smoke into the blue sky.

  ‘Me and Fabien? We’re not together. We’re just friends.’ She takes another drag. ‘We were together as teenagers but it didn’t last. We have very different ideas about what we want from a relationship, from the future. We are much better suited as good friends,’ she tells me.

  I let the information sink in. They’re not together. I cringe as I think about him asking me to lunch and me turning him down. He was just being friendly. And then he thought I’d agreed to lunch with Henri. No wonder he gave me that look. A look that said, ‘You turned me down but then went to lunch with Henri.’ No wonder he thinks Henri and I may have something between us.

  At that moment he catches my eye. My stomach does a full somersault. I look down at the lavender and breathe it in, distracting myself from his look. I focus on the lavender and the calm it brings, imagining its taste on my tongue.

  ‘I prefer to be organized. Everything in its place. Enjoying the moment. We were looking for different things, and Fabien is still looking.’

  NINETEEN

  The following day, Stephanie, Tomas and I slip quickly into our routine. He pulls over his chair, then she holds him on it and reads out the recipe. I get out the ingredients and Stephanie insists that I attempt to read the recipe aloud in French while she weighs everything. We give Tomas a little bowl of flour to play with. After making much-improved macarons – bite-size swirls of soft-centred crunchy white meringue, with the floral hit of lavender – we deliver them to Henri for lunchtime. I watch his delight at hearing Stephanie explain how we made them and seeing Tomas choose a lolly from the freezer. I may not be used to children, but I do remember the joy of ice lollies when I was a child. And I promise to attempt homemade sorbet and ice cream for Henri soon.

  We return home, along the river path, Tomas’s ice lolly dripping on to his hands, him licking the dribbles. A truck is waiting on the drive. My stomach flips and I feel flustered.

  ‘Bonjour,’ he says, as he climbs out of the cab. Mimi peers out of the window at Ralph. He kisses Stephanie and Tomas first. I watch, nerves jangling. Then he kisses my cheeks, taking his time, just as he did with Stephanie. The soft bristles of his stubble touch me, sending shock waves through my body. I can feel his breath on my face and smell his aftershave, spicy and woody. With the morning greetings over, I step back and let myself settle. Stephanie is so pretty when she smiles.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he says.

  ‘Oh?’ I reply, wishing it hadn’t come out as high-pitched as it has.

  ‘An invitation to visit my friend Serge.’ He points to the other side of the valley. ‘He invites you to visit his lavender farm, see how it is grown.’

  ‘Great!’ I say. It really is. I’d love to know more about the plant. ‘When?’

  ‘Now, if you are available?’

  ‘Available?’

  ‘He means if you are free.’ Stephanie laughs.

  ‘Free, yes.’ Fabien nods earnestly. ‘Sorry for my English.’

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ I stutter.

  ‘No, you’re not free?’

  ‘Yes, I mean no.’ I stop. Grow up, Del! I tell myself. ‘I meant your English is fine. And, um …’

  ‘Yes, she is free,’ says Stephanie.

  I’m suddenly torn. Do I want to go with Fabien to the lavender farm? On my own? I need to keep a distance. He has this ridiculous effect on me every time he’s near and I can’t let myself get involved, I just can’t. Everyone I’ve loved has gone. Mum, the man I married – that Ollie is long gone – and the child I never had, will never have. I need to move on alone. Just me. I can’t let myself fall for anyone. Any happiness that comes my way is given with one hand and taken away with the other. I’m not going to let that happen again. I just want enough to be content … I look at him looking at me.

  ‘Why don’t Stephanie and Tomas come with us? She’s as much a part of the business as I am now.’

  Fabien misses only the slightest of beats before he says, ‘Bien sûr! Of course!’ And Stephanie’s smile is back on her face.

  Only I noticed the missed beat. This is for the best. I need to keep my distance. It’s for the best, I repeat to myself.

  We all pile in to the van’s cab, Tomas and Stephanie next to Fabien, with Mimi, disgruntled, on her lap and me last, beside the door. Ralph has to stay at home. There’s no room for him. Next time, I tell him. But I know there won’t be a next time.

  ‘On y va!’ Fabien says, turning the truck in the drive and snatching a glance at me. Stephanie is stroking Mimi and I distract myself by pointing things out to Tomas.

  ‘Dragonfly,’ I say, and he laughs as we head down the drive and across the river to the other side of the valley.

  The smell hits me before Fabien has even stopped the van. We bounce around in the cab as we go down the rough drive and, instinctively, I find myself reaching out to hold Tomas steady, but Stephanie is there before me and Fabien reaches over too so I withdraw my hand. She smiles at me. His mum has him. I’m still not sure when I should help with him. Stephanie and Fabien seem so natural around Tomas, unlike me. Perhaps I never had the maternal instinct.

  Two old dogs are barking and sniffing around the van as we pull up, and the small bent man from the market is there, dressed in blue working trousers and jacket, wearing a black hat, just like he was in the market, waving to us. We climb out of the cab and Serge shakes hands with Fabien, then kisses Stephanie and me. His hands are tanned but gnarled by arthritis. He grins, showing the gap where his tooth once was, and comments again on my ‘lovely smile’.

  I blush and turn my attention to the farmyard, the dogs, the blue work trousers and jacket drying on the line. A large cockerel struts around the yard, and Serge beckons us forward.

  ‘Please, follow,’ Fabien says. ‘Serge will show you the lavender fields.’

  As we walk around the back of the small, single-storey stone cottage, the sight takes my breath away. The fields around us are full of straight rows of glorious, deep purple lavender in dark red soil, speckled with white stones. I breathe in, finding strength and calm in its glorious smell. I can see my own farmhouse from here, the fields where once there would have been lavender like this. Serge holds out his arm for me to walk through the lavender. Tomas is ahead, running through the flowers, Stephanie not far behind him. Serge bends and picks two stems of lavender.

  Fabien takes them, gives one to me and keeps the other for himself. ‘Smell it,’ he says. ‘He wants you to breathe it.’ Stephanie returns, following Tomas, who is giggling as he runs unsteadily up the row.

  ‘This farm has been in his family for four generations.’ Stephanie stops between Serge and Fabien, who is trying to translate as Serge talks in his deep, thick accent. I don’t understand a word he’s saying.

  ‘He says the fine lavender grows up here, enjoying the cool mountain air. Not like lavandin, which is taken from a different, cultivated plant and used in washing powders,’ says Stephanie. Serge wags a finger. ‘This is the lavender that can be used for medicinal purposes and for cooking,’ she goes on. Serge holds up a sprig. ‘It is part of the mint family, use it like rosemary,’ she says.

  I’m so impressed with her English.

  ‘It used to grow wild up here on the mountainside,’ Stephanie translates, and I can feel Fabien watching me. ‘It was harvested and distilled here, in the fields. A still would be
brought to the field on a cart, a horse pulling. That’s why farms were set up near the river, so they could use the water to distil the lavender into oil in the field.’ She points to the river. My land is on the other side.

  Serge indicates his barn and beckons us to follow him. When he pulls back the doors, the scent is even stronger, wrapping around me and drawing me in. Dried bunches of lavender hang from ladders, held up by the beams overhead. I think of the recipe book that has mapped out my days since I’ve been on my own here: lavender has already become part of my life.

  Serge goes to a box and hands me a little bottle of oil. ‘Un cadeau.’

  ‘Merci!’ I open it and am assailed by its restorative scent. He is watching Tomas chasing chickens in the yard, but turns away, takes down a bunch of dried lavender and hands it to me.

  ‘With hot water,’ Stephanie says. ‘Like tea.’

  Suddenly Tomas shrieks and we whirl round. He’s tripped and fallen. Fabien is closest and goes to scoop him up, then carries him back to Stephanie, saying soothing words, Tomas’s sobs settling to a sniffle.

  ‘You have a way with children,’ I say, focusing on Tomas, not the image of Fabien holding him.

  ‘I have many nephews and nieces,’ he says, and my heart squeezes at the sight of him comforting the little boy. ‘But I don’t see much of them. They live further north. Families are more separated than they used to be,’ he says, and repeats it in French for Serge, who nods in agreement. ‘Serge grew up with my grandfather. Schoolboys together. My grandfather had the brocante from his own father. I joined after school but lots of our families moved away to find cheaper houses.’ Serge is talking and pointing around the farm and the fields. He holds Tomas’s hand and talks to him like a grandfather would, making him smile. Perhaps it’s only me who doesn’t know how to comfort or speak to a child. Tomas has been living with me, but I’ve had little to do with him. I’m not a natural, like Fabien, Serge and Stephanie.