Neither Sophia nor Arianna’s family ever returned to Lesvos. Over the years, as relatives aged and passed, the family connection was lost.
In the meantime, Ben and Arianna worked hard to keep the restaurant going. Eventually, they expanded into an adjoining vacant space and hired more staff. The restaurant prospered, but long vacations became impossible as they realized they needed to be there on a daily basis or problems would arise. Talking to others in the restaurant association Ben had joined, he knew this was the norm.
Arianna’s mother was stoic and undemanding. Her grieving was quiet, except for the fact that she dressed in black from head to toe for the rest of her days. Gradually, Sophia returned to some of her old ways, spending time at the restaurant, sweeping the floor, and living with her memories.
An adored yiayia to Tadeus and Faith, she had always been a great help by babysitting when they were young and by planning special local excursions to parks and the zoo. When the children were teenagers, they still often spent part of their weekends at her cozy house nearby. She refused to move from the space she had shared with Nikos and kept the house set up as they had loved it.
The years seemed to fly by, filled with long hours at the restaurant for both of them. Arianna missed her work at the Art Gallery and occasionally took some evening art classes. But she knew her contribution to running the restaurant made a difference to their lifestyle financially, and she gave it gladly. She was grateful daily for the love Ben had for his vocation, for food, for people. Not everyone was so fortunate, they reminded each other.
Tad and Faith were good students, and their graduations from university were occasions of great celebrations at Papa’s. Yiayia proudly held court and quietly reminded them, at every opportunity, how proud of them Pappouli would have been.
And so it went. The years passed. There were always plans for the future.
Until the future vanished.
For Ben, it was futile. Arianna wondered if that was how it was for her as well. The thought of life without Ben brought her nothing but agony.
This was not the way it was supposed to be. Who planned for this?
CHAPTER SIX
An announcement brought Arianna’s thoughts back to the present. They would reach Avignon in fifteen minutes.
For the past hour, between drifting through old memories, Arianna had been listening to her French podcasts. She hoped to summon the courage to speak the language whenever possible.
Now she slipped into the restroom at the end of the car and freshened up as best she could. Looking in the mirror, she was still surprised to see her thick black hair just grazing her shoulders. It hadn’t been that short since she was in kindergarten. And bangs! At sixty-two, she had bangs for the first time in her life.
Everyone at home said she looked ten years younger. Even though she couldn’t agree with that assessment, she liked the change. The stress and despondency of the past two years had taken its toll on her face. Lines of worry etched her olive complexion, and a shadow of sorrow in her once glimmering eyes told its own story.
Faith, in her direct way, suggested that her mother was looking severe and convinced her this haircut would give her a lift. “Go for it, Mom. Take a leap!”
Gloria had gone to the salon with Arianna, planning to get some highlights. When Arianna began to have doubts on the way there, Gloria encouraged her. “We can all use a new hairstyle every once in a while, my friend. Let’s do it!”
Arianna shrugged her shoulders now and gave her reflection an amused look. Sophia, old-fashioned to the core, had reassured her, “A change is as good as a rest,” as she patted her daughter’s hair, holding her in one last hug before Arianna left for France. This new look was the first part of a change, Arianna decided.
Tad and Christine had Arianna and Faith over for dinner the night before Arianna’s departure. Isabella told her grandmother she looked “cute” with her new haircut, and everyone agreed.
As Tad walked them out to the car, he put his arm around Arianna’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “I’m proud of you, Mom. I know this isn’t easy, but I have a feeling you are going to be glad you went. The South of France in May sounds very good to us. Christine’s got me looking at travel brochures for next year!”
At the departure gate at Pearson International Airport the next day, Faith had looked into her mother’s eyes as they stepped back from their farewell embrace. “Mom, I’ve been reading a lot of Anaïs Nin lately. This thought made me think of you. She said there comes a day when it’s more harmful to remain tight in a bud than to take the risk to blossom. Good image, isn’t it?”
Arianna smiled at this daughter of hers, now such a strong, sensitive woman with a full heart and warm temperament. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind Faith’s ear, as she had done so often when she was a little girl, and felt an overwhelming moment of pride and love. She kissed Faith’s cheek softly. “I love you.”
“Go forth and blossom, Mom. I love you too.”
The train pulled into the Avignon TGV station precisely on time.
A gust of surprisingly warm air welcomed Arianna as she stepped onto the platform. Her eye immediately caught the sign, “Madame Miller,” on the other side of the gate, held by a young man, fashionably but casually dressed. He had the classic look of a young Hugo Boss model with light stubble, thick brown hair finger-combed off his face, and aviator sunglasses.
When Arianna raised her hand in acknowledgment, he moved quickly to greet her with a warm smile as he took her suitcase. They walked toward the reserved parking area.
“Bienvenue, madame. I am Jean-Marc and I work for Madame LaChapelle. Sorry about all the security. Things have changed in France during the past year.”
A spark of pleasure tingled through Arianna at the sound of his charming accent, in spite of his serious words. His face shone with the confidence of youth, and his voice conveyed a genuine welcome.
“Bonjour, Jean-Marc. I understand about the security. We have it in Canada too. I’m happy to meet you, and I look forward to meeting Madame LaChapelle. The Mas des Artistes looks wonderful on the website.”
He nodded, smiling, as he held the back door of the car open. “Oui. It’s very calm and serene, just like Madame Juliette, the proprietor.”
Arianna sighed as she settled against the dark-blue leather seat. She tucked her hair behind her ears and put on her sunglasses.
As the car exited the busy parking lot, Jean-Marc asked, “Did you have a fine voyage, madame?”
She smiled at his lovely manners, so typically European. She recalled a bittersweet memory of Greece. “Yes, thank you. It was long but enjoyable.”
“There is bottled water for you. Please help yourself. Would you like me to tell you something about the area as we drive through? It will take us a half hour to arrive at the property.”
“I would like that very much,” Arianna said, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep as he spoke. She calculated she had been up for twenty-seven hours at that point, with a five-hour sleep on the plane that barely counted.
“We are in a . . . how you say . . . kind of . . . very secret part of Provence, Les Alpilles. It means ‘small alps.’ To many of us, we say this area is the true Provence.”
The passing countryside, topped by a deep cobalt-blue sky, was filled with quiet olive orchards and stately vineyards. Fruit trees had dropped their blossoms and were busy producing this season’s harvests. Cherries! Arianna hoped.
Well-planted fields had already begun offering up their bounty. The car passed many handwritten signs advertising asparagus. Arianna noted, with pleasure, some little unattended stands with a box for honest payment.
“Soon les fraises . . . strawberries,” Jean-Marc interjected into the quiet. “The most delicious in France . . .” He chuckled.
Arianna noticed that most houses had their own potagers close by—small kitchen gardens. Ben often said they provided the true origins of French cuisine.
Ben . . . There was a
sharp pang of sorrow in the thought, but even more, she felt regret. He would have loved this. She had known Ben would be with her in spirit on this journey, and she had vowed to make that a positive. To do him proud.
This trip was not to be about sadness. She remembered how Faith had hugged her at the airport and whispered, “Let the sadness go, Mama. Let it go. Reach for that light in Provence.”
Arianna squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and turned her attention back to the passing scenery.
Fields exploded with the bright colors of purple-pink valerian, yellow broom, and red poppies, lending an almost festive air to the landscape. She inhaled the colors, already planning her painting. How could she not?
She was certain there was more wisteria here than she had ever seen before. Great frothy clouds of mauves and purples covered stone walls and tumbled from thick vines clinging to houses and rooftops.
They drove through picturesque medieval villages, all of them bustling with life and seemingly with an inviting bistrot on every main square, their terraces packed. She had read how popular a tourist area this was, and the slow traffic they encountered confirmed that.
At times, the road became hilly as the car passed between rocky ridges.
“Look up, madame. Do you see the castle ruin? You may visit there during your stay. Madame LaChapelle will choose the time carefully. It’s very popular. Very crowded, some days, but better now than in July or August.”
Arianna took in the magical setting. She chuckled as she recalled Tad referring to the brochures of the area as “eye candy.” She would have to tell him it was more like a gourmet meal. Her eager anticipation of the next three weeks was growing now that she was in Provence and not just dreaming about it.
For the last week of this holiday, she was planning a road trip on her own to the Côte d’Azur. Just for a few days before flying from Marseille to Paris for her return home. She would decide the details later. She felt a little trepidation at the thought of going on her own, but that was part of the challenge she was setting for herself.
The road suddenly became even narrower as the medieval buildings of a village closed in around it.
“It’s as if time has stood still,” Arianna suggested, her voice filled with emotion. Impulsively, she asked, “Do you mind if we stop here for a moment?”
“Pas du tout—not at all,” the young man replied as he pulled alongside a small park in the village center. He quickly exited the car and held the back door open, offering his hand to help Arianna alight. Then he discreetly leaned against the car.
“Thank you. I can’t resist getting out here. The simple beauty transports me to centuries ago.”
Jean-Marc’s eyes crinkled with pride, and he bowed his head slightly to her before looking away.
She turned around slowly and then sat on a nearby stone bench. Shaded by the broad canopies of oak trees lining the square, Arianna allowed herself to set aside all other thoughts.
It’s like stepping into a storybook . . . A rush of pleasure brought her almost to tears, and she realized she was forgetting to breathe. Some dreams are worth waiting for.
Her eyes took in the cobblestone lanes leading in several directions from the square. The ancient stone houses, some covered with flowering vines growing with seeming abandon, glowed in the afternoon sun. Their uneven terra-cotta-tiled roofs, sprouting seedlings here and there, begged Arianna to capture them in her art.
In spite of all the years her family had spent time in Greece, her heart responded to this harmonious landscape in an entirely different way. She had known it would. It might be purely psychological, but it was what she wanted.
It fed her need to be somewhere new, without recent memories lessening her experience. As reluctant as she had been to accept the thought, she knew she was entirely responsible for how her life would move forward. The biggest question she faced, she kept asking herself, was just how she could possibly begin that process.
She watched a stooped, elderly woman walking her dog and carrying on an animated conversation with the shaggy canine. Then her eyes followed a cyclist down an alleyway with three baguettes sticking out of a rear basket. A cluster of men gathered at the far end of the park, and she recognized the pétanque court. Of course, it was that time of day.
“Thank you—merci,” she added shyly as she returned to the car, and Jean-Marc held the door open for her. “These villages are so inviting. I wanted to have a sense, even for a moment, of what it must be like to live here.”
Jean-Marc nodded. “We like to say that everyone who chooses to live here does so because they share l’amour de la terre. They love this land as it has been loved for centuries. We are a small protected natural park, Le Parc naturel régional des Alpilles, with our treasured petits villages. Sorry—small villages.”
Arianna nodded. “Every one of them makes me want to come back and explore. I’ll have a bit of time to do that while I’m over here.”
“Each village has its own unique character, and the gastronomy is the best in France. You will see. Yes, I did say that! Parisians will chide me!”
Arianna laughed, charmed by his unabashed pride in his region. He continued to entertain her with stories about the local culture, including his favorite markets, for another ten minutes.
The car crunched along a narrower gravel road. Turning sharply onto a dirt laneway, they drove under a leafy arch that led to a sun-filled open parking area. Jean-Marc announced, “Et voilà! Le Mas des Artistes!”
And suddenly, there it was. Just as it looked on the website. Just as Arianna had hoped it would be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The late-afternoon sun washed over the sprawling limestone farmhouse, turning it into a glowing, golden mass. The dusky Provençal-blue shutters, their paint peeling slightly, were unlatched and flung wide.
Twisted, thick stems of wisteria climbed around the massive wooden front door, creating a welcoming violet-tinted canopy of cascading blooms. The vines meandered across the stone walls, delicately draping over three sets of French doors that were invitingly open.
At the far end of a long flagstone terrace, Arianna could see a few people sitting at tables under grand, cantilevered umbrellas in rich rust shades that complemented the surroundings. Large terra-cotta pots overflowed with vibrant, multicolored plantings and trailing ivy spilling down the sides. Stunning bursts of bougainvillea in deep pinks and purples dotted the property.
A sizable black-and-white cat made its way along the terrace to the driveway, purpose apparent in every stride. With its ears perked and long tail pointed straight up, tip twitching back and forth, the cat left no question of its strong personality.
An attractive woman of indeterminate age followed closely behind. Her long hair cascaded in auburn waves halfway down her back and moved in unison with the flowing, cream-colored linen dress she wore. A wide-brimmed straw sun hat completed her outfit, offering protection for her flawless porcelain complexion.
Arianna had to stop herself from staring at this woman, possibly the most ethereal being she had ever seen. It was as if she floated rather than walked. A soft golden aura seemed to hang in the air around her.
“Bienvenue! Welcome, Arianna! We’re so happy you’re here! I’m Juliette.” She greeted Arianna in a warm, cordial voice that gave the new arrival an immediate sense of inclusion. Taking Arianna’s hands in hers, Juliette leaned in and lightly greeted her with a bise. She touched her cheeks to Arianna’s, one side and then the other, making a light kissing sound, not unlike the Greek greetings so familiar to Arianna.
“I’m happy to be here, Juliette.”
The cat positioned himself beside Juliette, a respectable distance from Arianna, and meowed loudly.
“Arianna, please meet Maximus. Are you a feline fan? Would you like to be friends with him?”
Arianna smiled brightly, her expression indicating her delight.
Then Juliette turned to the cat. The cat stared directl
y into her eyes. “Maximus, this is Madame Miller.” She paused, maintaining the eye contact. “She will be happy to be your friend. Please stretch out your hand, Arianna.”
Arianna bent slightly and offered her hand. Going over to Arianna, Maximus lowered his head in a manner that indicated a pat would be welcome.
Arianna chuckled and looked at Juliette, who cocked her head and said, “Maximus understands English, French, German, Italian, and, apparently, Russian. He’s very friendly but also respects that some guests are not fond of cats, and he stays away from them. Since you’ve indicated you would enjoy being his friend, he will be good company to you during your stay.”
Arianna bent down farther, patting the cat’s head and adding a light scratch around his ears. The cat responded with a quick murp. Then he sat a short distance away, purring loudly.
In Arianna’s childhood, there were village cats everywhere, and she had been fond of them. In Toronto, her children’s allergies had prevented any in the house.
“As you can see,” Juliette explained, her eyes crinkled with obvious affection for Maximus, “he’s quite a character. You will discover he is very much a part of life at the mas.”
Arianna smiled. “I will look forward to getting to know him better.”
“Well,” Juliette cautioned, “I have informed everyone that if he decides he likes you, he may be so bold as to invite himself into your room. So you might want to keep your door closed. Otherwise, he may make himself comfortable on your bed for the night. Consider yourself warned.” She laughed again, as did Arianna.
“Would you like to go to your room first, or would you come to the terrace and meet the rest of the group? We’re having apéros now, and dinner will be in a while, but just a light meal.”
“I’m afraid I might be tempted to lie down if I go to my room,” Arianna admitted with a chuckle. “Though I won’t be staying up long no matter what. I hope that’s okay.”
“Absolument! Everyone arrived at different times today and from a variety of places. I would advise you to stay up as late as you can tonight.” She offered a sympathetic look, adding, “We’ll do our best to keep you upright until around ten.”
Drawing Lessons Page 5