“It’s not often we are so honored to share our table with friends from Canada and England,” Madame LeClerc declared. There was friendly laughter as everyone attempted to juggle both languages.
The main course, gardianne de taureau, was a delicious slow-cooked stew of bull meat in rich dark gravy with carrots, onion, garlic, and green and black olives. The addition of orange peel provided a special flavor. Riz rouge de Camargue was also served with simple greens on the side.
Jacques explained it was a local specialty. “And Madame LeClerc’s gardianne is known far and wide as the best in the Camargue!”
Compliments abounded as the guests all agreed the dish was delicious, with a slightly stronger taste than conventional beef.
Madame looked down modestly and said, “It’s thanks to our fine taureaux. They are the secret ingredient.”
Costières de Nîmes wine was served, a full-bodied local red. The atmosphere around the table continued to be relaxed with spirited conversation.
To his companions’ surprise, Bertram had one glass and refused any more. “I have a responsibility as the designated driver. So I will imbibe nothing more alcoholic this evening.”
As the others were exchanging comments about the delicious meal, Bertram leaned over to Arianna and whispered, “Besides, I’ve had enough of feeling crapulous. Time for a change!”
She looked at him, rolled her eyes, and whispered back, “Crapulous?”
He gave her a subtle “later” wave of his hand.
Monsieur LeClerc told stories of local winemakers, including this one to murmurs of amazement. “There is even one vignoble that sits in the same location as a Roman villa once did. During excavations, recipes of Roman wines were discovered. Now three Roman wine recipes are produced there in the ancient method. Wine is fermented in casks buried almost entirely in the ground and about ten thousand bottles of the Roman wines are produced annually. Les vendanges, the grape harvest, is a grand celebration there.”
A creamy rice pudding, accompanied by Armagnac and coffee, completed the meal.
Again, Bertram passed on the liqueur. “Even though I am aware that Armagnac is the oldest brandy distilled in France and truly a treat, I fear I must once again refrain. I am the driver, and with that come certain responsibilities: one being to remain sober.”
Darkness had set in as the guests thanked the LeClerc family for their gracious hospitality.
“This has been a day to remember, capped by this evening of fine dining and conversation,” Bertram said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home and for sharing the exceptional joys of the Camargue with us. I have no doubt we will all be treasuring memories of today’s peregrinations. We are indebted and grateful. Merci mille fois!”
Arianna, Cecilia, and Barbara all echoed his thanks. “He speaks for us all,” Barbara added, “although we don’t always know exactly what he has said.”
Everyone laughed and promptly agreed with her.
Jacques walked his guests to their van. “The night is rarely silent here,” he said.
The chirping of frogs broke the stillness around them. He suggested they look up to see bats swooping through the moonlight, enjoying a nocturnal feast. Soft lowing of bulls could be heard from deep in the darkness.
Looking embarrassed at the thanks and praise they heaped upon him, Jacques smiled in his low-key manner and lowered his gaze for a moment. “It has been my pleasure to share the Camargue with you today . . . and there is so much more to experience. You didn’t see the salt flats or other villages or take a canal ride for yet another perspective. Come back anytime. In the meantime, I wish you great success with your projects this week.”
Bertram went to the passenger side of the car and held open the doors for the women.
As they waved good-bye to Jacques, Bertram said with great respect, “That is a most perspicacious gentleman.”
Everyone agreed.
Conversation did not still for the entire ride. A challenge was issued by Cecilia for each to determine a particular highlight of the day. “No duplications!”
The challenge was easily met.
Arianna could not stop reflecting upon all she had experienced that day thanks to Jacques. She ordered her imagination to be still but kept coming back to the fact that he had opened a number of doors for her today, and she had, without real hesitation, stepped through. Rather than fearing what tomorrow might bring, she was eager to see for herself.
Few words were exchanged after arriving back at the mas. It was past eleven o’clock, and it appeared the others were already back in their rooms. Grinning, they bised. They praised Bertie for his fine driving, and agreed with each other that the day had been so special.
Arianna sank down into her steaming tub, filled to the brim, with soothing, rose-scented bath oil added. As she swirled the water around with her fingers, thoughts swirled in much the same way in her mind. She felt it had been a most remarkable day.
The landscape and culture of the Camargue had been educations on their own, much of it quite surprising. The opportunity to meet the LeClerc family and experience a glimpse of their life had been a bonus.
Riding a Camargue horse and seeing the bulls in their natural habitat was something she would never have imagined. It wasn’t something that fell into any sort of wish list of hers, and yet it had been exciting.
Seeing all of this through the eyes and heart of Jacques de Villeneuve, in his roles of both artist and guardian, was a unique opportunity Arianna knew she would never forget.
Bertie is right. That man is exceptional. We’re fortunate to have spent the day with him. It would have been so easy to miss!
The constant activity of the day caught up with her now. But as much as she felt exhausted, she felt renewed. She planned to rise early and get straight to her paints.
Another step forward—no, a giant leap forward. That’s what I feel happened today.
She had messaged a couple of photos from the Camargue to Tad and Faith, as was her habit most days after she had decided to stay. Often, she would add a sentence or two, and they always replied how happy they were for the adventure she was experiencing. They had all agreed before she left that they would only mention Ben if there was some change.
It was Faith who had urged her mother, and convinced her brother, that Ben should not be the focus of their communication during Arianna’s time away. “If there’s a change, of course we will tell you. But, if not, we don’t want to make it a regular reminder.”
Tonight, for the first time, Arianna felt compelled to express to them the deeper feelings of change in her heart.
It was the biggest step yet, she felt. She thought of Marti and Lisa’s words and how they worried about hurting people they loved by expressing their truth. That conversation was inspiring her now. Not that this is on the same level, by any stretch of the imagination.
She had to take a similar risk and hope her family would not feel she was abandoning Ben. She knew other people might judge her, but she trusted her family would understand.
Because, really, this is what they had been encouraging me to do.
So she began.
Dearest Faith, Tad, and Christine,
As you could tell from my photos today, we had quite an unusual adventure in the Camargue. It was our good fortune to be introduced to that unique area and culture by someone who has spent most of his life there.
The day was so special. A complete departure from anything I’ve experienced before. And today was just one part of how my time here at the Mas des Artistes is helping me contemplate a new outlook on life.
I want you to know that this trip has been the finest step I could have taken. Thank you for pushing me to apply for the course.
The people here have become very special to me. Who would have imagined that these strangers could help me work through what has been holding me back?
I have so much to tell you, but I will save most of it until I return h
ome.
What I will say now is that I am beginning to feel positive about life again. I am falling in love with my art like so long ago, with the challenge of it, with the desire it stirs in me that I thought I had lost forever. I am beginning to allow myself to feel like a whole person again—to laugh, to care about the bigger picture of life, and to hope.
Of course, I think of your father and my heart crumbles. But I’m able to put things in perspective, bit by bit. He will live in my heart until it stops beating. That is a given.
I hope reading this makes you feel as happy as it makes me to write these words to you. Please read this to Yiayia too.
I love you, my sweet family, and will forever be grateful for this opportunity to rediscover myself. I wish I could beam you all over here right this minute!
Love,
Mom xoxoxo
She slipped under the covers and fell asleep with hope in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Arianna found it challenging to keep up with the conversation at breakfast, with everyone speaking excitedly at once. It seemed the foodies had had quite an adventure with Maurice.
His fisherman friend, Bruno, had been difficult to track down, and they had spent a good deal of time driving up and down from one beach to another, checking out the fishing boats as they went.
John embellished the story as only he could. He had them all in gales of laughter as he described a Keystone Kops–style chase when Maurice thought he saw Bruno’s truck going the other way. “Death-defying U-turns, brakes screeching, and Maurice apologizing all along the way. Turned out it wasn’t even Bruno!”
“You may recall,” Joan reminded the rest of the group, “this guy, Bruno, doesn’t believe in cell phones, so it became quite a challenge to finally track down someone who knew what was going on.”
John continued, “Maurice must have asked a dozen people. Some of whom sent us on wild-goose chases—only trying to help, of course! We were staaaaaarrrrrving!”
Looking abashed, Maurice apologized. “Désolé! Désolé! I am so sorry . . . again!”
John walked over and put his arm around him. “I’m teasing, mon ami. You made up for it, a thousand times over!”
The others chorused in. “Absolutely!”
Marti said, “Besides, it was fun seeing so much of the coast, watching the windsurfers and everything! I can imagine what it’s like in the full thrust of summer!”
Lisa nodded and extended her arms as wide as she could. “The beaches were amazing,” Marti said, backing her up.
They’d finally found out that Bruno was not in the area, having gone to Marseille to visit his ailing grandmother. So Maurice had gone on to plan B.
Joan picked up the story. “He took us to a beachside restaurant in the village of Le Grau-du-Roi. Maurice was welcomed like royalty. They couldn’t do enough for us. We ate a deliciously stunning five-course seafood lunch that took three hours to consume. We also heard some stories about the history of the town and how profoundly it was affected during World War II, with German troops stationed in the village. The local resistance was heroic, in spite of the coast being on the front line of fighting.”
They all commented on the tragic and heartrending stories and how so many people had been courageous during those times.
“It’s something that every part of this country lives with, and yet it is really so foreign to us,” Marti said softly. “I feel it’s important for us to be reminded of that part of the history here. Hopefully we all learn in one way or another and carry that with us.”
Murmurs of agreement and other respectful comments followed.
“It is part of understanding the full experience of our culture,” Maurice added.
“And we thank you and your friends for sharing that with us,” John said.
“Then, after the stories and that food, we all just wanted to take a nap,” Joan said. “So we went down to a bar on the beach that had hammocks under gauzy shade nets and did just that!”
“There was a considerable amount of wine consumed,” Marti added, looking sheepish.
“Before we left the town, Maurice’s friend came out with a cooler full of fresh fish and tellines for us to bring back here for dinner. You have got to try tellines! They are delicious!”
“We had some last night,” Barbara told them. “And you’re right! They are incredibly delicious!”
“After that, we visited Aigues-Mortes,” John said, “which is a very beautiful and cool, totally walled thirteenth-century town. You guys should try and get there this week, if you can.”
Lisa passed her phone around, sharing photos as they chatted. “We drank copious cups of coffee there,” Joan continued. “We saw a few horses in the fields on the way home, and Maurice stopped at a park so we could see flamingos. It was a great day!”
Marti concurred. “We were, as they say, tired but happy.”
Then the nature lovers launched into their story of the day they’d spent with Jacques. Everyone agreed their separate Camargue adventures had been superb. They also all agreed that they would go back in a heartbeat.
They gathered in the garden after breakfast to share how their projects were moving along. All were open to hearing comments, critiques, and questions from each other.
Marti had disappeared for a few minutes, and when she returned, she was carrying a large canvas on a frame, the front hidden from view. Lisa’s face had turned a bright shade of fuchsia. In a gently teasing voice, Barbara said, “Lisa! You would blend in with that bougainvillea if you stood beside it right now.”
Marti asked for a drumroll, and everyone beat their hands on their thighs. John had started them on this during their mistral evening when they were playing their game.
“Ta-daaaaaa!” Marti sang as she turned the canvas around. “Can you believe Lisa has created this beauty in a week?”
They stood around and admired a stunning landscape that took in the scene from the women’s bedroom window. “There are many reasons why I refer to her as Speedy Gonzales—and this is one! She’s been up until all hours working on it. She simply does not like to waste time.”
They all knew better than to heap praise on Lisa. But they knew they could praise her work, instead, and she would be happy with that. She simply could not bear being the focus of attention.
The praise was unrestrained and celebratory.
“Honestly,” Arianna said to the others, “I’ve admired Lisa’s blending of shades throughout this whole course. She has such a touch, and discovers combinations I would not have imagined.”
“It’s not finished,” Marti told them. “But I wanted you to see how awesome this is before Maurice crates it up for us. It took a little persuading for Lis to agree.”
“Well, we’re glad she did agree,” Barbara said. Everyone applauded. Lisa looked down and grinned, giving them a thumbs-up.
“I stand in awe of her talent,” Bertram said to Marti, but bowed respectfully to Lisa. “No way I could make that much progress in so few days. It often takes an inordinate amount of focus for me to get in touch with my divine afflatus.”
Yet again, they all looked at Bertram as if he were speaking an unknown foreign language.
John asked, “Are you talking about farting, Bertie? Or, should I say, referring to divine flatulence?” He said the last part with an exaggerated English accent.
They all laughed, including Bertram. “Well, that too, my good man. However, I happen to like the term—it means inspiration, discovering my vision.”
“You’ve certainly expanded our vocabulary during your stay,” Juliette told him.
He blushed as he replied with a courtly bow and slight click of his heels.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The day was calm and mild with no breeze. The sky was so perfectly blue as to be almost unnatural. The mistral had done its job.
The cool morning air meant working out in the open was very comfortable. Arianna decided to continue with an oil she had begun
before the weekend. She found a quiet spot by the stone wall she was calling her own and set up her stool and easel.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let her surroundings create a visual in her mind.
It’s an orchestration of the senses out here today—for the eyes, the ears, and the nose. The blue sky, the golds of the stones, the ochre of the soil, and the silvery greens of the olive leaves. The comforting song of the cicadas. The low, gentle buzz of bees in the garden. The earthy smell that combines the garrigue, the herbs, and the simple freshness of the air. I do love it here.
She was satisfied with the progress she was making. Her painting highlighted the olive grove with a portion of this stone wall where she sat. It was the same wall that had captured her attention on day one. After two hours, she was ready for a change.
She carried the painting into the house, setting it in a corner of the salon with some other works in progress. She stood back and let her eyes take in the variety of subject matter being painted by the group. The different perspectives eight people could produce made her smile.
Finally, she was having confidence in her own efforts. She appreciated the opportunity to compare her work with what others were doing, to hear their critiques and compliments, and to learn from them.
While she was in the house with strong Wi-Fi, she checked her e-mail and text messages. It wasn’t like her to even think about them. But after her e-mail to her family last night, it was definitely on her mind. Then she reminded herself of the time change. The kids would still be sleeping.
Calming her thoughts, she picked up a bottle of water on her way out. The day was heating up, so now she moved her stool to the shade of the front terrace.
She flipped through her sketches. Choosing between several variations, she decided on a particularly appealing single flamingo. Balanced ankle deep near the shore on one seemingly fragile leg, at that moment this bird had defined tranquility for Arianna.
But right now, the graceful curve of its long, sinuous neck was presenting a challenge. She wanted to get it just right. So she put into use the simple methods Jacques had shown her.
Drawing Lessons Page 21