Arianna nodded. “Yes, of course I know of organizations like that. Good for her.”
“She was exceptional. A beautiful woman inside and out. Part of each year she was away with MSP. Each time she returned with a broken heart. She would heal here before going away again. It was a mission that consumed her. She had such respect for her colleagues and was so inspired by them.”
His eyes moistened. Emotion quieted his voice to just above a whisper. “Four years ago, she was at a hospital in Afghanistan that was bombed. She died there.”
Arianna felt a sting of tears at the back of her eyes. She gulped them away and reached to cover his hand that was holding his wineglass. “I’m so sorry. How terrible.”
“Yes, terrible . . . and terrible is part of life. The same word in French and English. The same pain in any language. Some people are more fortunate than others in avoiding terrible—you know that too. So we go on . . . in time . . . we go on.”
Arianna dipped her head in affirmation before meeting his gaze. Her eyes signaled her understanding, her acceptance of his meaning, her knowledge of that pain.
Now he held her hand in both of his. She added her hand and they clasped them together. “Arianna,” he said softly, “when people reach our stage in life—I am sixty-seven—most of us have much history behind us. Much of it good, wonderful even . . . but some of it not. Some of it terrible. We cannot spend this much time living without things happening. But whatever happens must not stop our living.”
They looked at each other slightly differently after this. There was an unspoken bond built of pain, of sadness, of shared “terrible” . . .
Arianna could feel that Jacques had been stuck in his own “now.”
Anne-Marie had been discreetly peeking out from the kitchen, respecting that a serious conversation was taking place. She stepped out with two plates.
“Très chaud, faites attention, s’il vous plaît. Very ’ot!”
Her words helped change the focus at the table.
A small, perhaps four-bite piece of rare meat in a rich sauce sat on a compact bed of Camargue rice. A modest stem of baby bok choy added green to the plate.
“Marcel’s specialty! Braised bull cheek. So very tender. Marinated in Sable-de-Camargue merlot and slow-cooked to perfection. Every bite will melt in your mouth,” Jacques praised, his face alight with pleasure.
Anne-Marie beamed at Arianna and Jacques. “Bon appétit!”
The timing was right for an interruption of their conversation. It was impossible to eat each mouthful without expressing murmurs of delight and appreciation.
A traditional salad of simple greens with vinaigrette came next, served in small, unusually shaped olivewood bowls.
“The servings are almost Lilliputian.” Arianna chuckled. “And yet, absolutely just right. There’s such a rhythm and blend to this meal. It’s a small concert in itself.”
Jacques grinned at her words. “Every meal with Chef Marcel is an experience. He makes eating an adventure.”
A cheese board followed with only six choices. Jacques commented, “He knows precisely which cheese should accompany each specific meal.”
The food lifted their spirits, and their conversation also moved back to lighter topics. Each asked questions of the other about interests and opinions. Arianna was increasingly aware of how attracted she was to him in so many ways. She was happy to know it was possible to have those feelings again.
For dessert, they decided to order one café gourmand to share with two espressos. They had discovered that neither one of them was affected adversely by caffeine.
“With any luck this caffeine will keep my eyes open until I get into bed!” Arianna admitted.
“I think that last glass of wine did me in.”
The café gourmand arrived with six little dessert samples.
“They’re called mignardises,” Jacques explained. “Petit, bite-size tastes of sweetness.” They then fell into a fit of laughing as he attempted to help Arianna pronounce the word.
“Every once in a while, a French word comes along that I simply cannot get my mouth to function properly around. This is one of those!” she sputtered.
By this time, Chef Marcel had joined them, the top two buttons undone on his white double-breasted chef’s jacket. Jacques said this was his indication that he was through in the kitchen for the night. Marcel spoke very little English, but his French was clear, and Arianna was pleased that she could understand much of it.
Anne-Marie soon joined them as the last of the customers left the patio.
Jacques explained to them that this was Arianna’s first visit to Aigues-Mortes. They had a long chat about all the areas in the Camargue and around Arles that she had discovered. They were curious to hear her observations about the region they so clearly loved.
Anne-Marie suggested to Jacques that Arianna needed to visit the Côte Bleue and the calanques. She spoke with such passion, with Marcel backing her up, that Arianna insisted that Jacques explain exactly what they were talking about.
Jacques began to tease her. “If you promise to stay another day and spend it on Mon Esprit with me, I will show you la Côte Bleue. We’ll sail from one calanque to another.”
Marcel joined in the good-natured kidding, explaining to Arianna she would be seeing a very special part of France that is kept secret from many tourists.
“Everyone knows the Côte d’Azur,” Jacques translated as Marcel spoke, “but not everyone knows the Côte Bleue.”
Arianna joined in the good-natured fun. “If I give you an answer now, it would be the wine talking. Let me sleep on this and tell you my answer in the morning.”
“D’accord! I will meet you in the lobby at eight a.m., and Mon Esprit will be ready to set sail.”
After heartfelt thanks to Marcel and Anne-Marie, with bises all around, Jacques and Arianna strolled the few blocks back to the hotel. The evening air had taken on a slight chill, and Arianna shivered inadvertently. Jacques removed the sweater he had slung over his shoulders and draped it across Arianna’s back.
“C’est mieux? Does that help?”
“It does. Oui! Merci beaucoup!” Arianna giggled. Jacques slipped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.
It was a small gesture that meant a great deal to her. Yet another thing she hadn’t realized she missed until that moment.
At the hotel, Arianna returned the sweater to Jacques. They exchanged bises. As they stepped back from each other, their eyes connected in a lingering gaze.
“Thank you for a most memorable day, Jacques.”
“I enjoyed it very much,” he replied.
Arianna promised to be in the lobby at eight a.m. to either go on the boat or leave on her planned road trip.
While she removed her mascara and washed her face, she examined her reflection. There was a long-absent gleam in her dark eyes. With her finger on the mirror, she traced some of the lines the years had added. This was clearly not the face of a young woman, but at this moment there was a distinct glow of happiness.
Positive thoughts spoke to her as she kept her eyes on her reflection. Age doesn’t have to preclude this happiness you see on your face tonight. You don’t have to give up on it. You can always welcome it into your life, if you will just be open to it. Choose life, Arianna. Choose happiness.
Heading to bed, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Her thoughts replayed the highlights of the day as she slipped between the cool, crisp sheets. Drifting into sleep, she had a flicker of what it felt like to simply be happy.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The moment Arianna woke up to her phone alarm, she knew what she was going to do.
She dressed in jeans, a soft cotton shirt over a camisole, and running shoes.
Jacques broke into a wide smile when he saw her. “Is that your road-trip outfit or your boating ensemble? It looks like it’s for boating to me.”
“So far, your ideas have turned out well. I think
I should give this one a go too!”
“You are going to love this. I promise. It’s a perfect day to go for a sail. However, to discover and explore la Côte Bleue would take us a few days. Let’s just go out and see what we can see.”
“I can’t think of any reason not to. You’ll have to show me how I can help on the boat. Are these shoes acceptable?” she asked, lifting a foot coquettishly, aware of the flutter of anticipation she felt.
Jacques checked the bottoms of her shoes. “They’re rubber soles—even better than bare feet. You’ll be fine. Do you have a bathing suit with you?” he asked.
When she said yes, he suggested she bring her bag on the boat rather than stashing it in her car. “Depending upon how hot the day gets, you may want to swim in the sea.”
The thought flashed through her mind that it would have to be extremely hot indeed before she would want him to see her in a bathing suit. Then she let that go.
Jacques took charge of Arianna’s bag as they headed to the boat.
When they passed the boulangerie, he popped in and purchased two baguettes. Breaking off the heel of the still-warm bread, he offered it to Arianna. Then he broke off the other for himself. “It’s tradition,” he said with a grin.
When they arrived at the dock, he held out his hand to help her up the gangplank. She smiled and tipped her fingers to her forehead in a light salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
They exchanged grins as Jacques returned her salute and took charge of their departure. “Come over here, please. You can undo the fenders while I start the engine.”
Arianna felt like the morning was made to order: the bluest of sky, bright sunshine, a warm breeze softly caressing her face as they slowly set off. As she looked back at the walled town, her mind filled with visions of Crusaders and sailing ships. On how many mornings like this did the Crusaders set sail for the Holy Land under the sanction of God?
Returning her thoughts to the present, she wondered aloud if there would be any wind to allow them to sail today.
Jacques chuckled. “That’s rarely a problem here. You’ll see. In the meantime, you might want to keep your phone handy. There are going to be a great many photo ops, I promise!”
They motored down the canal, past the white camelles, prismatic saline pools, and pink flamingos. As Jacques had predicted, Arianna could not stop taking photos.
After they crossed the Étang du Médard, the canal brought them to the seaside resort town of Le Grau-du-Roi. Arianna had Jacques laughing once again as she practiced pronouncing the town’s name. “Those French R’s get me every time,” she lamented.
“Hemingway was here in 1927 and again in 1948,” Jacques told her as they passed shops, restaurants, and hotels lining the main street. “He set a scene here in his novel The Garden of Eden—just one of the town’s claims to fame.”
It pleased her to picture the writer living his life out loud in that evocative setting.
In a short while, they passed between the lighthouses that marked the entrance to the azure waves of the Mediterranean. Jacques set about raising the sails and giving Arianna instructions whenever her help was needed. As he steered their course, he described the beaches of the Côte Bleue.
“And what are these calanques I keep hearing about?”
“A calanque is a narrow inlet on the sea, mostly with steep rocky walls. The most famous Massif des Calanques run southeast from Marseille to Cassis, but we have our own here, just smaller. If we had time, I would show you all of them. They are simply beautiful.”
“Will we reach one today?”
“At the speed we’re going, I doubt it. Perhaps I will put the motor back on.”
“No worries, Jacques. If we go nowhere, it doesn’t matter. This is so peaceful, it’s like a dream.”
Arianna was surprised by the expansive stretches of grassy dunes and empty golden beaches. “With sand like sugar,” Jacques assured her.
“I remember we saw some of these beaches the day you toured us around the Camargue. I never realized there were so many miles of them.”
Occasionally, she would see a group of Camargue horseback riders galloping across the flats, sending sprays of the shallow water into the air. Phone in hand, she began to capture some of the images and felt eager anticipation of the work that would follow.
As the sails caught the breeze, from time to time, Arianna would turn her face to the sun and feel the caress of the wind and spray from the splash of water against the bow. This is my reality today. My moments of happiness. By choice.
Often minutes would go by without a word being said.
At other times, Jacques would offer detailed descriptions and histories of the areas they were passing. He hugged the shoreline whenever it was safe. Around Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, they shared the water with windsurfers and parasailers, admiring their athleticism and joie de vivre.
They talked and laughed as if they had known each other for a long time. Conversation bounced from one topic to another, as they discovered common interests and values.
After a couple of hours, back in quieter water, Jacques dropped the sails and put the boat on autopilot. “We can continue motoring while we eat. Our route is straightforward for a while now.”
He brought a cooler out of the galley. “Anne-Marie came by early this morning and left this for us. She had a feeling I would be sharing it with you.”
Arianna was embarrassed to feel a blush coming on. She turned her head slightly so her hair blew across her face for a moment. Brushing it back behind her ears when she had gained control of her emotions, she asked how she could help.
Together they set out a simple and delicious-looking lunch of highly seasoned, cold boiled shrimp; a potato salad; and thick, firm tomato slices full of rich flavor in a light vinaigrette dressing. All this was accompanied by a fresh baguette and a chilled bottle of Sable-de-Camargue rosé.
Arianna could not stop commenting on the thoughtful generosity of Anne-Marie and Marcel.
“They’ve been fine friends of mine through my entire life,” Jacques said. “Marcel was always in the kitchen making meals for us since he was ten years old. Food was forever his fascination.”
When they’d cleared away lunch, they both stretched out on the bench seating in the shade of the awning and before long were snoozing.
After an hour’s nap, Arianna slipped down to use the head. When she returned, Jacques was standing and stretching.
“That was something I haven’t done in ages,” he said. “It felt so good!”
“I feel like we’ve run away someplace calmer and more tranquil than I’ve been for a very long time. Thank you for convincing me to do this. I honestly wish it would not end so soon.”
“It doesn’t have to” was his reply.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Arianna looked at Jacques wordlessly for quite a while. He held her gaze, speaking before she did, his tone low and engaging. “This is the first time in years that I’ve spent so much time alone with another woman, a friend. Arianna, I feel comfortable with you. Content. I would like to spend more time together. No strings attached. We’re adults. There’s no need for concern. Your company is all I ask.”
“Are you suggesting we continue sailing?” she asked, wide-eyed. A slight shiver of temptation stirred inside her. She was intrigued by the possibility of something so unexpected.
He nodded. “We could take a few days to sail to Marseille. I could even take you past there to the truly stunning calanques. Then I could deliver you to the airport in time for your flight.”
Arianna looked off across the waves. “Hmm . . . I have my rental car sitting in the parking lot at Aigues-Mortes. I need to return it at the airport; how am I going to deal with that?” She was giving this serious consideration.
They sat with large glasses of ice water and contemplated options. Anne-Marie had also included a substantial fruit platter in the cooler, and they nibbled at it, exchanging ideas. Arianna had Jacques laughing at her growing ex
citement.
Why not? she asked herself. Nothing is carved in stone. Should I do what I really want to do? Am I feeling guilty about this pleasure? “Really,” she said out loud, “what’s stopping me? Other than that darn car . . .”
“I think we can handle the car,” Jacques said. “Give me the key, and I’ll zip over to get it after I take you to the airport. I know the car rental people in Arles, and I’ll just take the car back to them. I have a satellite phone here on the boat and can call them tomorrow when the office opens. We’ll work it out.”
“Will we be close to Wi-Fi at some point today? My data doesn’t seem to be working out here,” Arianna asked, feeling like she needed to let her family know what she was doing. She didn’t think she would include the detail about being alone with a man. I’ll just say I’m sailing with friends.
“We’ll be at a village in about two hours and can get Wi-Fi there. It’s a fishing port, and we can pick up some supplies as well. Do you think you have everything you need?”
Arianna nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. “I feel like an impulsive child! I’ve got this sense of waiting for someone to tell me I can’t do this!”
Jacques chuckled. “It’s kind of crazy, I guess. But why not? It sounds like something that will do us both good! You can take over the aft cabin, and I will take the V-berth at the back. I’ve slept there many times.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Arianna told him.
Almost two hours later, Jacques steered Mon Esprit into a space at the end of a line of small, colorful wooden fishing boats. The weighted nets were piled high, ready for a midnight departure.
“These are pointus,” Jacques explained. “They are traditional fishing boats of the Marseille area, and they’re easily recognizable for being tapered at both ends. They’re always painted two colors—white and another color—and now only a few fishermen use them. They’re becoming trendy boats for local exploring.”
Drawing Lessons Page 29