Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

  Summer in Provence

  Lucy Coleman

  To Lawrence

  Even after all our years together, every single day of my life I still choose you. You were the one who convinced me it was time to give up the day job and just write. So, I did. Whenever my confidence has dipped, you’ve been there to pick me up. And when it’s been time to celebrate, you whisk me away and make me feel like a million dollars. Love you always and forever. x

  Contents

  April 2018

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  July 2018

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  December 2018

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  March 2019

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  May 2019

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  April 2020

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  December 2020

  Chapter 35

  Does ‘The End’ ever leave you wanting more?

  Nico and Fern

  Isabel, the Marquesa de Aytona

  Aiden and Joss

  Taylor and Kellie

  Ceana

  Pierce

  Dee-Dee and Odile

  Patricia

  Bastien

  Margot

  Hannah and Owen

  Acknowledgments

  More from Lucy Coleman

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  April 2018

  Stroud, Gloucestershire

  1

  The Wind of Change is Blowing

  Is it a blessing, or a curse, to be born with an inner voice… one that pipes up unbidden, filling you with a sense of uneasy expectation?

  The situation isn’t helped by the fact that my head has been pounding all day. But for the last hour, I’ve had a familiar shooting pain in my right eye and now it’s becoming relentless. It’s building, whatever is coming, and the stress of it is making me sick to my stomach.

  When it finally reveals itself to me, my instincts are screaming that everything will change. Every little thing I take for granted is going to be threatened.

  Change can be exhilarating, but what I feel is a heaviness beginning to descend upon me and I’m fearful about what is coming.

  * * *

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. The phone skitters across the desk, making me jump. I’ve been trying to read the final page of this report for the last twenty minutes, but the words keep swimming in front of my eyes. I don’t want to answer it because it’s taking all my resolve to sit here quietly reading, let alone engage in even a simple conversation. Maybe it can wait. It’s too late in the day for it to be my boss and I scan around, realising everyone else has already gone home.

  I retract my hovering hand, leaning over instead to check the caller ID. It’s my sister, Hannah. Instantly I panic and my mouth goes dry as I snatch up the phone, pressing it to my ear. At the moment, she’s a constant worry and it’s just one thing after another as she lurches from one emotional crisis to the next. Hormones have a lot to answer for, don’t they?

  My voice is uneven, a gravelly rasp I barely recognise.

  ‘What’s up, Hannah?’ I pause to clear my throat. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Thud goes my heart in slow motion, as if it’s mechanical and in need of rewinding. I know I should have quit working an hour ago to go home and dive beneath the duvet to ride this out.

  ‘Fern, I can’t believe you’re still at work. Do you know what time it is?’

  The haze of pain around me clears a little as the warm lilt in her tone reassures me she’s fine.

  ‘I… I’m leaving soon.’

  Closing my eyes to fight the nausea as another wave of pain washes over me – even my teeth are now hurting. I ease back my shoulders to release the tension in my neck, but it doesn’t help.

  ‘I’m with Aiden. You need to come home right now. I checked the lottery ticket pinned to the fridge door while we were waiting for you.’

  I can hear a jumble of voices in the background, which confuses me as I fight to process her words.

  ‘Ticket?’ What ticket?

  Oh. The one I bought at the supermarket on Friday. It’s… Monday, no, Tuesday. The days roll through my head with absolutely no connection to anything.

  ‘Well?’ She laughs, excitement raising the pitch of her voice and making me wince.

  ‘Well, what?’ The pounding is now excruciating and I realise if I don’t take a migraine pill, I’m going to keel over.

  ‘Fern, you sound half asleep. You only matched one number, but you flippin’ won the Millionaire’s Raffle!’

  My stomach begins to churn and I slump forward, wracked with pain, until my forehead touches the desk.

  ‘Lovely. Tell Aiden I’ll be home soon, promise.’

  Click.

  Why is Hannah at the house? Why isn’t she at uni? Then I remember that it’s the Easter holidays. It’s fine. All I need to do now is to get home in one piece.

  * * *

  ‘You look awful, Fern. Are you fighting off a migraine attack?’

  I nod, dropping my bag on the floor and gratefully sinking down onto one of the chairs. It looks like I missed a party. The breakfast bar is littered with glasses, two open bottles of Prosecco and an assortment of snacks.

  Aiden is staring at me. ‘Tea?’ he asks, gently.

  ‘Yes please.’

  My body feels heavy now that the pain is under control, but the side effects aren’t pleasant. My jaw, neck and shoulders feel bruised, as if I’ve hit something with force. At least my stomach has stopped churning.

  ‘Where’s Hannah?’

  ‘She had to head off as she’s meeting up with her room-mate for pizza, remember? Your mum and dad popped in to drop off the coat you left at their house after Sunday lunch and they offered her a lift.’

  Oh, yes. ‘And the drinks?’ I nod in the direction of the mess Aiden has begun to clear.

  ‘Georgia from next door knocked to say hello when she spotted your parents’ car parked on the drive. Hannah had just checked the lottery results on her phone and was buzzing with the news. She texted Steve to join us after Georgia said she’d stay for a drink. It turned into a little celebration and I kept hoping you’d walk through the door.’ He carries a mug of tea across, placing it in front of me on the table. ‘Sorry about this morning,’ he adds, casually, as if wasn’t a big deal. But his apology is tinged with guilt and he’s avoiding eye contact.

  Does he think I stayed away on purpose? In the seven years that we’ve been married, we’ve never rowed at breakfast before. In fact, we rarely argue, but recently… I’m beginning to feel I don’t know him any more.

  ‘You must be feeling really awful if even the thought of a million pounds hitting the bank account doesn’t raise a smile. Have you had it all day?’ He wrinkles his brow and his reaction tugs at my heartstrings. I love every little inch of that expressive face; including the silvery white scar on his forehead, a reminder of the boisterous young toddler who drove everyone mad with his antics – or so I’m told. And those hazel
eyes and the closely cropped, dark brown hair he daren’t grow out as it has a life of its own, is imprinted on my mind. For the briefest of moments, what I see isn’t a twenty-nine-year-old man standing in front of me, but how he was when we first met. A seventeen-year-old who thought he was a man already. In those days, he only had two hairs on his chest and now it’s in serious need of waxing, in my opinion. The thoughts running through my head make me smile.

  ‘More or less,’ I admit.

  ‘You should have phoned. I don’t like you driving when you’re like this.’

  ‘Like this?’ I frown as I look up at him, the effort involved in processing his words is hard work.

  Seeing the concern etched on his face triggers a memory from this morning. As he stomped around in a bad mood, I felt he was simply waiting for me to leave. My presence seemed to annoy him, for some reason I couldn’t comprehend. All I did was ask him what was wrong.

  ‘In a full-blown attack, babe. You don’t always realise your judgement is impaired. Remember the time you got the car wedged up against the pillar as you pulled into the garage?’

  It was one incident. Probably five years ago. And yes, that day, I shouldn’t have attempted to drive myself home. I’d forgotten my tablets and I didn’t want to cause a fuss.

  I’d inherited these sick headaches from Dad, who warned me that stress was a big trigger for him. Which didn’t help at all. Who can avoid stress?

  I remember having to abandon the car before I finally staggered inside. Aiden came back to find me collapsed on the floor in the hallway. The following morning he said I’d scared him, and he made me promise I wouldn’t take that risk again.

  Well, at least Aiden still cares, so whatever is going wrong between us, that’s a comfort, I suppose.

  He slides into the chair opposite me, looking sheepish.

  ‘Hannah was right, I double-checked the ticket myself. We’ve won, Fern.’

  Wrapping my hands gently around the mug of tea for a few seconds, I allow the almost scalding heat to shock some life back into me. The migraine pills leave my senses feeling muted, as if there’s a slight disconnect – a fuzziness that won’t be shaken. As the heat builds, I withdraw my hands and drop them down onto my lap. With fingers tingling, it’s good to feel something that pulls me sharply back into the moment.

  It’s only money: the words jump into my head, unbidden. Money won’t fix the fact that something has changed in Aiden and my fear is that he has fallen out of love with me.

  ‘We’ll be able to pay off the mortgage. And clear the credit cards.’ He draws to a halt. Aiden’s tone is gentle and as I watch his expression, I can see he understands it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. My brain doesn’t seem able to process the words right now, and I look at him blankly. ‘Come on. What you need isn’t tea, but sleep.’

  He stands and, in two strides, a pair of strong arms lift me up out of my seat and steer me towards the door.

  ‘Promise me you won’t take that risk again, silly thing. You might be superwoman, Fern, but I suspect even she has an off day every now and again. We all need a little help from time to time and that’s what I’m here for.’

  I needed to hear that. Oh, how I needed to hear that. With his arms around me, a sense of relief, of being rescued, allows me to let go. Like a balloon deflating, suddenly I feel empty and my husband is in control. My rock is still my rock.

  Aiden lowers me onto the bed and helps me undress. As soon as my body sinks back onto the soft, cool surface of the crisp cotton sheet and my head hits the pillow, I’m spirited away. The darkness is like a cocoon and I welcome it.

  2

  Isn’t it Everyone’s Dream… a Win?

  Georgia peers at me over the top of her mug of coffee, her eyebrows knitting together in concern.

  ‘What do you mean, it’s causing a problem? Figuring out what to do with a considerable windfall requires a lot of thought, but I’m not sure that’s a problem, exactly. If it is, it’s certainly a problem most people wouldn’t mind having.’

  She scoops back her mop of ginger curls and those piercing blue eyes search mine.

  I sigh. It feels as if Aiden and I have talked about nothing else for the last two weeks. A sudden influx of money, I’ve come to discover, doesn’t instantly magic away all of one’s problems. Our family and friends, the people we both work with, all assume we’re in some sort of state of euphoria. But the truth is that we aren’t, and I know that sounds ungrateful.

  ‘It’s complicated, Georgia,’ I admit.

  She places her mug back down on the table to signal that I have her full attention.

  ‘Come on, get it off your chest. If you can’t trust me, then you can’t trust anyone. We’ve been friends long enough for you to know that I have your back no matter what.’

  It’s hard to put into words and it takes me a few moments to pull my erratic thoughts together cohesively.

  ‘I think Aiden’s going through some sort of crisis. Don’t they call it burnout these days? You know, when people get themselves into a state of emotional, physical and mental exhaustion. Our life seems to be in limbo, right now. Aiden always feels he has to keep going; what he does is never enough in his eyes, which is crazy because he’s running on empty and miserable with it.’

  The moment I finish speaking I can’t believe I said that out aloud. Georgia’s jaw drops, and her mouth hangs open for a second before she snaps it shut.

  ‘I’ve always thought of him as Mr Dependable, wishing Steve was a little more like him. I didn’t give it a thought about how stressful that might be. I know the charity rely on him heavily because he has that ability to motivate others. You know what they say, if you want something done, ask a busy person.’

  ‘I guess it’s partly my fault. We’d love to have a baby at some point, but our savings were dwindling. Opportunities were coming up at work and I was in the running for promotion. It was a time to step up and prove I could handle it.’

  ‘Now, of course, money isn’t an issue, so you can relax.’

  It’s a fair enough comment but Georgia doesn’t understand it wasn’t solely about the money. It was about the recognition and I did what I had to do to make it happen.

  ‘If I hadn’t been so focused on where I was heading, maybe I would have noticed it was all becoming too much for him.’ This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to admit my fears. Up until now it’s been an elusive worry floating around inside my head. But as the weeks and months have passed, the random pieces have started to come together and what I’m beginning to understand is disturbing.

  ‘This is a bit unexpected, I will admit, although he hasn’t been his usually jolly self recently. A bit… preoccupied, perhaps, is what I’d noticed,’ Georgia suggests.

  I can almost see her mind ticking over as we sit here, glumly realising the signs have been there for a while.

  ‘We no longer talk about the future, it’s all day-to-day stuff. We’ve been married for seven years and I can’t help wondering if that has something to do with it,’ I admit.

  Georgia smiles. ‘The seven-year itch? Is that even real?’

  ‘The alleged point at which boredom sets in, apparently. I just didn’t think it would happen to us. What a fool I’ve been, assuming Aiden’s silence meant we were still working towards the same goals; he’s become withdrawn and that’s a warning sign I should have jumped on from the start.’

  ‘He is an overachiever, so I get that bit. But you’re the centre of his world, Fern.’

  ‘And he’s the centre of mine, but it’s always work or family these days. We’ve stopped bothering to dress up and have a date night, time to just enjoy being together. We come home tired and veg out in front of the TV. And weekends it’s either something related to the charity, working on the house or visiting my family.’

  ‘He… um… he hasn’t done something stupid, has he? I mean, you do hear of—’ Georgia’s frown is deepening.

  ‘No. No. It’s not like that – at least, I
don’t think he’s had an affair, or anything. I’d at least sense that, wouldn’t I?’

  Georgia’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into corkscrew curls. ‘Well, you’re a pair of workaholics, which is probably why you’ve always been so close, because you understand each other. Maybe you need a break, a little holiday to enjoy some undisturbed quality time together.’

  ‘I wish it was that simple, but I fear that would actually tip us over the edge. Being together twenty-four/seven while he’s so touchy would be yet another pressure.’

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean. Sort of confronting it head-on because there wouldn’t be any distractions. Damn it, this is a bit of a predicament, isn’t it?’

  Well, she’s right there. How can I explain something that’s made up of a zillion disparate little oddities? In isolation, they mean nothing; combined they mean something. But what, exactly?

  ‘He’s been so grouchy lately that the timing hasn’t been right to have a heart-to-heart. So, another week drags by and the gap between us seems to just keep getting wider and wider.’