Summer in Provence

by Coleman, Lucy

  ‘I’m here if you need anything special. Except pasta. I leave that to the Italians. But most English dishes. I cope.’

  Scanning around, it’s a pretty average-looking commercial kitchen. All stainless-steel workbenches and equipment.

  ‘I saw from the website that you hold cooking demonstrations throughout the week.’

  She rinses her hands in the sink, stopping to wipe them on a towel before walking across to me. ‘Yes. I like teach people.’

  We exchange grins.

  ‘Well, I’ll pop in if I’m not needed anywhere else. I’m not a great cook, if I’m being honest, and it would be fun to learn.’

  That makes her laugh. ‘I will teach you best croissant and bread making. I promise.’

  Suddenly a voice interrupts our conversation. ‘Ah, Fern, there you are.’

  Nico steps in through the doorway and begins talking to Margot in French. I can only understand part of what he’s saying but enough to grasp that he’s agreeing mealtimes for today. When they finish talking, he turns in my direction, his eyes sweeping over me for a second before meeting my gaze.

  ‘Come, let’s walk and talk.’

  I say goodbye to Margot and follow Nico out into the morning sunshine.

  ‘My apologies for the delay, Fern. There’s always an issue to demand my attention. Today it’s the van, which has broken down on the way to town to drop off the fresh produce. Hopefully the local garage will sort the problem quickly. I trust you slept well last night?’

  He leads me across into the centre of the courtyard.

  ‘I did, thank you.’

  Those eyes are so intense, dark and full of mystery. My senses are telling me that this man has demons which lie very close to the surface. For such a young man, his face has deep-set lines and he frowns more than he laughs.

  ‘Taking a year off from such a busy job is quite a big decision to make. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.’

  As our eyes connect, I can see that he isn’t simply curious, he’s genuinely interested in my motives. I’m not ready yet to explain my situation, so I go with the safe option.

  ‘It’s time to reconnect with my creative side. As a child I loved drawing, but it’s something I’ve never had time to really explore as an adult.’

  I can see he isn’t fooled, but I also think he won’t press me.

  ‘Well, there will be plenty of time to get you started again. In your emails you seemed quite interested in a few of the different skills on offer. And Ceana was delighted you were prepared to help her out in the garden until Anton returns. Looking after the land and making it productive is central to our lifestyle here and that’s why we encourage everyone to get involved during the summer months. I firmly believe that fresh air and nature is restorative.’

  For a Spaniard, his accent is very subtle and I’m guessing it’s been a while since he lived in his homeland.

  ‘In this setting I do believe you’re right. At home, well, getting out into the countryside is usually only a weekend pursuit. But while I don’t know much about tending plants, I’m willing to learn.’

  He draws to a halt and half turns to face me. I feel as if he’s trying to figure me out, in the same way that I’m curious about him.

  ‘Good. I’ll put gardening duties on your morning schedule for the first week, then. I think you will do well spending some time working closely with Ceana to begin with, anyway. In the afternoons, I will look forward to seeing you in the art sessions. We’ll soon discover where your skill and interests will take you and then I will coach you on a one-to-one basis. During your stay you will be regarded as a member of the team and I hope when your time here is over, you will feel you have gained much from taking part in this programme.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s an amazing opportunity and I intend to work very hard to prove worthy of it. I’m sure there must be lots of people who would love to be able to walk away from their day-to-day lives for a whole year in order to explore a hidden yearning. I can’t promise I have any actual skill, but I always felt happy whenever I was able to take time out with a pencil and a sketching pad. Art lessons at school were scary, if I’m honest with you. It rather put me off at the time, but I doodled a lot when I was at home alone.’

  He shakes his head, his eyes blazing. ‘How it annoys me to hear that. No one knows what they are capable of until they are given the chance to explore their creativity. That should never be stifled. Every eye perceives reality in a slightly different way. Art is about capturing that uniqueness and preserving it.’ Nico’s tone is curt as anger rises up within him at what he perceives to be an injustice of monumental proportions. ‘A true artist works first and foremost from their heart, not merely seeking to impress or please a client in return for money. Commerciality often kills originality. I know because I’ve travelled that road.’

  ‘It must be a pressure, working to deadlines,’ I empathise. ‘Creativity isn’t something you can just switch off and on, is it?’

  ‘No. However, we are about to explore your inner muse and most people find that liberating, Fern. I’m sure that’s what you will discover, too. Painting for pleasure is a wonderful way to relax in the busy world out there. Sometimes it becomes more than simply a hobby, but only time will tell.’

  I’m entranced. And inspired. Nico is a passionate man, but that sort of determination and drive, while inspiring others, can also be a hard taskmaster. Ceana said he has no one, no remaining family, to give him a sense of belonging, so I wonder if his work and this little community are now his sole reasons for being? It’s almost as if he’s shut himself off from the world and the chance of building a life with someone. I wonder why?

  I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of sadness for him, as I sense a life of pain and possibly regret. If Nico notices my spontaneous reaction, he doesn’t show it and, thankfully, it’s fleeting, albeit unsettling. That’s the downside of being intuitive; sometimes you feel you are invading someone’s privacy without their permission. Like a voyeur.

  ‘You’ve seen the kitchen and day room – the first of the converted barns in the L-shaped building. The other sections as we work along are woodworking, run by Taylor Hamilton. He also uses one of the two open barns in the orchard; the other barn houses Bastien Caron’s forge.’

  I scan the long row of doors, moving my eyes along the entire length of the building as Nico talks.

  ‘Next to that is Odile Moreau’s pottery room and kiln, then we have Dee-Dee’s textile studio. Beyond that is our craft centre, and Dee-Dee oversees that, too, at the moment. The art studio is the double unit in the bottom corner. Some of my workshops are held there, but in the warmer months I often take the class down to the lake or into the woods to draw and paint.’

  The sound of an approaching vehicle carries on the air and the exhaust is clearly blowing. A white van pulls into the courtyard, parking up near the entrance and, when the driver gets out, he waves across at Nico, who puts up his arm in acknowledgement before turning back to me.

  ‘At the far side, the next two sections and the detached building a few metres away are all accommodation. The tutors have rooms on the second floor of the château, as you know, except Bastien, who has two rooms in la petite maison, which everyone refers to as the cottage. My suite of rooms is on the ground floor at the rear of the château.’

  I haven’t had the full tour of the château yet and I’m rather curious about it.

  ‘Do guests ever stay in the main house?’

  ‘Rarely these days, although we have eight rooms available on the first floor. There are sixteen rooms in total in the courtyard, but I can’t remember the last time we exceeded that number. It’s a fine balance between offering a personally tailored, interactive experience and making sure we earn enough for everyone here to make a living. We shut for three weeks over the Christmas period and our tutors tend to stagger their holidays throughout the year so we can remain open.’

  That’s quite a weight this man has o
n his shoulders. Maybe the château is his sanctuary. And I can understand even the other tutors wanting their own personal space to relax in at the end of each day. After all, this appears to be their permanent home, too.

  ‘It’s an inspiring set-up, Nico. And such a beautiful setting.’

  One look at his face and I can see that he wants to draw our little talk to a close. He keeps glancing across at the van and the driver, who has now disappeared.

  ‘Why don’t you go across and wander around the studios? Familiarise yourself with the layout and the facilities.’ With that, he turns to walk away.

  With most people his departure could be construed as a rather abrupt ending to a conversation, but with Nico it’s easy to see that he’s constantly juggling things in his head. Having ticked off one item on his mental list, he’s on to the next. Right now, it’s all about finding out what’s wrong with the van and checking that the produce was safely delivered.

  Curiosity makes me head straight towards the art studio in the corner. Raising the latch, the door opens into an enormous space, but this one doesn’t have a vaulted ceiling like the day room and kitchen unit. There’s a small staircase off to the right, heading up to a mezzanine. As I walk up the stairs, the sound of my footsteps grate on the silence.

  At the top is an informal arrangement of chairs and easels arranged in a semicircle around a small table. It’s draped with a dark blue silk cloth, not spread out flat as one would expect, but rumpled as if it’s been thrown down. The irregular folds mimic the effect of rippling water. Standing slightly off-centre is a bowl of lime-green apples and soft yellow pears, no doubt from the orchard. One of the pears still has a portion of branch with several leaves attached to it. Nico has placed it so that it spills out over the white ceramic bowl. His eye for detail in all things is evident everywhere you look. I wonder, though, if that sort of intensity is also a source of compulsion.

  Compulsion. A word that, now it’s in my head, unsettles me for some reason. What is it I can feel here? Is it paranoia because my life has been turned upside down and everything around me is a totally new experience? This… year of discovery, as Aiden phrased it, seems to me like opening a door on a whole new world. I don’t want to turn the handle because I’ve always felt complete. Satisfied. Is that so wrong? We can’t all be adventurers and it’s not that I’ve settled, unless being happy with what you have is now regarded as no longer enough. As if, in some way, it’s a failing.

  ‘The world is going crazy!’ I cry out aloud, my voice echoing around the empty building.

  It’s the general air of must have, must do, must be something more that could end up tearing my husband away from me for good.

  I yank the phone out of my pocket. Still no new messages, so I begin typing.

  Today’s update: I’m standing in an artist’s studio and I can’t wait to sit down with a brush or pencil in my hand and a blank piece of paper in front of me. The journey has begun.

  My fingers automatically continue typing to tell him how much I’m missing him, but I stop mid-sentence and delete the letters, one by one. If Aiden has outgrown me, outgrown our love, then that’s something I’m going to have to deal with. How exactly, I can’t even begin to comprehend because he is everything to me. He is the centre of my world and the reason I get up every morning. Now he’s no longer by my side, it’s like a part of me is missing.

  * * *

  The buzz of activity after the coach arrives is frenetic. People, suitcases, hand luggage, a cacophony of sounds… everyone pulls together though, and I simply follow the directions I’m given. After helping to carry some of the surplus bags as people head off to their allotted rooms, I walk back to the dining room to lend a hand in the kitchen.

  Margot is busy setting out a buffet on the long table and several of the tutors are here helping, too. Ceana sidles up to me, leaning in to have a quick word as I move platters aside to make some more room.

  ‘Nico mentioned there’s a young girl named Kellie among the arrivals. I don’t know if you noticed her. Pale girl, with all the bracelets and the dragon tattoo on her arm. She’s eighteen years old and he asked if we’d keep a special eye out for her.’

  She raises her eyebrows and I nod. ‘I carried one of her bags; she’s staying in the cottage.’

  ‘I’ll put her with you this afternoon, if you don’t mind. There’s another woman, Patricia, who might join you, too. She’s a very reserved lady, rather shy. Kellie isn’t very talkative, as you might have noticed, so I think that’s a good pairing. Don’t worry if Kellie isn’t responsive, just get her started and let me know if you have any concerns.’

  I nod. ‘It’s a pity there’s no one else in the group who is nearer to her age. It could be quite isolating for her,’ I add, wondering why a retreat of this nature appealed to a teenager.

  ‘We often find age doesn’t matter when people come here. They connect in a different way when they are taken out of their normal routine.’

  ‘Ceana, can I ask you a personal question?’

  She deposits the cheeseboard she’s carrying into the space I’ve made on the table.

  ‘You can ask me anything. I don’t have any secrets,’ she half whispers.

  ‘I know you’re a gardener, but what else do you do?’

  She straightens to look at me directly. ‘My background is in mental health and well-being.’

  I nod as she heads back into the kitchen.

  Why, of all places, did fate bring me here? A buzzing against my hip sends me scrabbling for my phone.

  My first update: I’m here and I’m fine. I’ve hooked up with a couple of guys who are going opal mining. I’m going to check it out for a few days but might not be able to get a signal. Enjoy your drawing lessons. Will be in touch when I can. Miss you, babe. Love you.

  I stare at the words, disappointment flooding through me. Opal mining? That’s how Aiden is going to work through whatever his problem is? Has he lost his mind? The only thing I know about opal mining in Australia is that it can be dangerous.

  I’m torn between feeling anxious and angry that the man I love is capable of making such a stupid decision. And he’s with strangers. Anything could happen and how would I know if he was in trouble?

  Aiden is trying to make sense of his life, a life he felt has become mundane, and I just let him go. I should have talked him out of it instead, knowing he’s been under a lot of stress and pressure. Stress doesn’t simply throw the body out of kilter, but the mind, too. No wonder my senses are jangling like wind chimes in a heavy storm.

  6

  Acceptance

  While everyone is eating, Ceana shows me where the gardening tools are kept, in preparation for the group’s first session of the week. We wander down through the orchard and beyond, where I get my first real glimpse of what looks like a very commercial market garden. Row after row of vegetables cover an extensive area, making it look rather daunting, if I’m honest.

  ‘I had no idea it was going to be on this scale. Where will I start?’

  She laughs. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be working on the herb garden. Follow me. It’s over here.’

  As we head off towards a small collection of wooden sheds, I can’t shake off the gloom I’ve felt since reading Aiden’s text. How can I throw myself into this when my heart and head are somewhere else?

  Ceana turns to look at me, seeing my frown. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, you know. The beds are raised, and you simply start at one end and work your way across with the hoe. It’s a laborious job but satisfying. We keep the tools in here and that’s pretty much all you will need today, anyway. Just make sure the ladies are clear about what’s a weed and what’s a plant. I’ll run you through the various varieties.’

  It’s a good job she does because there are a couple of things that look too straggly to be useful, but Ceana explains that herbs don’t grow neatly like many other plants. Some like to grow in clumps, while others re-root themselves as they spread and that’s why th
ey are planted in raised borders.

  ‘Mint will take over an entire area if it’s left to its own devices. The wooden shuttering stops the spread and contains the roots nicely. Are you happy?’

  I nod. ‘Yes. It should be fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine, though, are you?’

  I shake my head, miserably.

  ‘In my former profession, I always found that sharing a problem generally helps. Sometimes a worry is coloured by perspective. Anything we discuss is in confidence, Fern. You can trust me.’

  ‘It’s not a case of trust, Ceana, it’s more a case of not knowing what’s happening in my life any more,’ I admit, sadly.

  She says nothing, and I find myself tugging away at a straggly weed and then another.

  ‘It’s my husband. His job is very demanding. He works for a charitable organisation and he takes his responsibilities very seriously. Work spills out into what should be relaxing quality time. The stress has taken a toll on him, both mentally and physically, I’m afraid. He’s off travelling, but that isn’t my thing so—’ I grind to a halt.

  Ceana scans my face for a moment. ‘So, you decided to take a break and reassess your feelings?’

  ‘No. We decided, well, he decided we should take a year’s sabbatical from work. The gap year we couldn’t take when we were younger because we both went straight from university to earning money to pay the mortgage. We had a little windfall recently and Aiden thought – oh heck – the truth is that I have no idea why he had this crazy idea to go off and do his own thing. He said we should take some time to explore ourselves. Whatever that means. But he wanted to travel, and I’ve never flown, and I’m no better over water, either. It’s the thought of not being in control of my surroundings which makes me go into panic mode. It restricts the list of destinations we can visit. And now, he’s backpacking in Australia and hooked up with some guys who are going opal mining. Opal mining, for goodness’ sake!’