* * *
I have no idea what time it is when I stir, realising that Nico has touched my arm to awaken me. He leads me very gently back downstairs and into his bedroom, easing me back onto his bed and covering me with a blanket. My eyes are so heavy, and my head is full of a dream about a field full of yellow flowers; a picnic with my parents when we were young; Hannah merely a toddler. The sunshine is warm on my face and I welcome it as I drop back into a deep sleep.
When I stir in the early hours of the morning, my head feels so much better and the fever has left me. Nico is asleep on the chaise longue in the corner of the room. The instant I open my eyes, even in the gloom he calls out to me, softly.
‘Everything is fine, Fern. Go back to sleep. It’s time to let your mind relax and get some rest.’
28
The Introduction
Feeling much more like my old self this morning, I decided not to join the others on their Sunday morning walk. Aiden didn’t Skype yesterday because he’s travelling. Again. But I’m hoping that little icon will pop up on my phone sometime today. I can’t believe he’s unable to find a quiet corner and a decent enough Wi-Fi signal for a quick chat – even to reassure me that he’s okay.
Is it out of sight, out of mind? I wonder. Or is this more about what he’s choosing to hold back? The question that’s like a fire in my stomach is where’s Joss? Is she always lurking somewhere out of sight when he does take time to make contact?
Stop it, Fern, I silently berate myself. It’s normal to get caught up in things and the day flies by, so imagine being on the road and constantly moving from one place to another. I know I’m being unfair, but even his texts are few and far between.
Today I’m in the studio and facing a blank canvas. Jittery with anticipation, I squeeze the first colours onto the palette, ready to begin mixing. It’s a thrill, that first brushstroke, but it’s also nerve-wracking. I have a pile of sketches from a session down by the lake and now that the new bench is in place, I want a permanent memory of it. Something I can glance up at every day when I’m at home and remember my time here, fondly.
I’ve experienced a lot of little flashbacks as I’ve stared out over the rippling waters; sometimes alone and other times in the company of people who have touched my heart in so many different ways. When I return home, there’s a little part of me that I will be leaving behind, because it doesn’t fit into my old life.
I fleetingly think of the portrait of Nico’s mystery woman and I understand that it isn’t just a tribute to his mother as I thought, but to womanhood. He longs to capture the beauty of a woman, in a setting that she loved. To him it’s a way of immortalising that special bond any mother has with her child; he saw her as an angel, the person who fought hard to keep them all together. Is that why he asked me to sit for him?
The sudden click of the door catch opening is a surprise, as Nico is in the day room with Pierce. They’re looking at options for further expansion. I know that Nico isn’t keen to convert the attic space in the château, so they are costing out a bespoke building in the courtyard which would add another eight double bedrooms with en suite facilities. We’re getting a lot of enquiries coming in for twin-bedded rooms and Pierce thinks it’s a worthwhile investment.
So, when I glance up and a total stranger is standing there, I’m caught off guard.
‘Fern?’ she asks, and when I nod my head, she walks towards me, smiling. ‘I’m Isabel. Nico said I would find you in here. Sorry to intrude, but my visit was a surprise. A little detour on my way to a gallery in Nice.’
So, this is the Marquesa de Casa Aytona. Nico’s Marquesa.
Her hand is outstretched and we shake as her eyes sweep over me. My hair is probably sticking out here and there after pulling my T-shirt over it. I stare at her in dismay at what she must think. She’s beautiful, slim and elegant. In chic, skinny black leggings with a pale blue, soft leather jacket cropped at the waist. It offsets those piercing hazel-brown eyes to perfection. Chin-length, glossy, chocolate-brown hair, cut in that windswept, choppy look that only a very expensive, top hair stylist can achieve; she also smells heavenly. As I withdraw my hand, I find myself checking it quickly, hoping I don’t have any paint smears on it.
‘Don’t worry.’ She laughs and even that’s a soft, musical tone to the ear. ‘Paint is not a problem. And you are about to start a new canvas. Hopefully, soon I will have news as I have someone already interested in one of your pieces. So, this could be another one for my gallery, yes?’
I’m hoping to create something that will be a permanent reminder for me, every time I glance up at it on my wall at home. But I don’t feel comfortable admitting that yet, so I simply shrug my shoulders.
Her eyes are so full of life, they sparkle. Everything about her is a little bit larger than life. I notice that she wears a wedding ring, and I’m not surprised. A woman like this could have any man she chooses, and her husband must be a very special man, indeed.
‘Nico said you would show me some of your other canvases? Is that possible? Or should I not disturb you? I know that Nico would have already thrown me out at this point. He hates being disturbed when he’s working.’
She reminds me of the actress Penelope Cruz; that sultry, slightly breathy way she speaks is beyond charming. I’m totally thrown and realise I need to pull myself together or risk looking like a complete fool.
‘I’m sorry, Isabel. This is such a surprise and I’m a little speechless. I’d be delighted to show you some of my other work. It would be my pleasure and thank you. Um, having… I mean, just knowing my paintings are displayed on a wall in a real gallery is such an honour, it really is!’
My rambling makes me wish I hadn’t opened my mouth at all, so I decide to shut up and Isabel follows me across to the storage cupboard. As I slide the first door across, I ease out the trolley storing over a dozen of my canvases. I tilt the first one forward, so Isabel can view the second standing behind it.
‘Oh, wonderful. And all of these you have done since coming here?’
I nod. ‘Yes. Please, take your time. I’ll just give my hands a quick wash.’
I leave her to leaf through, eager to check out my hair and my face for signs of paint in the mirror above the sink. I’m also conscious I need to pop the lid on my palette, so it takes a few minutes, which is enough time to compose myself.
‘Can I take a picture?’ She holds up her phone and points towards one of the canvases.
‘Yes, please do.’
Snapping away at several of them in turn, I try not to watch her every move, but she’s one of those glamorous people who mesmerise you because they look so flawless, it’s jaw-dropping. If I saw her photo in a magazine, I’d swear she’d been airbrushed. No one should look that good.
‘This is exactly what I was hoping for, thank you. The man I’ve been talking to is a big investor, always looking for a new artist. He loves to make money and that’s why I need to keep discovering new talent.’
I don’t quite know what to say to that, so I smile.
‘He thinks you are a good investment. We must make sure we price you correctly. It must be win-win, no?’
I nod. I can’t even believe someone would hand over money for something I’ve painted when I’m still learning. I’m hardly an artist, more of a trainee.
‘So, you keep Nico company here when he paints late?’
‘Yes. It’s peaceful when everyone else is asleep.’
She inclines her head. ‘And how long are you here, Fern?’
I have no idea why she’s asking that question, but I feel uneasy.
‘Another seventeen weeks. The time has flown.’
‘Ah. And things have changed, yes? Nico, he worked hard to build this, but he is a painter first. And you? What happens after you go home?’
She doesn’t seem edgy about my being here as I’d feared for a moment, but she is curious.
‘I will still paint, but my family will be surprised. It will be nice to all be
together again, as we’re rather spread out at the moment.’
Did she want to hear that, or not? I wonder.
She’s glancing around and now her eyes are on Nico’s work. She saunters off, lifting the corner of the muslin covering the painting of the woman by the lake.
‘Ah, still not finished,’ she exclaims, sounding frustrated. ‘He must focus. This is his past and it will haunt him until it is done. He never listens to me, so why I bother, I do not know.’ She isn’t talking to me but out loud to herself and I watch as she wanders down the room.
Nico has his current work in progress and two others drying, although they could probably be put away now.
‘This, I want,’ she says, standing back to admire another of Nico’s beloved paintings of the garden in bloom. She spins around, directing her attention back to me. ‘What if when you go home you cannot paint? What if your inspiration is here?’
Is she challenging me and my commitment? Or is this about Nico?
It catches me off guard. Does she think Nico is my inspiration? A voice looms up behind me and I see the reaction on her face. It softens, instantly.
‘Fern doesn’t need a château, or France, to inspire her. But she will be needing a studio.’ Nico stands there, his eyes sweeping over my face for an instant before settling on Isabel.
A studio of my own. I haven’t had time to think about what happens next with regard to my painting. More worrying to me at this moment is what if Isabel is right?
* * *
I dress with care for dinner, wanting to create the right impression for some reason I can’t really explain, as you can’t undo a first impression. It’s vanity, I suppose. Isabel is in a different league to me and we both know it. But she’s a businesswoman and, of course, I want the heady feeling of knowing that someone in the business thinks my paintings will sell, because it’s validation.
What if when I leave here and return home everyone around me thinks I’ve lost my mind and I’m chasing an impossible dream? I don’t know anyone else who paints and most people I know buy their art from a chain store, or IKEA. It’s a sobering thought.
As I approach the dinner table to take my seat, Nico is talking to Isabel in Spanish. There is a lot of hand gesturing going on, but their eyes are firmly on each other and the interaction between them indicates she’s on his case. He ends the dialogue by throwing his hands up in the air in a defeated gesture and they both laugh.
‘She wants the painting of the roses, Fern. The one I do not want to sell because it belongs in the château. Letting it go is like ripping off my arm.’
His face is dramatic, but she’s laughing at him. It’s good to see the rapport between them. I thought he had no one, but now I’m not so sure of that.
‘It’s beautiful, Nico, that’s why Isabel wants to display it in her gallery.’
‘If you refuse me, then you will be in my debt again. You must come in the summer. You have not been to visit for a long time and I will throw a party in your honour. Come anyway, it will be good for business.’
If Isabel was simply reading out a shopping list, she’d still make every syllable sound sexy with that musical, halting quality to her voice.
‘I’m needed here!’ Nico exclaims, and now everyone around the table is listening to the back and forth between them.
‘But you sell more paintings if people see you, meet you in person. You know that. It is time for a trip home.’ Her tone changes and I can see she’s serious.
Nico glances at her, frowning. ‘This is my home now, Isabel. I’ll think about it. Now, let’s eat. I’m starving.’
Margot’s cassoulets are wonderful, and I can only hope that Isabel isn’t a vegetarian and she likes rabbit.
I glance her way a couple of times throughout the meal and she seems happy enough. I have Kellie on one side of me and Dee-Dee on the other, so I end up being party to two very different conversations.
Once everything is cleared away, people drift off to do different things. Nico and Pierce end up playing cards and I’m left sitting opposite Isabel, so I feel obliged to go and sit next to her. She’s wearing a soft pink cashmere jumper that clings to her slender body like a second skin and a beautifully tailored pair of black trousers. Simple, but she still stands out above the crowd. Next to her I feel rustic. As these thoughts are going through my head, I begin to laugh and she looks at me, startled, as I lower myself into the chair next to her. Rustic? Or boring?
‘Sorry, my head was somewhere else for a moment, there. Nico is very fond of the rose painting,’ I explain. ‘He thought it would brighten the entrance hallway during the winter months.’
I don’t know why I feel it’s necessary to fight his case for him.
‘As may be. He will be paid handsomely for it. An artist cannot get sentimental and some pieces will sell more easily than others.’
Even when she’s delivering what could be regarded as a rather curt message, her warm Spanish accent seems to take the sting out of the words.
‘I have a lot to learn,’ I admit.
‘Nico’s paintings can command the middle range of five figures and within five years it will be six figures if he continues to listen to me. But we need to release the right paintings at the right time. Now you,’ she looks at me pointedly, ‘different market. You are more commercially viable. I hope you intend to be prolific. People like to impulse-buy but at the right price. They look for colour, the brighter the better. A statement piece to set off their beautiful room as an accessory, rather than an investment. Do not be offended by that because in time, who knows? Maybe they make a huge profit, too. But the demand is high, and I will give you my card. Is good for you, is good for me. Yes?’
I nod. ‘Thank you. I don’t really know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything, just paint,’ she says, leaning in conspiratorially.
It’s the first time I’ve felt a connection with her, as if she has been trying to suss me out and now she’s come to a conclusion.
‘With regard to Nico, you help convince him to come to Spain this summer? He needs the exposure and he has been away too long. Things run well here and it’s possible?’
I look across at Nico and Pierce, oblivious to the fact that we’re watching them. Isabel has no idea what Nico has been hiding from her. At least he is finally free of the worry, but is he ready to go back to a place where the memories will seem even more real?
‘Now Pierce is here, I’d say it’s possible. But whether Nico wants to go, I’m not so sure, Isabel. Just recently he’s been dwelling on his childhood, things I think that he’d rather forget. Going back might unsettle him further.’
She’s watching me, watching him.
‘You seem to understand him. I do not push for no reason, Fern. I came here solely for this purpose but will not admit that to him. I have a lot of wealthy clients. The sort of people who, when they buy an artist’s work, it sends a little ripple through the market. The right message. Nico has been so cautious in the past, but now it is holding him back. We have history together and I have invested time in him out of our friendship. But this is business and I need him to step up.’
I can see her point. She’s concerned that he’s only content to bury his head in the work but isn’t interested in the equally important task of establishing himself as a name people can recognise. If she knew about his father’s deception, maybe we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. I have no idea how strong their friendship is but, even so, there’s nothing more I can tell her – this is between the two of them.
‘It probably won’t make a difference whatever I say, but I will tell him that I think it’s a good idea. Because it is, for several different reasons. Not least because a change of scenery would be good for him. It’s time he received the recognition he deserves in person, from people he respects. He should step away and let his team prove that they can take care of things here.’
‘Good. We are like-minded. I want only what is best for him. I sus
pect you do, too.’
I try not to react to the loaded look that Isabel flashes at me and return it with a polite nod of my head.
29
A Sense of Relief
As the evening moves on, eventually Nico gravitates back to be with his guest. I change seats and it isn’t long before Kellie appears, looking pleased with herself.
‘I have some news,’ she announces, discreetly, and nods in the direction of the kitchen.
Swinging open the door, she glances around to check we’re alone.
‘I’ve been talking with Pierce and Ceana. The Haven is going to pay for me to attend a couple of courses. The first one is a Crystal Healing Practitioner Diploma, which I’ll be doing online. If I pass that, then I’ll be going to Wimereux, on the coast, to attend the first module in Reiki Practitioner training. Isn’t that just brilliant?’
I can see that she’s buzzing. I can’t help wondering whether she’s told her parents, though. Considering they were so worried about her, they never did come over to see for themselves the sort of environment she’s in. But either way, she’s happy.
‘That’s wonderful news, Kellie, and you deserve it. I’m thrilled for you!’ I hug her, and she’s dancing on the spot.
‘Taylor thinks it’s the right thing for me, too. When we shut down for the three-week break next Christmas, he’s going back home, and he’s asked me to go with him. I said yes.’
Nine months is a long time, but I have a good feeling about the two of them. Age is just a number and in their particular case, it’s the tough life experiences they’ve managed to survive which puts them on an equal footing.
Suddenly she bursts out laughing, unable to contain her excitement. ‘My parents will freak out when I break the news. But I don’t care. My future is here, Fern, and I know that now.’
Summer in Provence Page 25