The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1)

by Patricia Sands

  Katherine’s anxiety was fueled when Graham knocked on their door to walk to the parking area and she saw they had hired a taxi. Feeling overly suspicious, she immediately sensed they planned on some heavy drinking.

  Molly gave her the evil eye and mouthed, “Lighten up.”

  “That way we can drink as much as we want and not worry about getting home,” Nick explained with a wink, as if reading Kat’s mind. Her stomach knotted recalling a somewhat similar wink from Matt.

  The Hôtel Belles Rives oozed charm and history. The ambiance in the piano bar was exceptional with a wide terrace overlooking the sea toward the Îles de Lérins and Cannes, backed by the Esterel.

  Molly wore a fairly low-cut green silk dress, her hair pulled back into a sophisticated chignon. “I hate to tell you how old this dress is, Kat, but I still love it.”

  “And it still looks beautiful on you,” Katherine replied. She was wearing a more conservative pale-blue linen sheath, complimenting her slim stature.

  Both men were turned out in crisp shirts, blazers, and beige linen slacks—Nick’s sharply creased and Graham’s appearing well lived in.

  Molly’s prediction turned out to be spot on. The men were nothing short of good company and, discovering a dance floor on the terrace, great dancers.

  Nick refused to slow dance, explaining, “I’ve got two left feet when it comes to a slow song. Give me swing or a rockin’ jive number and I’m your man.”

  Katherine had loved to jive since high school. She grudgingly had to admit that James had been an exceptional jive dancer and they had enjoyed that together.

  Graham was a good all-around dancer. Snuggling close to both women during slow songs, he thoughtfully asked permission, saying, “Trust me, it’s the wife I have on my mind, but it feels so stilted to dance slowly two feet apart. I even dance like this with me mum!”

  “You have to love him,” Molly said to Katherine as Nick laughed and Graham blushed.

  The sultry evening air combined with the moon’s reflection on the water, created a relaxed atmosphere. From time to time, someone would whisper a request to the pianist and pick up the microphone to serenade the patio guests.

  Conversation flowed easily amongst the four of them and before long, Nick and Graham cajoled Molly into singing.

  Once Molly held the microphone in her hand, any hesitation slipped away. Nick and Graham were astounded by her talent, as were the rest of the patrons. Katherine felt very proud of her.

  The bar was only half full and the guests were enjoying the show, calling out requests as the night went on. From Billie Holliday, Carmen McRae, Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Peggy Lee, to Diana Krall.

  Katherine’s fears of an out-of-control booze-a-thon were completely unfounded.

  “Thanks for an amazing day—and evening,” both women said as the men bid them goodnight at the door.

  The men agreed, complimenting Molly on her singing again.

  “Why don’t you come up to our roof terrace for a nightcap?” Molly suggested. This time, Katherine swallowed her knee-jerk anxiety. Why not? she thought.

  Admiring their cozy quarters on the way through, it was a perfect night to be perched on the roof with the still air and a sliver of a moon creating just enough light.

  It wasn’t long before Katherine announced she was exhausted and had to go to bed. Nick made a lighthearted comment about tucking her in, which gave her a bit of a chill, but she chose to ignore it.

  As the men were leaving, Nick issued an invitation back to the boat for the next afternoon with a group of friends he was entertaining. Katherine explained they had other plans.

  They did agree to meet at the market on Monday morning so Nick could introduce Katherine to the cheese vendor.

  “I am so looking forward to that!” she exclaimed.

  After the guys left, Molly said, “See? Not all men are jerks. I had a good feeling about those two, and I was right. They are decent guys and there are lots more out there, Katski. Trust me.”

  “You can keep working on me, but to be honest, I still feel I would just like to be on my own.”

  “You have a lot of life ahead of you. Why wouldn’t you want to share it with someone? It doesn’t mean you have to get married again, y’know.”

  “Molly, look who is talking. You’ve told me since you were a teenager that you would never get married or even live with a guy—and you haven’t.”

  “Kat, Kat, Kat, you know why, and have I been happy? Until Ton—I mean Antonio—no, a big fat, un-fucking-qualified no. If you’d had the childhood and the parents I did, then I might accept what you are saying. I have a good excuse for my choice, but you don’t. Really, you don’t.”

  “I have to tell you that my home exchange in June, and now being here and knowing I’m staying for three months, seems to be giving me strength. I like it. I feel independent and not vulnerable in any way. I like being on my own more than I ever imagined. Even dealing with Matt the Asshole ended up being an empowering experience for me. I handled it!”

  “I am woman, hear me roar,” Molly sang as they both flexed their biceps and burst out laughing. “That’s the wine singing. I think I’ve had my quota for the year this week.”

  “We were getting way too serious,” Katherine said.

  40

  Katherine was lying on the bed with Molly on Sunday morning, guidebooks and maps strewn about. Molly’s bed had the best view, and neither of them felt like getting up just yet.

  “Isn’t this just one of the best things that girlfriends do?” Molly said to Katherine.

  “So good. Why didn’t I realize what I was missing? Who says you can’t still have girlfriends when you are married?”

  “Um, well, I guess your husband said so.”

  “Why was I so accommodating? What the hell was wrong with me?”

  “Let it go, Kat. What’s done is done and here you are—here we are—and we are having some quality girlfriend time. Woohoo!”

  They both laughed and jiggled closer together.

  “Which we haven’t done since we were teenagers,” Katherine said. “And now we’re, ahem, aging girlfriends.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, girlfriend, this view is frickin’ better than the one you had from your bedroom—just sayin’,” Molly said, and they both laughed again.

  They looked straight out between their feet, watching boats gliding by on the sun-kissed waves that sparkled like diamonds. The rich deep azure of the sea harmonized with the blue of the sky, which they agreed was a shade only an artist could describe. The ceiling fan slowly circulated the warm sea air wafting in through the open French doors.

  “Ahhh, breathe in that air,” Katherine sighed, inhaling deeply.

  “Mmmm. I’m thirsty, though. I’m going to get some OJ. Want some?” Molly asked as she rolled out of bed.

  “Great idea. I guess we should think about getting up soon.”

  “It’s only eight,” Molly said as she arrived back with the juice. “Let’s go for that walk up to the lighthouse you mentioned. I’m realizing I only have two more days here, and I don’t want to miss a minute.”

  “Good plan,” Kat agreed as she sipped her juice. “That might take an hour or two, and we can talk about what you want to do this afternoon and tomorrow. I’ve dragged you all over the place this week and you may not want to do anything.”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t get enough.”

  Not quite an hour later, they were briskly walking along the ramparts over to the big public beach of La Salis where they began the climb up the stairs of the Chemin du Calvaire on the east side of the Cap.

  “Oh crap! I wish my legs were in better shape,” Molly complained. “These steps are killing me!”

  “I’m glad I got back into cycling before I came over,” Katherine admitted.

  “Speaking of cycling, I keep forgetting to ask why you didn’t bring your bike with you.”

  “I decided I’m going to buy one over here. I talked to Ben at
Chain Reaction and he gave me some brand names to look for that could still be serviced at home.”

  “Well, that’s exciting!”

  Katherine grinned. “It is! My bike is eight years old and the advances have been phenomenal since then, so why not? Besides, it’s another vestige from my old life that I can shed.”

  Reaching the top of the climb, they were glad the church was open. Notre Dame de la Garoupe had been the traditional fisherman’s church for centuries and was filled with all manner of marine memorabilia. Touching handwritten notes to St. Pierre, their patron saint, were left on the walls of the church—many with photographs attached—and spoke of heartbreaking loss at sea as well as miracles.

  Katherine noticed Molly wiping her eyes as she read one of the notes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, slipping her arm around Molly’s shoulders.

  Molly nodded and accepted Kat’s offer of a tissue. “I know I said I didn’t want to talk about Shawn while I was on this trip, but these messages of hope and despair are bringing memories flooding back. His story is all about just that.”

  Katherine steered her into a pew at the front of the church and listened as Molly recalled Shawn’s struggles, her vain attempts to help, his honest desire to be clean, and broken promises when he weakened. The pain and heartbreak they shared for so many years. Her sorrow at losing him forever, but also her relief at knowing his torment had ended and he was at rest.

  “We can’t win every battle, Kat. It’s not like I didn’t know that, but somehow I believed we could win his—and we couldn’t.”

  Katherine was staring ahead at the simple altar and hand-painted walls, which somehow offered calm healing. Listening was often more important than speaking, and at that moment the comfort was coming from their surroundings, not her words.

  “I’m so glad we came here this morning,” Molly continued. “There’s something inexplicably authentic that is truly bringing me peace. Shawn wrote about how he loved the sea in Vancouver, and maybe there is something to that, which I’m feeling here. I’m going to write a note and leave it.”

  “If it feels right, do it,” said Katherine. “That’s the most important part of coping with grief. It’s a lesson I’ve learned too.”

  “What doesn’t kill us . . .” Molly said.

  The rest was understood. Hugging for a moment, they stood to leave.

  On a table by the entrance, a notebook and pen sat on a wooden ledge, where others had written notes or requests for prayers. Molly took a page from the back and began to write.

  “Take your time. I’ll be outside taking some shots.”

  Wandering the grounds later, they exclaimed at the brilliant colors and exotic planting combinations, bending over to breathe in heavenly scents.

  “The growing conditions in this part of the world have to be among the best anywhere,” Katherine said, describing to Molly the prolific displays she had seen in Provence as well.

  Moving around for the perfect light, Katherine’s shutter worked overtime. The view was a spectacular 360-degree panorama.

  “This was worth the frickin’ leg cramps I’m going to have tomorrow,” Molly muttered as they began the descent in the midday heat. The path was shaded by tall pines giving off a clean, fresh scent that hung in the air.

  “Let’s stop here for a croque-monsieur,” Molly suggested. “Ever since we had one the other day, I’ve been thinking about the next one!” The classic French take on a grilled cheese sandwich, with a slice of ham added, also appealed to Kat.

  Lingering over lunch, they decided to pop back into the Picasso Museum just up the street from the house on the way home.

  “We’ve been intending to go all week and I know if we don’t do it now, I’ll be on the plane on Tuesday regretting I missed it.”

  Housed in a five-hundred-year-old castle where Picasso had kept a studio for a time in 1946, the collection had grown to more than two hundred pieces. With an information-filled audio guide, they had no trouble spending well over an hour taking everything in.

  Next on her request list was beach time at La Gravette.

  “I’m going to miss this special place,” Molly sighed, waving her hand around the intimate cove as they stumbled over the rocks and grumbled about still not buying the beach shoes.

  Katherine nodded, agreeing the settings in Antibes were so much more beautiful than the already beautiful photos she had seen before they arrived. “It’s just so different here! I’m going to wear out the words ‘visual feast,’ but it’s all I think when I look around.”

  “Katski, I can see you wanting to stay here forever. I mean, why not?”

  “Well, apart from having a house to look after and a job waiting for me, I do have to earn a living.”

  “You could rent the house. Maybe you could find a job here. I wonder how hard it is to do that. I mean, I guess you would need a special visa or something.”

  They continued to daydream about the possibilities until Katherine suggested she would probably be ready to go back to Toronto after three months.

  Molly yawned, “You never know . . .” and drifted off into a sun-induced afternoon snooze.

  41

  The alarm clock had been set by mutual agreement for Molly’s last walk around town before they met Graham and Nick at the market.

  The men were waiting at the appointed spot by the market, drinking coffee and looking undeterred that the women were a little behind schedule.

  “Sorry, guys, we got caught up in a few stores. I’m into that last-chance souvenir-shopping panic!”

  “No worries! Will you join us for a coffee, or should we dive into the marché?”

  “We’re coffee-ed out at the moment. Let’s go buy cheese!”

  The Monday-morning crowd had begun to thin, and it was easier to walk up the aisles without the early-morning crush.

  Nick pointed out the particular stall with a large yellow banner proclaiming Artisan Fromager.

  “Oh, we bought some cheese there this week,” said Katherine.

  “Yes, but I happen to know that the guy we’re introducing you to was not there this week. He was away. He’s the one you need to meet.”

  Graham was pointing out some of their other favorite stalls when Nick said, “Katherine, I would like to introduce you to the finest cheese expert I have ever known—and thankfully he speaks English!”

  Katherine turned around and was stunned.

  The man waiting to greet her was none other than Philippe, the nephew of François. Equally stunned, he cocked his head to one side and looked carefully at Katherine, blinking. Nick looked at both of them, wondering what on earth was wrong.

  “Katherine?” The answer was like a reflex action. “Katherine! Quelle surprise! What are you doing in Antibes?”

  “Philippe, I might ask you the same,” Katherine said, gasping to catch her breath.

  Wiping his hands on his apron, he quickly came around the stand to bise her and take her hands.

  “Non, I live here. This is my shop,” he said, waving his arms to take in the entire market. “But you . . . you live in Canada.”

  “It’s a long story, but . . .” she stumbled over her words, flustered. “I had no idea you lived here. You only mentioned you lived on the coast . . . near Nice . . .”

  They stopped speaking for a moment, looking intently at each other.

  “Well, Antibes is where I live,” he said, a broad smile spreading across his face.

  “I am staying in Antibes for three months, and I’m very happy to see you.”

  “Oui, moi aussi.”

  Nick watched this exchange, his head turning from one to the other as if attending a tennis match.

  “You know each other, obviously . . .”

  “Oh, Nick, sorry. Yes . . . this is so unreal . . . Philippe and I met in Provence in June, when I was there for two weeks. We spent some time together . . . it’s another long story.”

  The lineup was quickly growing behind Katherine a
nd Nick, with customers beginning to shuffle and mutter with impatience. Philippe hurried back around to the other side to conduct sales.

  “Let’s meet for coffee or a drink,” Philippe suggested. “I am busy this afternoon, but later today? Say, five p.m.? The perfect time for a pastis. Nick, come too, of course. All of us!”

  Katherine hesitated. “I don’t know if we will be back by then. We’re going to Eze and hiking down the Nietzsche trail this afternoon. I’m not certain how long it will take.”

  Philippe handed her his card. “Here’s my cell. If you aren’t there at five, just call me when you do get back. I will keep this evening free. Really, it is incredible to see you here!”

  The muttering of irritated voices was becoming noticeable in spite of a coworker’s efforts to pick up the slack. Katherine turned and offered a désolée to the people in line. Waving to Philippe, the four hurried off.

  Stepping out of the market into the less-crowded square, Molly took Katherine by the arm. “That was the Philippe?” she asked, wide-eyed. “The gorgeous dude in your photos?”

  Katherine nodded, still in shock. Then she briefly told Nick and Graham the story of François and Philippe.

  “It’s the ‘small world’ syndrome at play again,” Graham commented. “It’s amazing how often that happens!”

  “How are you planning to get to Eze?” Nick asked, changing the topic rather abruptly.

  “We were reading about it in a guidebook yesterday and can take a train to Villefranche and then the 81 bus up to Eze Village,” Katherine said.

  Nick chuckled and shook his head. “That bus goes once an hour, and if you miss it, you are out of luck.”

  “Especially if there’s a cruise ship in Villefranche harbor. If the bus is packed, the driver won’t even stop for you,” interrupted Graham, making a face.

  “Do you really want to do that trail?” Nick asked.

  Molly nodded enthusiastically. “We have a special connection to Nietzsche going back to when we were kids. We must do it! Right, Kat?”

  Kat grinned and nodded. “And Molly is leaving tomorrow, so we have no choice but this afternoon.”