Chapter Thirty-seven - Six Weeks Later

The sun shone down from a clear April sky. It was almost a year to the day since my arrival in France. I opened up the doors of the café and went outside to watch the little village slowly come to life. It was my favourite time of the day. I waved to Claudine, who was just putting out her sandwich board advertising today's specials. She had never left. Instead she had bought a franchise from a bigger supermarket chain and her once dingy store was now a bustling little monument to French gastronomy and local produce. It had taken a threat to sell the shop to developers to turn it into flats to make the good people of Rocamour realise how important their local shop was. Next to the supermarket, a new arrival in the village had opened a little gift shop. Valérie, the owner, called out 'bonjour' as she unlocked her shop and I called back at her to come over for a coffee later.

I started to wipe down the new spotty oilcloths that adorned each table and arrange the little white jugs of wild flowers, putting the chairs straight as I went. Finally, it was the moment to unfurl the awning. I wound it down and slowly the words came into view. La Vie en Rosé. Tracey had been right. The locals didn't get it, assuming that it was just a misprint by the foreigners that now ran the café, but we didn't care. We had spent time trawling round the local vineyards sourcing wines for our stock. I wasn't an expert by any means but I knew what I liked and hopefully our guests would like them too.

'Morning,' said Jack, coming out of the kitchen wiping his hands on his apron. 'Here's the menu for today.'

I looked at it. 'It all sounds delicious, chef.' We were fully booked for lunch so it was going to be busy.

I swept the terrace, then, when I was finally happy that everything was in order, I stood back and looked around me with a growing sense of pride. The café was unrecognisable from the place it had been before. The old tables and interior had gone to be replaced by shiny bistro tables and lashings of Farrow and Ball paint, imported at vast expense from Paris. It was probably more of an English person's view of a French café but every time I went inside, I loved the way the light reflected around the room on the antique furniture that Tracey and I had sourced at various brocantes over the past few months. Tracey, despite her Essex roots (and my preconceptions), turned out to have a good eye for furniture. My phone beeped and I took it out of my pocket. It was a text from Tracey.

'Lots of love and luck on your first day of trading. Trace and Nate xxxx'

I smiled and quickly texted back a thank you.

Basil rubbed around my legs and I picked him up and buried my face in his fur. 'It's just the two of us now.'

He purred and rubbed his head on my cheek. I looked around me. Everything was ready. Jack came out of the kitchen, beaming from ear to ear.

'Ready boss?' he asked, winking at me.

'I like the sound of that. And yes, I'm ready.'

'Right, we have twenty covers for lunch and another twenty booked for this evening.'

'Fabulous. Good old Chummy calling in the troops.' I think she had press-ganged everyone she knew into booking a table for our opening day.

Jack went back into the kitchen and I sat down at a table to take a quick breather before the lunchtime rush started. Stéphane and Claire were busy behind the bar and enjoying the prospect of helping me get the café up and running again. They had been absolute stars, cheerfully imparting their wealth of knowledge of the business, genuinely delighted that the café was going to stay open. Who'd have thought, when I had lunch here on my first day in France, that I would one day end up running it. I had set out on this journey full of hope, enthusiasm and a healthy dose of naivety. Now, a year later, I had found love and lost it, discovered strengths I didn't know I had and learned more about myself than I could possibly have dreamed of. Best of all, I had found my place in this little rural community that had stolen my heart.

'Hello, you,' called a voice I hadn't heard in a while. I waved to Sam and she waved back enthusiastically.

She kissed me on both cheeks and sat down, taking out a notebook and pen. She'd called me to suggest writing a review of the new café. Basil wound himself around her ankles, purring loudly. Bending down to stroke him, she smiled at me and said to him quietly, 'You're living dangerously. Don't you know her history?'