I sit outside Henri’s, at a table for two, next to the wooden railing with rectangular window boxes along the edge, filled with red geraniums, that denotes his terrace. As lovely as it looks, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. This is a first for me. I have never eaten in a restaurant on my own before. I look around. Plenty of others are alone. Men and women. Not on their phones, they’re focusing on their food and taking in the passing world in front of them. I sit back and try to relax, letting the sun massage my face. Henri puts a small jug of rosé in front of me, then pours me a glass and tells me, ‘Enjoy!’
‘Are you going to join me?’ I ask, then realize I may be giving out the wrong signals.
He shakes his head and I feel a little relieved. ‘I still have a few customers to see to. Have an aperitif.’ He puts down a small plate of thinly sliced toast with terrine spread on the top and a sliced cornichon to the side. ‘I will bring you your lunch in a moment.’
I look down at Ralph and do exactly as I’m told. I attempt to enjoy it. But I can’t stop thinking about the young lad who stole from my stall. It didn’t seem like a prank or a dare. There were no other youngsters around. Why was Cora so wound up? And who owns the thing he dropped? The questions scratch at my brain.
I finish the morsels of toast and my first glass of wine without really noticing. Henri arrives and breaks into my thoughts. ‘Boeuf bourguignon,’ he says, and puts down a round white bowl, with a basket of sliced bread. Soft flaking beef, orange carrots, a deep rich brown gravy and herbs that remind me of my walk into town, herbes de Provence. My mouth waters. Then he pours me another glass of wine and I feel quite light-headed, as if my worries are drifting away. I may not have made a fortune today, but enough to pay Fabien back a little of what I owe him on account. And, once again, I feel honoured that he’s put his trust in me. I have been welcomed far enough into the community to be running a tab. He trusts me enough to believe that I can get this business up and running. I have somewhere to live and plans for the future. That can’t be a bad place to be. The sun, the food and, of course, the second glass of wine have lifted my spirits. I wonder what my friends would say if they could see me now, having lunch on my own, planning the next phase of my life. I wonder what Mum would have said.
She loved Ollie. He and I first met when he came into my department store one Christmas Eve, looking for a very late Christmas present for his girlfriend. He bought her eau de parfum, which I wrapped, then I wished him a merry Christmas. He told me he liked my smile, that I made him laugh, and he hoped my boyfriend knew what a lucky chap he was. I told him I’d been single for three months and was spending Christmas with my friends, Lou and Rhi. A week later, Christmas over, Ollie came back into the shop to tell me he was now single. His girlfriend had not appreciated the last-minute expensive perfume gift, especially as she’d sent him precise details of the shoes and handbag she wanted, and hinted that she’d been expecting a diamond ring and to announce their engagement. Instead she had announced the end of their relationship. He joked that he’d like a refund on the perfume, and asked if he could take me to dinner. I was twenty-nine, heading towards the big three-oh. Everything about Ollie just seemed right. It was like he’d been sent to me by Cupid. Here is Mr Right: ticks every box! We dated. Everyone thought we were the ideal couple. Mum was delighted. He seemed to fit right into her idea of the perfect husband for me, so that I would not make the mistakes she had made. I was never a mistake, she hastened to add. She always let me know that I was the best thing that had happened in her life, and I was determined to make her proud of me, to become a career woman, a family woman, everything that could make her proud. Not that she ever asked for those things. But the day I was promoted to department manager she was proud, as she was when Ollie and I stood at the altar, making our vows. Now, that seems so wrong.
My phone buzzes into life. It’s Rhi, asking what’s going on. She’s seen Ollie. Am I back? I feel guilty that I haven’t told her and Lou. But I’m not ready to explain that Ollie and I have come to the end of the road and I’m attempting to set up on my own. Then I do something else I’ve never done before. I lift my phone and take a photo of myself in the sunshine. I’ll send it to Rhi and Lou, telling them I’m taking a little break and will be in touch soon. But I’m fine! And send the picture.
I put away my phone and dive back into the boeuf bourguignon, smelling of the herbs that fill the hillsides around here. There is something so comforting about it, as if Mum had served it to me, made with love. We didn’t have much money when I was growing up, but Mum always cooked for the two of us, and nothing was ever wasted. She could make a chicken last a week. Although I tell myself I won’t, I wipe up every bit of the juice with the bread. I can’t think when I last enjoyed a meal out so much. I don’t have to worry about Ollie and his frustration, our dwindling finances, or watch his fingers twitch, desperate to get back on his phone as soon as the meal has ended.
Henri is taking payments and, as he passes my table, he tips the last of the wine in the little jug into my glass. I almost protest but then think, Why not?
‘Take your time,’ he says. ‘Now, for dessert.’ He pulls a face. ‘I’m afraid I only have ice lollies left. Actually, it’s all I had … vanille, fraise, chocolat.’ He goes to the chest freezer and pulls out ice lollies on sticks.
‘I couldn’t eat another thing, but merci.’
He puts the lollies away and shuts the door. Then he reappears outside. ‘Café,’ he says. He puts down a cup and saucer in front of me and another next to it. ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’ The little restaurant is practically empty now. He can’t make much of a living with such a small place. Small but perfect. I think of the bistros on the main road, fancy and expensive, especially the one with the terrace in front of the church that Ollie insisted on frequenting … mostly because it had a good Wi-Fi connection.
Henri bends down and rubs Ralph’s head affectionately, then sits in the cool of the awning and sips his coffee.
‘That was delicious, Henri. Are you sure I can’t pay you?’ I reach for my bag but he holds up a hand.
‘My pleasure,’ he says. ‘Like I say, it makes up for some of your lost stock.’ He nods to the boxes of biscuits.
‘I lost more to Ralph’s antics than I did to the shop-lifter.’ He only took a couple of biscuits. Ralph scattered most of the macarons over the ground.
‘Perhaps I should take the rest to give as dessert to my customers. They’re really very good.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, of course. I didn’t get the chance to tell you when we had the problem here.’ He points out into the road. ‘But it was very, very tasty.’
‘Here. Take them,’ I say, handing him the box. ‘I can’t use them for anything. And it’s only me in the house.’
‘You live alone?’ he asks softly.
I swallow. ‘I do now. Just me and Ralph,’ I say. Another first! I managed to say it. I live alone. ‘I’ve split from my husband. But it was the right thing for both of us.’
‘I split from my wife after the children left home. We had nothing in common. I had work and spent more and more time there. We became strangers. And the children are now adults and live their own lives. I sometimes think they only get in touch when they want something.’ He laughs gently, one hand on his stomach. I wonder if that would have happened to me and Ollie if we had had children. When we discovered we couldn’t, there was nothing left. I had a dog that I wasn’t sure I wanted, and he hatched the idea of France. It had felt like something to put on the Facebook page.
‘Here, take the biscuits, Henri,’ I say. ‘Really. They’re yours.’
‘I will pay you for them,’ he says. I start to argue but he won’t hear of me refusing. Then we eat a plate of tuiles with our coffee.
‘These really are good. I cannot bake or make desserts. And I don’t have the time or patience to learn. Hence the ice creams. I have ice creams in tubs, but when they’re gone, it’s lollies.’ He takes another bite. ‘Do you have other recipes?’
I nod. ‘A whole book of lavender recipes Fabien gave to me as a moving-in present. I’m working my way through it.’
‘Ah, from the heart of Provence! Then why not bring to me what you make? I will buy them from you. A daily dessert!’
My mouth hangs open. I can continue through the book. Another day, another recipe. ‘Really?’
‘Of course!’ He gives a belly laugh, a big hearty one. ‘Desserts were never my thing. Too much sugar isn’t good for me.’ He pats his stomach. ‘I’d be delighted if you made them. And, as I say, I can pay you.’
‘That would be wonderful, Henri! You have no idea how much that will help!’ I want to throw my arms around him in gratitude. Instead, buoyed by the wine and his offer, I kiss his cheek and thank him again. Life is finally coming together. He laughs again, the sound as warm as the sunshine on my face.
‘Ah, Fabien,’ says Henri, and my cheeks burn as I see him walking towards the small terrace. As he approaches, he looks at me and then at Henri, raising an eyebrow. With a tiny tilt of the head he seems to be questioning what’s going on. I can see how it might look. I open my mouth to explain.
‘So, a good lunch?’ he asks, looking at our coffee cups.
‘Delicious,’ I say, not knowing whether to reply in English or French, my tongue tying itself in knots. I wonder if he’s annoyed that I turned down lunch with him and now am here, clearly having had lunch with Henri. Would he care?
Before I can explain what’s happened, Henri replies, ‘Great dessert,’ and pats me on the back. I accept his compliment gratefully as it hides my blushes.
‘I will take the table and chair back,’ says Fabien.
‘You can always leave them here, in the restaurant, if need be,’ says Henri to me.
Ralph barks from under the table but doesn’t move.
‘It looks as if you had a good day,’ Fabien says.
‘Not bad. But Henri here has just made my day better,’ I say.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he says softly and, once again, I feel I should explain it’s not the kind of offer his tone implied.
‘She is going to make my desserts daily.’ Henri cuts across me as I gather my thoughts. I nod. ‘We’re in business!’
Now Fabien smiles too. ‘Perfect! Looks like your business is up and running!’
My heart tap, tap, taps and my stomach fizzes. I’m in business!
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Looks like I’m here to stay.’
Fabien holds my gaze for a second and my stomach fizzes again. ‘I’ll get the table,’ he says, breaking away, and I wonder if Henri noticed.
‘There was a problem with one of the legs. Let me help you,’ I say.
‘No problem, I’ll fix it before next week and bring it back to Henri’s. Stay. Enjoy your coffee,’ he says. ‘Enjoy the sunshine … and your new life.’
‘Are you sure you won’t join us, Fabien? A beer, perhaps?’ asks Henri, but Fabien declines, picking up the table.
‘À bientôt,’ he calls over his shoulder, and waves.
‘À bientôt,’ I reply, watching him walk away and wishing he’d stayed. But now, I have something else to worry about.
‘Henri?’
‘Oui?’ he says, standing and clearing away his coffee cup. ‘More coffee?’
‘Non, merci. Henri, you said you knew the young person who took the biscuits.’
He nods.
‘I think I should pay him a visit, return something he dropped.’
Henri looks at me and then puts down the coffee cup. ‘Okay, I’ll write down the address for you, but, Del …’
I take the piece of paper from his order pad on which he has noted the address.
‘Not all parts are as … relaxed as this bit of the town,’ he says. ‘Just be aware. On the outskirts, sometimes, it’s not always picture-perfect, even in France.’
I take the paper and promise I’ll be careful. My heart beats a little faster. But something in me needs to return the boy’s property to him and see for myself where he lives. I hurry from the restaurant, across the square, following Henri’s instructions, feeling him watch me as I go. I walk down into the dark streets on the other side of town beyond the square, suddenly very pleased to have Ralph by my side.