The next morning Stephanie is up early with Tomas, appearing from the woodland clearing. Tomas is as pleased to see Ralph as my dog is to see him when I let him out. Stephanie and I stand on the terrace, the early-morning sun reaching through the trees, as dog and boy run about on the dewy grass, its scent fresh and new.
‘Where do you want me to start?’ says Stephanie. ‘Tell me what I should do.’
‘Whoa! Let’s have some breakfast.’ Just as I wonder how long it will take me to walk into town for bread, there is a parp, parp at the end of the drive: the bakery van.
‘Tell her to wait! I’ll get my purse!’ I say to Stephanie. She, Tomas and Ralph run down the stony drive to the road.
When I join them, I’m slightly out of breath.
‘Bonjour,’ says the young woman from behind the counter in the Citroën van. ‘I heard there were new people here,’ she says, ‘so I thought I’d stop by. Bienvenue,’ she says.
‘Merci,’ I reply.
‘The last people who were here were very strange. The owner told me not to come because he didn’t eat bread.’ She laughs. ‘Who moves to France and doesn’t eat bread? Bread is our life blood, like wine!’
I’m smiling to myself, the pain of Ollie’s and my split easing a little. I wish he could have seen this place as I’m beginning to see it, from the inside out. Maybe that was the problem: we saw each other’s worlds so differently.
‘Well, we’d like you to stop by every morning,’ I say warmly, as warm as the smell of the freshly baked bread. I look at the array of baguettes, the baskets of croissants and pains au chocolat and my mouth waters.
We carry the table and chairs from the kitchen out to the terrace where Stephanie and I drink coffee and eat bread and croissants. Tomas has warm milk and a pain au chocolat, swinging his legs contentedly. Ralph never leaves his side. After breakfast, we move back into the kitchen and wash our hands. Tomas wants to help us work.
‘I have an order to make for Henri at the bistro,’ I tell her. ‘He wants desserts every day, bakes, like tuiles or shortbread, to go with his ice cream.’
Stephanie looks worried. ‘But you know I can’t cook. I didn’t have that kind of home life growing up.’
‘Don’t worry.’ I pick up the old recipe book, feeling a flicker of excitement just from holding it. I put it in front of Stephanie on the work surface. ‘You teach me how to read this book and speak French, and I’ll teach you to cook!’ A smile creeps across her face. ‘Deal?’
‘Deal,’ she agrees.
‘Deal!’ repeats Tomas, and we all laugh, Tomas the loudest. I can see happiness returning slowly to Stephanie. This place has a knack of putting people back together. Thank you, Petit Mas, I think, as we flip through the pages of the book.
Tomas starts to drag a chair over towards the work surface. Stephanie stops him.
‘No,’ she says, putting the chair back.
His face crumples and he starts to cry.
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ I say. I used to stand on a chair beside my mother in the kitchen. He looks at me hopefully, the tears stopping. But maybe it wouldn’t be safe to have him there.
‘Sorry, it’s not my place,’ I say. ‘I …’ I don’t know how to get out of the hole I’m digging for myself as Tomas’s cries start up again. He tugs at the chair, which Stephanie is holding.
‘Whatever you think best,’ I say.
She gives it a moment’s thought. ‘Okay – mais fais attention,’ she tells Tomas and helps him pull the chair to the counter. She and I stand at either side of him to stop him falling off. I pull the book towards us and turn the page. Tomas points to a picture and shouts, ‘Ça! Ça!’ I prop the book up, hoping we can make a dessert that will suit Henri and please Tomas, our chief taster.
‘Right.’ I take a deep breath. I look at the recipe. ‘Looks like we’re making chocolate and lavender cake. We’ll need flour, eggs and the big mixing bowl.’ Stephanie, keen to please, dives for the box of cookery stuff and so do I. We collide.
‘Désolée.’
‘Sorry,’ we say at the same time.
‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘You read out the recipe and hold on to Tomas. I’ll get the ingredients.’ After that, things go a little more smoothly, although when it comes to the flour, Tomas ends up covered with it from head to toe as he tosses handfuls in the direction of the bowl, himself and the floor.
Eventually, we’re proudly pulling our cakes from the oven. ‘It’s such a big order,’ I say, as we dust icing sugar over the chocolate and lavender cakes, with lavender sprigs and flowers stripped from the stems, just as the recipe told us when Stephanie read it aloud. ‘I’m sure he won’t sell it all.’
‘Henri always makes plenty.’ Stephanie smiles. ‘Enough for everyone.’
‘How do you know him?’ I ask, as we put the cakes out of Ralph’s reach on the work surface.
There is a moment of silence. Then she says, ‘Henri was there when I needed him most. It’s what Henri does. He catches people before they fall.’
Lovely kind Henri. Isn’t that exactly what he’s done for me?
We walk into town, past the clearing by the river, carrying the cakes carefully between us. Just a few people are there, a couple playing chess, all sitting in the shade of the big pine tree.
‘Bonjour,’ they greet us.
‘Bonjour,’ I say. This time Stephanie doesn’t hurry past but greets the group with a small smile. The smile of someone who has found a little bit of contentment.
After dropping off the desserts and drinking a coffee with Henri, we head back to Le Petit Mas. Stephanie spends the afternoon cleaning the gypsy caravan and there are moments when I think I hear her singing. I sit in the shade outside and wonder what else I’m going to do. I’m making desserts and biscuits for Henri and the stall, but will it be enough? I look at Le Petit Mas. Could I make a go of this place as a chambre d’hôte? A place for people to stay and benefit in the way Stephanie, Tomas and I have?
I sit down with a pen and some paper, looking out over the bare field that undulates away from the farmhouse to the river that is the boundary to our land. Across the valley, sunflowers nod, and the field of lavender is so purple it seems unreal.
As I’m sitting there, notebook in hand, I hear a car pull into the drive and Ralph’s enthusiastic greeting. Who’s he knocked over now?
I stand and walk quickly around the corner. To my annoyance my stomach flick-flacks when I see Fabien’s truck and Ralph sitting up smartly as Fabien pats him.
Carine slides out of the cab, dusting herself down with a glance of disgust at her mode of transport. She comes over to me and kisses me. I look at Fabien, just behind her, and he leans towards me to greet me. I haven’t seen him since he found me yesterday with Henri, having lunch, and it feels weird that I haven’t explained why it happened. But I’m pleased Carine’s there as Fabien leans in to kiss me, without touching me. My skin leaps at the smell of his.
‘I brought the table back. All fixed,’ he says.
‘That’s so kind of you. Henri says I can leave it in the restaurant from now on,’ I say. ‘Save you bringing it to and fro.’
‘Henri?’ Fabien raises his eyebrows and I think he’s going to follow it up with ‘Again?’ But he doesn’t. I have to explain that Henri is just a friend. I’m not looking for a partner. But now isn’t the time. ‘I’ll drop the table there, then,’ he says.
‘And I just came for the ride to see how you were settling in and if you’d thought any more about my idea of the chambre d’hôte,’ says Carine.
‘Come in, sit down,’ I say quickly, and guide them to the side of the house and the terrace. Just at that point Tomas comes running out of the clearing, pretending to be a dog, barking.
Carine and Fabien stop and stare. Fabien bursts out laughing. Carine looks as if she’s waiting for a wasp to fly away.
Stephanie follows Tomas from the clearing, calling him. She pauses and, for a moment, they all stare at each other, then Stephanie’s head drops. I can see she recognizes Fabien and Carine from the town. I step in to break the silence.
‘This is Stephanie. Stephanie is my new assistant. Chambermaid and kitchen assistant,’ I say, thinking on my feet, wishing I could come up with a really good title. Clearly Stephanie has been transported back to her reputation as the young single mum who sometimes steals.
Fabien moves forward and puts out his hand. ‘Bonjour, Stephanie,’ he says. ‘Bienvenue.’ He speaks as if she’s new to the area and starting a whole new life, just like me.
‘Bonjour.’ Carine is keeping a wary eye on Tomas, who is running around a little too quickly for her liking by the look of it.
‘Let’s have coffee,’ I say. ‘Stephanie, come and help me.’ She looks at me gratefully, clearly glad not to have to explain how she ended up at Le Petit Mas.
‘I have something for you,’ says Fabien, going back to the truck. ‘I’ll get it while you make coffee.’
As we bring out the tray with some of the chocolate cake, I spot a box by the table. I put down the coffee and cut the cake.
‘Le cadeau!’ Carine scolds Fabien good-naturedly.
‘Ah, yes,’ he says, pulling himself away from Tomas and Ralph. ‘It was Carine’s idea.’
‘This is my way of making sure you stay!’ She smiles.
Fabien hands me the big wooden box. ‘Fine lavender plants,’ he says, and as he hands me the box, our fingertips touch, jolting me. ‘A friend of mine has a farm over there.’ He points to the lavender field across the valley. ‘But he’s getting on and finding it hard to manage, these days. He sells in the market.’ I remember the old man who gave me the lavender at the antiques market. ‘He sent these, wished you luck and tells you to keep smiling!’ I look down into the box at the six plants.
‘It’s a start!’ says Carine. ‘You’ll bring Le Petit Mas de la Lavande back to life.’
I’m thrilled. What a thoughtful gift.
‘You’ll need more lavender if you’re going to continue to cook with it for the stall,’ Fabien says.
‘And for Henri,’ says Carine.
‘And Henri,’ Fabien says quietly.
‘Thank you so much! I can’t think of anything I wanted more!’ And then a thought strikes me. ‘May I meet your friend? I’d like to ask him how to plant and care for them.’
‘His name’s Serge. Of course I’ll take you to see him,’ says Fabien.
Our friendship may be getting back on its feet. This was Fabien’s idea. He wants to help me stay. He wants to help me work with Henri. I feel a huge wave of relief wash over me. I smile at him, and he smiles back.
‘De rien,’ he says, with a hint of regret. It’s clearly his way of saying sorry. I’m so grateful for it. I hated the thought of having to avoid him, knowing he was in town, looking out for him. It’s going to be fine, I think.
Tomas tugs at his hand and pulls him away to play on the grass in front of the field. Stephanie lingers in the background. ‘Come and join us!’ I say.
‘I will just make more coffee,’ she says, and I feel a little bubble of pride at how quickly she’s learning.
Carine and I watch Fabien as he plays tag with Tomas – and Ralph, who is running around barking.
‘How long have you and Fabien been together?’ I ask.
Carine lets out a long laugh, and blows cigarette smoke into the blue sky.
‘Me and Fabien? We’re not together. We’re just friends.’ She takes another drag. ‘We were together as teenagers but it didn’t last. We have very different ideas about what we want from a relationship, from the future. We are much better suited as good friends,’ she tells me.
I let the information sink in. They’re not together. I cringe as I think about him asking me to lunch and me turning him down. He was just being friendly. And then he thought I’d agreed to lunch with Henri. No wonder he gave me that look. A look that said, ‘You turned me down but then went to lunch with Henri.’ No wonder he thinks Henri and I may have something between us.
At that moment he catches my eye. My stomach does a full somersault. I look down at the lavender and breathe it in, distracting myself from his look. I focus on the lavender and the calm it brings, imagining its taste on my tongue.
‘I prefer to be organized. Everything in its place. Enjoying the moment. We were looking for different things, and Fabien is still looking.’