I’m standing at the top of my field, which rolls away from the house, wandering through the lavender plants, watering them, using the bottle from the wine Serge gave me, now filled with water. I keep having to go back to the house to refill it.
It’s been a few days since we visited Serge and we seem to have found a rhythm to our working day. Stephanie is taking the desserts into town to deliver to Henri, and picks up payment. Delighted to be trusted, she gives me the money in full. After lunch, we turn the page in the old book and study the next recipe. I read it aloud in French and she translates, if necessary. Then I work out what we need to buy and how we’ll make whatever it is, adjusting our techniques to fit with the quirks of the oven. She and Tomas go back into town and pick up the ingredients, ready for baking the following morning. She brings me the change, showing me the receipt, making sure every cent is accounted for.
Fabien seems to find more and more reasons to come to the house. He likes to check on the lavender, he tells me. Every time he arrives, my stomach flips, hard though I try to stop it.
‘Fabien!’ Tomas greets him like an old friend, as Fabien scoops him up and kisses him on each cheek, as I imagine he does with his nephews and nieces. Ralph sits obediently, at Fabien’s word, when he puts Tomas down.
‘Bonjour, Fabien. How’s the brocante?’ I make polite conversation.
‘It’s busy,’ he says. ‘How are the plants?’
We all walk to the field, which is filling gradually with purple flowers, Tomas never leaving Fabien’s side and Stephanie close behind. We talk about the plants and the cakes Stephanie and I have made. It’s the only way I can distract myself and stop myself falling for him. He’s so good with Tomas, and Stephanie seems to adore him for that. I’m beginning to wonder exactly how she is feeling about Fabien and it’s starting to worry me. I think she may have a crush on him, and I don’t want to see her hurt. He’s too young for me, but too old for Stephanie. Perhaps I should warn him about how she may be feeling.
Monday’s market is much better than it was last week. We set up our stall and watch people pass between the two marketplaces, barely seeing us in the shadows. Again I offer samples, but the French, out early, aren’t interested. Seeing this, Stephanie pulls back the hoodie she hides behind in public and talks to people as they pass, telling them about the farmhouse, how we’re growing lavender again, and they turn to welcome me. Some even stop and buy from me.
Stephanie is glowing. Her hair is clean, brushed and not tied back, and I wonder for whose benefit that is. I think of Fabien, and worry again. I look at Henri, standing in the doorway of the bistro, watching Stephanie at work, like a proud uncle, and then me. He’s been a good friend to me. With the money I make from the desserts and the stall, I’m earning enough to feed us and put some away for next month’s mortgage payment. But it’s tight. And with Ollie still sending me regular messages from the UK, asking if I’m sure about my decision, no matter how many times I tell him I am, I can’t help wondering if I’ve done the right thing. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go back now: Stephanie and Tomas are relying on me.