With my bags full, I walk past the estate agent’s and see Carine. She waves, and I can’t wave back as my hands are full, but I smile. She comes to the glass door and opens it.
‘Del,’ she says, and kisses me three times.
‘I’m so sorry about yesterday,’ I say. ‘I hope I didn’t make things too difficult for you. Especially with you coming out on a Sunday to show them around.’
‘Not at all! It’s not a problem. In fact, it has made the job easier. The couple are now so desperate to buy they will take the next house I show them!’ She winks at me and I laugh. ‘They look heavy,’ she says, gesturing at my bags. ‘Do you have time for coffee?’
I should get back. I don’t want to leave Ralph on his own for too long, but on the other hand a friendly face and a coffee would be lovely.
Carine locks the shop, having put a sign in the window to say she’ll be back in half an hour, and leads me through a stone arch and along a cobbled street to a small café hidden among the shops selling ‘Provence’ products and a smart guesthouse with lavender lollipops at either side of the light grey front door.
The café has a small covered terrace outside, with a couple of tables and a wisteria, heavy with blooms, trained up along the wall. Inside it’s dark, with just a few tables beneath red-and-white-checked cloths, glasses and paper napkins, all ready for lunch. I’ve never been here before. Ollie preferred the bigger, smarter brasseries and bistros on the main road.
‘Bonjour, Henri,’ says Carine, poking her head into the little restaurant.
‘Ah, Carine!’ He’s an attractive man, silver hair tied back in a ponytail, which suits him. He’s in chef’s whites and wipes his hands on a tea towel hanging from the apron tied around his waist. He’s not fat but is clearly a man who enjoys his food. I’d call it comfortable. He kisses Carine warmly, then looks at me.
‘Mon amie, Del.’ Carine introduces me and tells him I’ve just moved to the area, into Le Petit Mas de la Lavande.
‘Ah, oui? It’s a beautiful house. I heard some English people had bought it,’ he says, in French.
‘That’s me,’ I say quickly. ‘But just me.’ I make my situation clear.
‘Ah,’ he says, and waves us to a table. ‘Welcome,’ he says, and pulls out a chair. I’m grateful he doesn’t ask any questions. ‘Lunch?’ he says to Carine and then to me. ‘I have lamb today.’ He points to a small chalkboard with today’s plat du jour on it. ‘Or coffee? Maybe an aperitif.’
‘Just coffee, please,’ I say.
‘Sure?’ Carine says. ‘Henri’s plats du jour are always delicious.’
‘Merci.’ He nods, his hands behind his back.
‘I have cooking to do myself,’ I say.
‘You are a chef?’ he asks.
‘No. I used to enjoy cooking. I’m hoping I might again.’
‘Bon,’ Henri says. ‘It’s an important part of everyday life here in France. Perhaps you will come and try my food another day.’
‘I’d love to.’ I mean it. ‘But right now, coffee would be lovely.’
‘Of course.’ He goes into the kitchen and soon brings out two coffees with minute croissants on side plates. ‘Enjoy,’ he says, and retreats inside.
‘Henri is always more generous than is good for him,’ Carine remarks.
‘This place is great. I’m seeing so much more of Ville de Violet than I have in the past six weeks.’
‘Well, you live here now. You are not a visitor!’ She raises her cup to me.
‘Carine, by the river, there’s a clearing. It looks like an art project, a blue settee …’
Carine laughs. ‘It’s not an art project.’ She dabs her mouth with a paper napkin. ‘It’s for ’omeless persons.’
My eyebrows shoot up.
‘Yes, of course! People give furniture for them to sit on.’
Only in France, I think. A beautiful piece of furniture for people to sit on with some dignity.
Suddenly I see three women I recognize walking towards me down the shaded lane. They are carrying baskets and wearing sunglasses. They are part of the expat community Ollie was so keen for us to join. Will I have to explain my situation? Am I ready to do that? My contentment is replaced with anxiety. I hope they’ll just nod and keep walking.
They stop. ‘Del? We heard your house had been taken off the market.’ Cora, the middle one, pushes her sunglasses up on to her head.
‘Um, yes,’ I say, not wanting to expand.
‘Does that mean Ollie will be available for quiz nights after all?’ She beams.
I swallow. ‘No, it’s just me staying.’
‘I can see that must be difficult for you. I can only imagine how it must feel if your partner leaves you. But you seem to be bearing up.’ She looks between me and Carine.
I open my mouth to say that I left Ollie, not the other way round, but close it again.
‘Well, let’s hope you can join us in the pub one night. We’ll have a girls’ night. Prosecco! Or a couple of gins. You know where we are. We have to stick together and support each other.’
By ‘we’, I’m assuming she means the British. I look at Carine, who says nothing, staring at the woman from behind her sunglasses.
‘And how are you going to make a living?’ Cora asks.
‘I’m—’
Just at that moment there’s a shout and I’m grateful for the distraction. I look to where it came from, as do the three British women and Carine. A young man in a hoodie dodges in and out of the sauntering shoppers, clearly having helped himself to something from the display of bright red strawberries, and disappears. The stallholder throws up his hands, then returns to serving his line of customers, seemingly letting the incident pass.
A man in a suit stops and speaks to him, one hand in his pocket. They shrug and share a good-natured exchange. It’s the mayor, I realize. He pulls out a note from his wallet and takes a punnet of strawberries, refusing the change, and the moment has passed. The market crowd goes about its business. Cora, though, is tutting and her friends shake their heads.
The mayor is coming towards us, making for the other part of the market close to the Office du Tourisme. His pace slows. His smile drops, as do his shoulders. He stops in front of the three women. ‘Bonjour, Mesdames,’ he says, and greets each one politely. Then Carine introduces me, and he welcomes me as if I’ve just arrived. Strangely, that’s how it feels. He doesn’t ask any questions when Carine explains I’ve bought Le Petit Mas and am living there on my own. No mention of my husband, my past, just the here and now. It feels as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
‘Monsieur le maire, you really must do something about that.’ Cora points a manicured finger at the sundrenched square. ‘You can’t allow that kind of theft to go on without doing something about it.’
The other women all agree. They may have a point, I think. The town feels so safe. It was a surprise to me to see that happen.
‘In no time we’ll be the crime capital of the south!’
The mayor raises an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes,’ he says, ‘it is better to live and let live. Enjoy the weather, ladies. All is fine here in Ville de Violet. Enjoy what you have. Others are not as fortunate.’ He bids everyone good day and sidesteps the women.