The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (13 page)

“No. Absolutely not.”

“So your secret, mysterious lover is not attached to someone else?”

“Absolutely not. Pass the ketchup, please.”

With a shrug, Katherine changed the subject and they finished eating without addressing it again.

As she got organized to leave, Kat hugged Molly. “Well, as the officers suggested, try to figure it out. I’m just a phone call away if you want anything. Do you want to stay at my place tonight?’

Molly thanked her, saying she would be fine and that she wasn’t going to let some idiot turn her life upside down. “The shock is wearing off and now I’m just getting totally pissed off. You can bet I’m going to try to figure this out and get to the bottom of it. When I get my hands on whoever it is, there’ll be hell to pay.”

13

By noon on Monday morning, Katherine had confirmed her vacation dates with Dr. Henderson and Laura, the office manager. Everyone in the office shared her excitement as she described the home exchange details.

All she had to do now was keep her eagerness in check for four weeks.

Two weeks later, on Saturday evening, she invited Andrea and Terrence for dinner at her place before they went to hear Molly’s ten o’clock show at the Blue Note.

May had become cool again in the middle of the month, as so often happened, and Katherine decided to cook a veal stew that was a favorite in her family. She hesitated at first when she recalled how James had loved the dish but then quickly put that thought out of her head. Reminders of James and their life together were taking far less of her energy now. It was what it was, she told herself. Divorce happens.

There was still pain, to be sure.
Wouldn’t there always be?
she wondered.

Dinner conversation centered on some surprise news about Andrea and Terrence’s oldest son.

Andrew had recently turned twenty-five. After graduating from the agricultural college at the University of Guelph, he had gone to Kenya for six months with a volunteer group to help establish small farm co-ops. Since his return he was quickly becoming an important part of the family’s farming operation. His grandfather’s namesake, he had astonished them with a recent announcement.

Andrea explained, “We gave Elisabeth’s story to the kids to read. It was such a difficult experience for all of us . . . just so painful . . .”

“Kat, you know how deeply, deeply touched we all were,” Terrence continued. “If only we had known—”

Andrea broke in, “I mean, we knew, but we didn’t.”

“I understand,” Katherine said, “but they didn’t want us to know. They didn’t want us to carry that horror inside as we were growing up. I get where they were coming from.”

Andrea and Terrence looked at each other, and he reached for her hand as Andrea spoke.

“Andrew has decided he is going to their birthplace to honor his grandfather and your parents.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“My goodness,” Katherine whispered, “my goodness . . .”

“We were stunned too,” Terrence said, dropping his head.

“Moved,” Andrea added, her eyes welling.

“It’s such a noble idea,” said Katherine, still shocked, “but let’s think about it. That area has changed completely, not just the town. I doubt there’s much left from their time, and we don’t even know exactly where they lived. I appreciate what he is feeling, but I wonder if he really should go.”

“We’ve had the same conversation, Kat. He’s determined.”

“He’s already begun planning, checking flights, accommodation.”

They talked over all the pros and cons of Andrew’s plan. The truth of the matter, they all agreed, was that it wasn’t whether it made sense but rather how strongly Andrew felt about it.

While Andrea and Terrence, at their insistence, cleared away the dinner dishes, Katherine finished getting ready to go out.

Pausing, she leaned her head against her mother’s carpet and rubbed her hands gently across the soft texture of the silk.
What would you think of all this, Anyu? Of my plans, of Andrew’s . . .

Terrence dropped the women off in front of the Blue Note and went to park. He was reminded of how long it had been since he had visited this part of the city and how much the Queen Street East area had changed.

The dearth of parking spots was just one example, he noted with mild frustration.

As property in the area became pricier than anyone would ever have imagined, the run-down tenement houses were slowly being replaced with high-end condos and townhomes. However, homeless people still tucked themselves into protected corners, and the odd overserved individual stumbled about.

In the area, a drop-in center was run by the Catholic church, providing food and shelter, although developers were strenuously campaigning to have it relocated. The Blue Note was a long-established, slightly tired bar that featured indie-type music during the week, switching to jazz every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. Molly had been a fixture on stage Saturday and Sunday for over ten years, at times sharing the bill with other vocalists. Her followers were loyal and the bar was usually packed by 10:00 p.m.

Terrence squinted as he entered and offered silent thanks for the city bylaw that no longer allowed smoking in bars. He remembered only too well the thick haze that used to hang in that room. Even so, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust. Wood-framed booths upholstered in comfortably broken-in black leather lined the sides of the room, with small round dark oak tables and chairs filling the center. Soft lighting from antique brass fixtures created a funky ambiance.

Most tables sat groups of four or fewer, but by the end of the night a few boisterous clusters of six or eight typically pulled chairs together to party more effectively. The atmosphere lent itself to friendly intimacy. The decor was as it had been since the bar opened in 1959.

Bing, the bartender, had been there forever and managed to control the balance in the room, cranking things up or cooling it down as needed. From behind the highly polished walnut bar nothing escaped him, and he made everyone feel they were longtime regulars from the minute they walked in.

Molly was sitting with Katherine and Andrea and gave Terrence a warm hug as he drew up a chair to join them. They chatted for a few minutes more before the band returned to the stage and Molly was introduced.

Voices dropped as the dusky tones of her voice filled the room. Her bluesy style was often compared to that of the great Peggy Lee, and as sultry as her sound was, her phrasing was magic. When Molly sang, Katherine always noticed how her entire body language transformed to suggest she was relaxed and happy.

A male vocalist joined Molly for a few duets before Molly stepped down and made her way back to their table. Just before she reached them, she signaled she would be a minute and went over to the bar.

In spite of the dim lighting, Katherine noticed Molly greeted with a light kiss on each cheek by an attractive, dark-haired man of an indeterminate age. They spoke for a moment before she returned to the table alone.

Brimming with curiosity, Katherine asked, “Did I notice a priest’s collar under that handsome fellow’s jacket?”

“You certainly did,” Molly answered. “That’s Father DeMarco. He’s very involved in street ministry in this area, and he often drops by. Needless to say, weekends are his busiest time around this neighborhood.”

“He’s the priest from your church as well, isn’t he?” asked Katherine, realizing where she had seen him before.

“Yup, that too.”

Andrea chimed in, commenting on his rugged good looks. “What is a guy that hot doing as a priest? I’ll bet his Mass is well attended by the ladies.”

Terrence rolled his eyes as Katherine chuckled, and Molly squirmed ever so slightly before she smiled and nodded.

A plate of warm flatbreads accompanied by hummus, a hot pepper dip, and a bowl of olives arrived at the table while the band took a break.

“My treat, guys,” Molly said, grinning. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”

She accepted their murmurs of thanks and appreciation as they all dug in.

At midnight, after two more sets with sounds that just kept getting better, Molly stayed behind for one last set while the others went back to Katherine’s, where Andrea and Terrence were staying overnight.

Lingering over breakfast the next morning, Katherine gave them a copy of her flight info and ran through her planned itinerary. She had a couple of contact phone numbers of people near the property in France who could be called for any reason.

“You were right about the great preparation and care people put into organizing their exchanges,” she said to them.

“Kat, we’re so excited for you!” Andrea exclaimed, tears filling her eyes, “This is going to be such an awesome experience. I just know it!”

Terrence nodded, adding in a worried tone, “I hope you won’t regret going alone.”

Shooting him a quick narrow-eyed look along with a shake of her head, Andrea pulled the conversation into positive territory again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Terry, Kat’s a big girl! She knows what she’s doing and she’ll be more than just fine!”

Kat laughed and hugged Terrence, thanking him for his concern. “You know, I’ve had moments of thinking I must be crazy to go alone, but honestly I do feel excited at the prospect now. Besides, I need to do this—for me.”

14

The Friday morning of her departure, Katherine was up earlier than usual, filled with excitement. Mentally going through her checklist, she called the limo service for a 4:30 p.m. pickup.

With an early-evening flight, she had factored in the unknowns of rush-hour traffic.

“Better safe than sorry,” Andrea had agreed when they talked about it on the weekend. “There’s always a jam-up by the airport, even at the best of times.”

Katherine was leaving the office at noon so she would have the afternoon for last-minute details. There was a meeting that morning she didn’t want to miss or she would have taken the day off. But the truth was she didn’t need to.

Ha, I’ve had my bags packed for a week!

Taking Katherine by surprise, Lucy made a presentation on behalf of the staff.

The others looked pleased as Katherine unwrapped a compact video camera.

“Oh my gosh! You shouldn’t have. I’m really . . . quite, um, embarrassed . . . but thrilled. Thank you!”

Dr. Henderson put his arm around her shoulder. “This past year hasn’t
been the easiest for you, so we hope you enjoy every minute of this trip.”

Blinking, Katherine smiled through her tears. “I plan to put every effort into doing just that.”

It would be another hour before her flight was to board. She had checked approximately six times.

Not that I’m excited, especially with my new best friend in hand
, she thought with a smile as she took out her e-reader. She had reread all of Peter Mayle’s books about Provence during the past two months and downloaded his
Provence A to Z: A Francophile’s Essential Handbook
to amuse herself on the flight.

Katherine had purchased her first e-reader for this trip after years of denying she would enjoy using it. Much to her surprise, she discovered she liked it very much, and she had enough material downloaded to last a very long time.

She had loved the entire experience of preparing for her adventure. She had spent the previous Sunday with Andrea and Terrence. To her delight, Andrew, Kate, and Jack were there for dinner, especially to say
bon voyage
. Andrew’s desire to visit his grandfather’s birthplace had only intensified since he first announced his plans. He was anxious to share his thoughts about it.

Katherine had called him the weekend his parents told her of his decision, and she realized then he would not be dissuaded.

He’d done an impressive amount of research already.

“There’s an agricultural co-op just outside the town now that’s focusing on organic products, so I’m going to spend some time there as well. I’m really hoping that by meeting some local people, I might even meet someone who has a link to the past.”

Katherine was amazed at the local information he had acquired.

“It’s all there online, Aunt Kat,” he said, “including photos, videos. It’s so easy to find out about anything these days. You should take a look. Mom did.”

Andrea looked at Katherine sadly and shook her head. “It’s very, very difficult to read all the information from the war years, but there are photos, Kat. When you are ready, you should look at them. I cried the entire time, but somehow in the end it helped me to actually picture where they had lived before all hell broke out.”

Katherine nodded and said she would, asking Andrea to send her the links.

As coffee was being served, the children presented Kat with a beautiful leather-bound journal and Montblanc pen.

“We know it’s a German pen, but it sounds French!” they said, laughing and kissing her.

“Keep a journal, Aunt Kat. In fact, Mom is going to show you how to create a website tonight so we can follow your adventure that way!”

Molly had taken her out for dinner the night before she left.

“Voilà, ma chère amie!”
Molly handed Kat a small, brightly wrapped package.

Katherine unwrapped a tiny iPod shuffle and looked at the attached piece of paper. “Fantastic! Oh, thanks, Moll! Piaf, Aznavour, Brel, Hallyday . . . oh, even Dalida!”

There was also some North African music and then a name that brought a quizzical look to Katherine’s brow.

“Zaz . . . ?”

“Oh yeah! My new all-time favorite—Zaz. Kat, when you listen to her song ‘Je Veux,’ you won’t be able to stop smiling or dancing around. You’re going to love it.

“Such a thoughtful gift! Thank you so, so much!
Merci beaucoup!
”

Molly grinned back.

Katherine continued, “Oh, and thanks too for offering to pop in on the Lalliberts while they’re at my house. I’m sure they will appreciate it. I’ve left them your phone number along with Michael and Susan’s, and also Andrea’s.”

“That ought to cover everything,” Molly confirmed. “Sounds like you are all set.”

“I’m ready to go. I’m excited, and I don’t think I’m ignoring any other feelings.”

“Well, with everything that’s happened to me lately, I’m feeling scared about you by yourself in a frickin’ little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m not going to be as alone as you think. I told you that house is in a vineyard property and there are other people in the main house just five minutes away—five minutes’
walk
, not drive.”

“Yes, but—”

“And the farmhouse has an alarm system. So I’m not exactly unprotected.”

“Well, why do they have an alarm? Have they had problems? Did you ask?”

“They were very up front about it and said everyone in their area has an alarm, as there have been problems. Where aren’t there these days? But they have never had anything happen.”

Molly shrugged and talked some more about her concerns.

“Okay,” said Katherine, “There’s one more thing I haven’t told you. I might be looking after their dog too. A yellow Lab.”

This was a surprise. Kat explained that the dog was an option.

“At first I thought I would refuse but then decided it might be nice to have the company.”

“But you’ve never had a pet!”

“I know. Crazy, huh? I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I just want to do all these things I’ve never done before. They said the dog is happy to sleep outside or can stay at the main house—whatever that is—if I don’t want him in the farmhouse.”

Molly stared at Kat and shook her head. “Shut up! I can’t wait for you to get home, to hear all your stories.”

“I’ll call you from there or Skype from the gas station! We’ll just have to organize around the six-hour time difference, which could be a problem during the week when you’re at work. Speaking of phone calls . . .” said Kat.

“Nothing since the lovely floral delivery,” Molly said, looking a bit pale.

“Fingers crossed that’s the end of it,” Katherine toasted, raising her wineglass.

Recalling all this as she sat at the gate, Katherine felt slightly overwhelmed and very fortunate.

Putting her Kindle away when she heard the boarding announcement, she stifled a smug grin, joined the lineup, and was soon settled into Air France’s business class. She had often wondered when she would get to use her travel points since James wouldn’t fly. They’d collected a ton of them, only to use them for hotels. Now she was reaping the benefit—
and loving it
, she thought with a smile.

Too excited to sleep, she killed some time by watching a couple of movies before she finally closed her eyes in the comfortable fold-down-flat seats. The next thing she knew, lights were turned up and the cabin was full of activity as breakfast was served. Organizing her things, she prepared for arrival at Charles de Gaulle Airport.

France! I’m really here in France!
was all she could think in the terminal as she let the sound of French voices and accents fill her head.

After collecting her luggage, she found the TGV easily enough thanks to the clear signage. She could board directly onto the train to Avignon from the airport without having to go into Paris.

After checking the departure notices, it was a short walk to the platform. Validating her ticket with the time-stamp punch in one of the yellow machines, she was glad she had read about this in advance. The machines weren’t too easy to spot.

The 8:00 a.m. TGV left on the dot, as advertised. True to its name, the ride on Le Train à Grande Vitesse was a thrill, the countryside flying by as the train exceeded three hundred kilometers per hour. In well under three hours she arrived outside Avignon. The slick TGV station was located ten kilometers outside the town, with the car rental office conveniently next to it. Rolling her luggage along, she discovered a note on the office door.

“Fermé pour le déjeuner. Réouverture à 14h 30.”

I’m in France! Open at two thirty after lunch, I’d forgotten about that. Now what do I do for three hours?

Back in the station she was surprised to discover that there was nowhere to store her luggage. For a moment, she felt a desire to not be so alone and for someone else to be making a decision.

How did I miss this information when I did my trip research?

Seeing a small bus, she waved to the driver, who stopped for her.
Using hand signals and limited vocabulary eventually solved the problem.
There were storage lockers in the
other
Avignon TGV station right in town
and this bus would shuttle her there. Who knew? Trying not to berate herself too much, Katherine slowly shrugged off feelings of inadequacy and aloneness and began to see the delay as an opportunity to explore.

A ten-minute stroll through twisting medieval alleys brought her to Place du Palais. Katherine stood in awe at the beauty of the immense Palais des Papes, the Palace of the Popes, flanked by its four massive towers. Built in the 1300s, it was the size of four normal French cathedrals, and she could see why it was described as one of the most important Gothic structures in Europe. Breathtaking didn’t describe it.

Fantastique!

She wrote postcards to Andrea, Molly, and Lucy as she sat in the square opposite the imposing palace. Her phone beeped to indicate a text coming in, and Katherine was thrilled to see that Andrea had received the text she sent her from the station saying she had arrived safely. At least they could communicate that way.

Feeling surrounded by history, she smiled with satisfaction as she treated herself to a
papaline
, a chocolate truffle filled with liqueur distilled from sixty locally picked herbs.
Having two would be decadent
, she told herself. So she did.

The friendly
navette
driver had informed her there was a thirty-minute bus tour around the town, which left from the square.

She found the history fascinating, listening to the English version on the headphones supplied. Until she read up on her history before leaving for France, she had forgotten that the seat of the Roman Catholic Church had actually moved from Rome to Avignon in the 1300s, remaining there about seventy-five years. It was surprising how much remained from that time.

The famous bridge was a disappointment. After singing “Sur le Pont d’Avignon”
for so many years as a schoolgirl, she had expected it to be much larger. Only four arches remained of a bridge that once spanned the Rhone, but it was still exciting to see, she decided.

Drinking a
café crème
afterward, she recognized the first hurdle she would have to cross during her visit. No caffe mocha to be found! Everyone appeared to drink espresso or the standard French coffee, ordered as
café
. The waiter had been kind enough to suggest a
crème
might be what she wanted. With the addition of three sugar cubes, it would have to do.

I promise myself I won’t even look for Starbucks while I’m in France. It just doesn’t seem right.

It was three o’clock when Katherine picked up her rental car. The man in charge apologized for not speaking English, indicating his absent colleague did. Between them they managed to communicate with a mix of languages, smiles, and nods.

She quickly became aware that while her French immersion education from so many years ago had actually left residuals, her vocabulary was another story. At least it should make for some funny stories when she got back.

The paperwork was complicated and again Katherine wished she wasn’t the one who had to fill it out. Once she had finally completed the information, the agent helped load her bags into the trunk. Wishing her a
bonne journée
with a wave, he went back to the next customer as she started her car. It was a peppy blue Citroën with a manual transmission, and even had a GPS system. Her excitement growing, she entered the village name and positioned her seat.

Sainte-Mathilde was located halfway between the villages of Gordes and Roussillon. Katherine felt as if she had already driven the route with all the time she had spent on Google Earth. She would be there in less than an hour, according to her directions. It looked like a beautiful drive, very straightforward, although there were a lot of squiggles on the map. After the earlier arrival fiasco, she hoped her research had been accurate.