Invitation to Provence(70)
Flustered, Jarré hurried to fetch a Band-Aid. He came back and wrapped it round her wounded finger. Then they sat in the bar together, silently sipping hot coffee. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said finally.
“Done what?” she asked innocently.
“The … er … the kiss,” he said, avoiding her gaze and sipping his coffee instead.
“Oh? And why not?”
Jarré sighed. “I think you are a woman who always does exactly what she wants, are you not?”
“I am,” Clare agreed, nibbling on a hunk of buttered baguette because Jarré had no croissants again.
He was serious as he said, “But then how does a man cope with you? How can he know what you will do next?”
“He doesn’t,” Clare said. “That’s half the fun.” And this time Jarré laughed, showing strong white teeth that made her want to find out who his dentist was. But the kitchen helpers were arriving to prepare lunch and it was time for work again.
Back in the kitchen, Clare watched Jarré prepare sauces for fish and for duck breast. He let her taste his homemade peach ice cream and explained how it was made. Then he had her clean the baskets of wild strawberries, fresh from that morning’s market, and together they set up the big table on the terrace for the chateau party. After that, Clare had to hurry back to the chateau to change not only her clothes but her persona, from kitchen helper to honored guest.
Promptly at 12:30 Haigh drove Rafaella and Juliette to the village in the Bentley while the younger people walked. Little Blue skipped ahead in her comfortable new sneakers. She stopped to stare at the dogs lying in the shade by the fountain.
“Look, Jake,” she called, pointing. “There’s Criminal.”
He was sprawled with the other dogs, tongue lolling, making like a genuine French street dog. When he saw them, he lifted his head, wagged his tail languidly, then settled down again, making them laugh.
At the café, Little Blue sat, as she always did, next to her grandmother. She propped the woolly lamb that never left her side behind her, sipping her lemonade in a ladylike manner and chattering in what was by now a mix of French, English, and Mandarin, which somehow everyone understood.
A serious Jarré came to greet his guests, pouring the wine from his own vineyard, waiting as always for a sign of approval, even though Scott was missing today, still busy with his harvest. The wind had dropped to a soft breeze that brought with it the fresh scent of the garrigue, the stony hillsides dotted with wild rosemary and broom.
They were talking and laughing and eating Jarré’s John Dory sautéed simply with a little garlic and tarragon when Jake’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and took the call outside. Rafaella’s eyes followed him. With wind ruffling his dark hair, she thought he looked like the young boy he’d been when he first came to the chateau.
He finished his call, made another, then returned to the table. “Sorry, but I have to get back to New York for a few days,” he said. He was looking at Franny, and Rafaella knew how much he didn’t want to leave her, not now when everything was so new, so sweet, and they were together in the place he loved best in the world. “The plane will pick me up in Avignon this evening,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
They lingered over their lunch and Rafaella caught Franny’s eye across the table. She knew exactly what she was thinking, that she didn’t know how she would get through the next few days without her lover. She smiled sympathetically—it was a feeling she knew only too well.
55
LATER THAT EVENING, after Jake had left and the others were already in bed, Franny was alone with Rafaella in the small salon. They were sitting opposite each other at a little marquetry card table, playing a game of backgammon. As usual, Mimi and Louis were at Rafaella’s feet, while Criminal sprawled by the door, keeping one eye open for trouble, the way he always did.
“You must be missing Jake already,” Rafaella said, studying her next move carefully because she liked to win.
Franny sighed. “I didn’t think it would be possible to miss anybody this much. I mean, how can it be possible? I’ve known him for such a short while.”
“A short while is long enough to fall in love.”
“You were in love with Jake’s father, weren’t you?”
“I was. In fact, I confess, despite everything, I love him still.” Rafaella moved her counter and won the game. She sat back, satisfied, and looked up at Franny, feeling the empathy flowing between them.
“I loved him and I lost,” she said, with a wry little half smile, “but despite it all I still believe in true love, lasting love. And because I know you do too, Franny, I’ll tell you about him.”
The fire settled in the grate as Rafaella went to put on a CD, then she came to sit in the big old leather wing chair, listening to the familiar old song. And for her it was as if Lucas were in the room with her as she told Franny the story of their meeting, and their love affair, how Jake had come to live with them, and how Lucas had sent him away. And from then on, how everything seemed to go wrong.
When she’d finished, Rafaella sat for a while, thinking about the gradual disintegration of love, while Franny watched her silently. “Things were difficult after Jake left,” Rafaella said at last. “I was angry with Lucas for turning his son away and I let him know it. In retaliation, he went on to new conquests. Conquering a new woman always made Lucas feel more of a man. But then, I’m sure you’ve known men like that too, my dear,” she added. And remembering Marcus, Franny nodded.