Summer in Provence Page 26

  His artistic temperament makes him feel things to the extreme and while it doesn’t manifest in a temper, I often see it in his eyes. He holds on to things – memories, old hurts and a hint of fragility that sits uneasily alongside that tremendous strength and willpower. Lying just beneath the surface, it never leaves him and threatens to pull him down. Two very opposite sides of a man who works hard to keep himself on an even keel.

  I walk back out into the day room, searching for him, but he’s not there. Neither is Isabel. I’m not in the mood to sit and chat, so I say goodnight and head off to the studio. It’s in darkness and as I switch on the lights, I feel a sense of contentment. I love this room.

  Swapping my jumper for a loose, painting T-shirt, I stare down at it. Every little blob and smear is like a badge of honour. What I didn’t show Isabel is the little pile of canvases that will never see the light of day. Rolled up ready to take home, and languishing in the back of the cupboard, they are an important reminder of my journey. Days of exasperation, followed by Nico’s very patient tutoring as he guided me through the pitfalls of my learning curve. Treasures, in one way, because they chart my development, but there’s always that feeling you could have done better. That’s when I knew I was always meant to be an artist and I began signing my canvases.

  ‘You’re still here?’

  Nico enters just as I’m about to begin clearing up. It’s shortly after one-thirty in the morning and it’s been a very productive, satisfying session.

  I glance at him, wondering where he’s been, because he doesn’t look tired. More wired.

  ‘Isabel has just gone to bed. She’s leaving early tomorrow morning.’

  He sounds apologetic for some reason. I don’t know why.

  ‘You’re not starting work now?’ I remark.

  ‘No. I saw the light was on and wanted to check you were okay.’

  As I wipe my brush on a rag, I focus on what I’m doing, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘You need to tell her everything, Nico. She’s trying to help you move up to that next level and yet she feels you aren’t committed. Her loyalty to you is now in conflict with the business side of her. You can’t have it both ways if you keep her in the dark. You owe her that, at least.’

  When I do look up at him, he hangs his head.

  ‘You’re right. I know that. But I’ve lived in fear for so many years that it won’t leave me. I’m not ready to tell her, but I will consider planning a trip to Seville at some point this summer.’

  Argh! He’s so stubborn at times.

  ‘Nico, she’s here, now, and you need to do this face to face. You can’t wait another three or four months. A lot can happen in that time and Isabel will be working hard on your behalf, building your reputation and getting your name out there. She’s putting a lot on the line for you; you owe her the truth and once she understands—’

  His eyes blaze. ‘No one understands. I worked for Isabel’s father doing menial jobs around their property to earn enough to buy the supplies I needed to paint. I helped their gardener, raking leaves in autumn and deadheading flowers in the summer. It’s bad enough she knew of my father; thankfully, my mother was well-loved and respected for her kindness and sense of community. But even she became reclusive and stopped inviting people into our home. This is one step too far for me, Fern. You must leave it alone.’

  We’re facing each other, and I can see he thinks I’ve overstepped the mark. He’s angry with me.

  ‘I know you don’t want to hear this, Nico. But I’m begging you to reconsider your decision. It will clear the air and restore Isabel’s belief in you, that you can rise to the challenge. This isn’t solely about putting you on display and I don’t know why you can’t see that?’

  His face is stony. ‘I came here to escape all of that. Maybe it’s a price I’m not prepared to pay.’ The icy tone is a warning.

  ‘Then you’re not the man I thought you were, or who Isabel believes you to be,’ I point out as I finish putting away my brushes. ‘I can’t decide whether you’re being petulant, or arrogant – neither is warranted, or even appropriate. There are plenty of artists who would give anything for the opportunity you are turning down without so much as a passing thought.’

  ‘You think it’s that easy? There’s so much you don’t know. Isabel wears the wedding ring of her dead husband five years after he’s been gone. He turned her from a warm-hearted young girl into a cool-headed businesswoman. If I tell her everything, she will walk away and that will ruin my career. Even the merest whisper of an association with fraudulent activity in the art world means doors would be slammed shut forever. For her and for myself.’

  I look at him, horrified. ‘Isabel is in love with you, Nico. How can you not see that in the way she looks at you? The way she’s been prepared to sweep aside her concerns and support you regardless of what her head is telling her? What you are doing by keeping this from her is wrong and unfair, Nico.’

  ‘Unfair?’ He turns, shaking his head as he walks towards the door. ‘You can’t even begin to understand the meaning of that word, Fern, trust me.’

  30

  Words, Water and Wisdom

  Guilt. Five little innocuous letters that when strung together can destroy hopes, dreams, relationships and, ultimately, lives. Nico is feeling guilty for not facing up to his demons. I’m feeling guilty because he matters to me. But then, so does everyone here.

  Does guilt serve a higher purpose? I wonder. Is it designed to make us stop and think before we cross an imaginary line? A sort of inner alarm system that some people choose to tune out, while others are stopped in their tracks?

  It might be paranoia, but everyone around me seems to be battling with it at the moment. Kellie is making commitments to tie her future to Taylor and France for a long time to come, by the look of it. But as each day passes, she keeps putting off making that call home.

  And my family – well, this week the contact has been noticeably absent, yet again. I can’t even begin to grapple with what’s going on with them all at the moment. Of course, when they ring everything is wonderful, which it never is, and that’s what is making me suspicious.

  People think they are sparing you the angst, but now they’re avoiding me and that’s worrying.

  I can’t seem to let it go and it’s time to reach out to Georgia.

  ‘Hey, neighbour, remember me?’

  She shouts down the phone in excitement, ‘Fern! How are you?’

  I yank it back away from my ear, pressing speakerphone.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Steve’s had shingles and what a pain he’s been.’

  I can’t stop myself from smiling. Georgia isn’t big on sympathy.

  ‘Ouch, I hear that’s painful.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replies, forcefully. ‘Poor me, it’s been an absolute nightmare. It’s lovely to hear your voice, though. You have no idea how much you’ve been missed.’ The way she says it sounds meaningful. Worryingly meaningful.

  ‘I’m missing everyone, too. I thought I’d call and find out if things are really ticking over well at that end? You know what it’s like, everyone is busy. If it isn’t battling with a poor signal, it’s a timing thing. I’m missing out on so much. Is the house still standing?’ I laugh, good-naturedly.

  She hesitates for a second or two and when she does begin talking, her voice is unnaturally bright.

  ‘Of course, everything is fine. You’re worrying about nothing. We all think we’re indispensable, but they manage without us, don’t they? I mean, when they have to.’

  Now, that’s odd. ‘I suppose so, but I’d rather know if something had gone wrong.’

  This time she jumps in way too quickly. ‘The roof is still on, so you can take a deep breath and get back to work. I hear it’s going well for you in France.’

  So she’s spoken to one of them at least, then.

  ‘It’s very different and no two days are the same. There’s no time to get bored, that’s for sure,’ I reply,
truthfully.

  ‘You can’t worry about home, Fern. Just enjoy your little stint of freedom. I would.’

  Georgia is hiding something from me.

  ‘So, there’s nothing I should be concerned about at the moment?’

  ‘Nope.’ Well, her tone infers she’s not prepared to give anything away, so I might as well give up and pretend I believe her. ‘Good. Great, in fact. How are the kids?’

  That sets off a whole twenty-minute long monologue about wishing she didn’t drive as all she is these days, is a taxi service. With Steve off sick and unable to get behind the wheel, Georgia is feeling frazzled. I’m glad I called, just because she needed a listening ear, but I don’t feel reassured in any way.

  With this week’s arrivals due to fly home later this afternoon, I have to head off shortly for this morning’s experimental workshop. One of the courses Pierce has run in the past with great success, apparently, is a Self-Awareness course. Twelve of the attendees are taking part, which surprised us all.

  It’s something he usually runs over two full days as it’s aimed at gaining a clearer understanding of one’s strengths, weaknesses, inhibitions and overall motivation. He says it’s really about establishing a path to happiness. Learning to unlearn things which hold us back or threaten to stifle our ability to think outside the box. All very thought-provoking stuff and interesting.

  There’s one exercise from the second day of the course that he feels will work particularly well here as a debrief. A good way, he thinks, to spend the last morning when there’s a lot of goodwill in the group now they have gelled and bonds have been formed.

  Pierce asked Yann and me if we’d join in because it works best with a larger group, but, in addition, he’s looking for feedback. He’s expecting us to write a little report about how well it’s received by those taking part.

  ‘Right. If everyone can grab a sheet of paper off the easel and write their name in the top right-hand corner.’

  There’s a flurry of activity as we are all curious about what we’re going to be doing. It’s a fairly mixed group in terms of occupations, but age-wise there’s probably only a ten-year span, which is unusual. Maybe that’s why everyone has bonded so well this week, and it’s only the artsy contingent, as someone named them, who are closeted away with Nico this morning.

  ‘Good,’ Pierce concludes, his voice rising above the chatter. ‘Now, I want you to write two words in the centre of the page. Like this.’ He flips the lid off his marker pen and lays his own sheet on the floor. He writes his name in the corner and then in the centre he draws two clouds. In one he writes the word intense and in the other altruistic.

  He stands, and we all gather around him.

  ‘I want you to come up with two words – one reflecting your strength and the other your weakness. Words that you feel best describe your personality in a way that sums you up. Yes, I’m intense which isn’t exactly negative, but it’s something about which I need to be wary, so it doesn’t put people off. And my main motivation in life is altruistic, because in my line of work if I can’t help other people to feel better about themselves, then I’d better shut up shop.’

  Everyone starts laughing.

  ‘Are you all happy with that?’ There’s a lot of nodding heads. ‘Spread the sheets out over the entire floor space in the gym. I want you all to wander around and think of a couple of words that you’re comfortable adding to each person’s sheet; based solely on your perception of them this week. There’s no rush and we have half an hour for this part of the exercise.’

  It’s actually quite fun. For some people, words instantly pop into my head, but for others, I find myself having to stop and think. Maybe I didn’t get to spend much time in their company, or it takes me a few minutes to find the right word. It certainly focuses your attention and it’s not as easy as it might appear at first.

  As I walk around doing my bit, what surprises me is the wide variety of adjectives used. But I studiously avoid glancing at my own sheet as I mingle. It’s gone from quite noisy banter to almost total quiet. People are taking this really seriously and suddenly I feel uncomfortable.

  Glancing at Yann, he’s on his knees and I wonder what he’s doing because it doesn’t take that long to write a word and draw a cloud, and then I realise some people are adding personal little messages. At that precise moment, Ceana steps into the gym.

  ‘Sorry, everyone, I’ve come to grab Fern. We have a burst pipe and need an extra pair of hands. Lunch will be a little late, I’m afraid.’

  I cast around apologetically and run to catch up with her.

  ‘Nightmare,’ I say, as I double my strides to meet her pace.

  ‘Poor Margot is standing in an inch of water. The electrics have been turned off, but we can’t move the stopcock. We need to mop up the floor before it begins to pour into the day room. Fortunately, the last batch of bread is already cooling so we’re okay for lunch.’

  As soon as we step in through the door, I glance across at the kitchen and see a mound of rags and old towels forming a barrier between the two rooms.

  ‘If you can grab a broom and help Taylor and Dee-Dee, that would be great, thanks, Fern.’

  The three of us work in a line across the large room to drive the water out through the back door.

  ‘It would have been easier if the floor didn’t slope back into that corner,’ Dee-Dee complains.

  She’s right. As fast as we sweep, some of the water keeps running back.

  ‘We need suction,’ Taylor says. ‘Keep brushing, I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  If it wasn’t so dire, it would be comical. Dee-Dee and I decide to work in tandem, rushing forward so the water starts to gather speed like a wake in front of our brushes. But by the time we get to the back door, it’s disappointing how little ends up trickling down the path.

  Margot and Ceana are traipsing back and forth, moving everything needed for lunch out into the day room.

  Several minutes later, Taylor returns with additional help and a wet and dry vacuum.

  ‘Well done that, man!’ I applaud, as Kellie and Odile take platters from the fridge.

  ‘We need some more towels in the doorway,’ Ceana calls out over her shoulder.

  Taylor is the other side, plugging in the machine. ‘Kellie can you grab something large, like one of those throws on the sofa? I can’t stand in the water as I can only suction from the dry side. I need you to stop this ingress.’

  ‘Sure. I’m on it.’

  Bastien appears with a large wrench in his hand.

  ‘Is it under the sink?’ he asks, and Margot nods. Six strides and he’s lying on his back, taking the full force of the finger-like jets of water spurting out inside the cupboard. The seconds pass and nothing happens, then there’s a little cursing.

  ‘I got the sucker,’ he calls out eventually, sounding jubilant.

  ‘Whoop!’ Dee-Dee endorses, delighted that at least the pond won’t get any bigger now.

  With all the brushing action and Taylor’s suctioning power, it takes us forty minutes to end up with a damp, rather than wet, puddle-free floor. The old floor tiles were at least sealed, but it’s going to take a while to dry it out completely.

  Bastien opens the windows wide and we can at last stand back and appraise the situation.

  ‘Everything we need to serve lunch is now on the table. Fern, can you tell everyone to give us half an hour? The day room is fine, just a little soggy in the doorway. Dee-Dee, if we can drag these wet things out into the garden, that will help.’

  ‘Great teamwork, everyone,’ Margot acknowledges, gratefully. ‘My skirt is soaking wet and my feet are like ice!’ She laughs.

  Kellie heads off to the laundry room to find some towels for Margot. I text Nico as I head back to the gym, to make him aware that lunch is slightly delayed. My shoes are squelching as I walk, so I push open the door and lean in.

  ‘Sorry, guys. Another half an hour and lunch will be ready. I have to go and get some dry
shoes, see you all in a bit.’

  I wish I could say I’m sorry to have missed the end of the exercise, but the truth is that I was way outside my comfort zone with it. For some reason I can’t even begin to explain, I didn’t want to read what was written on my sheet while everyone was watching my reaction. Saved by a burst pipe. It must be my lucky day.

  ‘Fern, I have something for you,’ Pierce calls out, slipping his backpack off his shoulder to unzip it.

  I stop and turn. We’ve just waved off the coach and because of the upheaval this morning, a late lunch turned into an afternoon of chatting and general socialising.

  ‘It’s your piece of paper,’ he says, holding it out to me. ‘I thought you might like to read the comments. It was obvious you weren’t very comfortable and I’m sorry if I misjudged the situation. I’d rather hoped you’d find it a positive experience, but it isn’t right for everyone. When you have a quiet moment, take a look. It sends a very powerful message and I’ve seen a lot of these over the years, enough to know this one is rather special. Anyway, thanks, Fern. Your help this week has been much appreciated, as usual.’

  I watch as he walks off across the courtyard. Staring at the paper in front of me, I have no desire to unfold it. Some people love feedback; I’d rather not know what people think about me. I know I’m not perfect. I know I worry too much. I’ll never change, because it’s who I am.

  As I walk into the studio, Nico suddenly appears behind me. There’s still a tension between us and I hate that.

  ‘I thought I’d join you. Unless you want to be alone. You look upset.’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Not upset. Unsettled.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He points to the folded sheet of paper in my hand.

  ‘It’s from Pierce’s session this morning. We all had to describe ourselves in two words and then everyone else added their thoughts. It was a bit too uncomfortable and intense for me.’

  ‘You haven’t read it?’