Summer in Provence Read online

  ‘My goodness, that’s impressive!’ I exclaim.

  The floor is covered with almost as much paint as one of the canvases I’m staring at, and the smell is heavenly. That intense prickle as it hits my nose and I breathe in a wonderful whiff of oil paint. A sense of excitement wells up within me – it’s intoxicating.

  ‘I didn’t realise you painted in oils too,’ I declare, walking towards a huge canvas which is ninety per cent complete. It’s a village scene and so beautifully detailed I find myself wanting to reach out and touch it because the leafy scene looks so real. ‘I just love this smell, it’s heavenly. I could live in this room. This is quite something.’ I lean in closer, marvelling at the way he’s captured the light. It seems to jump out, it’s so vibrant, and yet there’s hardly any white paint to be seen. The light and shade has been applied in such a subtle way that all the eye sees is the overall effect.

  ‘It’s where I was born,’ Nico says with a catch in his voice.

  It’s then that I realise few get to step inside this room and see what I’m seeing. It instantly brings a lump to my throat.

  ‘I don’t have a problem with alcohol,’ he says, flat out. ‘I felt I owed it to you to make that clear. My father, however, was an alcoholic. It was a stupid thing to turn to a bottle of whisky in an attempt to obliterate some memories that aren’t pleasant. But it’s because of him that I usually manage to keep on an even keel. I saw what his frustrations did to him and it destroyed him in the end. He thought he was misunderstood. And he was, because who can really judge what is art and what isn’t? He painted what he saw through his own eyes and that’s not wrong. But allowing himself to become isolated and desperate was wrong, and that’s why I run the retreat.’

  I spin around to look at Nico as his eyes bore into me.

  ‘The painting in my room is your father’s and I find it inspiring. It grabs at something in here.’ I hit my chest with my hand. ‘That’s a gift and he passed it on to you.’

  His face freezes and I feel I’ve touched a raw nerve. But he shirks it off and, feeling embarrassed, I turn and walk along the line of partially completed works. Stopping for a few moments to marvel at each one in turn, I’m inspired.

  ‘I never realised artists worked on more than one piece at a time,’ I comment, making my voice sound more cheerful than I feel. I’m gutted that I inadvertently said the wrong thing.

  ‘It’s all about being in the right mood, Fern. Each day is different.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I add, smiling and hoping to lighten the moment. ‘Do painters have days where one colour is more meaningful?’

  He starts to laugh. ‘I see what you mean, but it wasn’t intentional. My blue mood first, then a green day as you go along the row… but, no, it’s just the way I work. Sometimes it’s the sky that catches my attention and I want to experiment to find that perfect shade. Other days it’s the forest beyond the orchard that calls me. Or the walled garden and the profusion of pinks, reds and purples.’

  ‘Your father struggled, you say?’

  He nods. ‘So many unfinished works. He battled with drug addiction for the last few years of his life as well. With great talent comes great passion and he was a man obsessed with detail. The truth is that he had a different reason for hating every single one of his paintings. I remember as a young boy taking his lunch into him in the studio and he was stabbing at a canvas with a knife. He was mutilating it because he couldn’t capture the light and shade to his satisfaction. Weeks of work destroyed in minutes.

  ‘What I saw in his eyes scared me. The pills he began taking seemed to take the edge off the pain, but it was a downhill slope. One day he swallowed a whole bottle and that was it.’

  He isn’t looking for sympathy and I say nothing. What can you say to something like that?

  Nico has led me over to a stack of canvases leaning against the wall in the corner of the room and pulls off the cover protecting them. He lifts the first canvas and turns it, placing it on one of the tracks. It’s about four feet square and it’s a young woman sitting on a chair, looking out of a window. But it’s so unlike the painting in my room; this one is intricate and precise.

  ‘Can you see the flaws?’ Nico watches as my eyes travel over it.

  ‘Well, it’s beautiful and the face is so true to life that the eyes seem to follow me as I move a little closer to the painting. I feel I could reach out and actually touch her skin, but there’s something not quite right. I can’t tell you what, exactly.’

  He stands back, gazing at it. ‘The neck is a little too long and the angle of the window distorts the perspective ever so slightly but enough for the eye to register and that detracts from the overall aesthetics.’

  ‘But it’s still a very beautiful work of art, Nico.’

  He nods. ‘I agree. However, my father didn’t. After he completed this portrait of my mother, she wouldn’t allow him to reuse the canvas, which he often did in those days. That was before his drug phase. It only survived because of her, but it has never been hung on a wall, because to him it represented his inadequacy. For me, it’s a fond memory of my mother, but it also reminds me of his madness.’

  His pain is so real, it seems to envelop me.

  ‘That’s so sad, Nico. What incredible skill he had and yet he could only see the tiniest of flaws that probably exist in every painting. But at least he had the satisfaction of seeing some of his work sell before he died.’

  Nico turns to face me and I can see the anguish in his eyes. ‘Yes, but that ended up being the reason he killed himself.’

  10

  At Least Somebody Needs Me

  ‘Hi, Fern. How was your afternoon?’

  ‘Good, thank you, Patricia. I have a couple of pages of little drawings and learnt a few things about perspective. How was your session?’

  I move along the bench so that Patricia can sit next to me, avoiding a rough patch of splintered and peeling, sun-bleached wood. It’s a nice quiet spot and after another of Margot’s tempting dinners in which I ate a little too much, I feel rather drowsy. If I’d stopped at the main course, I would have been fine. But who can resist a traditional tarte aux poires? Not me, anyway.

  ‘To my surprise, it went very well. I actually managed, with a little direction, to throw quite a nice little pot. Odile has filled the kiln and the pots are firing overnight. We get to glaze them tomorrow. I’m so glad you suggested it. I had a very interesting chat with Stefan, too, and he was very helpful. Nice man, actually.’

  I can hardly believe it. I don’t think I’ve seen Patricia talk to anyone other than myself or Kellie. She’s certainly beginning to open up and looks very relaxed this evening.

  ‘Kellie is staying on for another week, maybe two. Did she tell you?’

  Patricia shakes her head. ‘I didn’t know that. Oh, I am so pleased for her, though. She’s getting on so well with Taylor. I noticed she was one of his little group this afternoon.’

  I look at her, rather surprised, and she raises her eyebrows, indicating that Kellie’s news isn’t entirely unexpected.

  ‘Oh. That could be a bit awkward. He’s a good ten years older than her, I reckon. Do you think I should mention it to Nico?’

  ‘Maybe, but Taylor is such a reserved and polite young man. I haven’t spoken to him directly, but I just happened to be within earshot of them yesterday. I took a little walk down to the allotment early evening after they’d taken themselves off to the orchard with the guitars. It all seemed very innocent.’

  And I thought I was a mother hen, keeping an eye on everyone.

  ‘I do wish I could stay on, but there are things I have to do back at home. This little break is wonderful, though. And a blessing. Nico is a very interesting man. I suppose all artists are a little temperamental, but he seems quite intense.’

  ‘I suppose he is, but running this place demands a lot of his time. I imagine that can be rather frustrating when his work is calling him,’ I reflect.

  She takes a deep
breath in, gazing out over the low-level shrubbery in the sweeping border that edges the lawn. Behind it are some standard rose bushes.

  ‘I love roses,’ she says, nostalgically. ‘My husband, Fred, has spent his life tending our collection, but this year they haven’t fared so well.’

  ‘That’s a shame and what a pity he couldn’t take this little trip with you. It sounds like his idea of paradise.’

  A frown knots her forehead. ‘He isn’t well. It’s been a tough year, but my brother insisted I take a break.’

  ‘Oh, Patricia, I’m so sorry to hear that. As a carer it’s vital to be able to step away for a while. My heart goes out to you.’

  ‘He’s been an avid gardener all his life and can spot a greenfly at thirty paces! Can you smell the perfume in the air?’

  I sniff and then sniff again, savouring that little floral hint that hadn’t even registered with me.

  ‘Yes, I can, now you mention it.’

  ‘One of life’s little bonuses. Thank you, Fern,’ she says, turning to face me.

  ‘For… what, exactly?’

  She laughs. ‘For being you.’

  ‘Me? Really?’

  ‘You put me at ease. I feared I’d make a mistake coming away on this trip, alone and at a low ebb. But it was important to me for all sorts of reasons I can’t put into words. And I’m so glad I didn’t go with my instincts to simply head back to the airport. Cold feet,’ she explains, winking at me.

  It makes me chuckle.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you stayed, too. And I know Kellie is; I think she felt the same way you did on Monday and you encouraged her.’

  I glance at Patricia, who nods her head.

  ‘Ahh. Anyway, I must go. Nico is heading in this direction and he probably needs to talk to you.’

  With that she jumps up and walks off in the direction of the orchard. How strange that felt. It was almost as if she wanted to tell me something, then changed her mind.

  ‘I wondered where you were. I owe you yet another apology. Seems I keep making a habit of it with you.’

  Smiling up at him, he looks very relaxed this evening in an open-necked white shirt and navy blue, denim jeans. He’s wearing a cologne that has a citrussy edge to it and, judging by his damp hair, he’s freshly showered. Our eye contact is easy, comfortable, and he indicates towards the bench.

  ‘Can I sit, or was the lovely Patricia heading off because you wanted some quiet time? I didn’t chase her away, did I?’

  ‘No, not at all. She’s just a little shy. Please, take a seat.’

  ‘How did the sketching go?’

  I can feel his eyes scanning the side of my face; the bench is small and we’re sitting very close together. It’s a little bit unnerving for some reason. Nico adjusts his position, the seat being a little too low for his long legs, and he stretches them out in front of him. He half turns towards me again, flinging an arm over the back rail.

  ‘Good, well, I think. It’s funny though, yesterday’s session blew my mind a little and that was a complete surprise. I never imagined myself as being a dauber, but that’s what I did yesterday when I picked up the biggest brush on the table and went for it. Today it was all about the intricate detail and I thought that was where my interest would be, but I’m itching to get my hands on a brush again.’

  He smiles and the white of his teeth against his beautiful skin makes me feel a little nervous. How utterly ridiculous I’m being; he’s curious about one of his new students and that’s only natural.

  ‘I saw your painting before you finished it yesterday, but then you disappeared and took it with you,’ he says, frowning.

  ‘Well, it was my first attempt. Sadly, I dropped it on the way to my room so it ended up in the bin, I’m afraid.’ It just seems easier to make light of it, as I don’t want to make it sound like I thought it was any good. ‘I was inspired by the painting on the wall in my room. That’s not plagiarism, is it?’

  This time his laugh is throaty as he continues to look at me. For my part, I continue to avoid his glance as I scan the view in front of me.

  ‘No. Your personal style is just that and you seem to lean towards the abstract. It reminded me of the work of Michele Tragakiss, an artist whose work is very popular right now. You surprised me, Fern. What I really wanted to ask you this afternoon was whether you’d like to have a go at painting on a proper canvas. The door to my private studio is always open and it bothers no one. I often end up there late at night if I can’t sleep. I usually paint for a couple of hours until the brush is about to fall out of my hand. What do you think?’

  A little bubble of excitement leaps up from my stomach into my chest at the tantalising thought of that next brushstroke.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Nico, but I simply wouldn’t know where to start. I’d hate to waste a perfectly good canvas when I have no idea what I’m doing.’ It’s the truth, but I’m also afraid of messing up and embarrassing myself in front of him. It’s not like me to feel so vulnerable, and yet I do.

  ‘Well, it didn’t look like that to me. Besides,’ his smile drops suddenly as I force myself to look at him, ‘I need to ask you a big favour. I was rather hoping the temptation of access to my studio would mean you wouldn’t refuse me.’

  Now he’s piqued my interest.

  ‘Hmm. I’m tempted before I even know what I’m getting myself into,’ I confess.

  ‘Ceana has to return home for a few days because her cousin is getting married. She’ll leave at lunchtime on Friday but won’t get back until Tuesday afternoon. She acts as my deputy, as you’ve no doubt already discovered. We get our heads together when the new visitors arrive and try to pick out those who are a little more reserved. The aim is to buddy them up with someone, although it doesn’t always work. Just for the first session in most cases, although sometimes it instigates genuine friendships.’

  I nod, having seen her in action.

  ‘Ceana checks in with all of the tutors every day to make sure there aren’t any problems and is generally my eyes and ears. I need someone to step into that role while she’s away. Plus, we have three visitors here over the weekend to keep an eye on in case they need anything, so it would really help me out. She says I walk and talk too quickly and that’s why it’s not easy for me to sidle up to people and check they are okay. Intense is the word she uses.’ He grimaces, and I burst out laughing. When he’s relaxed, it’s like talking to a different man.

  ‘So, I would just check in on the people staying here and make sure the cleaners don’t have any problems. After that, I help assess the new intake on Monday? Generally circulating and reporting back to you?’

  ‘Yep. Don’t forget to check that the mid-week linen change has already been delivered and that we aren’t low on towels. That’s about it. Low-key but necessary to keep things ticking over. And in return you get to create your very own masterpiece. Think of all those tubes of paint… just waiting for the touch of a brush.’

  He makes it sound almost sensual.

  ‘Enough! I’m sold. You knew I would say yes, didn’t you? Although, I have to admit, I think I’m benefitting the most from this deal.’

  Nico smiles. ‘That’s because you’re a lovely lady. It’s in your nature to nurture, so you don’t see it as a chore.’

  I glance at him, caught off guard by his observation. What else has he noticed? I wonder.

  ‘My family are rather demanding at times. There’s always someone to look out for and a problem to help solve. People’s well-being is also crucial to my work, so it’s ingrained in me now.’

  He studies my face and I watch as his eyes flick over me.

  ‘You care about people, Fern, and sometimes that can end up being a burden. But here you are, alone and stepping outside of your comfort zone to discover new interests. That’s a bold move for anyone at any time in their life.’

  I shrug. ‘I think it’s my husband who is the bold one. We accepted that for our year off work we wanted to do different thi
ngs. It’s an opportunity we’re lucky to have, but perhaps it’s foolish. We won’t know until it’s over, I guess.’

  ‘Things weren’t going well between you?’ Nico’s frown is genuine; he’s trying to understand my situation.

  ‘Maybe we’d grown a little complacent. We rely upon each other and I suppose, with hindsight, that is a form of complacency because it can lead to taking each other for granted. Knowing you are there for each other whenever, whatever happens. I don’t see that as a bad thing, but maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.’

  ‘So, it’s a year of brave new discoveries which is also a huge risk for you both.’ His words are unsettling. I miss my normal routine; my normal life. But each day here is bringing with it something new and I’m realising things about myself that are surprising, as I begin to understand how strangers perceive me. And now Nico is prepared to put his trust in me, which is a confidence boost I wasn’t expecting.

  ‘And an adventure; one neither of us may ever get to experience again. Which is why I’d love to accept your offer, Nico, if you think I’m up to it. Thank you.’

  ‘Great. I’m glad you’re prepared to step outside your comfort zone. How about we head up to the day room as Ceana has talked Taylor and Kellie into playing a couple of songs. After that, we can get you set up in my studio.’

  I nod in appreciation.

  ‘How did she manage that, I wonder?’

  ‘As a man from Montana, he couldn’t resist a little Fourth of July Celebration. She thinks of everything.’ He chuckles and his eyes sparkle.

  ‘You’re going to miss Ceana when she flies back to Scotland,’ I remark.

  ‘I will, but she said if I could talk you into it, she’d go off feeling I was in good hands.’

  Those intense eyes smile back at me, gratefully, and I hesitate, wondering if this isn’t such a good idea after all. But what excuse could I possibly conjure up when he’s doing everything he can to encourage my creativity?