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PROVENCE, 1933
As June arrived Elodie woke every morning to the sound of birdsong, the scent of lavender and her grandmother’s calls to go swimming. They marched down with their arms linked, and towels draped around their necks.
One particularly fine day, when the light was so bright and luminous, bouncing off the water as they lay in its shallows, Elodie stared as it shone on Grand-mère’s hair, which had fanned out around her, almost all white.
‘What are you thinking of?’ asked Grand-mère, as she caught her staring.
‘Just you – just how much my life changed the day I was brought here, and how wonderful it is.’
Grand-mère’s hand reached out for hers and she gave it a little squeeze. ‘Mine too.’
They drifted in the water for a while longer, watching the sky filtering through the willow trees.
Afterwards they made breakfast, a fluffy truffle-studded omelette, and ate it straight from the pan.
The only small dark spot was Grand-mère’s cough, which returned every evening. The doctor said that it was nothing to worry about, and that the summer sun would do her the world of good, and she should try to ensure that she took things a bit more slowly.
It made Elodie grateful that she had decided to move in when she did, so at least she could ensure Grand-mère did, in fact, take his good advice. Their days were often really busy, full of trips to the market then preparing food for the restaurant. The days of the chalkboard with the single offering written as a notice had long since gone as no one bothered to check it. They trusted Marguerite completely. And thankfully that trust fell on to Elodie as well, who soon was trying out her own experiments.
She convinced Grand-mère to hire an extra helper in the kitchen, one of Jacques’ cousins, Timothee, who washed dishes and acted as a server. It made a big difference.
Every Saturday when the farm restaurant was closed, Elodie went to the abbey to visit Sister Augustine, the kind-faced nun. Her face always lit up when she saw the girl, and she often put her to work with a spare pair of pruning shears. ‘Roses are like children, you have to keep a firm hand,’ she often said.
Elodie didn’t mind. It was cathartic. They would walk around the vast garden together, against the backdrop of the beautiful old honey-stone abbey, and work as they talked.
The roses were at their best this time of year, from pale pinks cascading over trellises, to large whites like bridal veils climbing over walls, and row upon row of pale yellow or cerise bushes, next to stone garden benches, statues and fountains.
But even as spectacular as the roses were, they played second fiddle to the lavender, which was soon to bloom in the fields below, turning the horizon purple.
The nuns could time its arrival to the week, like the phases of the moon. When the lavender season began, their quiet days turned busy, as they tended it, and prepared for harvest when they would draw from the blooms the essential oil which would be used in all manner of tinctures and salves. People had been coming to the nuns for home remedies for years, so it seemed, and they obliged with all manner of homeopathic helpmates.
Elodie slept every night on a pillow that was full of sachets of lavender from the abbey.
‘When will the lavender be in bloom?’
‘Another week we think.’
‘How’s your grandmother’s cold?’ asked Sister Augustine, while she deadheaded a yellow rose bush. ‘Last week you mentioned that she’s still got that cough?’
‘It seems better now. She does cough a little at night but now that summer is here, the doctor seems to think it’ll clear up.’
‘That’s good to hear. I made a tea mixture that might help as well. Dried herbs and flowers like lobelia, from the potager. Good for the chest,’ said Sister Augustine. ‘I’ll get it for you before you go.’
‘Thanks,’ said Elodie. Then she grinned at the nun. ‘I brought you some of those little honey cakes you like.’
Sister Augustine’s eyes danced. ‘Thank you, I was hoping you might say that. Shall I pour us some lemonade?’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
A week later, when the lavender arrived, so did Jacques. She awoke to the sound of him tapping on the window, before sunrise. Elodie quickly went to open it but he held a finger to his lips then told her to follow him. She grinned.
They raced down the gravel drive into the cool morning air, stopping only so that Jacques could pick her up and hug her tight, where no one could hear.
‘You’re early!’ she said, kissing him.
His brown eyes danced in the early light. ‘Well, my last surprise went so well, I thought I’d try it again.’
His hair was longer, his face tanned. She touched it, committing all the changes to her heart. He appeared to be doing the same with her. ‘Your hair seems lighter,’ he marvelled, picking up a long blonde strand.
