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Instead of wrapping her hair in the scarf Gabi had left, Julia left it loose to dry, glad to have a chance to comb it. The feathered headpiece was a soggy, crushed mess, and by the time she’d unpinned it, it was so ruined that she’d tossed it into the wastebasket and brushed the leaves and dried blossoms from the windowsill into the receptacle for good measure. Gabi was a warm and generous hostess, but a fastidious housekeeper she was not.
The tabby cat brushed at her legs, and Julia crouched down to pet it. The animal had been in the Lavender Room when Julia had returned from her bath and had curled up on the bed to nap while she’d dressed.
The washroom was surprisingly well equipped with a basin tub, warm water from the faucet, and even an adjoining water closet. Julia hadn’t expected such conveniences in the rural location and was immensely grateful not to have had to heat and haul her water or use an outdoor privy as her grand-mére often reminded her was the way when she was young.
Feeling satisfied at being clean and dry, Julia picked up the cat and left the bedchamber. The door to the Sunflower Room was still closed, and Julia could not help her curiosity at what the room must look like. Was it entirely yellow, as she imagined, with sunny walls and daffodil-colored furniture?
But considering M. Paquet’s room brought to mind the man himself, and Julia did not think it proper to think of him in such a personal space. The idea of his bedchamber so near to hers was unsettling. She tried to tell herself it was no different than sleeping in neighboring compartments on a train, but being inside a home was different and somehow more intimate. What if the two should meet in the corridor in their nightclothes on the way to the water closet? The burning in her face she’d felt so often since entering Gabi’s house came back in full force, and she took a moment to compose herself before going downstairs.
“Oh, you found Fredric.” Gabi was cutting a loaf of warm bread into thick slices. “That one—he is always making friends.” She pointed at the cat with the knife. “You look much better, Juliette, now that you are no longer wet and shivering.”
The sight and smell of the food made Julia’s stomach rumble. She set down the cat and took the seat Gabi indicated.
“I hope you likesoupe au pistou.” Gabi ladled soup into two bowls, then rummaged around in one drawer and another before she produced two spoons and joined Julia.
“It smells delicious,” Julia said.
“Go on, then.” Gabi motioned with her spoon. “Bon appétit.”
“Shall we not wait for Monsieur Paquet?” Julia asked.
“Luc ate and left quickly. He doesn’t believe he’ll return before nightfall. Apparently an important errand.Je ne sais pas.” Gabi shrugged and spread butter over her bread.
Julia felt a bit of disappointment, thinking she might have liked for M. Paquet to see her in a dry gown she hadn’t slept in without a mass of soggy feathers in her hair. She took a slice of the dark-colored bread, surprised by how heavy it felt. Following Gabi’s lead, she spread butter over it and took a bite. The bread had a thick crust and was very chewy. Nothing at all like the light baguettes Paris bakers prided themselves on.
She took a tentative bite of the soup, recognizing pasta, potatoes, and vegetables, but she wasn’t prepared for the burst of basil flavoring. The country food was hearty and delicious, especially after a long wet morning. Before she knew it, the soup was gone, and in spite of Julia’s protests, Gabi ladled more into her bowl and gave her another piece of bread.
“You must tryle fromage de chèvreas well.” She offered a plate with triangles of a pungent cream-colored cheese.
Julia took a small bite, surprised by its creamy sweetness. “It is very good.”
“It is Coquette, my new goat,” Gabi said proudly. “Every year, Madame Laurent’s chèvre wins first place at the Fête du Fromage.” She scowled in the direction of her neighbor’s house. “But not this year. No more second place.” She pointed to the cheese. “Coquette’s milk is the sweetest in all of Provence, and in a few weeks, I will triumph at last.” She raised a finger into the air dramatically.
“With this chèvre, you will surely win.” Julia smiled at the speech and found herself hoping more than anything that Gabi would win first place at the Cheese Festival.
Gabi set the cheese and another slice of bread in front of Julia, motioning for her to take another serving.
“Has your nephew always lived with you?” Julia asked, worried that if she didn’t distract her hostess with conversation, Gabi would keep feeding her.
“He is here only temporarily. His house is...” She looked toward the kitchen door and stood, motioning for Julia to accompany her. “Come see for yourself.”
They stepped outside, staying on the gravel track that ran around the house and away from the muddy puddles. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and the earth damp. It was still a bit chilly, especially with Julia’s wet hair.
Surrounding the house, Gabi’s garden was splendid. Wrought-iron café sets and stone benches were set beneath grand trees, and honey-colored paths lined with rows of lavender ran among beds of herbs, shaped shrubs, and colorful flowers.
Chickens wandered among the plants. A coop and what appeared to be a small livestock barn were fenced to one side. Julia could hear the bleating of goats from that direction.
“There.” Gabi pointed past her garden and to the hills beyond. Olive trees, their silver leaves rippling in the breeze, covered the flat land and moved up the hills in one direction, and on the other side of a dirt track, the rows of grape vines stood straight like disciplined soldiers. “You can just see Luc’s house at the very edge of the family property.” Gabi pointed past the olive grove to a large stone structure with a horse paddock and a barn beside it. “Long ago, the building was used as a winery.”
Even from here, Julia could see Monsieur Paquet’s house was a shambles. Part of the roof was covered by canvas tarps, and scaffolding holding stones and buckets ran along one outer wall.
“The olives grow wild”—Gabi motioned to the hills rising at the edge of the property—“climbing up the hills and into the mountains. But here...” She pointed to the flat area between Luc’s house and her own. “These olives here are cultivated. Luc grows cuttings in the nursery to transplant into the groves.” She indicated another structure closer to the hills.
“And what is that?” Julia pointed to a stone building directly in the center of the vineyard and the groves. It was smaller than the other buildings, but it looked well maintained.
“In my father’s time, that building was used for wine tasting. Customers would come, and he would treat them to samples. There is a cellar below. But now, it is for storage.” She looked to her right at the vineyard. “Once, all of this belonged to the Paquet family, but much has changed.”
Julia knew nothing about grapes, but she thought the vines looked small. Maybe their size was usual for spring.
