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Back Escape to the French Farmhouse Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

They go up to their rooms and I listen to them moving around, packing and getting ready to go. This is it. I’m cutting ties with my old life. They’ve been the bridge between my old and new lives. Now the bridge has been drawn up and I’m on one side and they’re on the other, wishing each other love and luck. I look out again on the sunny field as I finish in the kitchen, drying the washing-up and putting it away, then doing what I seem to do when I’m not sure what to do next: I open the old recipe book that Fabien gave me, its musty smell and aged pages bringing me comfort, then settle on what to cook for dinner that night: lamb shanks with lavender, new potatoes and petit pois. I’ll gather my baskets and walk into town to get the ingredients once Rhi and Lou have gone. That should take my mind off things. I focus on trying to translate the recipe.

Bump, bump, bump.

It’s Rhi and Lou bringing their cases down the stairs, taking more lumps out of the fragile walls as they go. But I don’t mind. Those marks will act as a reminder of the special time we’ve had while they were here. I won’t rush to paint over them. If at all.

They leave their cases in the hall and I grab a bottle of rosé for us to enjoy in the garden before their taxi comes to take them to the airport.

‘Say goodbye to Fabien for us, won’t you?’ says Lou.

And I blush.

Pop! goes the cork, and I let my redness be mistaken for exertion.

‘Of course!’ I pour the glorious light pink wine into my mismatched glasses, which I love. Life with Ollie was about everything matching, everything in its place. I like my new life, where nothing matches or has to be in a particular place. We’re all just finding our own.

‘To new beginnings,’ I say huskily. We raise our glasses and let the cold wine linger on our tongues before swallowing it, along with any remaining sadness.

We put our glasses on the table. Rhi checks her phone for the time and is anxious. We’re all lost in our own thoughts. I know she’ll be worrying about getting to the airport on time. She likes to be punctual. Lou will be trying to work out where she can go next, keep moving, planning the next trip. I’m wondering what life will be like when they’ve gone. We listen to the birdsong and the crickets in the grass. It’s so peaceful. I shut my eyes and hold my face to the sun. Suddenly, I’m catapulted out of my trance-like state by someone shouting my name. It’s Stephanie.

‘Del! Del!’