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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

The following morning, as the sun creeps back over the horizon, the birds start to sing, not a loud cacophony, but allowing each other to be heard, apart from the cockerel in the distance, as we make love again. And, yes, it really does feel like making love, being loved and loving someone else. I actually think I’m in love. Finally, and although neither of us wants the night to end, Fabien kisses me gently on the lips, then on the nose, smiles and slides from between the sheets to make sure he is out of the house before anyone else gets up, in particular Stephanie and Tomas. We’ll take our time, we agree. For now, this is our secret, and it feels like the best secret ever. As he dresses, he picks up his phone, holds his face beside mine and photographs us.

‘I’ve sent it to you!’ he whispers. ‘So you can think of us together.’

‘I’ll look terrible!’ I laugh.

‘You look beautiful – here!’ He shows me the picture. I’m stunned. Is that really me? I look … lovely.

‘Now you see yourself as I see you, beautiful and amazing. Look at what you’ve done here, the people you’ve helped. Liking yourself is the first step to others falling in love with you.’ He kisses me again, then tiptoes out of the room, his shoes in his hand, leaving his smell on the pillows, which I hug to me, and move into the space where he was last night, feeling him still close.

The smile on my face refuses to go away as I open the shutters and look out at the sun’s rays reaching over the valley, through the big balls of mistletoe in the copse of trees. A mist rolls up from the river as the dew begins to burn off the field, and my lavender plants, on this warm mid-August morning, and I try to imagine what it will be like when the whole field is covered with them. I breathe in deeply. The smell of this place just makes me feel alive. The gentle breeze brings the scent of newly turned soil and lavender, doused in dew, rising up to meet me as I think over what just happened, replaying last night in my head, like a special memory I want to imprint there and keep for ever. I have no idea where this is going: it’s as if I’ve stepped on to a rollercoaster, with no clue as to whether it’s going to be the best or worst experience of my life. ‘But it’s worth taking the risk.’ I hear his words, feel the touch of his hand, and remember the longing in his eyes. Longing for me. I look in the mirror and raise a hand to my face. ‘Now you can see what I see.’ I hear his words. And smile.