BooksBarbecue
Back Escape to the French Farmhouse
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

I gather a few tomatoes, olives and cheese from the small supermarket as it closes to go with the baguette I bought earlier. I raise a hand to the lavender seller as he packs up for the day. The whole town seems to smell of lavender as I walk through the narrow streets, past the cream- and terracotta-coloured stone walls and shop fronts. The ‘pub’ in the middle of the square is busy with expats, but I don’t stop. I don’t want to have to explain why I’m here and Ollie isn’t. I hurry towards the road leading out of town and the grassy path along the river, then up the lane towards the house. The water running beside me is clear and calm. The cypresses are set against a bright blue sky. Bluer than I have ever seen before. My spirits begin to lift again as I walk back to Le Petit Mas.

I let myself in with the huge wrought-iron key. It’s as if I’m holding the history of the families who lived here before me. Ollie hated the key and wanted to get a locksmith in to replace it.

I push open the door, and Ralph sees me. He launches himself down the corridor at me, once again nearly knocking me off my feet. His welcome, crazy as it is, makes me laugh.

‘Okay, Ralph, I’m home,’ I say.

I walk into the kitchen where Ralph has knocked over his water bowl and shredded the blanket. My dog comes and stands next to me, panting, wagging his tail, as if relishing the memory of the fun he’s had. I rub his head. But I have to make the call to the bank and find out if there’s a problem with the account. I go out on to the veranda at the side of the house, Ralph bounding around my feet, and stride to the top corner of the field. I breathe in the scent of rosemary and wild thyme, running my hand along the lavender bushes there. Somehow, I’m filled with courage. I make the call.

‘You did what?’

‘I reported the cards stolen. If you’re serious about this, we need to decide who’s getting what,’ says Ollie, in work-mode voice.

‘Ollie, I need money. That is our joint account.’

‘And you are in our joint house,’ he replies.

I look back at Le Petit Mas, a shabby stone-built farmhouse, with sagging, peeling shutters. It was supposed to be my new home but now I can imagine a family returning to it from the market or church and sitting round a big table for lunch.

‘If you’ve finally come to your senses, I can talk to the bank, order your new card and organize a flight home.’

I say nothing.