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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

I swallow. ‘I do now. Just me and Ralph,’ I say. Another first! I managed to say it. I live alone. ‘I’ve split from my husband. But it was the right thing for both of us.’

‘I split from my wife after the children left home. We had nothing in common. I had work and spent more and more time there. We became strangers. And the children are now adults and live their own lives. I sometimes think they only get in touch when they want something.’ He laughs gently, one hand on his stomach. I wonder if that would have happened to me and Ollie if we had had children. When we discovered we couldn’t, there was nothing left. I had a dog that I wasn’t sure I wanted, and he hatched the idea of France. It had felt like something to put on the Facebook page.

‘Here, take the biscuits, Henri,’ I say. ‘Really. They’re yours.’

‘I will pay you for them,’ he says. I start to argue but he won’t hear of me refusing. Then we eat a plate of tuiles with our coffee.

‘These really are good. I cannot bake or make desserts. And I don’t have the time or patience to learn. Hence the ice creams. I have ice creams in tubs, but when they’re gone, it’s lollies.’ He takes another bite. ‘Do you have other recipes?’

I nod. ‘A whole book of lavender recipes Fabien gave to me as a moving-in present. I’m working my way through it.’

‘Ah, from the heart of Provence! Then why not bring to me what you make? I will buy them from you. A daily dessert!’

My mouth hangs open. I can continue through the book. Another day, another recipe. ‘Really?’

‘Of course!’ He gives a belly laugh, a big hearty one. ‘Desserts were never my thing. Too much sugar isn’t good for me.’ He pats his stomach. ‘I’d be delighted if you made them. And, as I say, I can pay you.’

‘That would be wonderful, Henri! You have no idea how much that will help!’ I want to throw my arms around him in gratitude. Instead, buoyed by the wine and his offer, I kiss his cheek and thank him again. Life is finally coming together. He laughs again, the sound as warm as the sunshine on my face.

‘Ah, Fabien,’ says Henri, and my cheeks burn as I see him walking towards the small terrace. As he approaches, he looks at me and then at Henri, raising an eyebrow. With a tiny tilt of the head he seems to be questioning what’s going on. I can see how it might look. I open my mouth to explain.

‘So, a good lunch?’ he asks, looking at our coffee cups.