The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (21 page)

Her mind raced.

Fear enveloped her.

Screaming seemed like the only solution.
Do I worry about being embarrassed in a situation like this?
What is stopping me?

She couldn’t believe he would really go through with taking her by force. Then she realized she was more angry than scared.

“Matt, be reasonable. Think about what you are doing,” she demanded, as her anxiety morphed into strength. “This is crazy.”

He was talking nonsense now and drunker than she had realized. “Crazy . . . I’m crazy about you. You’re a shpessshul lady . . .”

“I’ll scream if you don’t let me go.”

“Oh yeah, baby, I’ll make you scream with pleasure,” he slurred, breathing disgusting fumes into the air and grinding his erection into her buttocks.

A thought crossed her mind. She decided to go for it.

“Let me turn around,” she said with a softer tone.

He loosened his grip on one arm and she turned, not caring that her suit was around her waist.

She leaned forward as if to kiss him and put her hands on his shoulders. Cupping his hands around her breasts, he relaxed as he moved to respond to her lips. Tightening the hold on his shoulders, which she hoped he would interpret as passion, she raised her knees, pushed back with her hands, and kicked her feet into his stomach with all the force she could muster.

Falling backward, he submerged briefly.

Katherine pulled herself out of the pool faster than she had ever thought possible. Grabbing her robe and holding it against her exposed chest, she raced across the terrace, tears streaming.

Pulling the key from her pocket in spite of her shaking hands, she was safely in her room when her anger exploded.

“What an asshole!” she said out loud. “Asshole, asshole, asshole . . .” she repeated as she stepped out of her bathing suit and stomped into the shower.

Shaking with a mix of powerful emotions, Katherine burst into tears as she willed the steaming hot water to wash off the stain of the uninvited touch, the sense of violation and betrayal.

Katherine tossed around all that night, unable to stop thinking of the incident and pondering why some men were guided by their dicks, as Molly would say. She was certain she had not led Matt on in any way.

The thought never crossed my mind! I didn’t behave any differently to him than I did to anyone else here.

Yet somehow this man, a virtual stranger on the one hand but accepted as a friend on the other, had no qualms about assaulting her.

Goddamit! It was frightening, insulting, infuriating! . . . I’m proud of the way I handled the fear. Thank Christ my idea worked.

She was up early, feeling completely disquieted.

“Note to self,” she muttered as she packed up her bag and slammed it shut, “let this be a reminder I have no need for a man in my life.”

21

By 7:00 a.m. Katherine had paid her bill and thanked the owner, who was up to see off the departing guests.

She debated reporting the pool incident but felt she could prove nothing; it was her word against his. She knew the woman was always suspected of “asking for it.” Who would care?

Matt’s inexpensive rental car was parked next to hers by the tall hedge at the end of the small gravel lot.

Placing her bag in her backseat, she opened the driver’s door and began to slide in when she was suddenly overcome with a memory: her revenge on James’s bike and the satisfaction she gained from it.

Making sure she was alone, Katherine quickly crouched between the cars. Unscrewing the top of the tire valve on Matt’s rear tire, she jammed small stones into it and listened for the release of air.

Hurray for gravel lots
. . . there was no shortage of small, pointy pebbles.

Peeking up slowly to ensure no one was about, she crouched down again and moved to the remaining tires, repeating her actions as quickly as her trembling hands would allow.

As she drove away from the inn, a smirk forced its way onto her face while a thought repeated itself:
I can’t believe I did that.

Soon she was on her way “home,” finding it hard to believe her happy interlude had come to such a distressing end. The episode had consumed her during the night, and she wanted to banish it. Emptying those tires had helped.

I refuse to let it spoil everything else
, she thought, pursing her lips and scrunching her face in frustration.
He was a stupid guy who had too much to drink and made a very bad decision. I won’t forget it . . . but I will get over it.

Not only had she been delighted with the villages she visited, but Mirella had been right: the drummer boy statue in Cadenet had been worthy of a stop, and the hotel had been a dream, to say nothing of the cuisine. Everyone she met had been so interesting and pleasant until . . .

She shook her head and knew this was not going away so easily.

Robotically, she followed the GPS for some time, until the beauty around her once more worked its magic. The plane trees she was so fond of stood like sentinels along the narrow roads as the early morning light filtered through the leaves. Eventually she felt herself regain a sense of security.

In Sainte-Mathilde, she joined the lineup for baguettes, bought some
pain au chocolat
(
This morning calls for chocolate,
she thought) and exchanged a few
bon dimanche
greetings.

Instant therapy greeted her when she arrived at the farmhouse as Picasso bounced excitedly by the car door. Katherine knelt on the gravel, ignoring the sharp pebbles digging into her knees, and hugged him before he flopped over on his back for a tummy rub.

This is love
, she thought,
pure and simple,
without threat, without demands
.

Wandering around the house before she went out to the garden to enjoy her breakfast, she relished the sense of belonging. After just a week, the familiarity of these surroundings felt right. Her thoughts turned to Andrea as a feeling of gratitude washed through her.

Placing her
pain au chocolat
on a plate and pouring a glass of juice,
she settled happily at the small round table on the back terrace, as she did
most mornings. Bees buzzed around the lavender in the early sun, remind
ing her to buy a few jars of the local lavender honey to take home. She had sampled some in the kitchen and savored the delicately sweet flavor.

Glistening with sweat after a yoga session, she showered and dried her hair before she dressed in a favorite cotton sundress. Coming midway down her calves, pale yellow with delicate straps, it made Katherine feel cool just looking at it. She picked up a lightly woven silk shawl of cream and butter shades to take along in case she needed some protection from the sun. Her wide-brimmed hat from the market would be the final touch.

She knew James had liked her in this dress and thought fleetingly about that now. She had been determined not to toss out her entire wardrobe purely because some items carried such memories.

Ridding herself of the thought, she picked up the gift she had purchased in Lourmarin for Joy and opened the backseat of her car for Picasso. Today they would drive together.

“You’re my escort,” she told him, patting the nose that was poking over the top of her seat.

It was typical of the complicated system of roadways throughout France that it would take longer to drive to the
manoir
than it would to walk to it through the vineyard. At one point Katherine thought she might be lost and chuckled at the possibility. Driving was no easy matter in this country.

The lane leading from the road to the house was cut through a small patch of forest, and Katherine smiled with delighted awe as she pulled into the large courtyard. She had only seen the structure from the other side when she rode through the vineyard and was simply not prepared for the beauty before her.

Sitting on a slight rise, the large ochre-toned two-story rectangular structure was the epitome of Katherine’s fantasy of a French manor house. A tower wrapped around the eastern corner, hinting at the early Italian influence. Blue-shuttered windows were placed asymmetrically the length of the manor with shuttered French doors beneath them. The enormous door of the grand central entrance stood open, and Katherine could hear Joy’s greeting voice as she approached. A wrought-iron balcony above the door overlooked the elegant esplanade dotted with large glazed Anduze pots and lined by stately plane trees. The majestic fountain at the far end of the terrace, covered in moss and slightly crumbling, completed the sense of harmony and design.

Joy greeted Katherine warmly as she led her into the expansive foyer. She immediately opened her gift and was thrilled with the handblown glass bowl.

“Oh, Katherine, how did you guess? You will smile when you see my table set with only Biot glass. It has been my favorite since I first saw pieces fifty years ago. Thank you for being so thoughtful. I will treasure this.”

Picasso had raced around to the back as soon as he was out of the car, as if he knew it was time for Sunday lunch.

“Come and meet everyone,
ma chère
, and we will tour the house later. If you would like to, of course.”

“No question!” Katherine said with a widening smile. “I can’t wait.”

Joy led the way through an enormous room and then one slightly smaller from which French doors led out to a large fine gravel terrace, where a large animated group was chatting and laughing around a very long table.

The bright tones of yellow, blue, and green of the fabrics in the classic Provençal tablecloth and napkins were echoed in the distinctive Biot glassware, creating a symphony of colors.

Introductions were made by Joy, assisted by Picasso, who made his way around the table, greeted by squeals from the young children and affectionate words and rubs from the adults. His popularity was obvious.

“Of course, you know Mirella.”

Mirella, looking cool in a crisp sleeveless pale-green linen dress, approached her immediately with a warm smile as they exchanged
bises
. “I’m so looking forward to hearing about your motor trip!”

Introductions went around the table, with each person standing to greet Kat with
bises.
Joy’s son and daughter, each with their spouse; two of her four twentysomething grandchildren; as well as Mirella and her two youngest grandchildren, ages six and eight, had all taken their seats again when a man rose at the end of the table. Joy turned to Kat.

“My dear Katherine, this is Philippe Dufours. He is the nephew of François and the Philippe I thought you met the other day.”

He smiled somewhat shyly and took Katherine’s hand, bending over it in a most gracious and flattering manner as he murmured,
“Enchanté.”
The gesture, unfamiliar to her, momentarily stunned her, and she blushed furiously.

“I’m confused,” she said to Joy as she looked from one to the other. “Who was the Philippe I met?”

With a chuckle, Philippe explained the young man was the son of a friend in the village who had helped him out that day.

Katherine felt better having that perplexing encounter explained. She had been wondering why it had felt so bizarre.

“Well then, thank you so much for the beautiful bouquet you left on the windowsill. It was stunning!”

“
De rien!
It was my pleasure. We are all so grateful to you and Pico for saving François. It was such good fortune you were there,” Philippe replied, his English accompanied by a charming accent.

Katherine’s attempts to play down her role were waved aside.

Joy indicated Katherine should sit next to Philippe as she then took the chair on the other side of her.

Conversation flowed easily as champagne corks popped and flutes were placed on the table by a couple that appeared to help serve. When everyone’s glass was filled, Joy stood and held her glass to make a toast.

“
Ma chère
Katherine, we are so pleased to welcome you here as a friend and hope by the time you leave, you will feel part of our family. Not only are you a lovely person, but now, you see, we feel you have saved our dear François, and we are forever in your debt.
Bienvenue et merci mille fois
.”

Everyone at the table raised their glass to join the toast while Katherine’s face once again turned a deep pink.

Shyly, she lifted the slender flute. “
Merci beaucoup. Je suis très heureuse d’être ici, et vous êtes très gentils.
It is my honor to be here at your beautiful home. You make me feel very welcome.”

Glasses were emptied and more corks popped. It would be a champagne beginning to the lunch, which consisted of bowls of olives, baskets of baguettes, platters of small sliced salami accompanied by bite-size tomatoes, and a selection of
pâté
. As a quiet elderly couple tended to filling glasses and keeping the little ones busy, Joy introduced them as Antoine and Hélène.

They beamed with pride when Joy said, “They are the third generation of their family to help us run the
manoir
and so are also very special members of our family. We could not manage without their talents.”

Everyone was interested in hearing Katherine’s opinion of the villages she had visited, and of course the inn that was getting so much attention. Recounting her adventures with great enthusiasm, she omitted the worst and realized she could completely isolate the bad from the good. Philippe had quietly listened, asking the odd question as Mirella and Joy pressed her for details.

She tried not to gush over everything, which was what she truly wanted to do. At length, Katherine pretended to take a deep breath, confessing she was talking too much. The others assured her she was not.

“It’s a pleasure to listen to visitors that don’t complain! Many have long lists.”

She was relieved when someone else picked up the chatter so she could indulge in the melt-in-your-mouth
pâté
.

Philippe chuckled as he prepared a portion for her and passed it on a small plate. With a look of bemusement, he said, “I believe you have seen as much in a week as most people see over the course of several visits to the Luberon!”

“There’s more on my list for this week, but I doubt if I will be able to see them all.”

“If you were asked to choose one moment from those two days that really stood out, one thing that you saw, ate, heard, what would it be?” Mirella asked.

“Without question, I loved seeing the statue in Cadenet.” They all nodded knowingly. “That tale struck a chord in my heart. I was most touched there—reminded of how terrible the war must have been here.”

There was silence around the table briefly as Katherine’s remark resonated. Then Joy’s son, Henri, spoke up.

“My mother’s generation does not speak of those times very often—”

Katherine interrupted, feeling flustered, “I . . . I’m sorry . . . of course, I should have thought before mentioning . . .”

Joy put her hand on Katherine’s arm and patted it. “
Non, non
. It’s not a problem,
ma chère
.”

Henri quickly continued, “
Non
. . . sorry, Katherine, I did not mean to make you feel badly. I actually wanted to say that my generation is trying to encourage my mother and others to tell their stories because they are important. So I’m very glad you brought that up.”

“Yes,” broke in his wife, Sylvie, “we must insist these stories are shared. You made a very good point right now about how meaningful they are . . . really, I’m so glad you did.”

All faces were turned toward Joy and Mirella, who were looking into each other’s eyes and nodding.

“
Nous vous écoutons
. . . we hear you,” Joy replied quietly. Mirella nodded in agreement.

Katherine thought for a moment before speaking up. The champagne had relaxed her just enough to let the story spill from her lips.

“I had the same situation in my own family . . .”

She went on to tell Elisabeth’s story in a shortened version and how finally she now had the written account in her mother’s own words. “I cannot express how much it means to me. I so agree that these stories must be told.”

There were sympathetic expressions around the table. Katherine could feel this was an important topic here too.

The moment was interrupted by platters of food, theatrically delivered from the kitchen by Antoine, Hélène, and Joy’s daughter, Julie.

“Bravo!
Le grand aioli
especially for Katherine!” announced Henri.

Three large platters heaped with chunks of whitefish and a colorful array of beets, potatoes, cauliflower, artichokes, carrots, and beans were set on the table. Large bowls of freshly prepared chickpea sauce and aioli accompanied each platter.

Smaller plates with hard-boiled eggs and wedges of lemon also arrived
as the eager diners waited to begin.