Page 10 of The Magic of Provence (A Year in France #3)

It was Ellie who took a deep breath and spoke carefully. ‘I’m not sure that would be possible,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘I saw that painting in one of the summer markets in Vence when I first came here,’ she said.

‘It was… well, it was on my first date with Julien. And then, quite by chance, we saw it again. In a gallery in a little village up in the mountains. We asked about the artist and we got told that nobody knows his real name. He’s called the “hermit” because nobody even sees him during the winter.

The woman in the gallery told us that he used to be homeless but he lives in a stable on a farm now and that’s where he does all his painting.

He only comes to the markets in summer.’

Fi had no idea why Ellie was sounding so guarded but, if there were sides to be taken here, she would be on Team Jeannie.

She wanted to know more about this artist, too.

She could even feel the tenuous strings of a bond forming.

Because she’d felt safe living in a stable?

Because it had been a place to hide away from the world when she’d needed to?

Or was it because she’d felt herself drawn into that painting within minutes of entering this little house?

When she’d felt as if she was finding something as precious as Jeannie had apparently picked up.

Was it too far-fetched to think it could be the same thing?

The… what was it… the glue, perhaps, that held people together as a family, whether or not they shared a genetic link?

There was something else going on here, however. Ellie was looking more than uncomfortable. And Laura was staring at their mother.

‘You were upset when you first saw that painting, weren’t you? It almost made you cry.’

Ellie bit her lip. ‘You thought you’d seen it before, but you couldn’t have.’

Jeannie got to her feet. She went to where she’d left her old-fashioned handbag that was big enough to accommodate her knitting. She opened the clasp and drew out a thin cylinder of rolled-up papers.

‘Laura’s seen these before,’ she told Ellie. ‘But you and Fi haven’t.’ She removed the rubber band that was securing the roll and flattened the papers.

‘That’s art paper,’ Ellie exclaimed. ‘The kind I use for sketching.’

Fi touched the corner of the textured paper. ‘Are these old ones that Ellie did?’

‘No. They’re a lot older than that. I found them in the attic at home.’

She lifted the first sheet of paper and they all stared at the pencil lines that were smudged as they flowed over a hilly landscape but sharpened into focus to feature the ruins of a stone cottage in the foreground.

Jeannie cleared her throat. ‘These were done by your father.’

In what felt like a suffocating silence they all looked from the cottage in the sketch to the remains of a small, stone building in the painting over the fireplace.

‘Oh… God …’ Ellie breathed. The words were a soft groan.

Fi turned, with everyone else, to stare at her.

‘You know something.’ Jeannie’s tone was shocked.

Laura looked pale. Pinched, almost – as if she was shrinking back into herself. Or the past?

Fi had a sudden flash of memory. Ellie was about four years old and she was crying, resisting being pulled up the stairs by the grip Laura had on her hand.

‘Take her other hand, Fi. We’ve got to get upstairs…’

‘Why?’

‘Dada’s home. I heard the gate slam…’

Even now, after so many years, Fi could feel the fear that it was one of the bad days. Maybe one of the worst days, when someone, probably Mammy, might get hurt. She had to deliberately take a slow, deep breath. To remind herself that she was safe. That they were all safe.

But it didn’t feel as safe as it had just a minute or two ago.

‘Watch Bonnie for me,’ Ellie’s movements were wooden as she got to her feet and went to the front door to go outside. ‘I need to get something out of the garage.’

When she came back a minute or two later, she had an old book in her hand. She made a space on the table and put it down. Fi could see the title of the story.

‘ Swallows and Amazons ,’ she murmured. ‘Isn’t that an old movie?’

‘It’s not the book that’s important,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s these.’

Beneath the cover was a slightly tattered looking envelope, the flap open enough to reveal that it contained faded, black-and-white photographs that looked as old as the book. One by one, she laid them flat on the table.

Jeannie had gone very pale. She picked up an image of two young boys sitting on a stone wall, holding ice creams and beaming at the camera. Her tone was hollow as she turned the photograph to read the scribble on the back.

Jeremy and Gordon. Cornwall.

She sounded shocked, but why was it so unexpected to find an old family photo in the house that had belonged to her brother-in-law?

‘I put this book back in the garage and tried to forget about it,’ Ellie said.

‘I didn’t want to bring up bad memories for you, Mam, but it was for my sake too.

If it wasn’t for this book and this photograph, Julien would never have taken me to this village and we wouldn’t have been in that terrible accident that nearly killed Theo. ’

Ellie touched another photograph. Two little boys were crouched beside a channel of water in a cobbled street, playing with a toy boat.

‘The village is called Saint-Martin-Vésubie.’ It sounded like Ellie was about to cry.

‘And it’s where we saw the painting in the gallery.

I think it’s close to where this artist lives.

I saw the artist – in the market when I saw the painting for the first time.

It was…’ Her voice trailed away, as if she didn’t want to try and describe the moment.

‘Oh, my …’ Jeannie whispered. ‘I knew there was a connection. Deep down I could feel it but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know for sure. This village is where Gordon was born. He took me there on our honeymoon… I remember that little stream in the middle of the main street…’ Her voice broke.

Fi looked at her sisters. Ellie was reaching to touch Jeannie. To offer comfort. Laura looked…

…angry. Furious, even.

‘ I don’t want to know,’ Laura said, her voice icy.

‘If it is him, why would any of us care? He didn’t care about us, did he, when he walked out and never came back?

I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Mam.

I don’t…’ Her chair scraped on the tiles as she pushed it back.

‘I don’t want any part of it. I need to take Lili home for her nap, anyway. ’

It was typical of Laura to take a decisive action to control both a distressing situation and her own emotions.

Fi could feel the same pull back to ingrained behaviours.

She wanted to do something to calm the raw emotions that were swirling around the room.

To be the peacemaker. But the only thing she could think of doing was to help Laura as she frantically gathered Lili’s toys to stuff them into the baby bag.

She wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but how could she do that?

A door to the past was about to be opened and it could be a disaster, but it was too late to stop this happening.

That fragile thing had already shattered. She could feel the shards all around them. One careless move and someone was going to get hurt.

Maybe they all were.