A House in Provence

by Ivy Pembroke

Genres: Animals; Family Life; Friendship; Holiday books; LGBT Gay; LGBT Lesbian; Contemporary Romance; Holiday Romance

Synopsis

It's the offer of a lifetime - a whole summer in a farmhouse in the sun-drenched French countryside! But Libby might have bitten off more than she can chew . . .

As Libby, her new husband Sam, his son Teddy, and their helpful dog Jack explore the rambling, enchanting house, meet the locals and learn some delicious French cooking, they are joined by friends from home who are as affected by the breathtaking countryside as they are.

When Libby's friend Isla, who has been restlessly travelling for years, comes to stay, she meets and falls for American Brooke, who works at the local vineyard. Will Brooke be the one to finally get Isla to stay in one place?

And then Libby has a surprise for Sam . . .

One summer in Provence will change all their lives for ever.

Release date: June 11, 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 336

Sample

Once you find the tree that looks like Winston Churchill, find the third cow path. Be careful of things that only look like cow paths but have really been created by humans. Cow paths will look like cows should be on them.

‘These directions,’ Sam remarked, ‘could be better.’

Considering that the directions consisted of things like Turn right at the third green stile only they may have painted it red now, and Bear left at the old Savoir house that has been abandoned and is a little overgrown, Libby saw his point. ‘It’s an adventure,’ she said gamely. Only it was an adventure that had gone on for a while now, through various wrong turns and backtracking and pit stops for Jack, and they were enjoying the long summer twilight but darkness was eventually going to catch them, in the middle of the French countryside, still hoping to stumble upon a house.

‘We’re probably going to have to sleep in the car tonight,’ said Teddy morosely. ‘And it’s tiny and we won’t fit.’

‘We’re not going to have to sleep in the car,’ Sam said.

‘You’ll probably kick me with your feet all night,’ Teddy continued.

‘We’re not sleeping in the car,’ Sam insisted.

Libby looked out at the miles of countryside stretching all around them and wondered where exactly they would sleep other than the rental car, if they didn’t find the farmhouse.

Sam must have had the same thought because he amended, ‘Probably.’

‘Dad,’ Teddy whinged. ‘I’m telling you, how are we going to fit in this car? I refuse to share the backseat.’

‘Well, that’s not very—’

‘Oh!’ Libby exclaimed suddenly, cutting off the burgeoning argument. ‘Wait! I think that might be the tree that looks like Winston Churchill.’

‘Really?’ said Sam. ‘It’s just a tree.’

‘No, no, if you squint a bit, it looks like Winston Churchill’s profile. See, it’s even got the cigar.’

Sam stopped the car so he could squint at the tree and then said, ‘Huh. You’re right. I suppose that tree looks more like Winston Churchill than any other tree we’ve seen.’

‘Exactly,’ said Libby confidently, consulting the directions. ‘So now that we have located the Churchillian tree, we have to find the third cow path past it.’

‘The third cow path?’ Sam echoed. ‘And then we’re driving down that?’

‘No, then we’re taking the driveway just beyond it. That’s the house’s driveway!’ Libby couldn’t help the little squeal of excitement she gave. She’d been looking forward to this for so long, and now they were almost there!

‘Locating cow paths,’ remarked Sam, as they all squinted into the lingering golden dusk, ‘would be easier if we were actually cows.’

‘I guess we’ve got to think like a cow,’ remarked Teddy.

‘Moo!’ Sam replied.

Libby glanced back in time to see Teddy roll his eyes.

Sam sighed.

They located what they thought was the third cow path, and then the driveway beyond it. It was nothing more than an expanse of sandy dirt, just wide enough for a car to pass between the overgrown grass waving on either side, and Sam drove slowly. He was probably worried about coming upon holes or ruts, or maybe turning a bend and finding a cow blocking the way, but Libby liked to think that he was going slowly just to be sure she could truly savour this first approach.

The driveway wended its way through the cow pastures, seemingly without any meaning or purpose, and then abruptly ended in a little cleared farmyard. It stood empty at the moment but Libby could envision it, in some past time, with a goat or two, and a barn cat for keeping out the mice. It was that sort of farmyard.

And sprawling comfortably beyond the farmyard was just the sort of rambling old French farmhouse that Libby had imagined in all of her dreams.

It was clearly very old, made out of a weathered stone that had been whitewashed at some point in its very distant past. Night-time was quickly making a full approach, and the dulled ivory colour of the farmhouse caught all of the last rays of the sun and glowed a burnished gleaming bronze in places.

The house looked like lots of bits and pieces cobbled together, dripped on top of each other and sewn up in odd ways. Libby felt like she could count all the centuries in which each of the sections had been built. There was a section with a door so short Sam would have to stoop to get in, and small windows with curious little arches to the top of them, and then another section with an incredibly large and gracious set of doors, with equally large windows flanking it symmetrically, and then another section where the door looked like a serviceable afterthought and windows had been haphazardly punched through the walls. All of the windows were closed up with shutters that had once been a pale blue colour and were mostly flaking into grey. The inky thickness of the darkness creeping in meant that the shutters looked flat and stark against the stone of the house. The closed-up nature of them was the only thing uniform about the house they were looking at, and Libby loved it. This house didn’t even look the same from window to window. It was marvellous. Just the sort of adventurous change of pace she’d been looking for.

‘Is this it?’ Sam asked, peering through the windscreen at it.

‘It has to be,’ Libby said excitedly.

‘How would we even know?’ asked Sam.

‘We’ll see if my key fits.’ She held up the key.

They dutifully scrambled out of the car and stood in the farmyard looking up at the house. Jack kept close to them, tail wagging very slightly, as if he was trying to determine how to feel about this new place. Libby had no such qualms: Libby was in love.

It was a gorgeous evening, the warmth of the summer day kissed with the coolness of the evening rushing up, and the air around them felt hushed with expectation, like everything waiting to happen. Libby inhaled deeply, the scent of grass and warm earth and lavender intermingled. She wanted to remember this moment for ever.

Sam said, ‘Which of these doors do you think we’re meant to enter through?’

Which was a very unromantic thing to say, but Libby supposed pragmatism was important at the moment.

‘Good question,’ she said. ‘Our first task: finding the right lock!’

They started with the nearest and smallest door. As they examined it, Jack went sniffing around the farmyard, getting his bearings. His tail was wagging a bit more steadily now. The first door had a very ancient rusty lock that they all decided their key wasn’t going to fit into. The next door was the very grand door. That lock was scrolled and fili-greed and elaborate but also not right for the key.

‘It’s like Goldilocks,’ Libby said. ‘The last one we try will be the right one.’

‘It’s always the last one,’ Teddy said, heaving a sigh, with great world-weariness.

Jack came up to join them as they walked to the last door, bounding around with his usual enthusiasm and barking.

‘I think Jack likes it,’ said Libby fondly, and curled her hand into Sam’s. ‘What about you? What do you think?’

‘It’s certainly been an adventure getting here,’ Sam said, and smiled at her.

‘I love it,’ said Libby. ‘I think it’s perfect. It’s exactly what I was hoping for. It’s exactly what I envisioned.’

‘We haven’t even seen the inside yet,’ said Sam, laughing.

‘I don’t need to,’ Libby announced grandly. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘You’re drunk on France,’ Sam told her. ‘French-drunk.’

‘Hey!’ Teddy called to them from where he was standing examining the last door. ‘This looks like a regular lock!’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Sam said, slinging his arm over Libby’s shoulders to tuck her in closer against him. ‘Otherwise we’d be breaking the shutters down.’

‘No,’ said Libby, ‘we can’t destroy the house.’

‘Do you think you really could break the shutters, though, Dad?’ asked Teddy sceptically.

‘Probably,’ said Sam carelessly.

Libby peered at the nearest shutter. They might have peeling paint but they seemed pretty solid, which they would have to have been to have withstood all these years of apparent neglect. She had her doubts whether Sam could actually break through those shutters but she decided to let him have his fantasy.

‘Yeah, this looks like an ordinary lock,’ Sam was saying. ‘Would you like the honour, Libby?’ He gestured to the lock with a dramatic flourish.

Libby grinned and stepped forward and held the key up. It caught the very last of the dying sun, and Libby felt like the heroine in a fantasy novel. And then she inserted the key into the lock – it slid in without any resistance – and turned it.

And the door opened.

Inside smelled musty in that way of houses that had been empty for a while, and it was pitch black, as all the windows were shuttered up. They stumbled over the threshold together, Jack running ahead of them and barking with discovery.

‘I wish I could see like Jack,’ Teddy commented.

‘Where are the lights?’ Sam asked.

Libby felt along the wall for a switch.

Sam held his phone up, letting it shed some bright white light over the wall Libby was feeling against. There was no switch anywhere where there should have been one, and Sam kept playing the mobile light across the plaster, until they finally spotted a switch, further along on the wall.

‘Watch your step,’ Sam said, as Libby headed towards it.

The floor seemed sloped and uneven and Libby tripped a little over the trailing edge of one of the dustcovers that had been thrown over the furniture, but she made it to the switch, and flipped it on … and nothing happened.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Teddy.

Libby flipped the switch a few more times, just to see.

‘Is the electricity off?’ Sam asked quizzically.

‘I don’t know,’ Libby admitted, at a loss.

Teddy said, ‘See? Told you we were sleeping in the car. We are not all going to fit in the car.’

‘If we could find candles or something … ’ Libby said, trailing off, because she had no idea where to start looking in this huge maze of a house they were stepping into for the first time.

‘I think sleeping in the car makes somewhat more sense,’ Sam said. ‘It’s fine. It’ll be an adventure, right?’

Libby knew he was saying that for her benefit, because she kept saying she wanted an adventure, but getting all three of them – plus a dog – sleeping in a car their first night seemed extreme even by her standards.

She flipped the switch again, futilely, and looked around her at the dark house. The darkness grew deeper and more absolute, stretching off into the distance, and who knew what lurked there? They couldn’t possibly go traipsing around in the dark. It was a much safer idea to get Teddy settled in the car. She and Sam would … figure something out.

Remember to pack for all sorts of weather!! We’ll be there a long time!!!

It had started like this: Libby wanting to go on holiday; and a grey, dreary day in the staffroom, Libby with her hands cupped around a mug of tea, letting the warmth seep into her.

Mrs Dash, also seated in the staffroom with her, heaved a heavy sigh.

Libby glanced across at her. Mrs Dash looked very mournful indeed. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ Libby offered kindly.

‘It’s just that the things you think will be wonderful never quite turn out to be as wonderful as you think,’ said Mrs Dash. ‘I’m going backpacking in Brazil this summer.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Libby. ‘And that’s not going to be as much fun as you hoped?’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Dash, ‘I’m very much looking forward to it. Except.’

‘Except?’ prompted Libby.

‘Except for Great-Aunt Clarissa.’

‘Is she … supposed to go to Brazil with you?’ asked Libby, confused.

‘Oh, goodness, no,’ said Mrs Dash. ‘She’s dead.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Libby.

‘No, no.’ Mrs Dash waved Libby’s condolences away. ‘She died ages ago. It’s just that, because of Great-Aunt Clarissa, I’ve this great big house in the French countryside being entirely neglected.’ Mrs Dash sighed heavily again.

And Libby stared at her, sure she’d heard her incorrectly. ‘You’ve got what?’

‘A great big house in the French countryside. One of those rambling old farmhouse affairs. In Provence. Near lavender fields. And olive groves. It’s quite lovely. But, alas, it will be abandoned for the summer whilst I am in Brazil. And it’s not like I ever find any time to visit in term time. So, really, poor Great-Aunt Clarissa.’

‘So,’ Libby said slowly, ‘to clarify: you’ve got a massive house in a charming part of the French countryside you’re worried is going to be empty all summer?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Dash. ‘If only I knew that someone might be able to pop in and make sure it’s okay. I mean, naturally I have a local doing it, but he’s very French about the whole thing. You know. I can’t really trust him to make sure the house is kept up.’

‘Well,’ said Libby. ‘I might be able to help you out there.’



Teddy was settled sulking in the car, and Sam turned away to find where Libby had wandered off to. The moon had emerged, bright and full, and Sam was surprised how much light it cast over the farmyard. It was enough for him to see that Libby had wandered over to the edge of an old, shallow basin that was full of water that reflected the moonlight and gave her a spooky mournful quality.

She looked at him as he approached, and the moonlight was definitely strong enough for him to make out the anguish on her face.

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he said casually. ‘Don’t mind him. He’s just been sulking. And he’s overtired from all the travel. He’ll perk up and be fine and cheerful in the morning.’ This was wishful thinking, since Teddy had been deep in his sulk for a while now, but Sam was deciding to be optimistic in France.

‘After sleeping in the car?’ said Libby sceptically.

‘Oh, yeah, he’ll be fine,’ Sam assured her heartily.

It didn’t work. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Libby cried.

And Sam was tired and frustrated and experiencing a bit of foreboding about their time here, but he felt terrible to see the disappointment on Libby’s face, when she had been so excited and so looking forward to their French holiday. ‘For what?’ he said. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’

‘You didn’t really want to come here. I convinced you—’

‘That’s not true,’ Sam said. ‘I was of course excited to go on holiday with you—’

‘And now your son is sleeping in a car.’

‘He’s fine,’ Sam insisted. Then, ‘Come on.’ He took her hand and led her back to the car. ‘Let’s stargaze. It’ll be romantic.’

‘How?’ asked Libby morosely.

‘Now, now,’ Sam said, trying to be playful to alleviate the mood. ‘No sulking.’ He kissed her cheek briefly, then went digging through the luggage in the boot until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to Libby with an armful of sweatshirts.

‘What are those?’ Libby asked, eyeing them.

‘Our clothes,’ Sam replied. ‘Well. All of the warmest clothes we brought.’

‘I can see that.’

‘It isn’t much,’ Sam continued, spreading them out in a patchwork on the dusty ground of the farmyard, ‘but I think we’ve got just enough for a bit of a blanket of sorts. There.’ He stepped back to survey his handiwork.

Libby lifted an eyebrow at him. ‘That? That doesn’t look very comfortable.’

‘Shh,’ said Sam, finger to his lips. He sat on his makeshift blanket. It wasn’t very comfortable. But … ‘Come here,’ he said, reaching his hand out.

Libby, after a moment, came. She sank down onto the ‘blanket’ with him, settled against him, and sure, it wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable, just the two of them snuggled up like that. And …

‘Look at that,’ Sam whispered into her ear, and pointed up at the sky over their head.

So many stars. An astonishing amount. So many more than they could see in London.

‘Wow,’ Libby breathed, and Sam could tell it was working magic on her.

Sam said, ‘It almost seems fake, doesn’t it? How can there be that many stars?’

‘I feel like I understand Starry Night better,’ Libby remarked, snuggling against him.

Sam said, ‘All those stars there, all the time, and we never really get to see them. I feel like that’s a metaphor for … something.’

Libby laughed. ‘It might be a metaphor for everything. Everything we’re bad about remembering is there.’

‘Yeah,’ Sam agreed reflectively.

Libby turned closer into him.

After a moment of silence, Sam said, ‘France doesn’t have bears, right?’

‘I don’t think so. Why?’

‘Wondering if I have to worry about defending us from a bear attack.’ Sam was only half-joking. He was not and never had been a caravanner; sleeping in the open air like this was full of hidden perils he had no idea about.

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Libby said, ‘I think our main issue is going to be how dusty all our clothing will be,’ and then, ‘Really, though, thank you. You’ve been great about … all this, being … so not what I’m sure you imagined.’

‘Well, I imagined a rambling old farmhouse,’ Sam said. ‘It’s certainly that.’

‘Emphasis on the “old”.’

‘A bit,’ Sam agreed. ‘I admit to being a trifle concerned about the Wi-Fi situation. I’m glad I’ve got a couple of days off work to start with so I can figure that out.’

Libby groaned. ‘And I mocked you for worrying about that. I’m so sorry.’

‘Please stop apologising,’ Sam said. ‘I’m doing a horrible job of not making you feel guilty about this. It’s fine. New things are always bumpy in the beginning. You should have seen how bumpy our first few days back in London were. We’ll be on track before you know it. I just can be … bad, a bit, with new and unexpected things.’

‘I don’t think you’re bad at all. I think you’ve been an understanding dream about all of this.’

Sam thought of how he felt like he was flailing, uncertain, and trying to keep his irritation at bay, and wasn’t so sure about that. But he was glad Libby didn’t seem to be reading all of that in their interactions. He said lightly, ‘I’m an excellent husband.’

‘You are,’ Libby agreed gravely.

‘We’ve a lot of new experiences ahead of us this summer.’

‘We have.’

‘We’ll have to be sure to manage them properly so as not to overwhelm my delicate system,’ Sam continued.

Libby laughed and kissed him and said, ‘We’ll see what we can do.’

The directors of Cobb Art Gallery

cordially invite you to a reception

in honour of the art of Max Tyler-Moss

Sam was in the process of doing a dismal job of tying his tie – because it had been a while since he had had to wear a tie – when Libby came galloping up the stairs, Jack at her heels, barking excitedly at her energetic entry.

‘Hello,’ Sam said in surprise, because that was hardly the way Libby usually came home.

‘Sam,’ Libby said breathlessly. ‘I’ve got the most amazing news.’

She did indeed look thrilled about something, her cheeks flushed extra-pink and her eyes extra-bright. Sam was charmed and bemused. ‘I can’t imagine what, but I can’t wait to hear.’

‘How would you like to honeymoon in France? In Provence?’ Libby asked it dramatically, with a little flourish.

‘Is that where you’d like to go?’ Sam said. ‘I thought you were going to be keen on an island getaway but Provence sounds lovely. All the websites I’ve looked at recommend Paris for a honeymoon, but Provence would be—’

‘No, no.’ Libby shook her head. ‘You’re not understanding. I want to go to Provence … for the summer.’

‘The summer?’ Sam echoed.

‘I don’t want it to just be a getaway, I want us to take Teddy and immerse him in French culture. Immerse ourselves in French culture. We’ll have so much sun. And cheese. And croissants. And sun. Just think of it, Sam. Think of it.’

‘I … ’ Sam felt confused. ‘You want to go away for the entire summer?’

‘Why not? I don’t have to work with the summer holidays and all, and you can work remotely from anywhere. Why shouldn’t we?’

‘Because spending weeks in Provence costs a great deal of money I haven’t been saving for?’ suggested Sam. ‘This idea came out of nowhere, didn’t it?’

‘What if I told you we could stay somewhere for free?’

‘Somewhere like where?’ asked Sam, wary of the answer to that question.

‘Mrs Dash’s Great-Aunt Clarissa’s old rambling farmhouse,’ Libby answered in an eager rush.

‘Mrs Dash?’ said Sam. ‘How did I know that Mrs Dash had to be involved in something so foolhardy?’

Libby looked vaguely offended. ‘It isn’t “foolhardy”. I think it sounds wonderful.’

‘To leave Christmas Street for the whole summer?’

‘Yes,’ Libby insisted. ‘Look, you know I like Christmas Street just as much as everyone else, but it would survive the summer without us.’

‘Yes, I’m not really concerned about Christmas Street. What about Teddy?’

‘What about him? You don’t think he’d like France?’

‘I think he’s—’ Sam cut himself off, hearing Teddy come dashing through the front door.

‘. . .