said, “Cool down, I guess we’ll look farther down the coast. Maybe that’s what the Paris family did, too.”
Nicole scowled at him. She said, “You make fun, but rents are what feed me. I have no talents like all of you. I must use what my family gives me.”
Carrie said, “I have an idea. Another dazzler.” She paused to get their attention. “What if Nicole took a painting in trade from each of you for three weeks rent on her uncle’s house? She just yesterday said how she admired the work of yours she had seen and both of you want proper remuneration for your talent.”
She turned to Nicole and said, “There are plans for an exhibit of these paintings in London, at a gallery just across from Brown’s Hotel. I am sure their prices will go up handsomely and easily make up your loss of rent.” Carrie, as well as Nicole, had some merchant genes in her make-up that popped into existence at surprising times. Buying at wholesale was part of the gene pool.
“Her choice of paintings?” Sam asked.
“My choice, of course,” Nicole said, smiling.
“No, my choice,” Carrie said.
Nicole took a drink of water and considered it. Neil thought he could almost hear gears moving around in her head; maybe she was a French cyborg, a mobile adding machine made in a secret factory on the coast. Not looking directly at them, she finally said, “D’accord.”
Sam watched Neil’s face for approval. They all nodded agreement and clinked wine-glasses. The meal proceeded without further mention of rentals or paintings. Carrie paid the bill for all of them and they walked away in the direction of their cars.
Nicole said, “Oh, Neil, I almost forgot. Your mother called from the States this morning at the Auberge. She could not get past the public telephone in the bar at the Metropole, even though she has very good French.”
“She went to school in Switzerland as a girl. Henri at the bar has his strict orders from Madame. No telephone for the room renters. What did my mother want?”
“You must call her immediately. Not life or death, but trés important, she said.”
Neil knew that his mother missed talking to him, sharing family news and hearing about his adventures. She had called several times a week during his years in London, involving him in every family crisis, however small. The barrier of the local phone at the Metropole was thwarting her connection with her favorite offspring. At least, so far.
“Margaret can wait until we get back from the seashore. It’s only tres important, after all, not urgent or earth-shaking,” he said.
3
A Kilo of Figs
It was a day’s drive from Gordes to Cabasson-sur-Mer, the vineyards and orchards merging into wheatfields, and finally through the fragrant pine forests along the coast, down the steep cliffs to the beachside. Sam drove most of the way as he was the acknowledged best driver of the three and the most eager to actually drive. Neil took the wheel for a spell through Aix-en-Provence and beyond, but Sam stepped in again to bring them down the narrow road into Cabasson just at sunset.
They found Nicole’s house with the town map that she provided and parked on the street in front of it. Neil took the key and opened the door. The captured smell of cooking herbs and seaside damp was strong, filling the still air of the closed house. It was as Nicole had described, very simple. A stone cottage, white-washed inside and out, with a ceiling of dark beams and mismatched, country furniture in every room. Two bedrooms, each with twin beds and a bathroom at the end of the hall. The rest of the house was a single large room, which served as a kitchen, dining and sitting area. Neil opened the door to the walled garden in the back, the source of the strong cooking herbs. A rampant fig tree filled one corner of the garden with a sharp-thorned sour orange in the other, perennial herbs standing tall in between.
After they got settled, Carrie in one room and the two men in the other, she said, “Let’s walk down to the village before it gets dark and get dinner.”
As they explored the sloping streets, Neil said, “By the way, I suppose you will choose for Nicole the two very best paintings of our show. You might pick two of our early ones, instead.”
“No. I didn’t. She deserves your best work, but maybe not the very best. They were the second-best out of sixty.”
“Second best? Did you do that on purpose?”
“Yes, because of personal reasons.”
“And those are . . .?”
“Both of you are running out of money, I know. I also know that you would not accept a loan from me, as you never have before. Foolish male pride.”
“Just because we have a rich friend doesn’t mean we should take advantage of her,” Sam said.
“I know, I know. But what is the use of having some extra money if I can’t occasionally make life easier for the ones I love?”
“We just couldn’t, Carrie.”
“That’s why I am going to buy a painting from each of you. If Nicole can profit from your talent, then it seems only fair that your best friend should, too. So I selfishly reserved the crème-de-la-crème for myself.”
The two men remained silent.
Carrie continued, “Mind you, I’m not paying Hetty’s London prices. Five hundred dollars each.”
“That’s too generous,” Sam said, looking for Neil’s approval. “Besides, I am not sure that we really want to sell them.”
“It’s only right that you let me buy them. There is fair value for me there, so don’t let egos get in the way of a great arrangement for both sides.”
She handed them both an envelope. “Here it is in francs. I didn’t want our stay here to be spoiled with your worries about money, when there’s an easy solution.” The two men took the envelopes with reluctant expressions.
“So which ones did you choose?” Neil asked.
“I will show you when we get back.”
They walked into the town center, a semi-circle of three-storied buildings that fronted onto the harbor, lined with fishing boats in their night dock. A stone quay in front of the buildings was barely wide enough for the neat rows of white-clothed tables of three cafes. The early evening promenade was in full bloom, citizens walking back and forth slowly, chatting with neighbors, squeezing single file past the bulge of café tables at the risk of a plunge into the water. The was no breeze to cool off the day’s heat.
They chose the café in the middle and seated themselves at a table midway back. Neil had a fixed smile, a man in heaven, as they watched the dusk over the small harbor. It was as perfect as he had hoped. The other parts of the southern coast had grown into an urban sprawl many years before, with high rise apartment blocks crowding the view and destroying the waterside ambiance of the old fishing villages. Cabasson-sur-Mer was one of those overlooked in the rush to develop villas and apartments on every sea-view acre. The fishing boats went out each day from the harbor and returned with catch in the evening. A citizen could still buy hardware,
