Promises to Keep (8 page)

He kissed her forehead. “I can see how happy you are to be back here.”

She nodded, “It feels good—like family.”

Katherine ran up to her room to change into her walking shoes. She was thankful for the heavy sweater she had purchased earlier in the week, and hoped the box of warm clothes would soon arrive that she had asked Molly to send. Joy had let her know in advance that a walk would probably be on the agenda, saying, “We take advantage of these cool autumn days before rain and
mistral
arrive. In the summer, it’s often too hot or everyone is busy with something else. It will be perfect weather for a good hike when we are all together.”

They set off at a brisk pace, walking through the vineyard and along a well-trodden path in the forest beyond.

Picasso led the way with enthusiasm whenever he wasn’t over to the side investigating some intriguing scent.

Kat remarked to Joy that the landscape seemed calm compared to her previous visit, when everyone had been harvesting grapes and all the roads, big and small, had been buzzing with tractors and trucks delivering the crop to the wine co-ops.

“It is quieter here now,
oui
, but that doesn’t mean the land is not busy,” Joy said. “Olive harvesting begins soon, and we all pitch in again, shaking the trees and raking the fruit that escape the nets. You will notice the nets we’ve placed under the trees when you drive back tomorrow, although some people still hang a basket around their necks and use ladders to pick the olives. Also,
le ban des truffes
, the truffle proclamation, will be announced in Richerenches next week, and that’s the start of truffle season. You must come with us to truffles market one weekend. It’s such fun!”

Kat smiled. “There’s still so much for me to learn about life here. I love all this, as you know.”

“I’m glad you continue to find our lifestyle and traditions so pleasing. Who would have imagined you would trade your Canadian life for one here?”

“I still can’t quite believe it, but every day the choices I have and the decisions I need to make are becoming clearer to me. It’s scary in one way and thrilling in another.”

“Life is all about choice,
n’est-ce pas?
I made a similar decision some sixty years ago when I left England and have never regretted my life in France. Sartre said, ‘We are the choices we make.’ I like that.”

Katherine nodded and lapsed into silence. This past year had certainly opened up unimagined opportunities for choice.

After a few moments, Joy slowed their pace and in a quieter voice asked, “Has Philippe talked much about Geneviève’s last years? Her illness? Her mother?”

Kat was surprised. She wasn’t sure to what Joy was alluding. Even so, she felt uncomfortable.

“He mentioned there was something that he had to tell me,” she said, searching Joy’s face for a clue to what was meant.

Joy paused for a moment, deep in thought. “
Attends, ma chère
, all in good time. Don’t worry, he will. I won’t say more right now, but we will talk once he has told you. I will be waiting for you to call me. Just know that.”

Her look indicated that this was the end of that topic, and they hurried to catch up with the others. As they neared them, Joy put her arm around Kat. “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” she whispered. “There are things you need to know,
c’est tout
, and Philippe will tell you before long, trust me. Trust him.”

Swallowing hard, Kat tried to set aside the anxiety that had bolted up in her. She told herself that it was still early days and they still had much to learn about each other. If Joy knew about the problem, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

Soon they were all chatting about local events and explaining to Kat some of the finer points of the truffle harvest. Everyone had a tale to tell. Kat tried her best to pay attention and to get past Joy’s perplexing words.

The path the group followed through the woods eventually led to a gently rolling hillside that was an endless patchwork of olive groves and fields. There was still green to be seen, but dried leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked, evidence that the season was changing yet again.

Closing her eyes and breathing in deeply, Katherine caught the smell of wood smoke in the air. It was intoxicating. When she looked about her, she could see, here and there, trails of smoke floating skyward. It brought back memories of bonfires as a child, at her uncle’s farm, and she told the others some stories about the countryside around St. Jacob’s as they walked onward. They were all intrigued to learn a bit about Katherine’s early life in Canada, and she felt a few tugs to her heart as she talked about that happy time.

Soon, over an hour had passed, and they were walking past François’s goatherd next to the Lallibert’s farmhouse.

“I have such good memories of my exchange here,” Katherine sighed, zipping up her jacket as the afternoon had begun to cool down quickly.

“That was the beginning of this French adventure for you,” Joy said. Jean-Pierre and Madeleine beamed at their small part in bringing Katherine to this point in her life. They said their good-byes and laughed at Picasso’s momentary confusion over whether to stay or keep going. When Katherine and Joy resumed walking, he bounded over to join them.

As they neared the
manoir
, they could see Philippe sitting on a bench in the courtyard, catching the last rays of sunshine.

“
Eh bien
, just in time for an
apéritif
.”

The three of them spent the evening lingering over dinner, immersed in quiet conversation. Kat found herself watching Joy and Philippe interacting and wondered what secret it was that they shared. Was it her imagination, or was there really an edge to their attempts to appear relaxed? There were moments when she was certain they seemed ill at ease. She had also noticed them earlier, off to one side, talking. Still she wondered if she was reading more into the unknown than was necessary.

In the morning Joy packed them a basket of Hélène’s still-warm croissants and
pains au chocolat
, fresh eggs, and slices of Antoine’s cured
jambon
.

When Joy said good-bye to Katherine, she hugged her and whispered, “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I know it is not easy to wait, but Philippe is doing his best. I’ll be here for you.”

Kat’s eyes filled with tears, and she quickly wiped them away. “Thank you,” she whispered back. “I’ll talk to you soon. It has to happen soon.”

After bidding a fond
au revoir
to Picasso, they waved and called out “
Merci mille fois
” to Antoine and Hélène, who were leaning out the kitchen doors by the long driveway.

“Can you feel it?” Philippe asked, his voice husky.

Kat nodded, “It’s almost as if we were there to receive blessings from Joy and François.”

Philippe agreed with a smile, saying he had not seen his uncle so at peace in a very long time. There was a long silence before Katherine responded.

“Being here is always such a happy time for me, but I’m not feeling at peace now” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I can’t wait much longer for you to be straight with me. You need to know that. It’s not fair. I’ve explained to you before how I feel about our being honest with each other. It’s essential to me, and you had me believing it was to you as well.”

“It is. You know it is,” he said. “I’m not being dishonest. I just haven’t told you everything. I can’t yet, but I promise I will.”

Kat shook her head. “I’m running out of patience. It’s got to be soon.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, then Philippe said, “You have no idea how hard I am working to make this problem go away. If it doesn’t, you may want to leave, and that is my greatest fear. But it also may be the best thing for you.”

Kat was shocked, and it took her a minute to respond. “Don’t you understand how awful it is for me to hear you say that? For you to suggest I might walk away from our life together? I can’t imagine what you’re thinking.”

Philippe nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed straight ahead. “Just a little longer, Kat, just a little longer.
Fais-moi confiance.
Trust me.”

She sighed heavily and looked out the window, thinking that she must be crazy to accept his assurance, or at least crazy in love. He was right, though. He was being honest. She just had to wait until he fixed whatever it was that was broken.

She settled back in her seat and tried to sleep.

8

Kat e-mailed Molly and Andrea as soon as she arrived home that evening. To her surprise Molly Skyped her first thing the next morning.

“What are you doing home?” Kat exclaimed.

Molly squeaked out a response. “Laryngitis. It’s flu season here again.”

“Oh no! Why don’t you call me when you feel better?”

Molly shook her head. “I’ll just listen—mostly. You talk. Sounds like you need to.”

Kat filled her in.

“Trouble in paradise,” was Molly’s first comment.

Kat ran her hands through her hair, her frustration showing.

“Katski, don’t get bent out of shape about this. It could be something relatively simple.”

“Well, it seems to be a bit more than that. Obviously there are others involved, or at least know about whatever it is.”

“Yeah, whateverthefu— . . . I mean, whateverthefrickitis. Sorry, still working on that,” Molly rasped. “You said Philippe has mentioned a few times that he has something he needs to tell you.”

“When the time is right, is what he keeps saying. Sometimes I can forget about it, but other times it makes me crazy. On the way back from Sainte-Mathilde, I kind of lost it.”

Molly was silent. Then she blew her nose and cleared her throat. “The good news is that he isn’t trying to hide anything. He’s just sifting through some sort of shit before he can explain it to you. Trust him. He’s been so good to you in every other way.”

Kat sighed, long and hard. “You’re right. He’s sweet, loving, fun, kind, and all the things I never knew were missing in my life. We talk about everything, so I hadn’t pegged him as someone to keep secrets from me.”

“He’s just stalling. You need to trust him.”

“Trust. I’ve been thinking about that all night. It sounds kind of crazy, but trust is something I never really thought about until James left me.”

“That’s the thing, my friend. Trust isn’t an issue until you’ve been deceived. After that, it moves right up the ladder to hang with love and respect. Trust me—I couldn’t resist that—with my history of failed expectations, I know. You know I know.”

Kat nodded. Molly did indeed know about deception. She had lived with it through all of her dysfunctional childhood.

“Should we stop talking? How are you feeling?”

“I’m not finished with my two cents’ worth yet, my friend.”

“Tell me when you need to stop.”

“Listen, Kat, you had such a grounded life. No one let you down until you were fifty-frickin’-whatever”

“And I remember clearly you telling me, after James left, that trust takes only seconds to break and forever to rebuild. Now I feel like trust is something I need to believe in. It’s a strange mindset for me. I don’t want to be suspicious of Philippe.”

“But remember, we were talking about trust and James. He deceived you in the worst way, and it would be very difficult to trust him again. Philippe isn’t deceiving you. He’s asking you to wait till he sorts something out. That’s very different.”

Both women sat quietly for a few seconds, looking at each other. Then Molly cocked her head and gave Kat a wide-eyed look that demanded a response.

“Thanks, Moll. You’re right. That was about James, and this isn’t.”

Molly nodded, waiting for more.

“It’s so helpful to talk to you about this,” Kat continued. “I feel better already. I do believe in Philippe. I’ll wait for him to find the right moment to tell me what this is all about.”

“Attagirl! Now tell me more about everything else. What’s happening with your photography? Are you still thinking about committing to it full time?”

“I’m a little nervous about it.”

“Those photos you sent from that town, Antrawhatsit—”

“Entrevaux.”

“Sheesh. Pardon my French. Well, they were outstanding. What a fascinating place, and so different from the coast.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you liked them. Google the history of the area, Moll, you’ll find it intriguing. Honestly, this country continues to amaze me. Blah, blah, blah, there I go again.”

“Oh, you do go on about France and I love it, but I’m beginning to fade. I think I need to lie down for a while. Are you good now?”

“I’m feeling better. Thanks for being you.”

Later that morning, Andrea called, and their conversation brought Kat to the same place, although via a different route. The cousins’ lives had mirrored each other’s in that they had grown up in loving, stable families, which encouraged them to achieve and believe in themselves. They had both been in long marriages.

“Until mine blew up in my face,” Kat said.

“A hurt that will have a lasting impact,” Andrea said. “But then, look at the good that’s come into your life now. You took a chance and—wow! I agree with everything Molly said. Don’t judge Philippe based on your experience with James.”

Kat was soon pouring her heart out to her cousin.

“Most of the time everything is great and we truly feel like a couple. We’re happy with each other in every small way, and our passion is strong and deep.”

“And the problem is?”

“I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s keeping a secret from me.”

“But he said he would tell you what it is when the time is right.”

“I know. I’m not certain I can wait any longer. I’ve opened my heart to him in every way, and now I’m suddenly feeling afraid. In true love there can be no secrets.”

“I agree, but this is a little different.”

Kat was quiet for a few seconds. “A secret is a secret. It means you’re hiding something, and when you do that you compromise your relationship. I just never expected Philippe to do something like that.” Her voice became tight. She was close to tears. “And now I’m afraid I don’t know him as well as I thought. It’s all about trust. How can I trust him?”

Andrea spoke slowly and with great care. “Kat, I understand where you’re coming from, but I think you need to keep your composure. Keep believing in what you
do
know about him. It sounds like he’s trying to protect you, not deceive you.”

“I know, I know. We’ve had this conversation before, but it’s really beginning to bother me, obviously.”

“Kat, you told me before you were willing to wait until after Christmas. Do that, and keep trusting the love you were feeling last night. Go to yoga and clear your head.”

Kat nodded. “I’m so blessed to have you in my life.”

“Me more!”

One thing Kat and Philippe never ran out of was conversation. They laughed at times, saying they had obviously been storing it for years. For Kat, it was a refreshing change from the long periods of silence she had endured during her marriage. More and more, their conversation switched back and forth between French and English.

She was often frustrated by the mistakes she made, and Philippe would gently correct them and praise her improving skill. Other times they fell about, laughing at some major blooper. Her friend, Annette, was also very patient, and they agreed some days just to speak French to each other. It all helped.

Kat knew it would take time to become proficient in French and was pleased to have found Ida, a language instructor, whom she met in a café across the street a few times a week. It was a casual arrangement, at times that worked for both of them, and the instruction was entirely in French.

Ida spoke perfectly articulated Parisian French that was a pleasure to hear. She would have Katherine read a newspaper article, and they would discuss the details and vocabulary. That inevitably led to a chat about this and that.

Parisian-born, Ida was candid about the difficulties in learning a foreign language. “It’s not simply a matter of vocabulary, grammar, and syntax. Culture and history affect language in subtle ways too—in double entendres, for instance—that are almost impossible to learn. Don’t let it deter you; it’s something you will have to accept.”

Kat hoped she could do just that and counted herself lucky in having an instructor who looked at the big picture and didn’t focus solely on grammar and vocabulary.

“There are times when I just can’t work my way around certain words. The letters seem to get stuck in my mouth.”

Ida laughed. “
C’est une forme de gymnastique quelquefois
—verbal gymnastics. That’s often what speaking French feels like.”

“That’s the perfect description for those moments,” Kat said.

“Then at other times it all comes together and it’s smooth and easy—
une ballade dans la bouche
—a song in your mouth.”

Kat’s face lit up. “I love speaking this language, even when I know I’m making mistakes.”

“And that’s why you will do just fine,” Ida said. “The love of the language is half the battle.”