Free Remember by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

held no memories. This sudden knowledge had made her feel suddenly very much at ease. She began to relax in the airconditioned comfort of the Mercedes.
    They had passed through a land of flat plains interspersed with hills and mountains. There were quaint little towns set in bucolic surroundings and picturesque hilltop villages that looked as if they were propping up the vast unblemished blue sky. Many fields and hillsides were luxuriant with lavender, and dark vineyards and an abundance of fruit orchards stretched for miles.
    Dotting this fertile landscape intermittently were lines of crooked olive trees and stately black cypresses, which stood like sentinels against the far horizon.
    Clee’s farmhouse was in the department of Provence called the Bouches-du-Rhane, situated between the ancient university town of Air-en-Provence and Saint-Remy. It was on the outskirts of a tiny village close to the lush green foothills of Luberon, one of the mountain ranges of Provence.
    The farmhouse was larger than Nicky had expected it to be. It was sprawling yet had a certain gracefulness, and was obviously quite old.
    It had looked beautiful in the late afternoon sunshine, which glanced across its red-tiled roof and cast a warm honeycolored glaze over the pale stone walls. Standing at the end of a long straight driveway lined with cypress trees, it was visible for the entire approach to the white front door.
    When the car was finally brought to a halt by Etienne, he had exclaimed “Eh, voila!” and waved one hand at the farm with a grand flourish.
    Then he had turned and smiled at her triumphantly, looking as though getting her here had been a major achievement.
    Clee’s housekeeper, Amelie, and her husband, Guillaume, had been waiting for her on the doorstep and had welcomed her enthusiastically with warm smiles.
    Guillaume had then promptly whisked away her luggage— along with Etienne, who had not needed a second invitation from Guillaume to “come inside the kitchen for a pastis.” With merry laughter, Amelie had ushered Nicky inside the farmhouse and insisted on showing her around before taking her upstairs to her quarters.
    They had started out in the kitchen, obviously Amelie’s favorite spot in the entire house, and a place she was very proud of. The room was large and painted white, with dark-wood beams on the ceiling and terra-cotta tiles on the floor. A massive stone fireplace took up an end wall, to the side of this stood a big oven, and several marble-topped counters were set under the three windows. Placed on these were flat woven baskets brimming with local produce. One held apples, oranges, pears, plums, peaches, apricots, cherries and grapes, the other overflowed with vegetables— carrots, cabbage, potatoes, beans, artichokes and peas. Ropes of onions and garlic and bunches of the herbs of Provence swung from a ceiling beam, and wafting in the air was the lovely aroma of marjoram, rosemary and thyme.
     
    A round table in the center of the kitchen was covered with a red-and-white gingham cloth to match the neat little tied-back curtains at the windows. Taking pride of place on the far wall was an antique baker’s rack made of black wrought iron trimmed with brass. It was stacked with a variety of copper pots and pans that glittered and winked in the sunlight, while on the wall opposite a series of built-in shelves displayed colorful pottery platters, plates, soup bowls and double-sized cafe’all lait cups and saucers.
    The dining room opened off the kitchen, and these two rooms flowed into each other, as they were visually linked through the use of the same terra-cotta floor tiles, white-painted walls and ceiling beams. Here there was a big oldfashioned fireplace and hearth made of the local cream-colored stone and stacked with logs for the winter, and a window at each end of the room filled it with light. A country feeling had been created by the long oak dining table, high-backed chairs and carved sideboard.