1621

Fabrice breathed in the lavender before he started reading the words. As their beauty unfolded before his stunned eyes he didn't realise he'd forgotten to exhale until his breath left him in a sudden and loud rush. His Papa looked at him with concern.

"Fabrice! What is it?"

Fabrice looked up, desperately trying to compose himself so he could word his thoughts coherently. Long seconds of silence followed. He should have known he was beyond composure. Mme. Divanach walked over to him and smiled gently. "Are you ok, little one?"

She had called him this since he was a boy and although she only reached up to Fabrice's biceps in height now he always felt like her "little one" whenever he looked into her eyes.

He reached for the hand that was rubbing his arm and smiled at her, immediately easing her concern. "Don't worry, Mme. Divanach. It was not bad news, the opposite in fact." He bent down to kiss her on the cheek, waved at his confused Papa and was gone.

His Papa shrugged his shoulders at the Divanach's. "He forgot his croissants. The second coming couldn't separate Fabrice from his food. That must have been a hell of a letter!"

Fabrice returned home only to retrieve his car and wind-surf. Being out on the sea always helped when he had a lot to think about. He got in behind the wheel and placed the poem carefully on the front passenger seat. He stroked the words with his fingers. In time he would feel only frustration that the writer had not revealed herself to him. But for now it was enough to know that she sent such beautiful words his way; pure in their honesty and real in their love.

It was early evening by the time Fabrice returned to Locronan. He needed to see his Maman. When he pulled up at his childhood home he saw her in the garden picking some fresh herbs for dinner. She stood to wave at him when he got out of the car. She could tell from the look on her sensitive son's face that something was on his mind. She left her herb basket at the front door and walked over to Fabrice who watched her approach but made no effort to move to her.

Marie reached for her son's hand and patted it gently before drawing him into the house. When they got to the front door Fabrice reached down to retrieve his Maman's herbs and they both walked into the kitchen.

"Fabrice, es tu triste?"

"A petit peu Maman."

Fabrice's Maman looked at her son with concern. Like any Maman, even the Maman of fully grown sons, she never liked it when Fabrice or Yann were sad.

"You will stay for dinner,mon petit. Papa will be home soon and we will all eat on the patio.Il fait chaud ce soir, non?

Fabrice smiled at his Maman and kissed her on both cheeks before nodding in agreement. It was indeed another warm evening in Brittany.

They prepared dinner together in comfortable silence; Marie knew her son would speak to her when he was ready and Fabrice knew, as he had since he was a young boy, that being with his Maman in her kitchen was the most empowering place to be.

When the dinner preparations were over Marie led her son out onto the patio and sat him down with a glass of his favourite sweet cidre. She sat and sipped her mineral water while she waited for him to speak. When he didn't, she spoke gently to him in Breton.

"Fabrice, what has made you so sad?"

"I don't know, Maman. I just don't feel good about my life right now. I am 30. I thought I would be a husband and father by this time but it has not happened yet. Am I wrong to want these things, Maman?"

Marie thought carefully about her answer before giving it. She had suspected for months that Fabrice's heart was not in his relationship with Martine but did not want to interfere with the path her youngest son had chosen. "Mon petit, you are a man with a very demanding heart, even when you were a little boy. But I never doubted for one moment that you would always possess the courage to follow its demands. What is your heart telling you,mon petit?"

Fabrice reached into his jacket pocket for the poem. He handed it to his Maman without hesitation and waited while she read it.

She looked up at him in stunned silence after she had read it through several times. "These are the words of a very beautiful soul,mon petit. Who wrote this?"

"I do not know, Maman. I do not know a lot of things. But I do know I want this woman for me. I want this beauty in my life, Maman. But she has no name! Why would she do this? I felt so uplifted this morning to know there was a woman who felt this way about me but now I feel myself crashing to the ground because she hides herself."

Marie looked at her son with a gentle smile. "Fabrice, don't doubt this woman's love for you. The words she has chosen tell only of truths but she lacks the courage to follow her heart. Give her time,mon petit, to find her way and trust that the day will come when she returns to you. In the meantime live your life as you have always done and peace will come."

Fabrice sipped on his cidre and thought only of the woman with no name. His Maman spoke wisely as always but he was in no doubt that she could not protect him from what his heart would demand.

CHAPTER SIX

"Ah, you are awake at last, you lazy sod!" This from Yann as Fabrice sat himself at the kitchen table and reached for the coffee his older (and more awake) brother had just brewed. Morning people really pissed Fabrice off!

"Leave me alone," Fabrice grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

Yann grinned at his brother and hid behind the morning copy of "Le Monde" leaving Fabrice in peace while he tried to wake himself up.

Almost a year had passed since Fabrice got the anonymous poem. While he still carried the precious words where ever he went they had, in some ways become a burden to him. He couldn't shake the bitter sweet feelings the poem evoked. How he wanted this woman!

The phone rang. Yann reached across the table to pick it up. It was their Maman. After speaking in Breton to her for a moment he hung up and looked at Fabrice.

"Maman says you have two visitors at the house. Wake yourself up, sleepyhead, and get over there and see them."

"Who are they?" Fabrice asked in surprise.

"She didn't say. But if you jump in the shower and get ready I'll drop you over there. I need to shop for 1621 this morning so hurry up."

Fabrice shook the last of his sleep fogged haze away and headed for the shower. The warm spray completed his journey to full wakefulness, as it always did.

Six months had passed since Fabrice broke up with Martine. It was not an easy thing to do. But then following his heart never was. Martine was hurt and angry but the heart of a passionate man does not care about this. Fabrice followed his heart and still there was no release for him. He was sure he had done the right thing but knowing this didn't make the pain go away.

There was a sharp tap on the bathroom door. "On y va Fabrice!!" Yann yelled impatiently.

"D'accord!" Fabrice replied. "J'ai fini!"

Fabrice wrapped his wet body in a towel and opened the bathroom door. "Cinq minutes Yann."

The brothers were out the door twenty minutes later, not the five Fabrice had promised.

Fabrice was very curious to know who his visitors were and would have told Yann this had the nameless woman's poem not made yet another unannounced visit to his mind. Her words and their lavender haze still haunted him. Hardly a minute went by when he did not think about this woman and the beautiful words she gave him. He could not escape her. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if this non-life he was living was all he could hope for! Why would she reduce him to this? How could he let her?

Yann stopped at the gate to their parents home before getting out of the car with Fabrice and running to their Maman, who had come out to the front porch. He gave her a soft kiss before running back to the car waved to Fabrice and then he was gone. Fabrice walked towards Marie. She noticed with concern the distant look in his eyes. Perhaps he could hide it from other people but his Maman knew him better. She greeted him with kisses and ushered him into the house.

As Fabrice walked down the hall towards the patio he could hear English being spoken. His curiosity about his visitors was piqued even more so. When he got to the patio he saw a couple with their backs to him admiring his Maman's garden.

"Bonjour," he said.

They both turned upon hearing Fabrice who instantly recognised the tall, muscular blond man but had not seen his brown headed companion before. Fabrice couldn't believe his eyes.

"Connor! My God!" Fabrice reached out to shake the hand of his best friend from New Zealand who then drew him into a one arm hug. It had been well over ten years since they had seen each other but it may as well have been yesterday for all the warmth their greeting conveyed.

Connor's companion looked on in shy interest while Marie grinned affectionately at the 'Kiwi Boy' who had followed her son back to Brittany after Fabrice's year in New Zealand. Apparently he wasn't convinced the beaches here offered better wind surfing than the Auckland beaches. To this day she did not know which beaches were better and she doubted the two boys even really cared. For the few months Connor stayed with the Le Gall's, wind surfing with Fabrice and working on his French (and at Louec's insistence - Breton) Marie came to look at him as her third son.

Connor drew away from Fabrice to slide his arm towards his wife Simone. In perfect French he made the introductions. "Hon, this is Fabrice. Fabrice, my bride Simone. We've been married a month."

Fabrice turned to Simone and smiled warmly at her before kissing her on both cheeks. She was about to draw away when he surprised her with a third kiss. She blushed profusely until Fabrice explained. "Sorry Simone, we are Breton. It is 'three cheeks' here. Congratulations by the way. Or..." he looked across at Connor with a twinkle in his eyes before adding, "should that be condolences?"

Connor grinned at Fabrice, not surprised that the boyhood teasing they shared during their year together was still very much with them. Certain bonds could never be broken, even by the passage of time.

"It is good to finally meet you, Fabrice. I swear it has taken all my energy to keep Connor away from your parents' place until a reasonable hour. We hit Locronan at five this morning and Connor wanted to come straight over. I hoped 8.00 am was a reasonable time because I had no chance of holding him back any longer."

Fabrice smiled once again at Simone, liking her instantly.

"I never meant to lose touch with you, my friend. But life happens sometimes and we lose sight of the important things, huh?"

Fabrice nodded his agreement at Connor, encouraging him and Simone to sit down while his Maman discreetly left to prepare them all an early lunch. He continued their conversation in French.

"God! It's so good to see you again Connor. There's no need to ask how you're doing though." He grinned at Simone. "Obviously married life agrees with you. And indeed French. You speak it like a native."

"Well that's one thing I didn't lose touch with." Connor replied as he turned to Simone and smiled warmly. "Of course the fact that the hottest chick on the Auckland University campus was President of the French Club had absolutely nothing to do with me working French into my law degree."

Simone blushed furiously but her eyes sparkled at her husband's compliment.

"What brings you to France, Connor, besides your lovely wife? Oh hey, how is Jack?"

Fabrice noted the briefest of shadows cross Connor's face at the mention of his Grandfather's name.

"Poppy died, Fabrice, about two months ago. Cancer." Was all Connor said.

There was silence from Fabrice as he took in this news. Jack had been good to him during his year in NZ and Fabrice still carried with him the warmth of feeling that comes only when a deep bond of respect is formed. Jack taught him how to wind-surf and the passion this instilled in Fabrice was with him to this day. How he loved his weekends on Muriwai Beach! It was a good time for his spirit. He looked up and realised the shadow that he saw earlier on Connor's face must now be reflected in his own. "Je suis tres desolee mon ami." He said sincerely. I am so sorry my friend.

"Thanks. It was tough to let him go but..." Simone gently squeezed Connor's hand and smiled warmly. "Anyway, the reason we're here is to see you again, of course, and see if we can lure you back to NZ for a while. What are our chances?" He grinned.

Fabrice could feel his heart beat in double time. As much as he loved Brittany he was living a half-life here. He needed to find his way back to the man he was before this poem lifted his spirit only to crash it down again. Perhaps NZ could bring back what this woman took. "Tell me what you are thinking, Connor."

"Well, Poppy left his land at Muriwai to me. Simone and I want to build our home on that land. You know how important that place is to me, Fabrice. I want to commission you to design our home. Nobody else will do, my friend."

Fabrice sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Marie returned from the kitchen to join them. Having heard Connor's offer she sat down next to her son and watched as a myriad of emotions washed over his features.

Marie had seen her son struggle through the last year. His moods were extreme as his melancholy took hold. The elation he felt when he first read the poem had long ago deserted him. A bitter and often angry man had replaced it. More than once she found herself thinking of the woman behind those words. She thought of her, not with anger in her heart, but with a hope that she was doing all she could to return to her son's life and banish forever the haunted look that had resided in his eyes since her departure.

Marie did not know who this woman was but felt the beauty of her words and trusted their honesty. While she acknowledged this woman's anonymity came at great cost to her son she felt in her soul that this woman was suffering every bit as much as Fabrice.

Marie spoke her thoughts, in the hope that it would put things into perspective for Fabrice. "Mon petit, the timing couldn't be better. You have finished renovating your home. 1621 is doing better than you and Yann dreamed. Also..." she turned and grinned at Connor. "...Connor tells me he is worried that the wind-surfing skills Jack gave you might have died because you're so far from any decent beaches."

Fabrice flicked his head back and laughed loudly at Marie's words. Marie reached for his cheek. Her caress told him it had been far too long since she had heard him laugh like this.

With his Maman's gentle coaxing Fabrice made his decision in a heartbeat. "When do you want me to start?"

Connor and Simone both replied excitedly. "Really? You'll do it?"

"Of course. I need to tie up some loose ends with my home and Yann. But I can do all this within the month. Besides, I love Muriwai as well. It will be good to go back."

Simone couldn't help herself. She jumped out of her chair and drew Fabrice into a big bear hug. Or as big a bear hug a woman can give when she is only 168cm and the man she is holding is 190cm. If Fabrice needed convincing that Connor married the right woman Simone's hug confirmed it.

Connor playfully pulled his wife away from Fabrice before muttering "Gosh, woman you're mine! Let Fabrice find his own lady." Simone's responding smile was too bright for Connor's eyes. He did not see the flicker of sadness that quickly passed over Fabrice.

"Simone and I have another month of traveling before we finish our honeymoon but I was thinking at the end of that we can start your commission from here. We want to buy some building materials here in Europe and ship them back home. We'd need your help finding the right stuff. What do you think?"

"Brilliant! I can feel the wheels turning in my head already. Muriwai Beach won't know what's hit it when we get back there!"

Marie squeezed her son's hand and her eyes filled with such love for him. She could feel the man in him returning to re-claim what was lost. Her heart soared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Christina drew from her purse the copy she had made of her poem. The once fragrant lavender paper was now dog-eared and torn from her excessive handling. The year she had lived since she wrote these words had been a bad one for her. There had been a lot of pain and more than a few tears when she realised her melancholy had come at great cost to her friendship with Alison.

She had lost much since she last saw Fabrice. But, as Christina sat on the warm sand at Uxbridge Beach with the late afternoon sun warm on her back she realised that despite the high price she paid this past year, the worst was over. When one hits the bottom there is only one way to go. Christina was on her way back up. Her life was almost as it should be. Her spirit was one with her body and the time had finally come to re-claim what was hers. She smiled into the warm sea breeze, growing stronger in its loving touch. (Soon, my darling... soon the whisper of my caress will be more than mere words.)

The beach was a place of peace for Christina and had always helped her to order her thoughts. Today was no exception. Since returning from Europe six months ago her friendship with Alison had been on shaky ground. She did not count on the negative impact of leaving Fabrice behind would have on her. This oversight robbed her and Alison of the ability to enjoy their six-month tour through Europe.

When Christina met Alison in Paris after leaving Locronan last northern summer her melancholy had already taken hold. To Alison's great chagrin this melancholy was to shadow them throughout their six month tour, blighting every part of their trip until their friendship was damaged almost beyond repair.

The woman with the dead eyes was starting her own tour to hell and ensuring that Christina, and every other person she touched, came along for the ride. Thankfully most of the trip was blurry in Christina's memory but that is not to say that there weren't a few experiences that were never going to grant her the bliss of amnesia.

She remembered with deep regret the first of many arguments she had with Alison. They were in Rome and Alison's passion for the Renaissance was very much in evidence. She was in awe of everything she saw. But, unfortunately for both of them, Alison's passion stopped with her. The woman with the dead eyes ensured none of it touched Christina.

What kind of imbecile goes to the Sistine Chapel and sits outside for three hours while every man and his dog goes inside and gets neck ache? In short – Christina. Michelangelo would be turning in his grave at such rejection. At that point she knew it was no longer in her to appreciate beauty. She realised only then that all the beauty she could see and all the hopes she had for her future were in the poem she gave to Fabrice. He had the last of the beauty she had to give, while she was left to sit on a Roman street curb in the baking sun of a 38C day contemplating her fingernails.

As Alison walked away from her into the coolness of the Sistine Chapel, Christina knew the first nail in the coffin had already been hammered home and there was nothing she could do to protect their friendship from her deep sense of dissatisfaction. Twenty years of friendship was hanging by a thread and Christina's half-life was taking a firm hold. She brought her face onto her knees and wept. On a crowded Roman street, in the sunshine of a beautiful Italian day, she was completely and utterly alone.

Christina looked across the horizon as her bittersweet Roman memory faded from her mind only to be replaced by thoughts of Fabrice. He was never far from her. In the year since she had last seen him, Christina, after much soul searching, had finally found her place to be. No longer did she feel at odds with herself. That feeling of imbalance that plagued her entire life was now gone, and for the first time in her 29 years she was comfortable beneath her skin. Her weight had finally dropped to a more manageable 55kg and with her new figure came two newly acquired dimples on her suddenly chisel-featured, though still softly feminine face.