The great and the good, those weighed down with money, mingle, observe and choose their purchases. Outside, the table is laid with tarts and cheeses and Angelle is waiting in the corner with the pale pink wine of the South. Everyone has dressed for the occasion: pashminas, high boots, low necklines, expensive jewellery. And that’s just the men. A delightful white dog, whose nationality is in no doubt, smiles at us all.
Dani wants a drink and something to eat but doesn’t want to be the first. I have no such qualms. I’m not French so don’t need to wait to be asked; and anyway, I know someone has to start the ball rolling. So we take a couple of plastic glasses of the pink stuff and plates of food, secure seats at a table and begin the begin. And, naturally, the food table is immediately hidden by crowds of people swarming like ants.
The first cupful seems to disappear rather quickly…well, it’s a warm evening and we were thirsty so we claim another. A roar of thunder. But it’s not thunder: it’s Jean-Pierre arriving on his massive quad bike. Talk about making an entry. All the men turn in envy to see the huge machine; and all the women turn in lust to see JP stride through the courtyard, his pale blue shirt vaguely undone to show his bronzed body. This guy’s sixty years old with white hair and none of us care. He scrubs up well. I’ve never seen anyone look so French. All the rich women wish they were at our table now as he kisses us and gets another round of drinks.
Then Christine arrives with her son and her sister so now the great, good and penniless of Sauveterre are gathered. Christine’s son, who was so inconsequential that I’ve forgotten his name, is an art expert from Paris. Christine distributes flyers for the vernissage for his exhibition which I think is, somehow, a little incorrect. Jean-Pierre fetches another round of drinks. My plastic glass splits under the weight and I am covered in wine. I exchange my broken glass for a new one which means it has to be re-filled. Christine’s son says nothing. Pascale, who has just appeared, thus warranting another round of drinks, says he’s quiet because he’s cool. Christine says he’s quiet because he’s become Parisienne. I think he’s just boring until he gets up to fetch another round of drinks.
At some point during the evening, Jean-Pierre and Christine’s sister discover that they’ve been writing to each other on an internet dating site. I am amazed. Why is this handsome man looking for women on the www? I lose track of the conversation and notice that everyone who was not sat at our table has gone home. It’s 10 0 clock and I’m secretly grateful that the evening is drawing to a close. Pascale locks up the old hotel. Time to go back to Sauveterre? No. It seems we are all going for dinner now. Silly me. More wine and a load of pasta. Can’t remember much more. They’re having another vernissage in Avignon on Thursday.
