A Month in Provence , livre ebook

Boldwood Books - Gillian Harvey

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173 pages

English

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Description

A totally gorgeous escapist new story from the author of the international bestseller, A Year at the French Farmhouse.

Interior designer Nicky always used to know how to make the best of things. Ever since she lost her husband though, things haven’t been easy. She’s had to raise her two daughters alone and she’s so proud to see them all grown up, and she knows that’s down to her. But she can’t help but feel like she doesn’t know what to do with her life now…

Then her best friend begs her to help out. Jenny is a TV exec and her new renovation show is in peril. Only Nicky can help.

The catch – Nicky needs to fly to Provence… tomorrow. To renovate a tumbledown B&B. Jenny doesn’t mention the fact that the grumpy B&B owner Robert seems to need a makeover too. Or that the budget is next to nothing…

Will Nicky be able to turn the B&B’s fortunes around, save her best friend’s job, and maybe even find some happiness for herself, under the blazing hot French sun this summer…?

Totally gorgeous, escapist, uplifting fiction that lets you escape to sun-soaked Provence. Perfect for fans of Sarah Morgan, Jennifer Bohnet and Debbie Macomber.

Readers are LOVING A Month in Provence:

‘Irresistible! Sparkles with warmth, wit and compassion. A treat from start to finish!’ Nicola Gill, author

‘There’s nothing like a book where the main character gets to change her life dramatically to get my attention!… Warm and wonderful… Really relatable and lovely and made me want to jump right in… Definitely an uplifting, heartwarming, escapist novel to be read with a DO NOT DISTURB sign, because once you start that very first page, you are not going to want to put it down.’ Kim Nash, author

‘It was wonderful to escape to Provence… [and] a joy to follow Nicky's resuscitation of a languishing French hotel as she comes to terms with her own past (and possible future?!) in a brilliantly written, uplifting read.’ Tom Benjamin, author

‘A joy… Honestly, I loved this story so much. It is filled with hope, and there are emotional moments as well as some giggles, too.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Such a great, escapist read!’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘The entertainment, the friendships, the drama, the laughs, a book that transports you to the South of France = A Great Summer Read!… Fun, entertaining and enjoyable… I’m all in!’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Just wonderful!… In one of the chapters, I cried my way through the whole of it… just so moving and meaningful… [But] this book is also funny and had me giggling and smiling at certain things that happen… This has been the perfect book, in the perfect setting, with perfect characters.’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘Gillian Harvey’s books are the ultimate treat… Funny, witty, emotional, endearing… Her books are everything!’ Goodreads reviewer ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Sujets

France

Fiction

Romance

Family Life

International

Contemporary

Summer

Provence

The Women

Woman

Contemporary history

Friendship

21st century

Women

Holidays

Mashups

Informations

Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	11 juillet 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781804269817
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0900€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

A MONTH IN PROVENCE

GILLIAN HARVEY
CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

More from Gillian Harvey

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Gillian Harvey

Love Notes

About Boldwood Books
In memory of Katherine Harvey
1957–2023
A shining light
1

Nicky uncurled her hand and let the heavy bag fall to the floor, sending up a puff of dust. Her fingers were bruised from lugging it up the two flights of stairs. But she was here. She was actually here !
The euphoria of making it this far suddenly turned to fatigue and she sank down onto the bed, pulling out her mobile to let Jenny know she’d made it.
‘Well, I’m in Provence!’ she said, the moment Jenny answered.
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘And,’ said her friend patiently. ‘What is it like? Think you can work with it?’
Nicky could feel her breath, hot and sticky on the mouthpiece. She looked around the enormous room – the wood panels, scattered with knots, tiny holes; bold, floral wallpaper that had faded over the years; the webs of ancient spiders that formed ghostlike nets in the corners. A bluebottle banged itself repeatedly against the window and she walked over, mobile still clamped to her ear, and flung it wide.
After a few failed attempts, the fly managed to free itself, and soared off into the bright sky.
She imagined herself, too, embracing this opportunity – learning how to soar. I could be just like you , she thought to herself watching the black dot speed towards the horizon.
Had she seriously just adopted a bluebottle as her role model?
‘I mean, yeah. Hopefully…’ She ran her hand along the windowsill then regretted it. ‘It’s a beautiful house – although it definitely needs a dust.’
‘Ah dust, schmust. Nothing that a flick over with a wet rag won’t cure.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘And four-poster beds though?’
‘Yep.’ Looking at the enormous bed and imagining herself sinking into it, Nicky felt a little out of place. ‘Look, it’s a big job. And I’m going to do my best. But… I hope I don’t mess it up.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Her friend barked out a laugh. ‘Nicky, you are the most capable woman I know. Most people – well, they’d have fallen apart after… well, after everything that happened. But you worked your socks off to support those girls. And now look! You’ve got two daughters standing on their own two feet. Chloe has her own start-up for God’s sake, and when she’s not popping out adorable grandchildren, Amy runs bloody marathons in her spare time… I’m willing to bet there’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it.’
‘Nothing I can’t do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Except maybe the splits?’ Nicky thought back to a rather intense yoga class they’d attended recently.
‘Ah, the splits are overrated. Only really sought out by yoga teachers and perverted men on Tinder. So 1980s.’
‘You’re right,’ Nicky said, feeling herself begin to smile. ‘I’ve got this… at least… I think.’
‘Well, I know !’ There was a smile in Jenny’s voice too. ‘And I’m not just saying it. I wouldn’t have suggested you if I didn’t think you were up to the job. This is your second chance, Nicky. Your time to shine. And don’t you think you’ve earned it?’
‘Thanks.’ Nicky smiled. ‘Well, I guess we’ll both have to hope you’re right.’ After hanging up, she studied her faint reflection in the small window; the ghost of her head and torso superimposed over the French countryside, with its patchwork of greens, browns and – in the distance – a riot of sunflower yellow. Yesterday, St Albans. Today, Provence. Tomorrow, the world, she thought to herself.
Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be brilliant.
She was itching to see the rest of the place, figure out exactly what she’d let herself in for, but frustratingly the owner, Robert, hadn’t been here to welcome her when she’d arrived. Instead, a neighbour brandishing a key had opened up for her and given her directions to her room. ‘Monsieur Robert, he says ’e is sorry,’ the elderly neighbour had told her sadly, ‘but ’e will be ’ere soon, huh?’
It wasn’t quite the welcome she’d expected. ‘I bet,’ she’d said to herself, dragging her suitcase up two wooden flights of stairs towards the attic, ‘Alex Polizzi doesn’t have to deal with this sort of thing.’
When she’d first stepped into the stone building she’d only previously viewed on screen, Nicky had felt a little wobble. The B&B was described on the information sheet she’d been given as a ‘beautiful chambre d’hôte in the heart of sun-drenched Provence’. And perhaps once it had been. But clearly the description had been penned by someone with poor eyesight, or had been copied from a brochure written a decade ago.
She’d have to use all her long-dormant design prowess, for whatever it was worth, to turn this place around. And she hoped she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew.
Placing the phone on the table, she got up causing a creak from either her hip or the bed and walked to the antique chest of drawers where a tiny powder-blue kettle and a sweet porcelain cup and saucer had been placed on a tray for her use. A basket next to the cup contained individually wrapped spiced biscuits and a few pieces of dark chocolate, each foil clad square marked with what she assumed must be the name of a local patisserie. Maybe the owner wasn’t so bad after all.
‘Well, Steve,’ she said to nobody as the kettle shuddered into life. ‘I wonder what you’d make of all this.’
2

When Jenny had phoned her two weeks ago to arrange a coffee and cake meet-up, Nicky hadn’t expected anything more than a caffeine hit and an hour’s conversation about Jenny’s husband, Jacob and his apparent inability to either put the toilet seat down or hit the target when using it.
But she’d known, almost as soon as she’d arrived, that something was up. First of all, because the habitually late Jenny had arrived before her. And secondly because she had hardly been able to see her friend behind the two enormous cream-topped hot chocolates and pile of muffins she’d garnished the table with.
‘What’s up?’ she asked warily, eyeing the goodies stacked between them.
‘I need to ask you an enormous favour,’ Jenny said, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. As always, her hair obediently settled against her back as smoothly as if it had been trained.
‘Oh God – what have you done now?’ Nicky pulled up a chair and fixed her friend with a mock stare as she gathered her own, messier, red hair into a ponytail. ‘No, don’t tell me. You’ve dented Jacob’s precious MG? No, wait, you’ve joined some sort of cult and need me to break you out of it?’
‘What makes you assume I’ve done anything?’ Jenny replied, coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.
Nicky gave her a look. ‘The eyelashes don’t work on me, remember?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, I forgot. You’ve raised two girls,’ Jenny joked. ‘But anyway, this time, for once, you’re wrong. Perhaps I shouldn’t have called it a favour. Let’s rephrase. I would like to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime.’
‘Why does that make me feel even more nervous?’ Nicky asked, with a grin, pulling a chunk off one of the muffins and popping it into her mouth.
Jenny smiled. ‘It’s actually… Well, it’s quite exciting really.’
‘Go on…’ Nicky leaned forward, her hand resting on the handle of her cup.
‘Well, you know the project I’m working on right now…’
‘You mean, the Save Me I’ve Bought a Business on The Continent and I Have No Idea What to Do With it Show ?’
‘I think you’ll find it’s called The Great B&B Rescue ,’ her friend had corrected, with mock-hurt. ‘Much more catchy, don’t you think?’
‘Ah yes, the show where you’re transforming Brit-run B&Bs across Europe.’
‘Well, just in France for starters. But if the format works – sky’s the limit.’
‘Hmm… well. Let’s just say,’ Nicky said, spooning some cream into her mouth, ‘that you might have mentioned it, oh, once or twice.’
The show was to be – as Jenny had put it herself – the pinnacle of her career. Ten failing hotels sprinkled across France would be given a complete makeover by business experts.
The one voted ‘most transformed’ would then win a cash prize, while the ‘expert’ would supposedly have their career sent stratospheric by the exposure. Jenny, as a senior TV exec, had been pitching the idea for years with no luck, but suddenly, when a hot, young director had taken over, the idea had been given the green light.
‘See,’ she’d said when she’d told Nicky it was happening at last. ‘They say something’s old-fashioned, but give it enough time and it’ll suddenly seem new again.’
‘Especially to someone who wasn’t born until the noughties like Nathaniel.’
‘Exactly. Old is the new, new.’
‘OK, well, one of the experts – do you know Hamish, from Pimp your Pool House ?’ Jenny continued.
‘The insane one?’
‘We prefer eccentric… But yes. The insane one. Well, I’d booked him for one of the properties. But he’s only gone and broken his bloody leg.’
‘Ouch, poor guy.’
‘Poor guy? Idiot more like. Slipped over on a sticky dance floor in Liverpool apparently. Had to practically be prised off it with a spatula.’
‘That’s gross.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘And you don’t seem particularly sympathetic.’
‘I’m not feeling sympathetic,’ Jenny said, putting down her spoon. ‘That bloody idiot and his dance moves have put the whole programme in jeopardy!’
‘Oh Jenny.’
‘I know.’
‘Always with the perspective.’
‘I know. It’s one of my many charms.’
The two friends smiled at each other.
‘But what’s the favour?’ Nicky asked eventually. ‘I’m no good at leg surgery if that’s what you mean.’
‘Well,