Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
was not the moment to experiment. I needed Jack to be fully alert and ready to deal with
the day ahead.
The sun shone brightly, auguring great hope for our day's adventure, and we made the
most of the early warmth by sitting down to enjoy breakfast outside at our patio table. We
were surrounded by the host of terracotta pots and urns, filled with lightly fragrant gerani-
ums, which added a little romance and made us feel exquisitely European. Unfortunately,
the crimson jungle immediately set off Jack's hay fever but luckily, this time, it was a minor
attack.
Nevertheless it was sufficiently disruptive to ruin the tranquil ambience and to dismay
several of our fellow diners. For five minutes or so they were serenaded by a succession of
operatic, gusty sneezes and nose-blowings. Over our lifetime together I had learned there
were two problems with Jack's sneezing: he couldn't sneeze just the once and he couldn't
sneeze at all quietly.
So after several explosions, which had guests hanging onto their napkins and plates,
and him grumbling about waiters with green fingers, he finally subsided. We finished our
meal in relative peace, got in the car and set off towards our meeting point.
Our first
domaine
was in the Aix-En-Provence direction. We took the A8 for haste
and also because (according to ItsWill) it had the most 'perfect' lay-by. This would be our
meeting spot, which meant that our critical first rendezvous would inevitably have to be
brief. Depending on what ItsWill was really like, I thought this might be a good thing.
ItsWill called perhaps four times during our short journey. This was to make certain
that 'his intrepids' had not got lost and then to inform me that we'd easily recognise him
from the other lay-by users because he would be wearing a red carnation - a novel approach
I chose not to mention to Jack.
As we drove along I felt thoroughly relaxed watching the scenes of farmland and
rough open countryside flash by. I even thought I could detect the hint of a hum coming
from my long-suffering husband. I turned to check on the dogs and smiled to see that they
were sitting up, sniffing the air with anticipation and the possibility of another day's ex-
ploration. Everything was as it should be.
I then switched my thoughts to ItsWill and his flower arrangement. What
was
he going
to be like? We'd been in regular contact now for over six months so he felt a bit like an old
friend. But after my most recent failures at guessing what an estate agent might look and
act like, I wasn't quite so confident about my judgement this time around.
We reached our destination quickly and in spite of there being five other cars crammed
into the same lay-by, recognising our man was easy. Out of an ancient white Mercedes two-
seater convertible, unfolded a tall, slim gentleman with a flock of unruly snow-white hair.
It was difficult to estimate his age but he was not young. Rather, I would say, deliciously
mature, which probably put him at well over sixty years old.
