Last month I spent a pleasant weekend in North Yorkshire, staying with an old friend. The night before my arrival she had been to a talk in a Thirsk bookshop at which Carol Drinkwater promoted her new novel. And my friend talked quite a lot about the event over the weekend. She had, naturally, also bought a signed copy of One Summer in Provence which was lying on her coffee table. I then ordered it because it looked like an entertaining summer read.
Now for those of you who are – ahem – too young to remember: Carol Drinkwater was the actor who played Helen Herriot in the early episodes of the BBC’s adaptation of All Creatures Great and Small in the late 1970s and early 1980s. And given that James Herriot’s semi-fictionalised Darrowby was really Thirsk, she could hardly have been in a more appropriate place when my friend heard her. Married to a French TV producer, Carol Drinkwater has lived in Provence for many years.
And I was right about this novel. It is comforting without being cloying, presents characters you really care about and I liked the celebration of family – irrespective of the form it takes.
Celia, a former actor, and her playwright husband, Dominic, have a small but successful wine-producing estate in Provence. Yes, to some extent, Drinkwater is clearly drawing on her own experience and , of course, she really knows the vegetation, views, smells, sounds and people of the place she’s writing about. It’s a richly convincing and stunningly beautiful backdrop – even when storms and rain cause serious damage to the grape crop and injure two people. But this isn’t a Katie Fforde-style romantic escape, there is a dark undercurrent which keeps you turning the pages. The prologue, which lurks at the back of your mind as you read on, signals that all cannot possibly be as it seems.
At the heart of this story is a parentage revelation. And if that isn’t one of the seven stories we’re told dominate all fiction then it must be the eighth because it crops up so often in all literary genres and periods. It’s what I call “sua madre, suo padre” after that hilarious moment and ensuing aria in The Marriage of Figaro when Figaro learns who his parents are. Of course there are many variations on the theme – one of which is the sustaining thread in this novel – when David contacts Celia and brings his daughter to stay on her estate. Is he who he says he is? Dominic, in particular, is sceptical.
We also long to know what exactly happened to Celia and Dominic ten years earlier before they left London. Tantalising hints lead, eventually, to our finding out and understanding why Celia remains so edgy. And then eventually … but I’ll spare you the spoilers.
It’s a novel with a large and memorable cast. Gillian, David’s daughter, is a gloriously colourful character – rude, vulnerable, feisty and artistically very talented. Tom, the musician who comes to provide casual summer labour is a delight. So is Henri, an elderly local who keeps bees and refuses to retire. And Dominic is a complex man: an intelligent realist, tending to irrascibilty but deeply in love with Celia and very excited when he suddenly gets a big Netflix job.
Two parties, one at the beginning in the garden when Celia’s anxious bustling about beforehand reminded me of Mrs Dalloway, and the other towards the end on the beach, bring people together which is convenient for the plot. They also allow Drinkwater to evoke the Provencal ambience – and she excels at that.
It’s a good read. Put it on your pool/beach/garden pile.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Saltwater Mansions by David Whitehouse
