On my way out, I Shazam the song that’s playing: “Evergreen” by Richy Mitch and the Coal Miners. I know I’ll be listening to it again later.
As we walk down the main street, sidestepping tourists loitering outside shops and cafés, I tell Lise about our plans for thenext stage of the project. Both the pavilion andbuvetterestoration should be underway soon. We have a graffiti-removal specialist coming in next week, as well as groundworkers to clear the brambles from the site around the pavilion.
“I should be able to pop out of work for half an hour if you let me know when they get going,” Lise says as we swerve around the queue outside the nougat shop.
“That would be great. I’ll text you when we start on the interior too.”
I plan to watch over that stage like a hawk to make sure no one damages Estelle’s art. Once that’s done, we’ll bring people in to do the landscape gardening in the park and freshen up the pavilion’s pink-and-white paintwork.
Jackson is waiting outside the grotto. “Hello!” I say with a smile as we approach.
He’s been with Albert at the factory today, but he said he’d pop over when he was done.
“Hey.” He greets Lise with two kisses.
Why is she the only one getting kissed today?
“I’ve rigged up some site lighting inside,” Jackson says.
“Oh, cool! Thanks.”
“No problem.” He puts his hand on my back as he ushers me into the tunnel.
His head is slightly bowed as we come out the other side. He’s so tall that he’s almost perpetually wary of bumping it in low-ceilinged spaces, but he doesn’t need to worry; there’s room going spare.
The floodlights in here make all the difference, and as Lise makes a few adjustments to her camera and gets to work, an idea comes to me.
I turn to Jackson. “What do you think about putting a mosaicon the back wall, like the one in Évian-les-Bains? If we did the lighting nicely, people could take photos and tag us.”
“That’s a great plan.”
“Ooh, maybe we could even hook up sound! And mist! We could make it a whole experience, get it featured in travel blogs.”
“Love it,” he says with a smile, wandering over to the broken spout—it’s still spurting water all over the place. “Have you had some?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Do you think it’s safe to drink?”
He laughs. “It’d better be. It’s been available to the public forever. If I die, keep it out of the marketing campaign.”
I laugh as he bends down and catches one of the many streams in his mouth. His eyes are wide as he straightens up, wiping the back of his hand across his chin. “Wow.”
Okay, I’m sold. “Let me try.”
I don’t want to risk copping an eyeful so I try to catch some water in my hand. As I cup my palms and bring them to my mouth, I hear a camera shutter go off.
“Oi,” I chide Lise as I take a sip. “Oh my God, it’s fizzy!” I exclaim as she shoots another pic.
“Had you forgotten?” Jackson asks.
“No, I mean, I knew it was fizzy, but that’s still so bizarre.”
There’s something genuinely astonishing about drinking sparkling water directly from its source. Anything that’s packaged in a bottle tends to feel artificial, as though it’s been run through a process of some kind.
“Can I try?” Lise asks, coming over.
“At your own risk.” I step aside with a smile.
She bends down and drinks, then bolts upright. “It’s like it’s been carbonated!” she exclaims.
