Issue No. 13

Piling into the agent's car at the appointed
hour, the pair of them sped across the
ancient salt marsh towards a church tower
far away on the horizon. Fifteen minutes
later they rolled down a dusty sunny street
into a village, and came to a stop at a huge
pair of gates, covered in ancient peeling
paint. Beyond the gates lay a driveway
bordered with hedges, and a garden that
stretched as far as the eye could see. My
husband told me later that he'd known
instantly this was to be our home.
The house belonged to a family that had
been there for generations. The old woman
had gone to a nursing home near Paris, the
interior was a time warp. In one room,
upstairs, a shelf groaned under the weight
of every Paris Match ever printed, books
stood in stacks, covered in dust. In the attic,
boxes of scientific journals going back a
hundred years lay ready for serious study,
and each room seemed to live on a
different level, steps leading up and down
like a rabbit's warren of dark and shuttered
spaces. The outbuilding turned out to be
the old farm manager's cottage, complete
with a kitchen and bathroom untouched for
decades. But despite the long grass and
unkempt appearance, he knew this would
be a good home for a large family. The
garden even came with a sun-dappled set
of childrens' swings - a proper set, proud
and tall with room for three siblings.
After a frantic night of phone calls and
photos, I put it all in his hands, and told him
it was his decision. The next morning he
rang the agent made his offer, and agreed
to sign the papers at lunchtime. At half-past
two, as he sat at a desk in the agent’s office,
scrawling his signature across the contract,
the phone on the table rang. It was the
people who had seen the house first,
wanting to put in an offer; but they were too
late, the ink had already dried.
Two hours later, he drove back to his
chambres d'hôtes in a daze, a copy of a
power of attorney in one hand, the sale
papers in the other, and two weeks to pay
the deposit. When he rang me, the children
whooped with excitement and my eyes
grew moist with elation. We were going to
France.
Find out how life is in France for Susan and
family at her blog: Our French Oasis