by Sarah Long
‘What beautiful scenery,’ said Mary. ‘It brings to mind “Piers Plowman”. I could imagine it would be conducive to visions.’
‘Piers who?’ asked Fizz.
‘It’s a medieval narrative poem,’ Dougie explained, ‘conceived by William Langland in this very part of the world. It’s an allegory about a vision—’
‘Leave it out, Dougie,’ said Simon. ‘Nobody cares.’
‘It’s certainly bucolic,’ said Beth. ‘No risk of traffic noise ruining our meditation.’
The agent led them into the central farmhouse, which was surrounded by a number of barns and stable blocks.
‘This is a good-sized house, but as I explained, there’s lots of other accommodation arranged in the outbuildings, with opportunity for development. And three cottages just down the lane.’
Inside was less appealing; the house was rather dark with low ceilings and small windows designed to keep the heat in.
Leo ducked his head as they moved between the rooms.
‘It’s a bit nooky wooky,’ he said. ‘I’d be knocking myself out on these beams.’
‘It’s very charming,’ said Nicola. ‘But possibly more suitable for a loved-up cosy couple than a group of middle-aged friends who need their space.’
‘There are plenty of rooms,’ said the agent. ‘Let me show you upstairs. And as I said, you could spread yourselves out in the other buildings – you might find it a relief to have a bit of distance between yourselves.’
She really couldn’t imagine why this disparate group of people would want to live together; it certainly wasn’t her idea of an enjoyable or manageable life.
*
By the time she’d walked them back to their vehicle, the agent knew this was a non-starter. She’d been in this game long enough to tell.
‘I wasn’t convinced by Herefordshire anyway,’ said Leo, after they’d waved her off. ‘Dangerously close to Wales and you know how they react to incomers. Quite likely to creep over the border and burn our house down.’
‘That was years ago,’ said Mary. ‘You really need to move on from old prejudices. Besides, they’ve calmed down now they’ve got their language back.’
‘It’s not Wales here, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Nicola.
‘All right, I stand corrected,’ said Leo. ‘But I couldn’t cope with those low ceilings. Very oppressive, especially in winter. I’d be curling up in a ball and hibernating until spring time.’
‘Like a furry little vole,’ said Nicola.
‘Actually, that’s a common misconception,’ said Dougie. ‘Voles don’t hibernate, they just dig deeper tunnels and carry on eating.’
‘How do you know all that stuff?’ asked Fizz. ‘I can’t believe all the facts you keep coming out with. You’d be great in a pub quiz.’
‘Most of it serves little purpose,’ said Dougie sadly. ‘The older I get, the more I realise how pointless it is to endlessly acquire information.’
‘And on that bleak note, let us begin the long drive home with our tails between our legs,’ said Simon, opening the van door. ‘Project hope dashed against the rocks. Someone else can take the front seat this time; I’ll relegate myself to the middle row.’
Nicola slid onto the seat next to him and he felt the familiar shape of her thigh pressed against his. He remembered a long bus journey they had taken across Patagonia years ago. The memories of their time together had become more insistent since they’d taken on this new venture and he kept having to remind himself that these were very different circumstances.
‘Any sweets left?’ he asked.
Nicola rustled in her handbag and brought out the remains of the Minstrels.
‘Take two,’ she said. ‘You know you want to.’
‘Leave some for us,’ said Dominic, stretching his hand back from the front seat. ‘I’m keeping the driver company so I need to stay lively.’
*
They fell into a flat silence as the journey began. Even Will had lost the heart to deliver his chirpy commentary and the only sound was the windscreen wipers dealing with the rain that intensified as they reached the motorway.
‘I’ve had a thought,’ said Beth suddenly, leaning forward to grab the back of Dominic’s seat. ‘In fact, not so much a thought as a brilliant idea. Genius, actually.’
‘Tooting your own horn again?’ said Leo. ‘Pray, do share.’
‘OK, hear me out. We all agree that the houses we’ve seen today fell short of our ambitions.’
‘Well short,’ said Nicola.
‘And that’s because we’re not being ambitious enough! We’re not just standard retirees looking for a rural bolthole within striking distance of London – that’s far too pedestrian. We need to move somewhere we can properly live out our fantasy of a grand new life, not just be content with mooching down to the local for pie and chips and going to the garden centre. Where’s the glamour in that? You might as well stay in London where at least the shops are better. We need to go properly exotic. What we want is a château in France.’
Nobody replied for a while, then Simon spoke up.
‘Ridiculous idea. I’ve always thought there’s something not right about people who move abroad. What’s wrong with their own country?’
‘Nothing,’ Beth replied. ‘Well, quite a lot, actually. But you love France, I know you do.’
‘Doesn’t mean I want to live in the bloody place. Holidays are one thing, but turning into a tragic ex-pat is quite another.’
‘What’s tragic about it?’
‘Do you need to ask? Boozed-up Brits abroad, bingeing on cheap wine and fags, and hanging out together without speaking a word of the local lingo. No thank you.’ Simon grimaced.
‘She’s not talking about the costa del crime,’ said Nicola. ‘And anyway, between us we speak enough French to get by. Of course Leo and Beth studied it at university, so they can help us all remember our O-level French, and we’ve all managed a bit of pidgin French on holiday over the years.’
‘Our au pair taught me French,’ said Fizz. ‘I’ve not used it since I did my last ski season.’
‘And if Dougie and I can find our way around a medieval French manuscript, I’m sure we can manage a modern newspaper,’ added Mary.
Nicola grinned. She was absorbing the idea slowly, and found she was ready to become very excited about it.
‘That’s a fantastic plan!’ Will suddenly boomed through the microphone, making them all jump. ‘Have you seen the kind of places you can get in France for the price of a Gloucestershire barn conversion? I’ve done some French property porn surfing in my time and I can tell you: palatial, magnifique, turrets, moats, the lot.’
‘What about Brexit?’ asked Simon.
‘Brexit, schmexit. Plenty of Americans live in France without ever having been members of the EU – doesn’t put them off. And plenty of Brits are living there now. Look at Nigel Lawson.’
‘Nigel Lawson applied for French residency after campaigning for Brexit, the hypocrite,’ said Leo. ‘But I’m definitely up for France, as long it’s not in his village. Finally I’d be living somewhere worthy of my ancestors—’
‘How about the rest of you?’ asked Nicola, before Leo could launch into his spiel about coming from a great and noble family now sadly fallen from glory. He’d watched one too many episodes of Who Do You Think You Are? and was convinced one day someone would find a regal branch of his family tree. He knew in his bones that he was royalty.
‘Dom, what do you think?’ Nicola continued. This whole scheme was their idea; it was important they stayed in charge.
‘I’m all for it,’ said Dominic. ‘I agree with Beth: we may as well go full throttle on the escapist fantasy.’
‘I agree,’ said Mary. ‘We’d be following in some very illustrious footsteps. Scott and Zelda, Ernest Hemingway, Oscar Wilde.’
‘Peter Mayle,’ said Beth.
‘Oh no, not Provence,’ said Leo. ‘That would be just too corny.’
&nb
sp; ‘And too far from home,’ said Nicola. We need to be in driving distance for when we want to visit the kids.’
‘And I need to get home to visit Mum, even though she doesn’t know who I am now,’ whispered Mary.
‘Close to Paris would be marvellous,’ said Dougie. ‘We could take ourselves off for culture whenever we tired of la vie sauvage.’
‘Fab fashion houses in Paris, too,’ Leo said. ‘I could rework my entire wardrobe. And I could get the best of both worlds in terms of my work – I could tempt over British clients who want a touch of French brocante chic in their homes, and sell my interior design skills to Parisians keen to get something a bit different. They can’t all want pared-back Gallic style or formal Louis XV chairs with bendy legs – I bet a bit of English eccentricity will go down a storm in design circles.’
‘Does anyone want to know what I think?’ Fizz asked plaintively from the back seat.
‘Of course, pumpkin,’ said Will. He looked anxiously at her in the rear-view mirror.
‘Pumpkin!’ said Beth. ‘What the actual fuck, Will?’
‘Don’t be bitter,’ said Will with a smile. ‘Just because Simon doesn’t sweet-talk you anymore.’
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ said Fizz. ‘It’s been such hard work setting up my holistic health venture. This is just what I need to refresh it. To be honest, I was a bit depressed looking round the places we saw today. It all seemed too ordinary. Far more exciting to be in a foreign country. I’ve always loved travelling and it would bring an angle to the lifestyle YouTube channel I’m going to start. English girl in French château. I could present myself as a sort of modern-day princess, even a kind of Marie Antoinette figure – my viewers would love that. I could dress up in period costume like that woman does on her history programmes.’
‘So, it looks like I’m outnumbered,’ said Simon. ‘I’m clearly the only person with any common sense on this bus. I think we should all take a step back and think about this seriously over the next few days before rushing like lemmings off a cliff just because Beth says we should.’
‘Beth has always been an ideas person,’ said Nicola. ‘That’s why we love her.’
‘I know you’ll come round,’ Beth said to Simon, who was sitting next to her with his arms crossed in a petulant manner. ‘One of the reasons you’re so keen on this whole project is that you want a safe space to say what you want and make off-colour jokes without anyone reporting you. Well, firstly, the French won’t understand you, and secondly, they’re much less politically correct than over here. You can be as offensive as you like.’
*
Simon did come round, of course. It only took a couple of hours browsing through pictures of mouth-watering châteaux for him to imagine himself in the role of seigneur, striding onto his box-hedged terrace to smoke his post-prandial cigar as he gazed across the fountains of their Versaillles-worthy formal gardens. Not to mention the food. He sat back from the screen and conjured up the dinner he would soon be savouring. Escargots, côte de boeuf, a reblochon au lait cru and a tarte au citron with the finest, lightest crust you could imagine. In a magnificent chandelierlit dining room where he could express himself with no regard for the thought police, in the congenial company of his wife and dearest friends. And Nicola.
Au revoir, broken Britain, and bonjour, la vie en rose. The hunt was on.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Oh my God!’ said Nicola, as she and Dom drove between the high iron gates and saw the enormous façade of the eighteenth-century château bathed in the spring sunshine. ‘It’s even more beautiful than I remember. And now it’s ours. Pinch me or I’ll think I’m dreaming.’
She experienced the same excitement she’d felt when they had their first sighting three months ago. Eight of them had piled into a minivan to come and view it – Fizz had opted to stay behind – united in their desire to secure this dream home before someone bought it from under their noses.
They had all been mesmerised by the picture-postcard châteaux they saw when they decided to switch their search to France. They’d trawled countless property websites. Clicking through pictures of monumentally vast houses in luxurious amounts of land, they’d fallen in love time and again. It was so easy to bring up another set of details and imagine their lives at each property they clicked on. Luckily, a glance at the asking price often brought them back down to earth. Some were too vast, others too dilapidated but always with tall windows framed by pastel shutters designed to melt every English heart. Above all, it was the sense of space that won them over, the realisation that you could lose yourself here, driving along country lanes without seeing another car. Not to mention the appeal of buying their food in darling little épiceries – the everyday pleasures of life were taken so much more seriously in France. They had been unanimous in their final choice, Château Lafarge in pastoral Normandy, a place where time stood still and you could inhabit the idyllic life you always wanted. It was a happy medium – not so tumbledown that it risked falling in on them, but with sufficient renovation needed that it fell within their budget – just.
They had rushed into it with such speed, there had been no time for a full-blown survey. Anyway, Nicola had reasoned, a survey would only tell them what they already knew. It needed a lot of work. But seeing it today, her doubts evaporated into the warm spring air. The château was magnificent. Well, it had magnificent potential, anyway. And what could be more exciting than that? she thought. A real project.
‘May is more beautiful than February. And this time it’s for real, it’s ours,’ said Dominic, remembering their animated discussion in the hotel de ville following their initial viewing. Snails in garlic butter, confit de canard and several carafes of red had impelled them to offer the asking price, to the evident surprise of the notaire, even though he knew the British could always be relied on to pay over the odds.
Now, in the sparkling spring sunshine, they couldn’t have hoped for a more spectacular arrival. Nicola and Dom had come along as the advance guard and she was relishing this chance to see it before the rest of the gang descended. The apple trees were decked with blossom and three long rows of windows sparkled in welcome as they swept up the drive. The façade was anchored at each end by a turreted tower and the top of a third tower was just visible behind, reminding them of the other wing that extended out of sight, at a right angle to the main part of the house.
Nicola was dazzled by the size of the building, and focused her attention on the high window of the left tower, fancying she could see Rapunzel swinging her hair down for her courtly prince. The warmth from the fresh baguette she was carrying spread through her body as she was overcome by a wave of euphoria.
‘It’s unbelievable, isn’t it? This amazing château is ours. We are going to have the most fantastic time, all of us. I’m so happy, I literally don’t think I’ve even been happier!’
‘Is that why you’re crying?’ Dominic asked.
Nicola wiped her eyes and hugged him.
‘I know, I’m a big girl’s blouse. Come on, let’s go in!’
She jumped out of the car, followed by Dominic, and ran up the central steps to the iron-studded front door.
‘I feel like Alice in Wonderland – this key is ridiculous,’ she said, as she inserted it into the lock and pushed open the heavy door. ‘It looks like something from a fairy tale. I should have it dangling from my waist, like a proper chatelaine.’
They stepped into the wood-panelled entrance hall, dominated by a staircase that reminded Nicola of Gone with the Wind. All she needed was a floor-sweeping velvet gown and she would be Scarlett O’Hara. Over the stairwell hung a theatrical chandelier, which had been negotiated as part of the fixtures and fittings. The vendor, Madame de Courcy, agreed it would be a crime to remove it. Doors on either side of the hall opened onto a succession of interconnecting rooms, like a labyrinth, according to Nicola, who made straight for the staircase and ran up the steps to the first floor, shouting at Dominic to follow her.
The scale of the place was dazzling. Before the move, they had sat down with the floorplans and carved out five separate apartments, in order to achieve their goal of maintaining independent living quarters while sharing the grand reception rooms – that was firmly in a distant and comfortable future, though. The present reality was more stark. They would have to muck in together until the work was done. One kitchen and two cranky old bathrooms would have to serve them all for now.
*
‘At least we’ve got plenty of bedrooms to choose from in the short term,’ said Nicola, pausing on the landing as she wondered which corridor to follow.
‘Eighteen once we get them all habitable, wasn’t it?’ said Dominic. ‘Not counting the attic rooms. Let’s go this way, down the west wing. Didn’t we agree to go for the one at the end? It’s furthest from that excuse for a bathroom, but that could be an advantage, given the noisy plumbing.’
‘West wing, get us!’ said Nicola, glancing into each room they walked past to make sure they weren’t missing out on a better option. Though in fairness, she’d be thrilled to have any of them, with their generous proportions and breathtaking views over the lake. Most of them were empty, but a couple were still furnished with heavy antique beds and wardrobes that Madame de Courcy had insisted must stay. ‘They belong in my château; it is unthinkable to move them.’ She was equally adamant about the dining table and a particularly ugly sideboard that Leo had taken against. Nicola told him they could get rid of it later; she didn’t want to hurt the outgoing chatelaine’s feelings.
‘Here we are!’ said Dominic, throwing open the final door. ‘I can safely say we’ve made the right choice. Double aspect, look! We can see our beautiful garden from two angles. Or what will be our beautiful garden once you’ve worked your magic on the overgrown wilderness out there.’
There was one window looking out over the lake and another that offered a spectacular view westwards over the valley. Nicola walked slowly between the windows, feeling her way in.
