Читать книгу Our House is Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 16

Did I mention the barn? Now, the barn is a mere four metres from our house and yet it took us five days — yes, five whole days — before we had time to venture in and explore it. We certainly intended to every single day but time always overtook us. That was despite getting up very early and staying up far, far later than I absolutely ever do at home. The house got under my skin in a way that I could never have possibly anticipated. It was like no other renovation we had undertaken before. Likewise, it was two whole weeks before we finally managed to walk around our village. It seems ridiculous in retrospect, but time was always rapidly ebbing.

The barn. How can I describe it? It is huge and needs lots and lots of work to make it into a home. That will also require lots and lots of money and, for now, and a long time to come, it remains in the category of dreams. However, knowing Stuart’s passion for projects, I’m sure that one day the conversion will also become a reality. However, what was fascinating, upon seeing it for the first time, was that I could see exactly how it could be transformed into an absolutely stunning space. Equally fascinating was how the vision just came to me, considering I had never been into a single French barn in my life, let alone one that had been converted. Even before we could contemplate at what point the conversion would ever take place, it seemed to take on a life of its own. Before we knew it, the barn already had a name, La Forge. As with so many of the things we discovered about both our new home and village, Jean-Claude brought it all to life for us. We also found out the owners of our petite maison made their money from the elusive truffles. What a pity there are no longer any left for us to make our fortune.

Back to the road and how it turned out to be such a stroke of good fortune and the source of our wonderful new friends. A few days after meeting Jean-Claude, a car pulled up in the front of our little house. It was Jean-Claude and his delightful wife, Françoise. When we met Françoise, it was like two guardian angels swooped down and ‘rescued’ us. I will always remember the first time we met her, as they arrived to whisk us off for a much-needed respite to their fairytale house. It was like being in a children’s book, especially the tour of their enchanting home. When I first met Françoise I flung myself into her arms. Her face is one of the kindest and friendliest I have ever known. I must have innately sensed her wonderful, warm spirit; now that I have come to know her even better, I was right to instinctively allow myself to be enfolded in her affectionate embrace.

Though just a few minutes from our house, we went with them since they were already in their car. While Le Vieux Prieuré is right on the main road, the garage is at the back of their property. This meant walking across the sweeping expanse of perfectly mown grass to arrive at the rear of their home. Françoise led me through an arbour, cunningly placed to reveal their pool and beautiful surrounds as you walk through. I’m sure I gasped aloud — it was just like a luxury resort. We then entered their house on the lower level; there are seven levels in all. It was one of those magical and privileged experiences that rarely, if ever, arise in your life. We could have spent years going to France without ever receiving an invitation into someone’s home, let alone one as magical as this. Then we ascended the wide, sweeping stone stairs with stained-glass windows perfectly placed so that shards of light glow upon the centuries-old stone. The tower was built in the thirteenth century, and the small window was to watch for invaders. It comes complete with a trapdoor. I felt a close sense of the past and heard echoes of the invaders appearing in the distance.