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