A Year at the French Farmhouse(28)

‘Well, no. Surely you noticed when you viewed?’ he said, confused.

‘I haven’t actually… I mean, I’ve seen the outside, but…’

Chris looked genuinely surprised. ‘You’re signing for a property and haven’t yet seen the inside?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Well, I’ve seen pictures… so…’

‘Did the agent not…?’

‘I’m not actually using an agent… it was… advertised online.’ The ridiculousness of her situation made her blush again. What exactly was she doing?

Chris held up a single finger towards Jean-Jacques who obediently fell silent. ‘Je suis désolé,’ he said to the notaire. ‘Un petit moment, s’il vous pla?t.’ Then to Lily. ‘Do you really want to sign the compromis without a proper viewing,’ he said. ‘It’s legally binding, you know. And you have every right… We can view today and come back tomorrow. I’d really advise…’

Lily felt the eyes of the room on her. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling embarrassed. ‘I’ve seen… I mean, I know it needs work…’ She trailed off.

‘If you’re sure?’ Chris asked. doubtfully.

‘I am,’ she said, feeling uncomfortable and slightly doubtful herself. Was she sure? Her stomach dipped slightly as she considered the risk she was taking. The property was cheap, but it was still a lot of money to spend on something sight unseen. In normal times she’d probably have stopped, taken a viewing, made sure.

It was just, she’d already left her husband – at least for now – crossed the Channel, committed in every way to a life in France. Signing a compromis seemed almost insignificant when she’d made a promise to herself that she’d see this through.





Eventually she was released back into the sunshine, her hand aching from initialling each page in a series of documents that she didn’t completely understand, despite Chris’s efforts. She wondered if this was how they kept the property market moving in France. Just literally kept talking to you about clauses until you’d sign anything just to escape?

Before she could say anything else, Chris appeared in front of her. ‘Well, thank you,’ he said. ‘See you at the completion.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘No questions before I rush off? I’m afraid I’m rather booked up today.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ She smiled.

‘OK. Well, nice to meet you,’ he said. She noticed a line of sweat beading on his forehead. ‘I’d better…’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘Right. Goodbye, then.’ He disappeared, half running towards a Renault Clio before clambering inside, his too-tight trousers revealing a cheeky glimpse of buttock as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Left alone for a second, she suddenly felt quite tearful. The transaction, even with Frédérique green-lighting it through the local council, might take up to eight weeks or even more. Eight weeks in which she’d thought she’d be in the property, doing it up. Starting a new life. Eight weeks when instead she might find herself having to rent or stay with Chloé, which although wonderful would be expensive in the longer term.

It wasn’t as if she could go home though, was it? She had every right to live in the house in the UK that had her name on the paperwork. But she couldn’t make a dramatic exit then scuttle back for an eight-week wait. She’d have to find another way, if only to save her pride.

She had only been here a couple of days and already she’d started to feel as if the puzzle pieces of her life were falling into place. But suddenly, standing in the unfamiliar hamlet, fifteen miles from the B. & B., twenty from the property she’d committed to buy and at least five hundred from everything normal and familiar in her life, she felt suddenly and completely alone.





10





‘Do you want me to come weeth you to see la maison?’ Frédérique said, appearing beside her, an enormous set of keys jangling in his hand.

‘Sorry?’ she said, turning to face him and trying to smile. She could feel her mouth wobble slightly with emotion and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that she was on the verge of tears.

He peered more closely at her, and for a moment she wondered whether she had a stray facial hair she needed to whip out with the tweezers. Then, ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. ‘Pleurez-vous? You are… raining? Your eyes?’

‘Oh. No. Non, je suis… je suis bien,’ she said, forcing out even more of a smile. ‘I am fine.’

‘Je vais bien,’ he corrected.

‘Sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Are you sure you are all right, Madame Buttercup?’

She didn’t bother to correct him. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Bien. I just… buying the house, doing all this. It’s a bit overwhelming.’

‘Ov-er-whelming?’ he said, slowly.

‘Oh. Um, it’s… c’est trop pour moi… um… parfois,’ she said, desperately reaching for the right words. It’s too much.