cream-painted canopy, no doubt hiding the extractor fan. The styling of the kitchen was very much French provincial with its distressed wooden cupboards and plate filled racks. It was the sort of room that everyone gravitated to, perfect for cooking and entertaining at the same time, with its central island, a sink on one side and rustic wooden bar stools on the other.
What she loved about the room was the roof, similar to the lounge, open to wooden beams, which met in a high ridge running the length of the room, finishing above a contemporary-styled bay window. Under the window on all three sides was a built-in seat with brightly coloured cushions in patterned fabric.
Carrie’s eyes were drawn to the full-height wine fridge, filled with bottles. ‘Do you think she meant it when she said “help yourselves”? I think we should celebrate.’
Angela had already pulled open the doors of the American- style fridge.
‘It’s got an ice-maker. That’s cool.’
‘And enough food to feed five thousand,’ said Angela faintly, looking around at Carrie, with a slight frown. ‘I wasn’t expecting this. I’m rather overwhelmed.’
‘Bin that Protestant work ethic, Catholic guilt attitude right now. Marguerite’s note was quite explicit and from what you’ve told me about her, she meant every word. We are going to enjoy every last minute of this wonderful house.
‘Now you get cracking and rustle us up something fabulous and choose a bottle of wine. While me and the brat here will unload the car.’
‘And bag the best bedrooms,’ added Jade.
‘I think, given your mother has come up with this gem, she should get the best room,’ said Carrie, poking her niece in the back.
‘Oy.’
‘To be perfectly honest,’ Angela shook her head in wonderment, ‘I think the worst bedroom here will still be better than any of ours.
‘I need to check out the wi-fi code.’ Jade shook her phone. ‘Crap signal up here. Please say this place has internet.’
‘There you go.’ Angela pointed to a note tagged to the fridge door with a magnet, rather bizarrely in the shape of the Statue of Liberty, among all the other local tourist magnets.
‘Holey Moley, thank God for that.’
Sumptuous didn’t begin to describe the bedrooms. They were all decorated in the same subdued colours which Carrie imagined would be very cool during the hot summer days, with pure-white cotton, plumped-up bedding.
Jade darted from room to room, now wired for comms, snap-chatting her friends asking their opinion as to which she should choose. While she was doing that, Carrie fell in love with the bedroom at the furthest corner of the building.
Like the rest of the house, it featured the same stripped- wooden beams, cool neutral colours and light airy feel, but what swung her decision were sets of French windows on two walls which met at the corner of the room. Opening one set, she stepped out onto a balcony and it felt as if she were stepping right out into the night air as the hill fell away beneath her. Someone had cleverly built this house to maximise the contours of the hill.
She unpacked quickly, laying claim to the room, although she couldn’t believe that either Angela or Jade would be that fussed about this one. It was easily the smallest but it felt right, down to the little dressing table, which would double perfectly as a desk, although she suspected the view might be rather distracting.
Lavender perfumed the air when she opened up the painted-wood wardrobe, filled with fancy, silk-padded hangers and lace sachets of herbs. It seemed almost sacrilege to bother it with her meagre collection of clothes. She didn’t do quantity but where quality was concerned, she had an aptitude for mixing expensive with dirt cheap and making it look good. Most of the things she’d brought with her, T-shirts, strappy vest tops and flippy skirts didn’t need hanging up and certainly not on hangers as posh as these.
The tiled floors were cool to her hot feet when she slipped off her beloved converses and yanked down her jeans, which now clung to her legs. Folding them up, she consigned them to the back of the wardrobe. They could stay there until it came to going home. Just think – she could wear dresses and skirts every day without once having to worry about being cold or taking a coat or an umbrella everywhere with her. If it did rain here, it would be the sort of rain that you didn’t mind getting wet in.
Slipping her feet into her well-worn flip-flops, she cast a quick, longing glance at the en-suite bathroom and its walk- in shower that she didn’t have to share with anyone. Absolute bliss.
The beep of her phone with yet another text welcoming her to France providing details of how much it cost to send a text or make a call, reminded her that she ought to let Alan know they’d arrived safely and alleviate his fears that their free accommodation wasn’t a shanty house after all.
A quick flurry of texts between them confirmed he’d had a great day’s cycling and that he was pleased that the house wasn’t falling down around her ears.
All that was needed now, to finish the day off in perfect style, was a long, cool glass of wine. But first she wanted to look up where the village of Ramatuelle was and when market day was.
Angela had wasted no time. With the instincts of a born nester, she’d unearthed a table cloth, pretty napkins and china to lay the table in the bay window. To Carrie’s delight a condensation-coated bottle of white wine wedged into a terracotta cooler took up prime position in the middle of the table flanked by a pair of large wine glasses.
With picture-perfect design, a basket of rustic bread waited alongside a wooden board of cheeses, some of which already scented the air with their pungency, a platter of sliced meats and two round dishes of pâté.
‘Can I do anything?’ asked Carrie, with a raised eyebrow, knowing that Angela was in her absolute element.
‘Nothing. Apart from getting that bottle open and pouring us both a glass. Oh and you can put these olives on the table.’
‘When are the others arriving?’ asked Carrie. ‘Did you put everything in the fridge out?’
Angela laughed gaily and threw open the fridge doors. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. There’s enough food here to withstand a siege. It’s heaven.’
Every shelf was packed with unfamiliar branded bottles, unusual-shaped jars and beguiling paper-bag-wrapped parcels.
‘There’s gallons of stuff in here. Merguez sausages, compôtes, duck confit, Cassis and myrtle jam, a million different cheeses and meats.’ Angela threw open a cupboard, almost skipping with joy. ‘Here, look. There are stacks of tins, every kind of bean you can imagine, haricot, flageolet and green beans, cassoulet, Tartiflette and even tinned Dauphinoise potato!’
Carrie opened the bottle and poured two glasses, sticking her nose deep in the first glass before sampling it. The clean fresh straw-coloured wine tasted every bit as good as its heavenly smell.
‘I’m going to have so much fun in this kitchen.’
‘It’s
