Page 1 of A French Country Escape
PROLOGUE
The Château du Cheval, its foundations dug firmly into the Brittany countryside during the dying days of Emperor Napoleon III, fits perfectly into the landscape and dominates the valley it overlooks. The picturesque and regal drive sweeps through the grounds to the curved flight of stone steps at the front entrance, the sunshine glistening off the many original windows. Holidaymakers, catching a brief glimpse of the château as they drive along the route down towards the Gulf of Morbihan, dream of winning the lottery and living their best life in such a home, deep in the French countryside.
Winds of change have swept through the château on more than one occasion but, always, it has done its best to protect those who live there, whether they were aristocrats living in the building itself, or one of the many butlers, maids, servants and stable hands residing in the attics, or in cottages scattered across the estate in years gone by. Two world wars took both the able-bodied men and women, as well as horses, from the château and its neighbouring villages. The small chapel in the grounds bears testament to the true cost of these wars. The shrinkage ofthe surrounding land is another testament to how things have changed.
Visitors through the years, stepping onto the marble floor of the entrance hall, often commented on how welcoming the château felt. Everyone murmured how they wished the walls could talk; the stories they would tell would surely be unforgettable. There would be tales of owners, servants, scandals, good times, bad times, and even famous horses.
Now it’s the third decade of the twenty-first century, and the château senses that things are changing once again as the warm, gentle, southerly breeze nudges things awake in spring. The building has been restored and is coming back to life. Long-forgotten actions will be brought to the fore in the modern world with unexpected consequences. An uncovered secret will give a modern generation the opportunity to mend the actions of a previous generation and heal the hurt of the past. A story that began in the nineteenth century far away from the Château du Cheval will have its happy ending here in this, the twenty-first century.
1
END OF DECEMBER LAST YEAR
The day after Sasha Heath and her brother Freddie returned home from property hunting in Brittany, Northern France, Sasha made what she realised would be one of her last visits to their old family home. It was a discombobulating feeling moving between the mostly empty rooms. In the last few weeks since their mother had died, as she cleared it ready for sale, Sasha had felt the house starting to withdraw from her, becoming a part of her past life, their close connection lost. It was such a weird feeling. Distance sprang up between herself and the memories of how the rooms had once cocooned her as the house emptied and prepared itself for another family to move in, with their own problems, foibles and traditions. Already, it no longer felt like the home it had once been for both her and Freddie.
The smart red leather Chesterfield which had been her mother’s pride and joy stood incongruously alone on the bare, faded floorboards of the sitting room. Thoughtfully, Sasha ran her hand along the top of the settee which she’d planned to sell, despite it being the one piece of furniture she longed to keep for herself. But the day was approaching when she would have to list it on eBay. Her one-bedroom so-called ‘penthouse’ flat –but in reality, an unfurnished ‘attic’ – was too small, and it was doubtful that the settee would even get up the long narrow flight of stairs leading to her door. Besides, there was no real point in even trying. Any day now she was expecting to be served with the official notice to quit her flat. The new property-developing landlords had planning permission to refurbish the nineteenth-century terrace of houses and were evicting everyone with the promise that they could return afterwards – if, of course, they could afford the exorbitant new rents. Which, she was pretty sure, would be out of her price range. As for where she’d go, she had no idea. One-bedroom flats in Clifton were like gold dust these days, with so many students studying at the university. She’d be lucky to be able to afford a bedsit on the outskirts of town, turning her five-minute walk to work into a long forty-minute commute. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to at least look at property in France when Freddie had suggested it.
His argument that neither of them would ever be able to get on the property ladder here in the UK had a certain truth to it. ‘But if we join forces, we could use Mum’s inheritance to buy a place big enough for the two of us in France and be mortgage-free, and hopefully still have a little money left in the bank. Property over there, especially in Brittany, is so much more affordable than here – despite all the paperwork involved now because of Brexit.’
‘We still have to work though,’ Sasha had pointed out. ‘And neither of us are fluent French speakers, which is a major stumbling block. My schoolgirl French won’t get us far.’
‘We’ll pick it up, and maybe we can go to classes both here before we go and then when we’re over there,’ Freddie had said confidently. ‘We’ll make sure we each keep some money back to live on. I should be able to find some odd jobs, gardening and basic maintenance. I’ve had plenty of experience working at Riverside Residential Home.’
‘Not sure whatI’ll be able to do,’ Sasha had said. ‘Maybe do some gardening with you?’
Freddie had laughed. ‘One word: forget-me-nots.’
‘I’m never going to live that down, am I? I was ten. I wanted to surprise Mum and help her. There were so many of them all over the place I thought they just had to be weeds.’ Sasha smiled nonchalantly. ‘Anyway, they all grew back again – just like weeds do.’
‘You’d find something to do,’ Freddie had assured her. ‘If we buy the right place, we can use it as a stepping stone onto the property ladder, renovate it and then sell it on. Buy something bigger and do it again, or we can each buy one. Either way, it would be a fresh start for—for both of us,’ he’d added quietly, looking at his sister. ‘For you after Bradley, and for me because I’ve got itchy feet right now and want to do something different, get out of the rut I seem to have sunk into. I think Mum would approve.’
Sasha had bitten her lip and nodded. ‘Okay, but nothing that needs major renovations. Whatever we buy must have four square walls and a good roof at the very least,’ Sasha had made him promise. She was a dab hand at painting and putting wallpaper up and wouldn’t mind having a go at plastering, but bricklaying and roof tiling would be a step too far. Hunting out bargains in charity shops and second-hand furniture depots and upcycling them had become a favourite hobby. She loved interior design and making rooms look stylish as well as cosy and comfy. When she and Bradley had married, she’d enjoyed doing up the house they’d rented and had fond memories of the time she’d spent turning it into a home – something Bradley had turned out to have no interest in.
Owning somewhere and having a free hand to go – not mad, exactly – but to attempt something maybe a bit different, or even funky, would be great. Now, standing in the empty houseshe and Freddie had grown up in, Sasha wondered about the possibility of keeping the Chesterfield as she remembered that last week in France and the property they’d both fallen in love with.
Some of the so-called ‘cheap’ renovation properties the agent had shown them had looked more like total rebuilds. There had been a couple that Freddie had liked but Sasha had thought their location on a main road or in the depths of the countryside far from ideal. A tall four-storey house in the centre of Morlaix dating from the eighteenth century appealed to them both, but it was a registered historical building and came complete with a list of things that needed to be adhered to, which frightened both of them.
Both Sasha and Freddie were beginning to despair of ever finding something suitable when Solange, the agent who had been showing them around every day, took them to see the two Cottages du Lac.
‘These were originally agricultural workers’ cottages on an old French estate, the Château du Cheval,’ she had explained as she drove them. ‘The estate was a lot bigger until after the Second World War when lots of the land and cottages were sold off. The château and the remaining twelve hectares were sold again a couple of years ago. The new owners have been renovating it and the garden and grounds are slowly being reclaimed from the wilderness of neglect. I think you will like these cottages.’
‘It’s still a private estate?’ Freddie had asked.
Solange had nodded as she turned the car onto a drive with a faded ‘Château du Cheval. Privé’ sign on the left verge and then, thirty metres or so farther along, they had gone through an open pair of imposing wrought-iron gates, before passing some brick buildings with a clock tower.
‘Is that a stable block?’ Sasha had asked.
Solange had nodded. ‘Yes, but I don’t think the Chevaliers keep horses. I understand their plan is to open the château to paying guests this summer and also to act as a wedding venue eventually. But the gates are closed every night; the owners of the cottages will of course be given an electronic key. Like a gated domain in the UK, right?’
‘Not sure about that,’ Freddie had muttered. ‘The grounds still look like they could do with more attention.’ He had turned to look at Sasha. ‘Could be a job right on our own doorstep for me.’
‘We haven’t seen the cottages yet, stop jumping the gun,’ Sasha had said, trying to stop herself thinking about the possibility of living close to stables that could be housing actual horses. It had been years since she’d ridden a horse but her teenage passion for them had never completely died.
‘The château is in that direction,’ Solange had said, pointing to the left. ‘But we go this way.’ And she’d driven carefully along a narrow track.
Sasha had peered to the left quickly, hoping to get a glimpse of the château, but a group of trees blocked the view and regretfully, she’d turned her head away just as the lake and the two cottages came into view. ‘Oh, what a gorgeous setting!’
Solange had stopped the car to one side of the cottages and the three of them had got out. ‘We’ll start with No. 1. The cottages are quite basic. Which means you get to modernise them in your own way.’ And she’d ushered them into a surprisingly spacious hallway with a wooden staircase leading to the first floor and three bedrooms. ‘Sitting room on the left, with French windows at the front and a smaller window on the side. Lovely fireplace, don’t you think? The log burner fits in well. Next door doesn’t have a wood burner. The kitchen on the right is a fair size, with French windows on the front again, but as this joins the wall of No. 2, there is obviously no side window.’Solange had pointed to the door at the back of the kitchen. ‘That leads into the garden. I’ll show you that after we’ve been upstairs,’ and she had led them up to the next floor. ‘Two fair-sized rooms, a smaller one, nice landing and a bathroom – albeit one that needs updating.’
