Page 12 of A French Country Escape
‘No. The hedges and fences are all generally in good condition, but you can always trust sheep to find the most vulnerable spots – and then point them out to you by escaping.’
Sasha laughed. ‘So kind of them to do that. Can I offer you a coffee today?’ she asked, standing by the garden gate of the cottage.
Ingrid shook her head. ‘I’d love to, but I need to move the Land Rover and then I have to phone Penny.’
‘How is she now?’
‘Quiet. Hasn’t told me her plans yet, so I’m continuing to apply gentle pressure. Thanks again. By the way, the book club is tomorrow evening. Seven thirty. Have you decided about coming?’
‘Yes, I’d like to. Do I need to bring anything?’
‘No. See you tomorrow then,’ and Ingrid carried on walking up the lane.
Sasha made herself a cup of tea and stood outside drinking it as she took the first proper look at her garden. A woodenfence enclosed both cottage gardens, with a lower one down the middle dividing the two. There were well-established bushes of hydrangea plants, which Sasha knew were regarded as the emblematic flower of Brittany, forming a hedge inside the fence along the bottom of the garden bordering the lane. Clumps of daffodils, competing with the weeds in flowerbeds edged with pointed terracotta tiles, were waving their heads in the wind, and tulips with their fat leaves were pushing their way through. A large vegetable plot with several dead brassica plants was on the right-hand side near the dividing fence, a wooden shed close by.
Sasha walked a couple of paces into the garden and turned to look at the back of the cottage. The small terrace that ran the width of the building had a few neglected weed-filled pots. A large half barrel under the kitchen window had been dug over recently and Sasha saw Freddie had planted the rose cuttings from their mum’s garden in there. In summer when the window was open, their perfume would fill the kitchen wonderfully.
Thoughtfully, she looked at the terrace. A table and chairs for al fresco dining here in summer needed to be added to her list. Sasha drained her tea. So much to do both inside and outside, she’d better get back and finish painting the sitting room.
10
By late afternoon, Sasha had finished painting both the walls and the skirting boards in the sitting room and was feeling pleased with herself, if a little sore and achey from all the bending and stretching. Shower time now.
A knock on the front door made her jump. Who on earth…? Freddie was back banging away at something in his cottage. Besides, he wouldn’t bother knocking anyway. Sasha glanced down at her paint-splattered jeans and gave a sigh. Whoever it was would, as her mum used to say, ‘just have to take her and the cottage as they found them,’ and she opened the door.
A tall, fair-haired man – in his early thirties, Sasha guessed, giving him a hesitant smile – was standing there holding a bouquet.
‘Bonjour, Sasha.I am Jean-Paul. These are for you to saymerci beaucoupfor helping withlesmoutons,’ and he held the bunch of flowers out to her.
‘Merci,’ she managed to stutter as she took them before he’d turned and walked away. Even she, with her poor French, realised he’d brought them because she’d helped Ingrid with the escaped sheep. Which was really kind of him. When Ingridhad spoken of Jean-Paul, for some reason, Sasha had imagined the farmer would be about Ingrid’s own age, fifty- or sixty-something. Instead, Jean-Paul was nearer her own age. And he’d brought her a thank-you present.
Closing the door, Sasha took the flowers into the kitchen and tried to find something to put them in as she didn’t possess a single vase. In the end, she divided the colourful dahlia blooms between two jugs – one she left in the kitchen, and the other she took upstairs to the small landing and placed it on the low table she’d put there in front of the window. The mix of vibrant pink, white and orange colours brightened up the landing, and as Sasha made for the bathroom and the hot shower which the arrival of Jean-Paul had interrupted, she promised herself to try to always have some flowers up there.
Downstairs, fully refreshed after her shower, she slipped her phone into her pocket and set off to explore the château grounds in a different direction to the one she and Freddie had taken on their first walk. Freddie, after his three days of working in the grounds with Peter, had said they were beautiful, especially the Italian garden, which he was thrilled to be helping restore.
Without conscious thought, her feet took her in the direction of the stables. There was a small car parked outside on the stable yard and she could hear water being splashed about. Somebody was busy mucking out.
Sasha stood for a moment or two, taking in the warm smell of the stables as it drifted towards her, a mixture of horse, hay and feed. An earthy, country smell that was evoking so many memories of her teenage years. Her Saturday job at the local stables had been the highlight of her week, back then. She had begged her parents to let her go to college to do a diploma in equine management so she could work with horses, maybe even have her own stables one day. Her dad had insisted, though, that she also did a six-month online business and office managementcourse. He wanted her to have something to fall back on should she ever need to earn more money than working with horses was likely to provide. It had been hard doing both courses and after almost three years of study, it had saddened her that she never got to follow her dream.
Shortly before she finished her diploma, their dad had died. Freddie had already left home, so there was no way she was going to move away and leave her mum alone. When a friend of the family had offered her an office job in the local town, she’d taken it. And that had been the beginning of putting her dreams on hold, never to be revisited, as life with all its commitments and duties took precedence.
But here she was in France now, starting over. A new beginning that she was determined would be different and have a certain amount of fun in it.
‘Bonjour.’
Sasha came to with a start. A woman about her own age was standing in front of her with a smile on her face, her hands gripping a wheelbarrow piled high with muck.
‘Oh.Bonjour, je suis désolée…’ Flustered, the carefully rehearsed words to say she didn’t speak French had completely deserted Sasha.
‘I speak English. I am Colette. I think you must be Sasha? Ingrid told me you have bought one of the lakeside cottages.’
‘Yes,’ Sasha said.
‘Would you like to meet Starlight, my horse?’
Sasha nodded gratefully. Ingrid had clearly told Colette about her interest in horses. ‘Please, but I don’t want to interrupt you or get in the way.’
‘This pile of muck can wait,’ and Colette rested the wheelbarrow on the ground.
