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Back Escape to the French Farmhouse Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Jo Thomas
  4. DEDICATION
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE
  46. FORTY-TWO
  47. FORTY-THREE
  48. FORTY-FOUR
  49. FORTY-FIVE
  50. FORTY-SIX
  51. FORTY-SEVEN
  52. FORTY-EIGHT
  53. FORTY-NINE
  54. FIFTY
  55. FIFTY-ONE
  56. FIFTY-TWO
  57. FIFTY-THREE
  58. FIFTY-FOUR
  59. FIFTY-FIVE
  60. FIFTY-SIX
  61. FIFTY-SEVEN
  62. FIFTY-EIGHT
  63. FIFTY-NINE
  64. SIXTY
  65. SIXTY-ONE
  66. SIXTY-TWO
  67. Epilogue
  68. Acknowledgements
  69. RECIPES
  70. Lavender shortbread
  71. Apricot jam sponge cake
  72. Lavender lamb
  73. READ MORE
  74. Prologue
  75. ONE
  76. TWO
  77. THREE
  78. FOUR
  79. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

So, work was drying up for Ollie, and my French wasn’t nearly good enough yet for me to look for work in a local shop. We agreed, over the plat du jour in the most expensive brasserie in town, to put the house back on the market and phoned the removal company. Ollie complained at the size of the restaurant bill and that ‘nothing in France is cheap any more’. But we were both right. Nothing in our lives was working because our marriage wasn’t working. The glue had gone. We’d tried to fix it, but it was broken. It was over. I know I made the right decision for us both. That was how I ended up in the bath on my own.

‘Come on, Ralph, up we get,’ I say.

He’s suddenly alert and scrabbles out of the bath, ready for whatever adventures the day might bring. With every joint and muscle in my body aching, I ease myself out and pull out my phone. There’s a message from Ollie.

I’m back. Come to your senses yet?!

I don’t reply. I’ve said all I need to say. There’s no point in discussing it any more. I ripped the plaster off our broken marriage and my damaged heart yesterday, which hurt, but it’s going to get better, for both of us.

I walk over to the long bathroom window to retrieve my bra, the only thing I could find last night to tie back the loose shutter. I’d seen Joanna Lumley use hers as slippers when she was on a desert island, and mine did a great job last night. I untie it, then push the shutters back. I take hold of the wrought-iron railing and breathe in deeply. I can smell the pine and cypress trees. I can hear the birds singing as they flit in and out of the trees and the cockerel in the distance still heralding the new day. A donkey from up the road has joined in the morning celebrations and is braying. I can smell the rosemary plants under the window and the lavender hedge. The mistral has blown all the dust away and everything is bright and clear. They say that the clear colours after the mistral draw painters to the area, and I can see why as I stare at the valley below. I’m not mad. Ollie and I had come to the end of our journey. Going back to where we’d started would have made us even more miserable.