Our House is Not in Paris by Susan Cutsforth Read Free Book Online Page A

usually so friendly, so that made me even more inclined to look out for him. Goodness knows what he really thought of me as I would have just fallen out of bed, pulled on my work clothes and grabbed my breakfast. There was no time for the vanity of looking in a mirror or even brushing my hair. I knew that I was utterly lacking in style, but I felt compelled to start working as soon as possible.
    More new friends. We were working from sun-up to sundown, and our daily rhythm was constructed around endless lists. Lists of what to buy and what tasks each of us were going to tackle every day. I only wish that I’d kept all those endless lists as they were a record of our daily life. Yet, in the midst of often sixteen-hour days — and often I didn’t go anywhere at all — we started to make friends. When I look back, it’s strange as I was so focused on seeing our little farmhouse for the first time that I hadn’t even thought about the village or the people we may possibly meet. Strange for me, too, as usually that is something I would give a lot of thought to. It was a truly unexpected bonus not only to have met the people in the village, but also to have made friends. And not merely friends, but true friends who we had an instant connection with. After a mere three weeks, they quickly became a part of what would be the joy of returning each year to our house in the village.
    I have to add here that having a house in France, on the other side of the world, is the stuff of dreams. It is all very surreal. I’ve been there and worked on the house, yet when I’m back in Australia it seems very much a dream. It is not the sort of thing that ordinary people do, and yet here we were, now no longer ordinary.

Meeting Jean-Claude
    I don’t remember how early on it was that we met Jean-Claude; however, as soon as we did, he was a part of the tapestry of our life every single day. He was our new ‘best friend’ and was like a fairy godfather and knight in shining armour all rolled into one. And yet I was so very close to not meeting him. What I do remember is dashing out the front — maybe to shake a paintbrush — and seeing a distinctive figure striding up the road. I was so utterly focused on renovating every possible moment that I didn’t even pause to smile or say, ‘ Bonjour .’ No, I dashed back in to keep working. Yet something propelled me to almost immediately go back out the side door to greet him. I am so grateful that I did and I think my first words were, ‘Oh, you speak English!’ I invited him to see our house and all our work, and that turned out to be the start of his daily visits, sometimes up to three or four times a day. He took an avid interest in all that we were doing, and what was magnificent was that he would go away and reflect on many of the things we were doing and come back to share his advice and knowledge. He even went to the extent of looking up on the internet what things needed further checking.
    One of the many favours that Jean-Claude did for us was to come up with the perfect name for our barn, La Forge. He told us that there used to be blacksmiths in the area and that it would be just right. We thought we had also come up with perfect name for our house: Pied de la Croix, named after the man we bought it from. So, we were very surprised to discover that, just near our house, there were signs to other houses with the very same name! And indeed, nearby was a little iron cross in the grass with Pied De La Croix engraved upon it. We had even checked whether it was acceptable, according to French custom, to have this name, so we were also disappointed and confused not to have a unique name. Our intention had been to honour the previous owners and name the house after them, as well as to retain its sense of history. As always, with our myriad of questions, it was back to Jean-Claude for an explanation.
    We discovered it was, in fact, an