Travel Reference
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could become a handy building, situated far enough away from the main house to be con-
sidered convenient in the event of a visitor onslaught.
Buildings two and three were outhouses suited to DIY or more cattle and then there
was number four. This looked like an old garden shed that might fall down at any moment.
Madame tinkled up to the door and waved a heavily ringed finger.
“This is the house of the guardian,” she said. “I must have him near me at all times.”
I was just thinking that this seemed decidedly questionable when, sensing a pause,
Harry chipped in. His evident intention was now to excite and inform us with a potted his-
tory of the French aristocratic lifestyle.
“Right, well of course most domaine owners in France have their own guardian who
looks after the property. It's especially useful when they're away and overall a jolly handy
arrangement. In madame 's case she has been away for quite a while because she needed
treatment for an injured back.”
“Probably due to all that metal hanging off her,” hissed Jack.
Before he could stick his foot in it any further I intervened.
“Oh dear, how awful, madame ,” and quickly added, “and so where is your guardian
now?” I was anxious to avoid another black trouser-leg massacre.
Madame waved a languid arm vaguely in the direction of a field below.
“Ee is tending to my horses,” she said. “They are my passion . But now I am much
injured so it is not possible for me to ride, or to look after my land. This is why I must sell
my domaine . But then…” she added with a throaty chuckle, “maybe I have another interest
now instead!”
With that she wafted off in the general direction of the final building. We could only
assume that it was the main house but sadly it too looked authentically like another recently
used cow shed.
We stayed back for a moment to have a peek through the open door of the guardian's
house and Harry, with a level of diligence that even I was finding irritating, tried his best to
give us a full interior tour. I am afraid his efforts were doomed to failure.
Jack curtly declared that he had seen enough and, even at this early stage, it was clear
that this domaine was not the stuff of our dreams. The best plan was to forget the land-tour,
speed-view the main bits for the sake of politeness and make a rapid exit.
We left Harry at the shed to take an important phone call and rejoined madame who
was now draped casually across one half of the main house stable door. She was smoking
something long and spindly, which did not smell at all like a conventional cigarette, and
looked extremely relaxed.
“So now you must come this way,” she drawled, “these are my private chambers.”
With that, she grabbed Jack's arm and swept him inside.
Walking into this building was like being walloped across the chops with a lavender-
filled pillow, only this time it was jasmine, clouds of it. Jack immediately succumbed to a
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