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advanced towards the couple, hand outstretched in greeting, The old woman looked me up and down disapprovingly and I could feel the beginnings of a deep blush creeping up my neck. Behind me Julien snorted. Here I was, on my first day in my new home, standing in front of my new neighbours with my underwear hanging out and no shoes on. Monsieur Brunel seemed less bothered by my appearance and stepped forward to shake my hand, a salacious glint in his eyes as they flicked down to my cleavage. Madame Brunel quickly whipped off her housecoat – boy, was the nylon thread count high in these parts – and shoved it roughly at me with a look of mild disgust. Then turning on her heel, she grabbed her husband's sleeve, pushing him in front of her up the driveway, all the while berating him in rapid-fire French. I thought I detected just the hint of a smile on her hen-pecked husband's weather-beaten face. Madame proceeded to deliver a fierce slap across the back of his head and shouted something unintelligible. I could take a rough guess at what it was. Probably the most fun he's had in years, I thought, as without realising what I was doing, I slipped the housecoat on to cover myself up.
    Â Â Turning to Julien, I picked up my suitcase and headed for the front door. The key should be in the post box according to Madame Mollet's text. But where was the post box? I looked around the front door but there was no sign.
    Â Â Julien watched me curiously. 'What are you searching?' he asked eventually.
    Â Â 'Looking for,' I corrected. 'The letterbox.'
    Â Â 'The boîte à lettres is at the end of the drive.'
    Â Â 'Could you? I'm not really dressed for it.'
    Â Â Smiling, Julien set off up the driveway, following in the footsteps of the departing Monsieur and Madame Brunel, and returned a few minutes later clutching a large brown envelope. I took it from him and as I ripped it open, a large bunch of keys fell out into my hand. There must have been at least ten of them and some were exactly like the sort of keys you'd see hanging from the belt of a jailer in a costume drama. I decided to look at all the paperwork in the envelope later.
    Â Â Trying each one in turn, I finally found the one that unlocked the door. Pushing the handle down, it swung open, releasing a blast of warm and slightly musty air. I stepped inside. I found myself standing in a small hallway with exposed stone walls; the shutters were closed and the change in light momentarily disorientated me. Ahead of me was another door which I pushed open and walked into what looked like the lounge. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could make out the interior of a large country kitchen through a door at the end. I peeped in and saw an old-fashioned range stove set in the recess of a chimney, not quite an Aga but good enough, and what appeared to be a huge stone sink and a small fridge. Apart from that, the cottage looked suspiciously bereft of furnishings.
    Â Â Another door at the other end of the lounge led me into an empty room. The cottage was, it seemed, completely bare. Not a stick of furniture anywhere.
    Â Â  'Bon,' said Julien, 'I must go to help with Gérard's car.'
    Â Â I thanked him profusely. 'Maybe I'll see you soon?' I said.
    Â Â 'Yes, maybe, now that we are neighbours.'
    Â Â He winked at me, then turned and with a cheery wave stepped out into the honey-coloured sunlight leaving me wondering whether that was a promise of things to come or just my overactive imagination.
    Â Â Left on my own for the first time in my own little cottage, I had a 'Julie Andrews' moment and swung round, arms outstretched, like Maria in The Sound of Music . 'I'm here,' I cried then, catching sight of myself in the glass of the door, 'and I'm already in a bloody housecoat!'

Chapter Three

    Breathing out a contented sigh, I sat down on the step to read the contents of the envelope that I was still clutching in my hand. There was a letter