L'amour Actually Read Online Free PDF Page B

too engrossed in the splendour of the neighbouring property to notice an angry-looking woman bearing down on me.
    Â Â 'Oi! What do you bleedin' well think you're doing?' yelled the irate woman in the flat estuary vowels of Essex. 'Piss off out of here, bloody nosy Frogs.'
    Â Â 'Um, actually I'm English,' I shouted back.
    Â Â 'Whatever! Just piss off outta here, silly bitch. Stop spying on me.'
    Â Â This wasn't going well at all.
    Â Â 'Gosh, sorry,' I called. 'It's just I've only moved in today and I was wondering who my new neighbours were.'
    Â Â Despite the woman's enormous sunglasses and large floppy sunhat, her face was vaguely familiar but I couldn't quite place it.
    Â Â 'Yeah, well you've seen all you're gonna. Now bleedin' get out of here.'
    Â Â 'Sorry, sorry,' I called, embarrassed, and jumped down from the wall more than a little taken aback by my first meeting with my new neighbour. Hopefully the next meeting would be a little more positive. But who was she? I was absolutely sure I'd seen her somewhere before.
    Â Â At the end of the garden was the swimming pool. I smiled. I actually have a pool, I thought. A closer look, revealed water that was a rather unattractive shade of crème de menthe green, decidedly slimy-looking and certainly not fit for human use. A big, fat bullfrog croaked loudly then hopped into the water with a plop. My stomach gurgled loudly and I remembered that I hadn't eaten since the overpriced, undercooked toastie on the plane.
    Â Â A brisk walk to the village, Rocamour, was what was needed so I could buy myself a few provisions until I could sort out a car. I had told the estate agent that the rental property had to be within walking distance of a village with shops and about one and a half kilometres didn't seem that far. Grabbing a scarf to protect my pale English shoulders from the sun, which was surprisingly warm for April, and some more suitable, if less fashionable footwear – I'd made that mistake once already – I headed off in the direction of the road that Julien had shown me earlier.
    Â Â It was a new experience to be so carefree. No job to tie me down, no boss to nag at me to meet deadlines, no dreadful journey on the Tube while paunchy middle-aged men took advantage of the movement of the overcrowded train to cop a quick feel of my bum.
    Â Â St Amans de Pierrepoint was far smaller than I'd imagined and wasn't exactly the country idyll I had expected. To be honest it was a bit tatty and unkempt. Ten houses or so freckled the hillside, barns tumbling down in various stages of decay. Keeping watch over the hamlet was an old manoir that had definitely seen better days. It was a handsome house built of the same mellow pale stone as the other houses, but on a grander scale. There was a certain beautiful symmetry to it and its setting, amid an abundance of shrubs and fruit trees, was quite magical. It was a shame to see that the shutters were closed and it appeared that no one was living there. Apart from the stone it was quite unlike most of the other houses which looked like they had probably started out as one room, then gradually been extended over the centuries. I had heard that they used to build the houses with a space underneath to keep the livestock overnight; apparently, the heat of the animals' bodies would warm the room above. Call me pampered but I prefer central heating.
    Â Â Everything had a certain chaotic quality, sort of wild and undisciplined. Further down the lane a flock of hens pecked and scratched happily, their rich brown feathers reflecting the sun. I watched them for a few minutes. I'd never really liked chickens except roasted or in a nice korma, finding them a bit too like dinosaurs with feathers when you got close up. It was the eyes that got me. They followed you everywhere and seemed to look right into your soul.
    Â Â Strolling on down the road, I passed an old barn, half-ruined, with roof