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family. This room would have been quite small, dominated by a huge stone fireplace, stone sink and a thick stone shelf used for food preparation. There would have been no space for any comfortable furniture, just a table and chairs; French families rarely had a sitting room or sofas. The constant cooking aromas and the warmth of the fire would have made the small room cosy and welcoming during winter, but unbearably hot and oppressive in summer when the July and August temperatures often hover for weeks in the high thirties.
    The ceiling downstairs has been timber-lined, and my first inclination is to rip away the narrow boards to reveal the chunky timber beams that I am convinced are underneath. However, I am later discouraged by David, who feels it best to leave well enough alone. Uncovering anything unknown may lead to all sorts of disasters, not to mention the fact that the wiring and plumbing are all hidden inside this ceiling cavity. Heaven knows what we might find if we start ripping the room to pieces.
    Some decades ago a back door was obviously excavated through the thick rear wall of the house, cutting the old stonewashing up sink in half, sadly. This door leads out to the small square courtyard between the house and the barn. Unlike the rest of the house, the back wall has never been rendered with crepi, and the bare stone gives us a pretty good idea of how the house will look when we have chipped away at the front and side walls.
    The ground-level floor is timber, but unfortunately it’s very badly executed, a combination of narrow chestnut boards and mock timber sheeting laid over compressed board. Goodness knows what happened to the original oak flooring – I can only guess that at some stage a decision was made to raise or lower the floor level, and the cheapest option was taken. There’s a cut-out square just inside the front door that looks like a trapdoor and, sure enough, when we jemmy it up we discover a cellar, or ‘cave’ as it’s known in France, a must for any serious wine lover.
    A handsomely curved timber stairway leads to the next floor, which consists of a small landing with a traditional window and shutters and two quite large but extremely plain bedrooms. The one facing the street has two windows, while the bedroom overlooking the courtyard has one window and a deep stone sink that no doubt served as the family bathroom in times gone by. Once again the floors are of chestnut and the boards are narrow, but fortunately it’s all in good condition and quite authentic for the period of the house. This is the level I find most captivating.
    The top level is reached on curved rickety stairs that are badly in need of replacement. There’s plenty of headroom to the roof, but the beams are extraordinarily heavy and low – you have to duck your head to get from one area to the next. As usual, my first instinct is to remove the beams, but again expert advice indicates that this would be structural madness. The four thickstone walls are tied together by these massive beams and we would have to undertake major engineering work to create full headroom in the attic. I decide that we will think about it at a later stage and concentrate now on the two lower levels. Getting them comfortable and pretty will cost as much as we have in our limited budget.
    The gravelled courtyard is backed by a two-storey stone barn, which for me is the most appealing part of the entire property. The door to the barn is original oak with heavy metal hinges, still very handsome and solid. Inside the darkness of the barn, which has no plumbing or electricity, there is the potential to create the most wonderful extra bedroom and bathroom, and perhaps even an office if I ever decide to spend a year in France writing another book. The first time I stood inside the barn I contemplated what it might have been used for at various times – perhaps chickens and a cow, or even a couple of pigs. The concept