Free Sense and French Ability by Ros Rendle Page A

day to day living, with all its practical problems and pragmatism. There are no serious responsibilities when on holiday. Food and accommodation are automatic; subsistence is not long term. Get a grip Fliss. This is all a little extreme.’
    She shook her head at her own flight of fancy. Her thoughts took off again reminiscing about the two weeks she had experienced. The delicious farmer, Jean Chri; no, don’t think of that, he’s married. Madame Altier with her gnarled knuckles and stooped figure; the restaurant owner and his cousin, Éric; the little girl, Melodie and her parents who were such fun and so kind, Harriet, whose partner died – all flitted through her mind on gossamer memories.
    ‘However, having no family here, with Mum and Dad both gone now is a factor. I have no brothers or sisters, nor cousins that I am in contact with. What about earning a living? I couldn’t support myself for years on end doing nothing. At least being practical in that area, I know I don’t have that much money. What I have would carry me over renting somewhere while I sell the bungalow and decide whether to buy over there or not. The question remains about how I would support myself. Bar winning the lottery, or finding a sugar daddy, this is a thorny problem. Oh, it’s a dreamy idea that is going nowhere. I’ve told Edward I could buy Madame Altier’s place but that may well not happen.’
    It was getting late and her half-drunk tea had grown cold. She gave an involuntary shiver. Was that the proverbial goose wandering too close to her demise? Perhaps she better get to bed, and think more tomorrow.
    ‘I’ll take a reality check, look further on the internet, do research about living in northern France and find out about properties that might be for sale. Madame Altier’s B and B would suit me well but it isn’t even on the market yet.’
    *
    It took Fliss forever to get to sleep but, for a change, she was wide awake the next day. For the first time in ages she was energised and excited.
    After work, steadying herself and with the great self-discipline nurtured over the years, Fliss made herself toast and tea before switching on her laptop. She settled for an evening of searching the internet. There were areas of northern France that are flat and, in her view, uninspiring. This was inland from Calais and Dunkirk. Going the other way, as she had done, towards Boulogne, she had discovered to the south west the area that is known as the Seven Valleys. From the images and photos it looked beautiful, and Fliss could not resist re-looking at the places she had visited. She felt a compulsion and read on:
    “Northern France’s best kept secret, the Seven Valleys in the Pas de Calais, with its rolling contours, is as green and bushy as anything you will see in Dordogne.
    With its Opal Coast, charming villages and historic battlefields; including those of Agincourt, Crecy and First World War, the area of the Seven Valleys offers the visitor a glimpse into the past and a sample of the now peaceful way of life.”
    The pictures showed rolling hills, deep-sided valleys, verdant meadows and calm tranquillity. It reminded her of parts of the Yorkshire dales, without the stone barns. It talked about picturesque places to walk; rivers populated by trout; farms set low down and often built of whitewashed torchy (which she discovered was wattle and daub, a building material as ancient as the hills themselves). There were coastal towns to which fishing fleets still returned with a catch of whiting and sole. Inland towns where the rivers hid between the houses, bubbling and gurgling their way to the sea nestled among wooded hillsides. Tiny white anemones, daffodils in spring time, followed by bluebells flooded areas with colour. Sixty per cent of the ancient oaks dated from previous centuries. As for villages, hundreds offered a variety of cosy auberges at which to eat local produce as well as places to hire a bicycle for a strenuous ride