Free Ten Trees and a Truffle Dog by Jamie Ivey
Authors: Jamie Ivey
house for the village views, plenty of shade in summer, plenty of sun in winter, no reason why eventually you can't put a pool in over there, soil's a bit dodgy so you'll have to think about foundations, monomur construction's the way to do it these days, nice and speedy, you can have the shell up in a couple of months, and once the roof's on, the whole thing is easy.'
  Both Tanya and I had given up on the dream of owning a property in Provence. We'd concluded that we just didn't have the budget. Now our future was open again. The two of us strolled across the land, marking the territory, admiring the view from as many different angles as possible. Without thinking I knelt down and crumbled some of the soil between my fingers. Truffles or no truffles â what an opportunity. We walked hand in hand back to the car, where Eric and Ange had spread some plans out on the bonnet.
  'Three bedrooms, two downstairs, one upstairs with a sun terrace,' Eric explained. 'Open-plan living downstairs, three arches dividing the living room, sitting room and kitchen, all approved and ready to go.'
  'Anything you don't like, you can speak to the mayor and can probably change,' said Ange. 'Cost-wise, you've got to be careful â plenty of criminals out there, worst sort will take your money and not even complete the job. I'll manage it myself and introduce you to everyone else you'll need â electricians, plumbers, plasterers, painters.'
  'Keep the plans,' beamed Eric, as he started the ignition on his car, 'and I'll be in touch in a couple of days.'
  'And I'll give you a call with a rough price,' Ange added helpfully as he stepped into his van.
  The two of them bumped off down the track, leaving Tanya and I standing, a little stunned, admiring the view.
  'Best not get too excited,' Tanya counselled.
  'You're right. Hard not to, though. No more of Manu's banging, loads more space, a garden as big as a country estate and the truffles.'
  'Why do I feel like I've just been ambushed?'
  'Probably because Eric planned it so carefully.'
  There's something about seeing a house that induces a buying fever. As I've grown older I've become more and more conservative in my shopping habits. A jumper has to have been practically destroyed by a plague of moths before I'll consider buying a new one. And yet within moments of Eric leaving I was thinking about calling him to check whether other parties were interested. This was Provence, remember, where the average house takes well over a year to sell. But there was my heart, pumping away as if a pack of competing buyers was prowling in the surrounding woods.
  'Play it cool,' advised Tanya. Gradually the urge to reach for my mobile dissipated. We took one last look at the view and jumped into our car.
  As we headed back to the village the radio station was playing a show called Les Bonnes Affaires , a Provençal labour and goods exchange. Listeners phoned up to swap things, such as a bike for a sofa. The idea was that no money changed hands. We loved the show because the proposed swaps were always so unequal that they were comical.
  'I am looking for a girl to come and do two hours' cleaning a day.' The voice was female and quite old. 'Ironing, making the beds, cleaning the floor, generally helping out around the house, and in return I am prepared to teach the girl the basics of home economics, budgeting, making ends meet.'
  'Remind the listeners of your phone number.' The presenter's voice was weary. The morning had been full of people trying to swap caravans for houses, and bunny rabbits for horses, and here was another chancer with no realistic possibility of a swap. Still, the show aired for two hours a day and there was never any shortage of people trying their luck.
Chapter 7
T here should be some sort of obligatory oath sworn by all foreign buyers in Provence â a type
  Both Tanya and I had given up on the dream of owning a property in Provence. We'd concluded that we just didn't have the budget. Now our future was open again. The two of us strolled across the land, marking the territory, admiring the view from as many different angles as possible. Without thinking I knelt down and crumbled some of the soil between my fingers. Truffles or no truffles â what an opportunity. We walked hand in hand back to the car, where Eric and Ange had spread some plans out on the bonnet.
  'Three bedrooms, two downstairs, one upstairs with a sun terrace,' Eric explained. 'Open-plan living downstairs, three arches dividing the living room, sitting room and kitchen, all approved and ready to go.'
  'Anything you don't like, you can speak to the mayor and can probably change,' said Ange. 'Cost-wise, you've got to be careful â plenty of criminals out there, worst sort will take your money and not even complete the job. I'll manage it myself and introduce you to everyone else you'll need â electricians, plumbers, plasterers, painters.'
  'Keep the plans,' beamed Eric, as he started the ignition on his car, 'and I'll be in touch in a couple of days.'
  'And I'll give you a call with a rough price,' Ange added helpfully as he stepped into his van.
  The two of them bumped off down the track, leaving Tanya and I standing, a little stunned, admiring the view.
  'Best not get too excited,' Tanya counselled.
  'You're right. Hard not to, though. No more of Manu's banging, loads more space, a garden as big as a country estate and the truffles.'
  'Why do I feel like I've just been ambushed?'
  'Probably because Eric planned it so carefully.'
  There's something about seeing a house that induces a buying fever. As I've grown older I've become more and more conservative in my shopping habits. A jumper has to have been practically destroyed by a plague of moths before I'll consider buying a new one. And yet within moments of Eric leaving I was thinking about calling him to check whether other parties were interested. This was Provence, remember, where the average house takes well over a year to sell. But there was my heart, pumping away as if a pack of competing buyers was prowling in the surrounding woods.
  'Play it cool,' advised Tanya. Gradually the urge to reach for my mobile dissipated. We took one last look at the view and jumped into our car.
  As we headed back to the village the radio station was playing a show called Les Bonnes Affaires , a Provençal labour and goods exchange. Listeners phoned up to swap things, such as a bike for a sofa. The idea was that no money changed hands. We loved the show because the proposed swaps were always so unequal that they were comical.
  'I am looking for a girl to come and do two hours' cleaning a day.' The voice was female and quite old. 'Ironing, making the beds, cleaning the floor, generally helping out around the house, and in return I am prepared to teach the girl the basics of home economics, budgeting, making ends meet.'
  'Remind the listeners of your phone number.' The presenter's voice was weary. The morning had been full of people trying to swap caravans for houses, and bunny rabbits for horses, and here was another chancer with no realistic possibility of a swap. Still, the show aired for two hours a day and there was never any shortage of people trying their luck.
Chapter 7
T here should be some sort of obligatory oath sworn by all foreign buyers in Provence â a type
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