2-Feb-12
Challenge: Use the following sentence anywhere you like in your story:
“In the bathroom the window has been left open and the curtain is drifting into the room like smoke”
The Eye of the Beholder
The knocks at the door echoed back onto the old tile covered porch. Jeremy stood, patiently, awaiting an answer from within. Turning, he surveyed the view from the old farm as the hill outside sloped gradually down to the river.
Quite an isolated place he thought to himself but oh what a lovely view.
Knock, knock, knock, he rapped again, this time with a with a bit more force.
He was sure Melanie, the estate agent, had said that the owner would be home at 11:30 and would anticipate his arrival. She herself had a conflicting appointment half way across the Department and would not be arriving until at least after noon.
The house itself had been a bit of a disappointment to him as he had driven up the long lane. It was a long two story affair made of stacked grey white stone, not the golden limestone he had hoped for. At the back end of the house was attached an ancient brown stained wooden tobacco barn which Melanie had assured him would become a wonderful studio for his sculpture work. He stepped out from the porch and slowly walked around to the side of the house, looking for the owner who was perhaps in the garden which stretched out to the left running up to a large Pigeonier which stood in excellent condition at the edge of the property, next to a bank of trees.
Allo! Allo! He called. Slowly, a door opened from the base of the pigeonier and he saw a small white haired head stick its way through.
Madame DePuy. Je suis Alain Turner, Je suis ici pour regarder le maison, he said in his very inexpert Americanized French.
Ah, yes Monsieur. I am Madame DuPuy she replied as she walked on out from the pigeonier and up to him, reaching out her hand to shake his. “Perhaps it will be ok if we speak in English. I had the pleasure of traveling with my dear late husband and we spent a great deal of time in your country. She said this with great charm and with a lovely accent to her precise use of the language.
She was a slender woman of average height and indeterminate older age. She had on the typical blue cotton dress of country women, covered by an apron which she was holding up at the corners with her left hand. At his look down, she pointed at the contents and said, “I was just into the pigeoenier to get some walnuts for a cake. Sorry I was not at the door when you arrived.” She headed toward the house with a vigorous pace. Her back was straight and head held high as she strode up the steps to the porch and pushed open the door.
“Please come in” she motioned walking through the large stone floored foyer toward the back of the house and the kitchen.
Alain followed her into a room that looked as if it had not been changed since the building was put up. Along the back wall was a large open fireplace with an iron cooking stove filling much of the space. Wood was stacked next to it in the corner. A long trestle table filled the center of the room which had an assortment of wooden bowls containing various ingredients that would lead to the cake he presumed. Even though it was a cool winter day, the heat from the stove filled the large room.
On the left wall was a long stone counter with a large sink set into it below the large windows that looked out onto the garden down to the pigeonier. On the right wall was a large double French door that opened onto a terrace that was covered in the remains of that years grape vines and a view down the hill to the river off in the distance. His eyes took in the tall ceilinged room and the old feel of the wooden cabinets and dishes. Everything seemed to be perfect for this space.
She unburdened herself of the walnuts into a large bowl on the table and finally turned toward him, her clear blue eyes examining him frankly.
“And what brings you to France and to my house, she asked him directly?”
Oh, Madame. I have recently retired and due to some other changes in my life decided to move to france and pursue a long held passion for my art. I create sculptures out of found objects. It has just been a hobby but now I want to really invest myself in it and needed a large enough space to do the work. Melanie, the estate agent thought your tobacco barn would be perfect. May I ask Madame, why are you selling a place which seems to be so much a part of you.
She looked at him for a moment considering her words. “Actually, this was my husband’s family’s house. He was the last of his family and as we had no children, there is really no one that I want to leave it to, other than a horrid cousin that has never been around other than to think how much money he might get for the place. So I would rather sell before I die than let him get his hands on it.
And besides, it is far to big for me to deal with alone. After Jules died, I have managed but who knows how much longer I will be able to take care of things.
She then stopped and said, “I have to finish compiling my cake ingredients before they harden. Why don’t you go ahead a look at the rest of the house.
Alain thanked her and began his tour. Heading back down the hall he looked into the large salon that had an ancient chiminee framing the far wall. Huge floor to ceiling windows letting in the light and the view. The house was filled with a deep glow from the sun which was low in the winter sky. In the center of the hall were two doors, the first contained the wc, an ancient model with the high reservoir and chain with a porcelain pull. Certainly an original Thomas Crapper by the look of it.
Opening the next door the wind rushes past his face. In the bathroom, the window has been left open and the curtain is drifting into the room like smoke. There is a large, claw footed tub and standing sink. Black and white tiles cover the space.
Closing the door, he climbed the dark wood staircase that mounted the opposite side of the hall and curved up to the landing that centered around above the hall. The three bedrooms along with a more recently installed bath, were each large, high ceilinged and contained double French windows that let in the sun and the view. Carved wooden mantles framed the small fireplace in each room. Four poster beds with fluffy duvets and armoires filled the rooms with style and grace.
As Alain toured the rooms his heart began to pound. This place was all he had ever dreamed and more. He knew he had to have it and even began to determine how much he would have to offer in order to retain as much of the furnishings as he could.
She was waiting at the base of the stairs as he came slowly down. “So what do you think.”
“I know this is not exactly a good bargaining approach, but Madame Dupuy, I would be honored to carry on the feel and tradition of this place. As much as possible, I would not change a thing. It is perfect.”
“Oh really” she said. “You can have it. I cant stand this old place anymore. I am moving to a new high rise apartment in Paris. Enough of this country life and you are welcome to it. I cant wait to move.”