The French House Share

Prologue

‘Do you want to do the honours?’ Pete held up the ridiculously enormous key that had been handed to them by the agent an hour earlier.

Bella took it from him, feeling its cool weight in her hand. This was the moment. The moment she could finally put her past behind her and step into the future.

She inserted it into the lock on the oak-panelled door and for a moment struggled to find purchase. Then, with a final look at Pete, she smiled and turned it.

Inside, the house smelled musty, like the stately homes Bella’s parents had used to drag her around as a kid – the scent of age and neglect.

But the smooth stone of the walls, the polished wood of the staircase that stretched before them, the original tiles scattered in a haphazard pattern underfoot promised a beauty that would be easy to unlock with a little fresh air and elbow grease.

She looked around again and caught Pete’s eye.

She could see that he was feeling it too: a sense of awe that somehow, they owned this house – or at least owned the mortgage on it.

That this would be their forever home. That in a few months’ time they would be welcoming the first guests through the door.

‘Thank you,’ she said suddenly.

‘Thank me? What for?’

‘For believing in me. For coming with me. For buying into this dream.’

‘You are far too romantic for your own good,’ he joked, gathering her to him. ‘I just wanted to quit my job and sip wine in the sunshine.’

‘After the renovations are complete?’

‘Yes,’ he kissed her. ‘Obviously after the renovations are complete. Just give me – what – ten, fifteen years!’

They laughed, their mouths still almost touching.

Because the truth of it was that they had those years – ten, fifteen, maybe even fifty or more.

They were young and had a bright future ahead.

And having this business, living this life, meant she could walk away from the mess she’d made – her dead-end job, her failed exams, the disappointment she felt on behalf of a mother she no longer had.

Moving to France meant she could shed her former life like a snake might wriggle out of its skin, leaving it entirely behind and simply stepping away.

No more of Kitty’s meddling or her father’s half-hearted visits.

No more seeing the places she used to go to with Mum and feeling that pain over and over. A new start in every sense of the word.

‘Come on,’ she said, pulling away from Pete and moving towards the darkened windows. ‘Let’s get these shutters open; let some light in!’