A Year at the French Farmhouse Quotes

“a while the anger made me feel that I didn’t love him. But I do. I know now that I still do.’ ‘Your ’usband?’ ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I still love Ben. And it’s wretched because I know that he doesn’t love me any more. That he doesn’t want me enough. He’s back in England and—’ her voice was suddenly thick with tears ‘—I don’t even know if he’s OK or not. I can’t… we don’t even speak.’ The sky, that had been darkening slightly, rumbled as if in sympathy. A single drop of rain fell on the ground between them. ‘It’s OK,’ Frédérique said, his expression kind. ‘You do not ’ave to explain.’ ‘But I do,’ she said. ‘Because you’ve done all this. And it’s so, so wonderful. And you deserve so much better. But I couldn’t say yes to your proposal, or even a proper date, when deep down I know that if Ben was to walk through the door right now, I’d take him back without question.’ There was a silence. Frédérique’s eyes became distant as he focused over her shoulder and she wondered whether he was trying not to cry. Her guests, standing taking in the spectacle, broadcast to all over loudspeaker, fell silent too, as if in sympathy.”
― Gillian Harvey, A Year at the French Farmhouse

“Part of you expected that living there would be like a holiday, whereas in reality all the messy details of life still accompanied you. Other”
― Gillian Harvey, A Year at the French Farmhouse

“when humans are removed from the equation nature is able to step into the breach and show itself fully. It”
― Gillian Harvey, A Year at the French Farmhouse

“But as long as she could walk to this lake, look out over the expanse of deep, calm water, ground herself somehow in the nature her body had craved more than she’d realised, then she could find the strength for anything else that came her way. The thought brought her back to herself – Emily would be finished with her call by now. Feeling a tingling sensation in her fingers, she walked back over the sand, which covered her skin with a rough, uneven coating. As she stepped onto the wooden decked path, she felt the sand begin to crumble away, and by the time she was at the edge of the tarmacked road, she felt clean enough to slip her trainers back on.”
― Gillian Harvey, A Year at the French Farmhouse