The search continues...

Admittedly, there are times when I feel utterly despondent. And with no bathrooms, no kitchen, or functioning electricity, I need to find more workmen soon. It’s the end of March, still cold, and most nights I scurry up to bed (I’m staying at my friend Kathryn Ireland's empty farmhouse nearby) with a simple dinner of scrambled eggs, a hot water bottle under one arm, a liter of the local red under the other, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. And it’s only 7 o’clock...

"How's everything going? " my husband asks, calling from L.A. " Great," I lie, knowing he thinks I'm deranged anyway - my obsession with France, my "fantasy life," as he calls it - something that's already costing far too much money.

"Women are in love, men are in business," someone once said. (A man, no doubt.)

I can't sleep. So to distract myself, I go through pictures - from magazines, or my flea market finds - bjects I imagine (in my dreams) will eventually furnish the house.

A 'COIFFEUSE'  - 1850 - FOR LADIES HAIRDRESSING. . — **A 'COIFFEUSE' - 1850 - FOR LADIES HAIRDRESSING. .**

MARBLE LINED -  ON WHEELS - — **MARBLE LINED - ON WHEELS -**

Then I meet an English woman in the village...

**NICOLA - WHO KNOWS THE LOCAL WORKMEN**

Nicola is puzzlingly optimistic; she is also blessed with a vitality that I can only presume to be the result of years living an idyllic life in the countryside. Miraculously, she knows a great plumber/electrician. “I’ll arrange for M. Boudet to come round,” she says. “He’s an expert in both fields, the best in the area. Of course, he’s booked up for two years...” She thinks, however, that she can convince him to take on the job as he will “do anything for her.” Tactfully, I don’t ask why.

M. Boudet is a short, cherubic man. Charming and compellingly polite. At the chateau, he sweeps past me, bristling with efficiency, his black sharpie at the ready...

The old plumbing and electrics will have to go, he announces—the dangling wires, the ancient sockets, the fizzing plugs. How many bathrooms do you require, Madame? Three? And central heating? “Well, I ….”

He moves energetically through the rooms, commanding me to point out where I want the sinks, toilets, bidets, where exactly each new plug, switch, TV cable outlet should go, and where I’d like the main junction box, which naturally throws me into a panic of indecision.

One arm outstretched, he deftly scores x’s and arrows along the water-stained walls. He talks about low kilo wattage and the need for a parafoudre (lightning conductor), this being a high-risk area for blackouts, he says. He strides ahead, moving at an amazing pace—perhaps, I think, trying to catch up with that two year backlog of work—and I follow.

In the second bedroom upstairs, soon to be the master bathroom...

...I tell him that I’d like to put a bath in the center of the room. He tries to talk me out of it. Though French plumbing has come a long way in the last decade, the notion of converting an oversize bedroom with a marble fireplace into an area used solely to WASH oneself obviously smacks of Hollywood madness. And when I say I’d like to hang an old chandelier over the tub, he looks astounded. He mimes a large object falling on my head.

“You will be electrocuted,” he says - electrocuté, Madame! - although this somehow produces a satisfied smile.

He has all the information he needs. Encouraged, I ask when he might be able to start. He gives me a look of genuine surprise. Aucune idée! No idea. And so, illogically, I ask when he thinks he might be able to finish. By August? Well, he couldn’t say that, either. But he will definitely send me a written estimate.

“Soon?” I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. Yes, he says. “Bientot.”

Arguably one of the most misleading words in the French language!

Here is the finished bathroom - 4 years later. No chandelier ( Mr. Boudet won), but I did buy the 1850 marble lined "coiffeuse" on wheels (250 euros) - under the flea market painting (80 euros)