The Girl, the Dog and the Writer in Provence chapter sampler

‘Boof!’ said Finnegan at the mention of lunch. He licked Freja’s nose. ‘ Sieste ,’ sighed Freja. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as living in a ghost town, but at least there’d be an hour or two each day when she could roam about in peace and quiet. Tobias folded the map and stuck it back inside his jacket. ‘Forward-ho!’ he cried and gave full throttle. The motorcycle roared around the next corner and, for one exhilarating moment, the wheel of the sidecar lifted off the ground. They zoomed past the front of an ancient stone chapel, then rattled and bounced down a cobbled street. Freja closed her eyes and clenched her teeth to stop herself from biting her tongue. Then, as suddenly as they’d started, they screeched to a halt and Tobias sang, ‘Home, sweet home!’ The girl, the dog and the writer stood side by side, staring upward. ‘Four storeys!’ cried Freja, her eyes shining. ‘Four skinny storeys! Stone walls. Faded grey shutters. Look! That one’s all wonky, its hinge rusted and ragged. And the wisteria climbs all the way to the balcony on the top floor! I do love purple flowers, Tobby!’ Freja gazed up and down the street. It was wobbly and narrow, barely wide enough for a car to pass. The cobbles were worn to a shine from centuries of

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