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

traffic — feet, wagons, barrows and bikes. Tall thin houses, all joined together, lined one side of the street, a high stone wall the other. Grey-green leaves peeped above the top of the wall. ‘We’re right on the edge of town.’ Freja smiled, the sides of her eyes crinkling with joy. ‘Hugged by an olive grove. Trees winking and waving at us from across the street!’ ‘You like it?’ asked Tobias. ‘It’s all ours, you know. I bought it over the phone! Our very own French home.’ Freja reached out and squeezed Tobias’ hand. ‘Thank you, Tobias. It’s lovely. Not at all scary or civilised or too perfect for a mad writer, a silly dog and a strange girl. Quite different from a real house in a proper town. And if we can just manage to keep away from all the people …’ But at that very moment, the sound of a turning lock ripped through her joy. Freja looked across at the front door of the adjoining house and watched it open, slowly, ominously, just a crack.

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