Page 27 of You Had Me at Chateau
I throw back the last of my wine and pack away my iPad as the plane descends.
Now it’s time for my adventure to begin – and there’s no way it’s going to be as exciting asWelcome to Singledom.
12
After two butt-numbing hours on a bus that did not smell great at all, and a few more episodes ofWelcome to Singledomto keep me sane, I have finally arrived at the resort. It’s only afternoon still but I’m exhausted from getting up early, and travelling is just so draining. I’m doing okay, though, just knackered, and my bum feels like it’s fused to the bus seat.
As for Caleb (well, TV Caleb, from the past) he’s currently coupled up with Sunshine Greene – who has just been voted island hottie. All the guys are consumed with the self-imposed task of seeing who can steal her from Caleb, and are starting to turn on each other to get what they want. Naturally the other girls are fuming that Sunshine Greene is getting all of the attention now. Yep, I’m talking abouttheSunshine Greene, who has only gone from strength to strength since the show finished. If I remember right, she’s getting married next year, but not to someone she met on the show. As far as I can tell from googling on the bus (thank you, free Wi-Fi), no couple fromWelcome to Singledomhas ever stayed together for long after the show ended. Cynically, some people think the contestants just use the show as a vehicle to fame, rather than to find true love. Honestly,what has the world come to when people in swimwear on reality TV shows living on a desert island aren’t in it for love?
Tom was right, La Coquelicot Blanche (yes, I have practised saying it in my best French accent) really is like its own little village. The higher you climb to get there, the more picturesque it becomes. The vibrant green fields gradually disappear in favour of a regular winter wonderland. The bus winds its way up narrow roads, the scenery transitioning from lush valleys to snow-kissed mountains – I feel like I’ve just wandered into a Christmas romcom movie because, seeing as though ’tis the season, the place is wrapped up in fairy lights.
Finally, we pull up outside the main hotel. The air is crisp and cold, the kind of cold that makes your nose run and makes you wish you’d packed more thermal underwear – or booked to go to Hawaii instead. There’s snow gathered at the sides of the paths – does that mean it’s going or that more is coming? – but looking up at the mountains confirms that there’s plenty more where that came from. It’s almost a shame that I can’t ski, and that I promised Tom I wouldn’t even try, because I bet the view from up there is unreal.
The hotel is a stunning, postcard-worthy building. It looks modern and fancy, while still looking like it’s been here forever, like it’s a part of the landscape.
Looking around the other areas, I feel like I’m inside a snow globe, complete with gently falling tiny snowflakes that have just started dancing around in the air. The crisp, cold air smells of pine trees and snow, and the faint aroma of woodsmoke wafting from the chimneys of the cute little chalets scattered around the grounds. Each chalet is adorned with festive lights and wreaths. I kind of wish I was staying in one of those.
As beautiful as it is, though, it’s bloody freezing. I need to get inside and get warm ASAP. As I walk further into the resort, towards the hotel entrance, there is something to admirein every direction. Icicles hang from the eaves of the buildings, glistening like crystal Christmas tree ornaments. The paths are meticulously cleared, with just enough snow left behind at the sides to make you feel like it’s a winter wonderland. There are small clusters of people gathered around outdoor firepits, bundled up in big coats and cosy blankets and sipping steaming mugs of hot chocolate or mulled wine – I just caught a whiff of the latter – their laughter and chat filling the air with a friendly, festive vibe.
I spot a hotel employee standing at a wooden desk just inside the doorway of the hotel entrance. He’s wearing a uniform – but one that looks more comfortable and warm than I’ve ever seen a hotel receptionist wear anywhere else.
‘Hello,’ I say, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel. ‘I’m Amber Page. I’ve booked in for the writers’ retreat.’
The man smiles warmly as he checks the system.
‘Ah, you are staying in the château,’ he tells me. ‘I will call someone to escort you there.’
I thank him and stand with my case, feeling a bit like a lost puppy, waiting for someone to appear. Soon enough, a small winter-friendly buggy-type thing pulls up alongside me.
‘Madame, I will be taking you to the château,’ the driver says, his French accent making everything sound all the more glamorous.
‘Merci,’ I reply, breaking out one of the few French words I know.
The man places my case in the back while I climb into the passenger seat – which I’m delighted to report is a heated one.
‘How was your journey?’ he asks as we drive along the snowy path.
‘It was good, but I’m knackered,’ I tell him.
The man, who is clearly French, doesn’t seem to know the word ‘knackered’ because he gives me a funny look before taking that as his cue to drop the small talk.
It’s only a short drive – a matter of minutes – along a tree-lined road that looks almost suspiciously picturesque. Snow-covered branches arch overhead, and twinkling lights are strung up along the path, leading the way for us. Finally the château comes into view, and… wow.
The château is stunning. A shady driveway leads to a large gravel parking area next to the main building. It continues towards a courtyard, where the woods give way to a large clearing that is crying out to be explored. A second path, followed by a flight of steps, leads to an elevated outdoor socialising area overlooking the forest. On the other side, a small old chapel is tucked away beneath the trees. The château itself is big – much bigger than I expected – with creamy-coloured walls and an ornate slate roof, like something out of a fairy tale. The dormer windows, the two large turrets – it’s exactly what you imagine when you think of a classic French château.
‘Your room is number four,’ the driver tells me as we come to a stop. ‘Would you like me to carry your baggage inside?’
I don’t think anyone could carry my baggage for me – oh, he means my case.
‘No, that’s okay,merciagain,’ I say, my sentence a mess of English and French, but he just smiles and nods.
Standing outside, I take a moment to admireeverything. It’s the kind of place you see on Instagram, where influencers pose in perfectly curated outfits, looking like they’re having the time of their lives, making everyone else wish they were there. The gravel crunches under my boots as I make my way to the entrance, the cold air sinking into my bones now that I’m no longer snuggling into the heated seat.
I step inside the large, wooden front door and already I can hear the sound of women laughing and, yep, glasses clinking. It’s a welcoming sound, for sure, I just hope that I can fit in. The hallway is grand, with high ceilings and a massive chandelier that looks like it’s made of ice crystals – a nice nod to the weather outside. There’s a roaring fire in the hearth, which starts thawing me out right away. So long as I can sit in this room, with this fire, at least I know I’ll be okay. I’m such a baby when it comes to the cold.
I know I should probably pop in and say hello to my new (temporary) housemates, but I think I’ll find my room first, put my case there, and throw on another jumper because I’m freezing.
Then I’ll go find the others, say hi, and get a glass of wine of my own. Something tells me that I’m going to need it.
