The air is warm and gentle, and the evening does what long, balmy summer evenings will. It casts a spell. Not that it needs to – this rural French setting is enchanting enough. We’re in the grounds of a manor house – a grand edifice that’s peeling and faded but all the more charming for it.
A makeshift bar runs across the great entrance to the house, selling wine, beer and plates of cured ham, cheese and bread still warm from the oven. The eccentric outdoor lighting – over-sized modern lampshades on wooden stands placed at intervals on the lawn – casts a glow over the scene. We sip and we chat, heady on wine and excitement. Dogs stare hopefully at half-empty plates, and children squeal and chase one another among the wooden tables. On this sultry August evening, in a place that is more dimly lit theatre-set than garden, it’s easy to believe
