We first spotted the church at Montcabrier on a hill high above us. What appeared at a distance to be a ruin, a lone triangular wall with holes where windows had been, was actually the very intact church's very intact bell tower.
Inside, it was cool and dark, but my camera cheerfully did whatever internal processing it does to make it seem as if the interior glowed with a miraculous inner light.
Gretchen, who knew that Deb had fallen in love with this part of France, called me over to take a picture of a little place for sale, right next to the church. She had me make sure to get the sign with the real estate agency's phone number into the shot, so we could call and find out the price. I dutifully framed the shot, and we called the number a week later while we were in Paris.
The perfect ending would be that we bought the house and lived in the southwest of France happily ever after, as I could easily imagine sipping Cahors wine while sitting in the little courtyard of our little place in Montcabrier, overlooking the church and the town square.
The less perfect ending would be that we didn't ... quite ... have the Euros necessary to buy the little house. And our time in the Lot region was nearly up.
Our consolation would be a week in Paris.
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