On Saturday morning, we set off for the market in Cahors, with Betty in her customary seat. Among the stalls of fresh fruit and vegetables, fish and flowers, we find an African shopping basket as a gift for Marion, and we taste local wines, settling on two bottles of Malbec from Quercy. Erwan told us that the Malbec grape (so favoured in Argentina) is more commonly used in France than might appear, because it's sometimes called Cot. There are many English voices among the shoppers.
At lunch on the edge of the market place, Eva spots Australian friends who have recently bought a neighbouring house. One of them is a cinematographer and has created a portfolio of stills of Tim's Indian paintings.
On the way out of Cahors, we stop to look at the oldest fort bridge in France. It's closed to traffic, though Tim can remember when lorries lumbered along its narrow lanes. Eva tells us of the legend that its architect sold his soul to the devil; high up on one of its towers sits a stone diable.
In the evening, we have aperitifs and dinner en plein air at the home of some friends of Tim and Eva, in the shade of a broad fig tree. Beyond the curtain of fine spray from the sprinklers, the garden shelves away to fields of sunflowers.
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