A Book, A Daybed And A Cup Of Coffee

The harsh chill of winter has abruptly arrived. At home the thin sunlight is cruelly rationed by the Lyttelton hills and the now glacial garden does not beckon like it did a few months ago. The frosted shadows linger during these short hibernal days and the bitter wind ushers me indoors where I wander the house with a book in my hand searching for a serendipitous patch of sunshine or the most comfortable chair closest to the fire. Matariki weekend provided the perfect excuse to while away a few hours - cosy and warm and cradled by the velvet cushions on our settee I turned the pages of my book as the skeletal branches of the birch tree cross hatched the steel grey sky.

Finding the perfect reading spot is quite a critical pursuit - the right amount of dappled light, appropriate comfort and temperature, attractive surroundings and risk of interruption all need to be carefully considered and just occasionally all the elements fall into place and we find ourselves in an indulgent bookish bliss.

Our visits to Europe have inevitably involved visiting many English stately manors and French châteaux and I have always noticed with envy the abundant, seemingly perfect reading spots that grace such homes - an exquisite daybed placed perhaps in the bay window of a paneled Renaissance bedroom or a forgotten corner of a resplendent living room with a view across the landscaped park to the woods beyond. These beautiful and covetable daybeds were designed with the specific intention to rest and read and are always positioned in the most magnificent settings - finding the perfect spot to read was perhaps a little less challenging for the nobility of the past.

As I arrange the deconstructed, 19th century, French daybed to be photographed and pile the Victor Hugo books at its side I am aware that I am endeavouring to create yet another perfect spot to read. The afternoon sun will be round soon yet it is chilly, I pause to make a cup of coffee to warm me as I work and a memory imbued with coffee and daybeds crosses my mind - a long ago visit to the beautiful Château de Grignan in the Drôme.

It was autumn and the beginnings of an ice laden Mistral drove us into a small, dimly lit cafe as we walked through the town of Grignan towards the château. Inside the café the pervasive scent of coffee was tinged with a curious pungent smell, woody and dank like the smell of history. As we sat on the deep red, time worn banquettes clasping our steaming coffee and waiting for the warmth to seep through and restore some feeling to our fingers we noticed an elderly man seated at a table next to us with an intriguing sack-like bundle tied up with string. After a short while he was joined by a younger, rugged looking man in dungarees and the bundle was untied revealing a haphazard pile of large and dusty truffles, densely black like nuggets of coal. The musty odour intensified and a small set of brass scales emerged, we watched entranced as the ritual of the truffle transaction proceeded.

The château loomed at the top of the hill partly shrouded in cloud, we arrived after an arctic ascent and wandered the Renaissance interiors through parquet hallways and across cold flagstone floors leading at times into more intimate, beautifully furnished rooms. This imposing château was once the residence of the Comtesse de Grignan, Francoise Marguerite de Sévigné - the daughter of the infamous Madame de Sévigné. Madame Sévigné missed her daughter acutely when she relocated to Grignan and wrote a voluminous amount of letters to her recounting her day to day life in Paris. There are some 1700 surviving letters which remain a valuable archive of 17th century quotidian Parisian life. Scattered throughout the château there were so many beautiful settings just perfect for reading - silk covered bergères and tapestry settees, a daybed strategically positioned before a clear lead light window with an expansive view of the forested Drôme  - the autumnal leaves like a fiery and ephemeral carpet covering the valley below. For the duration of the visit I envisaged the Comtesse de Grignan seated or reclining in myriad rooms leisurely reading the prolific letters from her Maman while the ferocious and unrelenting Mistral whipped around the stone turrets outside.

Our featured daybed was, I am sure, someone’s favourite spot to read in 19th century France and would now be the perfect place to read in a modern interior.  A book, a daybed and a cup of coffee  - the ingredients for the most perfect afternoon.

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