The plot came flat, wet at the north corner, and full of palms nobody wanted to move. We didn't move them.
The house is a set of pavilions joined by shaded walks, each turned a few degrees off its neighbour to catch the maestrale and lose the afternoon glare. Water runs through the plan — a long pool laid parallel to the shore, so the palms read twice.
By the second summer the grove had closed back over the roofs, which was the intention.
