Briefed by a Lawyer - Fat Dogs and French Estates - page 78

iness so soon in the day, it was evidently giving him some problems. I ended by trying to
be helpful.
“By the way, should I be trying to find that dentist?”
“No! How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want a bloody French dentist
messing around with my tooth. You never know what might happen out here.”
“Right ho darling, you know best.” I replied, wondering what on earth he thought
might happen 'out here', but chose not to probe any further.
This was to be our first non-ItsWill domaine , which was a relief after the previous
day's misadventures. Our agent, James Harper, was another independent who had been
charm itself on the phone. He suggested that we should meet up in the village of Montréal
and then travel in convoy to the house where we would be met by the owner, M. Dupond.
The idea thereafter was to drive to a service station on the A61 (or E80 if one is being
deadly European) and discuss the visit over lunch. This was the route for our next hotel
and close to where James lived so the whole thing seemed very convenient. It also gave me
the sneaky opportunity to browse around the shop (under the guise of learning more about
what the local culture had to offer), in case there were any must-have local trinkets to be
bought.
In reviewing the house particulars I relied on my strong belief in the significance of
first impressions. If my instincts were correct this house was going to be a sure-fire winner.
The photographs were stunning and showed a property situated on top of a small hill. It
was located in the centre of its own land and gloriously isolated from any apparent neigh-
bours. This would be a very pleasing feature for Jack.
The other bonus was that, because the photograph showed an aerial view, it was clear
that there were no other 'hidden' buildings nearby. The interior photos of the house looked
even more promising. It was as neat as a pin (another non-renovation box ticked) and in
contrast to the previous domaine , quite modern. The impression was one of an airy interior
with (from what I could see) subtle nautical overtones.
Several of the ground floor walls were painted blue and oddly enough, decorated with
portholes. This was a bit quirky because it could hardly be billed as a seaside location but
the owners were obviously enthusiastic sailors.
Whatever blows your skirt up , I thought. I knew it wouldn't take a moment to change
some of the colour schemes if they were a bit eccentric and it was nice to note the absence
of stuffed animals.
Feeling a little smug about my masterful research I popped the photos in between
Jack's spare croissants so he could view them as he munched. After flamboyantly flicking
off stray flakes of pastry, he began to study them and finally cheered up a bit. Being one of
life's high-speed readers this took him precisely two minutes.
“Right,” he said when he'd finished. “Come on then, we have to be there at 10:00am
so let's get cracking.”