anybodee zere?’
I draw myself up to my full five foot six, tall enough to look most Frenchmen in the eye, and march out of the study to confront him.
‘ Bonjour, monsieur ,’ I say, hoping the iciness of my tone will freeze his overconfidence. But not a bit of it. With a broad smile, which displays two rows of slightly yellowing teeth, he steps across the threshold to shake my hand. I try not to blush as he gives my outfit an appraising glance, but feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as he grins appreciatively.
‘Mademoiselle. Please excuse this intrusion,’ he says in heavily accented English. ‘I am Laurent Dubois. I ’ave come to welcome you to the region and to extend my sympathies to you for the sad loss of your aunt.’ His cheerful smile and jaunty tone suggest that this sadness is somewhat less than heartfelt in his case.
‘ Merci, Monsieur Dubois, c’est très gentil ,’ I reply, continuing firmly in French. ‘Do you live nearby?’ His name is ringing a faint bell, but I can’t quite place him.
‘In Sainte Foy,’ comes the reply, again in English. ‘I ’ave known your aunt for many years.’
Suddenly the penny drops. ‘ Ah, oui , Dubois Immobilier in the rue Marceau.’
Of course. In the plate-glass window, amongst the details of properties for sale, there’s a large photo displaying the same slicked-back hair and toothy smile and beneath this the words ‘English spoken’.
With a flourish, he pulls a business card from the breast pocket of his blazer. ‘At your service, mademoiselle. If you are wishing to sell this property, I ’ave a client who might be interested in buying it. Of course, you would need to do some work on it first. The paintwork needs redoing and you may wish to consider replacing the windows with plastic frames, which are so much more desirable. The roof needs some work on it as well. I can give you the telephone number of my brother-in-law ’oo is in the building trade, if you wish.’
I’m a little startled at the directness of his approach, to say the least, and feel my face flushing again, this time with annoyance rather than embarrassment. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I’m not selling at the moment.’
‘I also ’andle rentals. Although you will still ’ave to do the repairs to get the ’ouse into a better condition. There are not many English renting long term at the moment. And without a swimming pool, it will be ’ard to get ’oliday rentals.’
‘ Merci ,’ I reply, firmly persisting with my French. It’s starting to feel like a competition to see who will submit first linguistically, and I’m damned if I’m going to be the one to give in. ‘But I’m not renting either. I’m going to live here.’
Laurent Dubois looks me up and down approvingly once again and this time his gaze is, frankly, lascivious. ‘ Bravo, mademoiselle , that is good news for our little corner of the world. And you will still need the services of my brother-in-law no doubt. But per’aps I can be of assistance in ’andling the necessary works for you.’ As if to demonstrate his ’andling skills here and now, he pauses to place a slightly damp hand on my bare arm, just a little too near the cotton of my halter-neck top which suddenly feels dangerously flimsy.
I look down at his hand with what I hope is eloquent disdain, but he doesn’t remove it. Okay, no more Mrs Nice Guy. I take his sticky paw between thumb and forefinger and firmly remove it, raising my eyebrows and looking pointedly at his gold wedding ring. ‘ Vraiment , Monsieur Dubois , I assure you I have no need of the services of either you or your brother-in-law, nor anyone else just at present. My aunt lived in this house for over thirty years and if it was okay for her, it’s okay for me. Now thank you for your visit, but if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. My regards to Madame Dubois. Au revoir .’ And I usher him firmly out of the door.
The estate agent, apparently unabashed,
I draw myself up to my full five foot six, tall enough to look most Frenchmen in the eye, and march out of the study to confront him.
‘ Bonjour, monsieur ,’ I say, hoping the iciness of my tone will freeze his overconfidence. But not a bit of it. With a broad smile, which displays two rows of slightly yellowing teeth, he steps across the threshold to shake my hand. I try not to blush as he gives my outfit an appraising glance, but feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as he grins appreciatively.
‘Mademoiselle. Please excuse this intrusion,’ he says in heavily accented English. ‘I am Laurent Dubois. I ’ave come to welcome you to the region and to extend my sympathies to you for the sad loss of your aunt.’ His cheerful smile and jaunty tone suggest that this sadness is somewhat less than heartfelt in his case.
‘ Merci, Monsieur Dubois, c’est très gentil ,’ I reply, continuing firmly in French. ‘Do you live nearby?’ His name is ringing a faint bell, but I can’t quite place him.
‘In Sainte Foy,’ comes the reply, again in English. ‘I ’ave known your aunt for many years.’
Suddenly the penny drops. ‘ Ah, oui , Dubois Immobilier in the rue Marceau.’
Of course. In the plate-glass window, amongst the details of properties for sale, there’s a large photo displaying the same slicked-back hair and toothy smile and beneath this the words ‘English spoken’.
With a flourish, he pulls a business card from the breast pocket of his blazer. ‘At your service, mademoiselle. If you are wishing to sell this property, I ’ave a client who might be interested in buying it. Of course, you would need to do some work on it first. The paintwork needs redoing and you may wish to consider replacing the windows with plastic frames, which are so much more desirable. The roof needs some work on it as well. I can give you the telephone number of my brother-in-law ’oo is in the building trade, if you wish.’
I’m a little startled at the directness of his approach, to say the least, and feel my face flushing again, this time with annoyance rather than embarrassment. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I’m not selling at the moment.’
‘I also ’andle rentals. Although you will still ’ave to do the repairs to get the ’ouse into a better condition. There are not many English renting long term at the moment. And without a swimming pool, it will be ’ard to get ’oliday rentals.’
‘ Merci ,’ I reply, firmly persisting with my French. It’s starting to feel like a competition to see who will submit first linguistically, and I’m damned if I’m going to be the one to give in. ‘But I’m not renting either. I’m going to live here.’
Laurent Dubois looks me up and down approvingly once again and this time his gaze is, frankly, lascivious. ‘ Bravo, mademoiselle , that is good news for our little corner of the world. And you will still need the services of my brother-in-law no doubt. But per’aps I can be of assistance in ’andling the necessary works for you.’ As if to demonstrate his ’andling skills here and now, he pauses to place a slightly damp hand on my bare arm, just a little too near the cotton of my halter-neck top which suddenly feels dangerously flimsy.
I look down at his hand with what I hope is eloquent disdain, but he doesn’t remove it. Okay, no more Mrs Nice Guy. I take his sticky paw between thumb and forefinger and firmly remove it, raising my eyebrows and looking pointedly at his gold wedding ring. ‘ Vraiment , Monsieur Dubois , I assure you I have no need of the services of either you or your brother-in-law, nor anyone else just at present. My aunt lived in this house for over thirty years and if it was okay for her, it’s okay for me. Now thank you for your visit, but if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. My regards to Madame Dubois. Au revoir .’ And I usher him firmly out of the door.
The estate agent, apparently unabashed,
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