Monsieur Detroit turns on the charm again

Mrs S seemed quite full of anticipation as we drove to meet Monsieur Detroit. I could not decide whether this was some form of extra-sensory perception concerning the house we were to view or whether it was the thought of Monsieur D's Gallic charm and youthful good looks being brought to bear. We were a few minutes early arriving at the agency, and as we approached I was surprised to see the door open apparently of its own volition. But it was not an electronic sensor that had started the mechanical action, merely a French estate agent who thought he might just be onto a good thing.

By now it must have penetrated into Monsieur D's mind that although we were serious buyers, we didn't have serious cash. But perhaps the housing market was going through a slow patch and any sale would be welcome: even our meagre budget would produce some commission. No matter, the charm was switched on to maximum.



We drove off to a village about twenty minutes away, collecting the keys from a notaire's office situated in a small town on the way. As we pulled up, I noticed the high, chain-link fencing on top of the walls, and a pair of gates that looked capable of containing a herd of rampaging bulls. Not a very auspicious start. It didn't help, either, that Monsieur D was unable to find a key to the gates on the large bunch that he had acquired from the notaire. After he had tried each one at least three times, he admitted defeat. We stood around outside while our Gallic guide returned to the notaire for guidance, or another key, but it was really not long at all before we were forcing back the gates against a much-overgrown rose bush and trampling across the courtyard through a forest of weeds and dead leaves to a pair of shutters held closed by a strategically-placed breeze-block.