Low life | 13 August 2011

I don’t think any of us were really that interested in being shown over his 14th-century chateau, and very quickly it was clear that neither did he really want to show it to us. But a personally guided tour of his chateau was on our itinerary, and presumably a fee had been agreed, perhaps when he was in a more expansive mood, and the time had come for him to meet his obligation.

We decanted from the minibus and gathered under a tree, five of us, on the far side of his courtyard, and after a few minutes he came crunching across the gravel. He was a tallish, broad-shouldered man in a blue, well-tailored shirt, faun slacks and tasteful loafers. He was about 40, his hair had been beautifully scissored and he spoke English better than I do.

His handshakes, though, were perfunctory. There was not even a hint of a welcoming smile or a word of welcome. He just plunged straight into his spiel. Was this the famous French hauteur at last? If it was, I was glad it was on the itinerary.

Throughout his introductory spiel he referred repeatedly to a ‘business partner’. They had bought the place together, they lived there and they were painstakingly restoring it with their own cash. Maybe living in a 14th-century chateau had gone to his head and made him imagine he was a 14th-century aristocrat, and fair enough. But if he objected to mixing with peasantry, then why volunteer to personally show us around his home? It was baffling.

It was rare in France, apparently, to find a 14th-century chateau that was unfortified, in its original condition and still lived in. He led us down into a vaulted wine cellar beneath an outbuilding and we stood in the coldness and gaped politely at the pillars and the intricate stone arches.