‘Oh! Thank you,’ she said, not sure how comfortable she felt with the idea, but grateful for the offer nonetheless. ‘Are you sure that’s all right? I mean, legally?’
‘Mais oui!’ he said. ‘I am the maire, yes! I am – ow you say – the law.’
‘Like Judge Dredd?’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind.’ She smiled and saw his mouth turn up at the corners reciprocally. ‘Just… well, thank you. I might do that. If you’re sure.’
He held out the enormous set of keys. ‘You can take zem now,’ he said. ‘But if you want I can come weeth you to ’av a proper look? Per’aps save you from le jungle, eh! There are no tigers, but maybe a wild boar, or un chat, huh?’ He mimed an animal peeping over long grass. ‘Maybe it is not safe for you!’
She grinned. ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the keys. ‘If it’s OK though, I think I’d like to have a look by myself. ‘Um… par moi-même.’
He nodded, understanding. ‘But if you are sure,’ he said. ‘And I am sorry for le jardin. It is not in a good state, eh? But the plants they grow too fast en été, um, in le summer. And the ’ouse, it has been on sales for many years. I forget for a month or more and poof! Le jardin devient une forêt!’
‘Yes, j’imagine,’ she said, worried at the fact that apparently, there had been no other interest in the property. Which didn’t bode well. But then, renovation projects weren’t for everyone, she reassured herself.
‘But, I can ’elp, yes?’ he continued. ‘My friend, he is a farmer. He can come wiv eez tondeuse – the machine for le grass cutting, yes? He will come and you will ’ave no more jungle, huh?’ He smiled, mimicking someone chopping down excess foliage with a scythe. Or at least, that’s what she decided he was doing, after feeling slightly confused at his dance-like movements.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘De rien, it iz nothing,’ he said, with yet another upward lift of his shoulders. ‘It is normale. I weel speak to ’im today and tell you when he come.’
‘Thank you. And I can pay, of course. I have… it’s no problem.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it is good.’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘And don’t worry. It iz a good house, yes? It was my grandmother’s.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry, I…’
‘No, she is still ’ere,’ he said. ‘She is not died. Just… she go to an ’ome.’
‘Right.’
‘And it iz not… this was ’er second property,’ he clarified. ‘She live in Toulouse, but when she come to see uz, she stay in de house.’
‘Ah, right.’
‘She does not come for many, many years now. Her ’ealth is not good. So, the ’ouse… it is crying… It – how you say – needs some ’elp to be better? And then since three years she ask me to sell it for ’er. But it is not easy. Then I try l’internet and ’ere you are. Someone to give the ’ouse a new life, eh? I tell my grandmother and she iz very ’appy.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad.’
He nodded at her. ‘I ’ope you will like it,’ he said. ‘It is not perfect, huh? But the price, it is good.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, very good.’
‘I will go to work now, but if you need… my number iz ’ere.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled down a mobile number. ‘You call, yes? If there is a un problème?’ That smile again.
‘Merci, oui,’ she replied, then carefully added: ‘Si j’ai une problème…’ If I have a problem.
‘Un problème,’ he corrected. ‘Problems, they are male, yes?’
She smiled. ‘OK.’ At least, she thought, the French had got that one right.
‘And les solutions, in French they are female,’ he said, smiling.
She laughed. ‘Well, not always,’ she said.
They stood for a minute in companionable silence, which suddenly became awkward. She jangled the keys purposefully. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’d better be… you know.’
‘OK, Madame Buttercup.’
‘It’s Lily.’
‘OK, Lilee. I weel see you later. And call me, yes? For any problèmes you need?’