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.
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