Be lord of the Manoir

We built our first house in the South of France. It was a Modernist, steel-and-glass, single storey construction, made from parts manufactured in the UK and shipped down in a container.

The land was a terraced orange grove, between St Paul de Vence and Grasse, at the foot of the hilltop village of Gourdon. It supplied blossom for the local parfumeries, a tradition we continued when my wife harvested the flowers and sold them to the local wholesaler by the sack load.

The land had been owned by a local peasant family for generations and it was our first introduction to the major differences in French law. The owner had died leaving 11 children spread around the world. The actes de vente (deeds of sale) required all of their signatures, which took months, as the sale contract was forwarded to each of them in turn. Several of the adult children couldn't write and the contract eventually returned marked with several crosses.

We are both French speakers and thought we would cope easily, but we were wrong. In France all sales have to pass through a notaire (solicitor). Notaires are among the wealthiest people in France, and the system allows for considerable abuse.

Unlike the English system, French notaires are authorised to act for both parties and usually no other lawyers are involved, but we learned it was a mistake not to get our own legal advice.

We decided to sell the land we no longer needed but unknown to us, the vendor's wife was divorcing him and had taken out a legal charge over all his assets, including our land. This meant we couldn't sell it. Theoretically, we shouldn't have been allowed to buy it either, but the vendor had stated that he wasn't in the process of a divorce, and the notaire hadn't stopped him. Who was acting for him in his divorce? You guessed it: the same notaire. It took us a further 13 lawyers and many years before the situation was resolved.

The second time we decided to invest in property in France, in the village of Hucqueliers, in Pas de Calais, we took great care. We went into partnership with two other English families in order to buy the entire estate, which includes a grange and a cottage, as well as the manor.

Taking advice from a firm of London-based notaires, De Pinna, we set up a French company - called an SCI - and instructed another British lawyer to prepare a shareholder's agreement that allocates each property between us, while the substantial gardens are used communally. This arrangement has dramatically reduced our outgoings as well as making it easier to sell: since we are transferring shares, the fees and taxes are considerably reduced and no longer subject to inheritance rules.

Le Manoir de la Longeville is a fairy-tale 17th century manor house. Set around a courtyard and with its own well and a huge back garden, it takes only 45 minutes from the Chunnel.

During our first few summers, our children had the excitement of seeing it used as the location for the ITV sitcom French Fields. But the kids no longer spend their holidays with us, and it's time to move on, which is why our share of the property - the manor house - is now for sale.

We've had a great time during our 14 years at Le Manoir. Sitting in front of the huge fireplace loaded with flaming logs beats television any day. And if five bedrooms aren't enough, there's always the gamekeeper's cottage next door, which has its own bread oven. The village has a thriving supermarket, a baker's, two cafés and a small hotel. We'll miss it.

De Pinna produces a leaflet for people considering buying abroad called Ten Traps to Avoid. The company can be contacted at 31 Piccadilly, London W1J 0LJ (020 7208 2900).
Caesar's Passage by Andrew Smyth (Calypso Press, £12.95) is on sale now.