The French Bastards
It is true that most searches start in an unusual way. Georgina’s story is no exception. It all started a year earlier, with a cancelled Airbnb reservation.
January 2025.
Georgina, a successful entrepreneur from London and mother of two, had decided to live her lifelong Parisian dream for a few months. She booked a mid-term rental I was managing at the time. Due to an issue with the owner, I unfortunately had to cancel her stay. Instead of only sending a polite apology and moving on, I invited her for a coffee. To my surprise, she accepted.
We discussed her plan to live in Paris for a few months, what she was looking for and her lifestyle. I recommended other rental companies she could look at. She eventually found another place, lived her Parisian dream, and went back to London. I kept in touch through a few WhatsApp messages as she began her stay.
Then, a little over a year later, on April 6th, the phone buzzed. A WhatsApp message from Georgina.
“I loved my time in Paris. I’m coming back constantly. I want to buy a permanent base.”
Georgina’s initial brief was incredibly precise, and a little out of step with the market. She wanted a traditional Parisian building, high ceilings, wooden floors, plenty of natural light, perhaps a balcony and a parking space, and a location preferably in the Marais. Some renovation work was possible, but not too much.
But she also had one non-negotiable obsession: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two toilets.
While this might sound like a standard request in a larger apartment, in a 70-square-metre historic Parisian apartment it is an architectural anomaly. The few properties that ticked these boxes were “flips”, apartments entirely redesigned by developers specifically to be sold at a premium to foreign buyers.
I was either looking for a Parisian unicorn, or I had to focus on renovation projects, as the real value in Paris lies in finding the right bones and doing the work yourself. Georgina agreed to take on a light renovation project.
The search moved at lightning speed. By mid-April, Georgina was in Paris, on my birthday, no less, to visit three carefully selected apartments. She fell in love with one in the 9th arrondissement, where a second bathroom and toilet would need to be added.
The next day, I boarded a plane to Japan for my three-week honeymoon.
If you think a 14-hour flight and a 7-hour time difference slow down a real estate transaction, you haven't seen MADLEN in action. From Tokyo and Kyoto, I debriefed the viewings, formulated a full-price cash offer, and negotiated the final details. I found a bilingual notary and sourced a cross-border tax lawyer to ensure Georgina was perfectly protected.
When I returned to Paris, I brought in my contractors. To fit that crucial second bathroom and toilet, the work required connecting to an old, condemned drainage pipe that once serviced a maid's room.
Technically, it was possible. Legally, it required the approval of the building’s co-ownership assembly, a requirement I learned about only the day before the promesse de vente.
The assembly was scheduled for June 23rd. The signing of the promesse de vente was set for May 29th. Everyone, including the building manager, was confident the vote would pass. But Georgina did not want to buy the apartment if she could not add that second bathroom, so I suggested adding a suspensive condition to the contract: if the assembly said no, Georgina could walk away.
On the day of the promesse de vente, I arrived at the notary's office. The sellers, a family handling an estate, were supposed to be represented by proxy. To my surprise, they were sitting in the room. The night before, their agent had already told me they were unhappy with our last minute request.
When we reached the suspensive condition, the atmosphere froze. The sellers had accepted Georgina’s offer because it was a cash deal with no financing conditions. They wanted a fast, clean break. Despite the assembly being less than a month away, and despite the obvious logic that putting the property back on the market would take much longer, they stepped out of the room, conferred with their notary, and came back with a single word: No.
Georgina asked for the weekend to think.
On Monday, I received her final answer. “I'm walking away. I want to move on. I'll be in Paris this Friday and Saturday. Let's find something else.”
She was increasing her budget to include her previous renovation allowance, and she now wanted something already renovated.
I had exactly five days to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
I organized a marathon of seven viewings over 48 hours. On Friday, she saw an apartment in the 2nd arrondissement. On Saturday afternoon, she asked to see it again.
It was tucked away in a quiet, very green courtyard, flooded with natural light through numerous tall windows. It was close to the life of Montorgueil, yet hidden enough to be a quiet retreat. It already had two toilets. It only needed the second bathroom added.
The irony? Despite her new mandate for a fully renovated place, she chose a property that needed work. The heart wants what it wants.
But there was another detail. A tiny, seemingly insignificant detail that I believe sealed the deal. Just around the corner from the apartment was a branch of The French Bastards, a bakery Georgina absolutely loved and used to visit with her sons during her trips to Paris. In the highly emotional process of buying a home abroad, finding a familiar, comforting landmark at the end of your street is sometimes all it takes to make a place feel like it’s meant to be yours.
She made an offer. It was accepted.
The new promesse de vente was signed at the end of June, after a minor water leak from the upstairs neighbour had been dealt with just days before.
The next day, I flew to Greece for a four-day wedding.
On Monday, sitting at the airport gate waiting for boarding, my phone rang. It was the seller's agent.
The seller was a family-owned company. The father, who owned exactly 1% of the shares and was a Swiss resident, had passed away over the weekend.
Suddenly, a smooth August completion was threatened by the looming shadow of a Swiss inheritance process that could take months. As if that wasn't enough, Georgina’s architect discovered that an exterior chimney flue might contain asbestos, triggering a frantic debate over who was financially responsible for its removal.
But Georgina was determined to move on quickly. I coordinated relentlessly with the notaries, the agent, and the lawyers. The chimney was classified as a communal building issue, and the notaries found a legal pathway to proceed with the sale without waiting for the Swiss estate to settle.
On August 5th, exactly four months after that initial WhatsApp message, a cancelled deal, a honeymoon in Japan, a wedding in Greece, a Swiss inheritance scare, and a phantom asbestos chimney, Georgina and I sat in the notary's office to finalise the sale. I brought my usual celebratory box of madeleines, a nod to the MADLEN name.
Looking back, Georgina’s journey perfectly encapsulates what MADLEN is all about. Buying a second home is never just a transaction. It is a deeply emotional pursuit disguised as a financial investment. It requires resilience, a cool head during unexpected plot twists, and a deep understanding of what truly matters to the client.
Sometimes, what matters is a bulletproof legal clause.
And sometimes, it’s just knowing that the best croissants in Paris are waiting for you at the end of your street.
Your Search is Over. Ours Has Just Begun.
If, like Georgina, you are considering buying a home in Paris, contact us and let’s talk about your plans.