highest possible price. If her earnings were commission-based, she probably needed it.
Nathan wasn't paid on commission, but a proportion of the reps'
salary was, and he knew well what kind of anxiety it could cause especially in the slow, dead months after Christmas. (That's why the reps loved Valentine's Day, and were beginning to like Easter, too.) The tea arrived. It came in a bone-china cup and saucer, which Nathan thought a nice touch, except the saucer was chipped.
Nathan felt it coming back - the ability to do this.
He smiled at her. The smile ignited something inside him, some kind of reserve.
Holly produced an A4 file. His name was clipped to it with a giant paper clip. It contained about thirty sheets of A4, which she flicked through. She removed one or two pages from the sheaf, frowning as if in profound concentration. Then she scrunched the pages into a ball and dumped them in the waste-paper basket.
By such demonstration of mental effort was created the sense of a 'fully bespoke service' as promised in the firm's advertisement.
She showed him the details of three Victorian houses, two flats in Victorian conversions and one loft-style apartment in an area of town he would have feared to visit, let alone live in. The asking price for each property was just slightly above the absolute maximum Nathan had given - this was a trick he hadn't anticipated but which in retrospect looked obvious.
He told her he wasn't really interested in loft style apartment living, and he told her that - although the brushed-metal door handles were very alluring - the flats did seem rather overpriced. That left the three houses. All of them were on different streets in the same estate, all of them were owned by the same property developer.
'Would you like to view them?'
'That would be great. If you don't mind.'
'Not at all. Excuse me, just for a moment.'
She came back with a butterscotch mac slung over her forearm and a small, expensive-looking handbag in her hand. She wore a ring on the third finger of her right hand (a solitaire diamond set in platinum) and a fine chain round her neck, but no other jewellery. She wore good perfume. Nathan thought of a department store.
He followed her through the back of the office, past the tiny, rather grubby kitchen where his tea had been made, and through a rear door that opened on to a muddy yard in which were parked a number of cars. Holly skipped along the edges of shallow puddles, making a disgusted face, saying, 'Icf'
Then she unlocked a black Volkswagen Golf and sat at the wheel.
Nathan buckled himself in the front passenger seat, saying, 'Nice car.'
Holly was looking over her shoulder, reversing into the road.
Concentrating, she said, 'It's a bit of an estate agent's car, really.'
'Isn't that what you are?'
With a few aggressive manoeuvres, passing the wheel through her hands like a rally driver, she nudged and lurched and then sped into the traffic. She held up a practised, dismissively regal hand to thank the van driver who'd been forced on pain of sudden death to let her in.
She turned on the radio. Nathan seldom listened to the radio any more - being able to imagine the psychopathology of the DJ always spoiled it for him. Then Holly's mobile phone went and she took the call - which consisted mainly of her saying: Yes. Yes. When? Not really.
Okay. Well, see if you can - while driving with one hand as speedily as the laws of physics, rather than the laws of the land, permitted.
Exactly as the details suggested, the first house fronted on to a 'quiet, tree-lined street'. But the details had neglected to mention that it stood next to an electricity substation that hummed in a feline and sinister fashion. Its garden backed, via a decrepit wooden fence, directly on to a railway line.
Holly led him through the front door. The house was dark. There was darkness at the top of the stairs, and darkness at the end of the hall. He pretended to examine the external door frame
Nathan wasn't paid on commission, but a proportion of the reps'
salary was, and he knew well what kind of anxiety it could cause especially in the slow, dead months after Christmas. (That's why the reps loved Valentine's Day, and were beginning to like Easter, too.) The tea arrived. It came in a bone-china cup and saucer, which Nathan thought a nice touch, except the saucer was chipped.
Nathan felt it coming back - the ability to do this.
He smiled at her. The smile ignited something inside him, some kind of reserve.
Holly produced an A4 file. His name was clipped to it with a giant paper clip. It contained about thirty sheets of A4, which she flicked through. She removed one or two pages from the sheaf, frowning as if in profound concentration. Then she scrunched the pages into a ball and dumped them in the waste-paper basket.
By such demonstration of mental effort was created the sense of a 'fully bespoke service' as promised in the firm's advertisement.
She showed him the details of three Victorian houses, two flats in Victorian conversions and one loft-style apartment in an area of town he would have feared to visit, let alone live in. The asking price for each property was just slightly above the absolute maximum Nathan had given - this was a trick he hadn't anticipated but which in retrospect looked obvious.
He told her he wasn't really interested in loft style apartment living, and he told her that - although the brushed-metal door handles were very alluring - the flats did seem rather overpriced. That left the three houses. All of them were on different streets in the same estate, all of them were owned by the same property developer.
'Would you like to view them?'
'That would be great. If you don't mind.'
'Not at all. Excuse me, just for a moment.'
She came back with a butterscotch mac slung over her forearm and a small, expensive-looking handbag in her hand. She wore a ring on the third finger of her right hand (a solitaire diamond set in platinum) and a fine chain round her neck, but no other jewellery. She wore good perfume. Nathan thought of a department store.
He followed her through the back of the office, past the tiny, rather grubby kitchen where his tea had been made, and through a rear door that opened on to a muddy yard in which were parked a number of cars. Holly skipped along the edges of shallow puddles, making a disgusted face, saying, 'Icf'
Then she unlocked a black Volkswagen Golf and sat at the wheel.
Nathan buckled himself in the front passenger seat, saying, 'Nice car.'
Holly was looking over her shoulder, reversing into the road.
Concentrating, she said, 'It's a bit of an estate agent's car, really.'
'Isn't that what you are?'
With a few aggressive manoeuvres, passing the wheel through her hands like a rally driver, she nudged and lurched and then sped into the traffic. She held up a practised, dismissively regal hand to thank the van driver who'd been forced on pain of sudden death to let her in.
She turned on the radio. Nathan seldom listened to the radio any more - being able to imagine the psychopathology of the DJ always spoiled it for him. Then Holly's mobile phone went and she took the call - which consisted mainly of her saying: Yes. Yes. When? Not really.
Okay. Well, see if you can - while driving with one hand as speedily as the laws of physics, rather than the laws of the land, permitted.
Exactly as the details suggested, the first house fronted on to a 'quiet, tree-lined street'. But the details had neglected to mention that it stood next to an electricity substation that hummed in a feline and sinister fashion. Its garden backed, via a decrepit wooden fence, directly on to a railway line.
Holly led him through the front door. The house was dark. There was darkness at the top of the stairs, and darkness at the end of the hall. He pretended to examine the external door frame
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