with the estate agent. If he hadn't been with her, she knew she would have been dealt with by a junior clerk at the front desk, not ushered into the office of one of the partners.
And it wasn't because, in making the appointment by telephone, he had given his title or said he was ringing from Cranmere—they knew him only as Mr Gardiner. But he was the kind of man—she couldn't deny it—who, by something in his air and manner, commanded respectful attention. He might repudiate his heritage, but he could never rid himself of the innate authority bred from generations of power and influence.
Mr Watts, the partner who attended to them, was a bald man who tried to disguise this by carefully smarming his hair sideways. His manner was professionally genial.
'As it happens, we have a very nice elderly couple who are looking for somewhere to rent in your area,' the agent told her. 'They spent their working life in Africa. For the past seven years, they've been living in retirement in Spain, but they feel that now, in their seventies, they should come back to England. They're planning to build a small house, but it may take some time. If you're agreeable to a year's lease, they could be ideal tenants for you, Miss Roberts.'
The idea of renting, rather than selling in haste, was more appealing to her. She felt the cottage was a sheet-anchor which, if the worst came to the worst—and she had no specific calamity in mind, only a vague unease—she and Emily would have in reserve. Although if there were tenants living in it, they themselves wouldn't be able to live there until the lease had expired.
'I think you had better come and look at the place, and then advise Miss Roberts about an appropriate rent and the price she could expect if she sold it, Mr Watts,' said James Gardiner.
Summer felt sure that, had she been on her own, Mr Watts would have agreed to do this—when he had time. It was only a two-bedroomed cottage from which, if he did sell it for her, he wouldn't derive much commission.
But with James Gardiner as her spokesman, the agent said, 'Yes, by all means. In fact I can come over later this afternoon, if that would suit you.'
'That would be splendid,' she said gratefully, giving him one of the smiles only seen by people who didn't make her feel self-conscious.
As he rose to show them out, he said, 'How long have you had your cottage, Miss Roberts?'
'It was left to me a year ago, but I've lived there for twelve years.'
'Ah, then you know the village well. Have you heard any rumours about Cranmere?'
'Rumours?' she echoed guardedly.
'About what's going to happen to it. There's no male heir, I understand, only an invalid daughter.'
She said, 'I don't have much to do with the village people. If there are rumours going about, I haven't heard them.'
'Let's hope it doesn't go the same way as Mentmore, the Rothschild mansion,' he said. That's now the headquarters of some strange religious cult, you know. The Government should have bought it for the nation. A sad loss to our heritage... a very sad loss.'
'Crocodile tears!' was James Gardiner's caustic comment a few minutes later, when they were outside in the street. 'If I asked Watts to handle the sale of Cranmere, he'd be only too delighted. Agents don't worry about other people's reverses if they can benefit from them.'
'Isn't that rather unfair? He provides a service which people need.'
He glanced sideways at her. 'That's the second time you've accused me of unfairness. I think if we're going to have dealings for a number of years, you'd better accept from the start that I'm not and never was a model of the English public school ethic of fair play and a stiff upper lip at all times.'
For the third time that afternoon she spoke without thinking.
'That was clear from the outset,' she informed him tartly. And then gave a smothered gasp as she realised she was speaking to her employer.
Far from looking annoyed, he laughed. 'I like you better when you speak your
And it wasn't because, in making the appointment by telephone, he had given his title or said he was ringing from Cranmere—they knew him only as Mr Gardiner. But he was the kind of man—she couldn't deny it—who, by something in his air and manner, commanded respectful attention. He might repudiate his heritage, but he could never rid himself of the innate authority bred from generations of power and influence.
Mr Watts, the partner who attended to them, was a bald man who tried to disguise this by carefully smarming his hair sideways. His manner was professionally genial.
'As it happens, we have a very nice elderly couple who are looking for somewhere to rent in your area,' the agent told her. 'They spent their working life in Africa. For the past seven years, they've been living in retirement in Spain, but they feel that now, in their seventies, they should come back to England. They're planning to build a small house, but it may take some time. If you're agreeable to a year's lease, they could be ideal tenants for you, Miss Roberts.'
The idea of renting, rather than selling in haste, was more appealing to her. She felt the cottage was a sheet-anchor which, if the worst came to the worst—and she had no specific calamity in mind, only a vague unease—she and Emily would have in reserve. Although if there were tenants living in it, they themselves wouldn't be able to live there until the lease had expired.
'I think you had better come and look at the place, and then advise Miss Roberts about an appropriate rent and the price she could expect if she sold it, Mr Watts,' said James Gardiner.
Summer felt sure that, had she been on her own, Mr Watts would have agreed to do this—when he had time. It was only a two-bedroomed cottage from which, if he did sell it for her, he wouldn't derive much commission.
But with James Gardiner as her spokesman, the agent said, 'Yes, by all means. In fact I can come over later this afternoon, if that would suit you.'
'That would be splendid,' she said gratefully, giving him one of the smiles only seen by people who didn't make her feel self-conscious.
As he rose to show them out, he said, 'How long have you had your cottage, Miss Roberts?'
'It was left to me a year ago, but I've lived there for twelve years.'
'Ah, then you know the village well. Have you heard any rumours about Cranmere?'
'Rumours?' she echoed guardedly.
'About what's going to happen to it. There's no male heir, I understand, only an invalid daughter.'
She said, 'I don't have much to do with the village people. If there are rumours going about, I haven't heard them.'
'Let's hope it doesn't go the same way as Mentmore, the Rothschild mansion,' he said. That's now the headquarters of some strange religious cult, you know. The Government should have bought it for the nation. A sad loss to our heritage... a very sad loss.'
'Crocodile tears!' was James Gardiner's caustic comment a few minutes later, when they were outside in the street. 'If I asked Watts to handle the sale of Cranmere, he'd be only too delighted. Agents don't worry about other people's reverses if they can benefit from them.'
'Isn't that rather unfair? He provides a service which people need.'
He glanced sideways at her. 'That's the second time you've accused me of unfairness. I think if we're going to have dealings for a number of years, you'd better accept from the start that I'm not and never was a model of the English public school ethic of fair play and a stiff upper lip at all times.'
For the third time that afternoon she spoke without thinking.
'That was clear from the outset,' she informed him tartly. And then gave a smothered gasp as she realised she was speaking to her employer.
Far from looking annoyed, he laughed. 'I like you better when you speak your
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