you?”
The man had walked out from behind the desk and grabbed Jack’s hand and vigorously pumped it.
“Cecil Cauldwell of Cauldwell & Company.”
“Jack Brennan.”
“And are we looking for something …?”
“As a matter of fact …”
“An American! ” The agent interrupted. “Can tell that accent anywhere. Looking for a summer rental perhaps, or maybe …“
“Actually — thinking I might be looking for a place to purchase.”
Could Cecil’s smile get any broader? Jack didn’t think so.
“Fan-tastic! Well, you have come at the right time. Things get low sales-wise just as soon as summer fades. So perfect timing for a good buy! Please …” he gestured to a leather chair facing his desk.
Jack began thinking if there was any way to shorten his charade and still get any information from the proprietor.
Cecil had whipped out a yellow pad, grabbed a pen, and — eyes bright — looked ready to transcribe whatever Jack might say.
“Now, regarding the potential property, it would help me if I knew your, um, price range, and what particulars would be important to you.”
Jack nodded. “My price … is pretty flexible.”
Cecil made a broad ‘O’ with his lips. Perhaps interpreting ‘flexibility’ to mean equal unlimited resources.
“Then, you are looking for something in the village, or maybe a country house of some kind? Perhaps with a bit of property?”
Jack scratched his head.
“Not sure. Been living on a river barge so not too sure what I’d want.”
The words ‘river barge’ seem to have a deflating effect. Perhaps Cecil thought that someone living on a barge couldn’t possibly be looking at high-end properties. He’d be right about that.
“I did see that old Manor House. Looked damaged, needing work. Too big maybe … but I don’t know — interesting.”
Cecil’s smile faded even further. “Mogdon Manor, yes, quite in need of repair. And the property has been totally let go.”
“Would you say the house is worth much?”
Cecil laughed. “That old house? Maybe if you favour claptrap and fin de siècle that’s truly fin. ”
“And the grounds?”
“Different story, Mr Brennan. The grounds have not been maintained, but that location, absolutely prime . You wouldn’t be looking to … develop, would you? Maybe some flats or …”
“Who knows. It did catch my eye.”
Jack had the confirmation he needed. Property worth a lot, house nada . But he asked a last question anyway.
“So the place itself, worth nothing?”
But Cecil raised a hand.
“Hang on. As is , probably not. It is need of massive repairs. But the potential? Someone had it surveyed recently for possible flats. As I said — lot of potential!”
Jack stopped.
“Surveyed? Who did that?”
Cecil froze, then recoiled to the back of his seat.
He paused as if aware that what was going on here was more than chit-chat about the local real estate scene.
“I’m afraid … I could not tell you that. Confidential. I was just …”
Jack leaned forward to close the distance.
“You mean, Cecil … that someone had the property surveyed, plans drawn up all in secret? It must be a secret since you’re not telling me.”
At that Cecil Cauldwell of Cauldwell & Co. stood up.
“I think it’s time you left Mr Brennan.” He rolled his eyes. “If that’s even your name.”
“Oh it is.” Jack grinned. “You can check.”
He started for the door out.
“Hope you don’t mind if I pass that information along, do you. Maybe the police? All so interesting.”
Cecil stood silent, frozen.
And as Jack walked back to his car, again he thought … NYC, Cherringham, everyone, everywhere with their secrets.
Jack sat in his car, the engine rumbling. He’d call Sarah later, after her dinner with the kids.
Now, time for the barge, a medium-rare steak and a martini.
There’s something here, he thought.
And that always gave him an appetite.
11. A Matter of Electricity
Sarah got to her car; her
The man had walked out from behind the desk and grabbed Jack’s hand and vigorously pumped it.
“Cecil Cauldwell of Cauldwell & Company.”
“Jack Brennan.”
“And are we looking for something …?”
“As a matter of fact …”
“An American! ” The agent interrupted. “Can tell that accent anywhere. Looking for a summer rental perhaps, or maybe …“
“Actually — thinking I might be looking for a place to purchase.”
Could Cecil’s smile get any broader? Jack didn’t think so.
“Fan-tastic! Well, you have come at the right time. Things get low sales-wise just as soon as summer fades. So perfect timing for a good buy! Please …” he gestured to a leather chair facing his desk.
Jack began thinking if there was any way to shorten his charade and still get any information from the proprietor.
Cecil had whipped out a yellow pad, grabbed a pen, and — eyes bright — looked ready to transcribe whatever Jack might say.
“Now, regarding the potential property, it would help me if I knew your, um, price range, and what particulars would be important to you.”
Jack nodded. “My price … is pretty flexible.”
Cecil made a broad ‘O’ with his lips. Perhaps interpreting ‘flexibility’ to mean equal unlimited resources.
“Then, you are looking for something in the village, or maybe a country house of some kind? Perhaps with a bit of property?”
Jack scratched his head.
“Not sure. Been living on a river barge so not too sure what I’d want.”
The words ‘river barge’ seem to have a deflating effect. Perhaps Cecil thought that someone living on a barge couldn’t possibly be looking at high-end properties. He’d be right about that.
“I did see that old Manor House. Looked damaged, needing work. Too big maybe … but I don’t know — interesting.”
Cecil’s smile faded even further. “Mogdon Manor, yes, quite in need of repair. And the property has been totally let go.”
“Would you say the house is worth much?”
Cecil laughed. “That old house? Maybe if you favour claptrap and fin de siècle that’s truly fin. ”
“And the grounds?”
“Different story, Mr Brennan. The grounds have not been maintained, but that location, absolutely prime . You wouldn’t be looking to … develop, would you? Maybe some flats or …”
“Who knows. It did catch my eye.”
Jack had the confirmation he needed. Property worth a lot, house nada . But he asked a last question anyway.
“So the place itself, worth nothing?”
But Cecil raised a hand.
“Hang on. As is , probably not. It is need of massive repairs. But the potential? Someone had it surveyed recently for possible flats. As I said — lot of potential!”
Jack stopped.
“Surveyed? Who did that?”
Cecil froze, then recoiled to the back of his seat.
He paused as if aware that what was going on here was more than chit-chat about the local real estate scene.
“I’m afraid … I could not tell you that. Confidential. I was just …”
Jack leaned forward to close the distance.
“You mean, Cecil … that someone had the property surveyed, plans drawn up all in secret? It must be a secret since you’re not telling me.”
At that Cecil Cauldwell of Cauldwell & Co. stood up.
“I think it’s time you left Mr Brennan.” He rolled his eyes. “If that’s even your name.”
“Oh it is.” Jack grinned. “You can check.”
He started for the door out.
“Hope you don’t mind if I pass that information along, do you. Maybe the police? All so interesting.”
Cecil stood silent, frozen.
And as Jack walked back to his car, again he thought … NYC, Cherringham, everyone, everywhere with their secrets.
Jack sat in his car, the engine rumbling. He’d call Sarah later, after her dinner with the kids.
Now, time for the barge, a medium-rare steak and a martini.
There’s something here, he thought.
And that always gave him an appetite.
11. A Matter of Electricity
Sarah got to her car; her
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