EIGHTEEN
The estate agency building squatted wide and low in the town square, a sign across the entrance warning visitors not to c***k their heads on the door lintel. People complained constantly but, as it was Grade II listed, nobody had the right to change anything. Dating back to the early seventeenth century, inside it was modern and well lit. Despite the narrowness, wide ranges of properties were displayed across the walls.
Chaise sat at the far end, going through the portfolios of unsold houses, thinking of a new approach to generate interest in a depressed, flagging market. Nobody was buying anything, unless offered at the right price. Persuading vendors to drop asking prices might encourage someone to put their hands in their pockets, but he doubted it.
He looked up as the door
