“Is that the type of property you’re looking for?”

“I was hoping to find a large country house with several acres of farmland attached,” Seb said as he took the seat opposite Watkins.

“I’m afraid that sort of thing doesn’t come on the market very often. But I have one or two properties that might interest you.” He leaned back, pulled open the drawer of the only filing cabinet, and extracted three folders. “But I have to warn you, sir, that the price of farm land has rocketed since the government decided to allow tax relief for anyone investing in agricultural land.” Seb didn’t comment as Watkins opened the first folder.

“Asgarth Farm is situated on the Welsh border, seven hundred acres, mainly arable, and a magnificent Victorian mansion … in need of a little repair,” he added reluctantly.

“And the price?”

“Three hundred and twenty thousand,” said Watkins, passing over the brochure before quickly adding, “or near offer.”

Seb shook his head. “I was hoping for something with at least a thousand acres.”

Watkins’s eyes lit up as if he’d won the pools. “There is one exceptional property that’s recently come on the market, but I’m only a subagent, and unfortunately bids have to be in by five this Friday.”

“If it’s the right property, that wouldn’t put me off.”

Watkins opened his desk drawer and, for the first time, offered a customer Shifnal Farm.

“This looks more interesting,” said Seb as he turned the pages of the brochure. “How much are they asking?”

The estate agent hesitated, almost as if he didn’t want to reveal the figure. Seb waited patiently.

“I know there’s a bid in with Savills for one point six million,” said Watkins. His turn to wait patiently, expecting the client to reject it out of hand.

“Perhaps I could study the details over lunch and then come back this afternoon and discuss it with you?”

“In the meantime, shall I make arrangements for you to see over the property?”

That was the last thing Seb wanted, so he quickly replied, “I’ll make that decision once I’ve had a chance to check the details.”

“Time is against us, sir.”

True enough, thought Seb. “I’ll let you know my decision when I come back this afternoon,” he repeated a little more firmly.

“Yes, of course, sir,” said Watkins as he leapt up, accompanied him to the door and, after shaking hands once again, said, “I look forward to seeing you later.”

Seb stepped out onto the High Street and made his way quickly back to the pub. Mr. Ramsey was standing behind the bar polishing a glass when Seb sat on the stool in front of him.

“Any luck?”

“Possibly,” said Seb, placing the glossy brochure on the counter so the landlord couldn’t miss it. “Another half, please, and won’t you join me?”

“Thank you, sir. Will you be having lunch?”

“I’ll have the steak and kidney pie,” said Seb, studying the menu chalked up on a blackboard behind the bar.