Pearly spent Monday morning in the office of Rawleigh and Gates. An unpleasant nor’wester had come up, and it was hot again. What a good thing that show day had been fine and still. Nor was wind favourable to the real estate business. Properties weren’t seen to advantage: sections looked untidy, debris accumulated, fine dust found a way into stifling closed rooms. Such weather also had negative psychological effects, Pearly had read. He put off a couple of viewings with clients, using the excuse that builders’ reports were under way. He checked with Kylie in reception about the advertisements to go into the community newspaper, then talked with Eddie Swift, who rang to say he was having second thoughts on selling by auction. Pearly went over the options again patiently, understanding that Eddie’s real purpose was to feel that he was a key player in a business decision of some significance — to himself at least. His occupation of rural delivery agent didn’t provide such gratification. ‘I need to be sure in my own mind of the advantages over the tender process and other alternatives,’ said Eddie.

‘Of course.’ Well, who else’s mind would it be, for God’s sake?

‘My brother said he’s known quite a few who’ve regretted it.’

‘It’s your decision in the end,’ said Pearly patiently.

‘I just think it needs talking through, that’s all. I’ve found stuff on Google that you mightn’t be familiar with. Stuff that needs ironing out before I’m completely convinced.’

‘I’m happy to chat,’ said Pearly, when he wanted to tell Eddie just to get off his arse and clean up his section rather than Googling routine material that Pearly knew off by heart.

There wasn’t any Rawleigh at Rawleigh and Gates, hadn’t been for seventeen years since Earl Rawleigh drowned while out sailing his forty-footer beyond the harbour, leaving a wife, three adult daughters and some dodgy bookkeeping that Pearly had decided not to pursue for the family’s sake. His business partner now was a woman. Bobbie-Anne May. It was such an absurdly American name for a woman from Gore that nobody used it; hardly anyone even knew it. She called herself Anne, and that was that. Who would give the responsibility for a house sale to a Bobbie-Anne?