‘The lake is awesome – what a beautiful view.’ Her husband was peering out. ‘Ducks, coots, moorhens. Mallards, and what are those with the long necks?’

‘Indian-runner ducks,’ Jordan replied, again glancing at the doorway. The figures were still there.

‘So,’ Kevin Middle said, checking the compass app on his phone. ‘This way is facing north, right?’

‘Yes, indeed, Mr Middle, and the hill beyond the lake forms part of the South Downs National Park, so it can never be built on.’

‘Unlike the other directions?’

The views through the other windows were across rows of modern houses.

‘The estate is complete,’ Paul Jordan said, ‘So there won’t be any more building. I can genuinely say this is the best-designed modern development I’ve ever had the privilege of working on. I don’t think there’s a single house here that is unsympathetic to the location. The architect, in my humble opinion, is little short of a genius. This particular house is inspired, of course, on a smaller scale, by the original mansion that stood here. Cold Hill House. You’ll find an interesting history if you look online.’

The couple looked at each other, smiling. ‘What do you think, Sarah?’ her husband said.

‘Darling, you know what this room feels like to me?’ Sarah Middle said. ‘An artist’s studio! This would be such a wonderful room to paint in. The light in here is just amazing.’

‘You’re an artist, Mrs Middle?’ Paul Jordan asked.

‘My wife is very talented,’ her husband said, proudly.

‘Cold Hill village has a new gallery that specializes in showing the work of local Sussex artists,’ the estate agent said. ‘I’m sure they would be most interested in your work.’

Blushing, Sarah Middle replied, ‘I don’t know if I’d be good enough to have an exhibition. I’m a rank amateur, self-taught. I’m what professional artists call a Sunday painter. I do watercolours – I specialize in flowers. I love it but I’m not sure I’m really any good.’

Her husband put his arm around her. ‘Sarah, darling, don’t put yourself down, you’re very talented.’

She blushed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, Mrs Middle, it’s very odd you should say that, about this room being a studio.’ Jordan hesitated. The figures were back in the doorway, watching him. ‘No, sorry, forget I said it.’

‘Odd?’ Kevin Middle quizzed. ‘What do you mean by that?’ He suddenly sounded like the lawyer he was.

The agent looked flustered. ‘Well really, I shouldn’t have – er – said anything.’

Even more the lawyer now, Kevin said, sternly, ‘Mr Jordan, you are trying to sell us this property – I don’t think you should be concealing anything from my wife and me.’

‘No – honestly – it’s not any nasty secret or anything of that nature. It’s just a little bit of history.’

‘History?’ his wife asked.

‘Yes – you see, the extraordinary thing is that this room actually was an artist’s studio! Quite a famous artist, in fact. He and his wife actually lived here, albeit briefly. What attracted them most of all was this room, which he made into his studio.’