Poisoned Palette by Jill Paterson

Author:Jill Paterson [Paterson, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780992584030
Publisher: J. Henderson
Published: 2017-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

To his surprise, an hour later the doorbell sounded. Having had little experience with real estate agents since he and Edith had purchased their cottage, Fitzjohn had no idea what to expect. He opened the door to find a short wiry man wearing a dark grey suit, his long pointed nose supporting plastic horn-rimmed glasses.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Fitzjohn. I’m Owen Carstairs from Sunshine Realty. ‘We spoke on the telephone earlier. My card.’ Carstairs shoved the card into Fitzjohn’s hand.

‘You’re prompt, Mr Carstairs.’ Fitzjohn stood back from the doorway and watched Carstairs step inside, his small brown eyes darting instantly through the open doorway into the living room.

‘Why don’t we start in here?’ said Carstairs, gliding into the room.

‘Good a place as any, I expect,’ said Fitzjohn starting to think the valuation idea had not been one of his better decisions.

‘Just look at that fireplace, what a gem,’ continued Carstairs. ‘And the mouldings on the ceiling are exquisite,’ he continued, twirling around in the centre of the room his face turned upwards. And the décor… absolutely charming. Is it of your choosing, or did you engage an interior decorator?’

‘An interior decorator,’ replied Fitzjohn, remembering Edith’s enthusiasm and delight as she plunged into the task after he had suggested they refresh their out-dated furnishings.

‘Well, remind me to get the name. I could use someone who has such an eye for detail as well as elegance and charm.’ Carstairs looked at Fitzjohn with a quick smile. ‘Shall we carry on?’ Fitzjohn led the way through to the kitchen where the real estate agent scanned the room before heading into the conservatory. ‘This is adorable,’ he gushed before turning back to Fitzjohn. ‘I must say, Mr Fitzjohn, if the rest of the house is as outstanding as what I’ve seen so far, it won’t be on the market for long. Oh, my! What do we have out there?’ Carstairs bolted to the kitchen window and gaped at the garden. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. What a glorious garden. And a greenhouse!’

‘I haven’t decided whether the greenhouse will stay as yet,’ said Fitzjohn.

‘Well, my advice is that it should stay. It’s an excellent selling point. Not that you really need one but it is the icing on the cake, so to speak. So much so that I can’t imagine why you’re selling.’ When Fitzjohn was not forthcoming with any information, Carstairs said, ‘And the upstairs, Mr Fitzjohn?’

After rummaging through each room on the floor above, Fitzjohn led the way back downstairs feeling somewhat invaded by this stranger. ‘So, what’s your valuation?’ he asked, anxious to be rid of the man.

‘I’ll have that for you in just a moment.’ Carstairs looked at his clipboard. While he did so, Fitzjohn stepped out onto the back porch feeling sapped by Carstairs's high energy.

‘You’re back, I see.’

Fitzjohn look up to see Rhonda Butler hovering on the other side of the murraya hedge. ‘Yes, Mrs Butler. For a short time.’

‘I’ve seen your niece in the evenings. She said you’re working away at the moment.

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