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their attention, The Zephyrs, for instance. When I’d got the Brosnics out of the way, I could make my courtesy call to the Wimpoles. There, that was something to look forward to.
    That was something I greatly needed, after a few minutes trying the Brosnics’ number. Not only did no one reply, according to BT there wasn’t such a number. Nor had there ever been.
    So what on earth was going on… Greg’s stupidity apart?
    At this point my precious brother appeared. His lunch had been longer than mine and apparently involved more liquid. It took hima long time to adjust his expensive glasses and peer at the computer screen, and even longer to understand what I was getting at.
    At last, predictably, he resorted to bluster. ‘They’re just history freaks, aren’t they? People who get off on old buildings without joining the National Trust or English Heritage. Why pay an entrance fee when you can get a tour of a house for free?’
    ‘I’d thought of that. But they simply weren’t interested, Greg. You know that wonderful garden at Knottsall Lodge? The one that featured on that TV programme?’ To jog his memory, I brought views of it up on to the screen. ‘The Brosnics didn’t want so much as to glance at it. And yes, I did tell them about Whatshisname going wild about the pergola.’
    ‘The weather’s been a bit cold for gardens.’
    ‘But I tell you they weren’t interested in any of the houses per se. If they’d peered in every corner, obviously been interested in the history, I might have agreed with you.’
    ‘That’d be a first.’
    I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘Well, you are the boss. There’s something up, Greg. Look, just to please me, why don’t you give one or two of your mates a ring – see if they’ve had anything similar?’
    He looked at his Rolex. He didn’t need tosay anything. I’d too much family loyalty to yell at him in front of Claire, so I said mildly, ‘Very well.’
    There was no need for him to know that I might just give Heather a call. And I would wait until he had disappeared into his sanctum before I dialled.
    Heather had once worked for him. She was very good at her job, and should have been put in control of the Kenilworth office when he opened it. Instead, he slotted in one of his golfing chums. In her place I might have sued for sexual discrimination. She did better: she got a plum job with another agency, and until I put a stop to it, systematically poached Greg’s clients. Now she specialised in modern places, with only an occasional historical place in her portfolio.
    ‘Brosnic?’ she repeated. It was clear she couldn’t place the name. ‘We’ve had a man called Kendrowsky or something. But not a Brosnic.’
    With Heather you could risk asking silly questions and know she’d give a considered response. ‘I suppose he wasn’t a great brute of a man, carrying a gun?’
    ‘He was big, all right. As soon as I saw him I decided if he wanted to visit any of our properties I’d send one of the lads with him, not a woman. But as to a gun – I’ve no idea.’
    ‘Did you check his ID?’
    I could almost hear her wrinkling her nose. ‘You know, I’m sure I asked him. I said if we were to show him round anywhere at all I needed his passport or something similar. Well, we would have done if we’d made a sale, wouldn’t we? I just thought a pre-emptive strike was in order. Anyway, he said it was back at his hotel, and that it was one of the few civilised things about this country that people didn’t have to carry ID cards. He got – shall we call it – impassioned ?’
    ‘And did he go back for it?’
    Heather snorted with ironic laughter. ‘He said his hotel was in London. In any case, he said, did I read Russian? I just said it was company policy.’
    ‘And he stormed out?’
    ‘I wouldn’t say he stormed, exactly. But – this sounds silly, doesn’t it, Vena? – if he’d chosen to storm he could have done a very good job of it.’
    ‘Did he have a