"He knows precisely what we've been doing - the dirty old man", she thought.

"Could you recommend a local estate agent," said Peter, completely missing all this.

"There's a local one in the village next door. It owned by an old woman that just does it for a hobby. She should have retired years ago. They call her 'Mad Maggie", but she's bought and sold most properties around here and often knows of properties that are available but not even yet on the market."

Sarah noted down the details of how to get there. Peter seemed to assume she would and it was current policy not to offend him.

"Quite the dutiful little lady for a relaxing dirty weekend away", she thought bitterly to herself. "Don't worry mister, my time will come."

The roads twisted and turned back on themselves between the high hills in a most confusing way. It was eventually only by accident that Sarah noticed a small sign pointing them down into a small hamlet with a petrol station, a post office and a little estate agent.

"Can't possibly be making any profit", was Peter's taciturn comment.

The inside of the agency was all dark wood and loudly ticking clocks. It had more the character of a solicitor's office or perhaps even an undertaker than a place to find a dream home.

The proprietor looked about 75 years old, with sparse white hair and was clearly hard of hearing. Her sight was obviously unsound too. She at first asked them if they had moved in yet - which didn't endear her to Peter who didn't suffer fools gladly. When she had finally gathered that they were not clients to whom she had already sold a property, she wanted to know all about their children. She didn't seem to understand that it was to be a holiday or investment property and not for permanent use and inundated them with details of local schools.

However, eventually, armed with a number of detailed particulars and with 'Mad Maggie' safely in the back of Peter's BMW, (the estate agent's car had just failed its MOT), they sallied out to make some visits.

True to what the landlord of the inn had said, the first property she showed them wasn't even on the detailed particulars she had provided.

Even more amazingly, it came very close to Peters' specification. There was still the notice in the window stating that the Bank had taken over possession of the property. It had fine views of the valley and enough bedrooms for even the largest family of holidaymakers.

To Peter's delight, it was even furnished - the previous occupants had just given up and gone, according to the estate agent. All Peter's questions about letting prices in the area were answered efficiently and Sarah, with some surprise, began to see that he had no intention of looking further.

"Now we've dealt with the matter of the property", said Peter, "there is the matter of a new dress for her ladyship here. Who do you recommend?"

A rambling explanation followed which seemed to take in the family histories of every local resident for miles around until finally she got to the point - about ten minutes later - that there was a young lady who had set up a boutique in her front room. She supplied clothes to shops in expensive West End of London but was always willing to do a deal for a bit of cash.

Slightly later and even Peter' normally robust self confidence was beginning to look slightly dented as Maggie led them through scattering chickens into a small holding that looked as if it has originally been built as a local school. But the clothes proved exquisite. Bright colours, beautiful softly toned material and the very latest in design.

Sarah looked questioningly at Peter but now he seemed unconcerned.