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John sat in his office in Le Marais. Before him were the contracts to hire a realtor for the Greenwich mansion, and to engage two brokers, one for each boat. Anjali had printed them out, and after he signed them, she would scan them and email them back. Thank goodness he still had Anjali to help him. And she didn’t seem to hold back in her critiques of his novel, either. Amazing girl.
He ached as he signed the realtor’s contract. His dominion was getting smaller fast. He signed the broker’s contract for the Gull, languishing in a boatyard on the Long Island Sound.
He took up the Grey Skies contract, saw what the French broker recommended asking for her: 78,000 euros. John had put that much or more just into improvements, upkeep, winter storage, and marina space in Cherbourg. That was on top of the purchase price of 89,000 euros two years ago. Boats truly were holes in the water into which a man poured money.
He set the Grey Skies contract aside. You gotta have a boat, John thought.
