Ugh. That was the resounding thought of the day. Pyrrhus never enjoyed some of the more... functional aspects to the business. Finding new property to purchase, to renovate, to rent, or drawing up good solid contracts that are perfectly reasonable for all involved, fair dealing and all that. That was good work when it was done - and Margoyle was coming along splendidly in all of it.
But days like today just necessitated a trip in person. Mrs Richards in her little shop in Knockturn Alley, complaining about the fundamentals. Half an hour on the floo network, half an hour of biting his ear off about this and that and the other. He'd bought the unit cheap a few years ago and generally had made a decent turn on the rent - more than he expected for Knockturn if he was honest, and if only he could get something in Diagon, well, that'd be grand. But occasionally he would have to go and deal with angry customers needing things, and sending the usual contractor wasn't going to be enough, so Pyrrhus took it upon himself to venture forth. Heroically, with gusto even, at least where Mrs Richards was concerned.
Pyrrhus never entirely enjoyed the floo network. It didn't smell particularly nice but it was at least prompt. More prompt than driving that Muggle wagon he had for business purposes - and he was visiting a witch. He'd never been entirely clear on what it was that Mrs Richards did in her little shop in Knockturn, and as far as he was concerned, as long as it was legal and she kept paying the bill, they would have little reason to speak to each other, which was - frankly - for the best for both of them.
The little bell rang as he entered. "Mrs Richards?"
The lady behind the counter had her hands over her ears, and simply gave Pyrrhus a quizzical look.
Pyrrhus cleared his throat, and went to speak again, intending to get the words "Mrs Richards, it's me, Mr Albron." out. But he barely made it through the first syllable before an almighty clang rang through the wall. Repeatedly.
"Blasted neighbour!" She screeched the words out. "Albron, you're here. You're late--" Another set of clangs interrupted. "You're late but you're here. You need to sort out next door!"
Pyrrhus sighed. Noisy neighbours wasn't really something in the lease, but it was clear that the Richards woman wasn't going to stand for anything else, let alone the banalities that he'd actually come to sort out, something about the plumbing.
He shrugged, cupped his hands around his mouth - seeing how Mrs Richards still had her hands over her ears - and called, "I'll go have a word, shall I?"
Mrs Richards nodded, "Yes, you go and have a word with her next door."
To be fair, the noise was pretty aggravating - and he'd only been there a few minutes. He wondered if he needed to speak to Smethwick in the Department for Regulation of Premises of Small and Growing Entrepreneurs, about a Noise Restriction charm. It wouldn't be cheap, of course, but the landlord would no doubt be able to reclaim it through the rent of the unit.
He banged his fist on the door three times. Solid wood door. Good heft, well hung. Whoever had installed it had taken care about installation. It was - he reflected after his recent trip to Cornwall - the sort of thing that marked out the good landlord from the likes of that odious oaf Spaulding.
But there was no answer. Another couple of times, then? But still, the polite request went unanswered.
It occurred to Pyrrhus that perhaps he needed a little more information. That noise was pretty aggravating - and no doubt the noise would have penetrated not only Mrs Richards' place, but the other side too. He cast a glance in its direction - a very narrow, tall building. It couldn't be rented; no owner would rent it out like that, simply not commercially viable to do so. No, that was the product of someone who owned the place and had a point of view. Pyrrhus couldn't say that he liked it, but respected that its owner didn't make it a hideous ugly monstrosity that would have brought the rent down on his own investment.
It seemed he wasn't alone - there was another person standing there, looking rather angry in the face. He supposed this other gentleman was the shopkeeper from the greenish art deco place.
"Excuse me, are you the proprietor of next door?" He gestured in the relevant direction. "I wonder if we are in a similar pickle - with the proprietor of this establishment?" He gestured to the origin of the clanging.