The agent who stopped talking

Watch three estate agents show the same flat in Abu Dhabi and you learn most of what there is to know about persuasion.

The first one has done his homework. He knows the square metres, the year the tower was finished, the service charge, the distance to two schools and a hospital. He says all of it, in order, from the front door. By the time the couple reach the kitchen they are nodding the way people nod at a safety announcement.

The second one is nervous about pushing. She lets them wander, answers what she is asked, and never quite says why this flat is better than the one they saw on Tuesday. They leave politely, still deciding, which means they have decided.

The third one says it straight. This is the best flat on the island at this price, sign today. He may well be right. It makes no difference. A buyer who is told what to conclude spends the next ten minutes defending the right to conclude something else.

Then there is the rare fourth. She asks what time they usually get home, and books the second viewing for that hour. She walks them to the window when the light is low over the water, and she waits. The wife says, quietly, that she could read here. The husband asks about the lease.

Nothing she did was a claim. She chose the room, the hour and the silence, and let them find the reason on their own.

That is what all the brochures and comparison tables are for, at their best. Not to make up someone's mind, which nobody can do, but to arrange the conditions in which they make it up themselves. The decision that sticks is the one people believe they reached alone.