The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  Left alone, Suzanne felt an unwelcome tummy lurch. A worrier by nature, she couldn’t help wondering if they were jinxed when it came to selling this house. The woman from Briggs, Caldwell and Balls had prophesised there’d be no trouble shifting The Sugar House. But the property having been on the market a week, today was hopefully the first day when a proper viewing might be achieved. Mr Sartin normally left them well alone. They’d experienced only one incident, not too long after they moved in.

  Ruth, their first new acquaintance in the village, had defused the situation. Clearly the farmer thought a lot of her. Ruth had informed them he’d known her since she was a teenager. Suzanne sent up a silent prayer, immediately feeling guilty about asking for help when she often went days and even weeks without giving a thought to the God in whom she’d been brought up to believe.

  When Eddie reappeared in the kitchen with nothing to report, she smiled at him. “Eggs should be just as you like them. Eat your breakfast first, my love, and I’m sorry I got myself in a strop. You’re right. There’s still plenty of time for Mr Sartin to get things sorted.”

  “I’m not that surprised the tractor’s kaput. He drives the thing like a madman. Clouds of smoke bellowing out of it and all!”

  “So, will you ring Ruth, or shall I?”

  “I’ll give her a call shortly. But we need to play this down if the estate agent finds out, okay? If we have to tell a white lie or two in order to sell the house, how bad is that?”

  Bethan Harley hadn’t had the best of beginnings to her day. Unusually for her, she’d overslept, as had her daughter, and Bethan still struggled with that uncomfortable sensation of being caught on the back foot. Luckily, she’d left her desk reasonably clear and needed only a brief stop at the BCB office before setting off for Three Roads. Now, rounding the steep bend where the road descended into the village, she felt pleased she’d arrive in time to oil the machinery by giving these two clients a glowing report of the number of hits to the website page featuring their house. Certainly, her photographs enhanced a tempting slide show.

  Bethan’s antennae twitched as she turned off to drive down the short track leading to the house. With that tractor obstructing her clients’ gateway, where was she supposed to park, now she couldn’t access their spacious driveway? Worse still, what would her prospective purchaser think?

  That galvanised her into action. She threw her arm across the back of the passenger seat and drove backwards to the point where the track met the road through the village. Here, turning her steering wheel as far as possible, she nosed sideways until she felt her tyres touch the verge. Two more turns and she could see any vehicle approaching to her right and drive with safety out from the track.

  She parked in a lay-by she knew forestry workers often used for making phone calls if they couldn’t obtain a signal in the depths of the woodland. Briefcase in hand, she zapped her keypad and hurried towards The Sugar House, checking her watch on the way. She’d give them a knock, leave her briefcase and walk back down the track, ready to alert Mr Kirby and offer a plausible reason as to why he couldn’t park his car on the Deacons’ driveway. Oh, great.

  Bethan found Eddie Deacon standing in front of the tractor, his face taut. For the first time in their brief acquaintanceship, she noted the flirtatious sparkle in his eye didn’t appear as he spotted her.

  “Mr Deacon,” she called. “Good Morning and please don’t look so worried. If the farmer has a problem, I’m sure my client will understand. We are in the countryside, when all’s said and done.”

  Eddie grunted. “Thanks for being so understanding, Bethan. I’m sure there must be a simple explanation. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to contact Mr Sartin. He’s the farmer in question.”

  “These things happen. May I leave my briefcase with you while I go back to wait for Mr Kirby?”

  He took the briefcase from her. “Come on, I’ll walk with you. Suzanne’s in the conservatory listening to one of her Pan Pipes CDs.”

  “Ah.”

  “No question about it, she’s got the heebie-jeebies.”

  “I’m afraid selling a house is classed as one of the most stressful activities we poor humans put ourselves through. They say it’s up there with divorce and bereavement.”

  “Understood. I wouldn’t want your job, that’s for sure.”

  They moved away from the looming bulk of the muddy old machine and walked along the track.

  “Fortunately, I enjoy what I do.”

  “But you must agree, so far we’re scoring two out of two on the annoyance scale when it comes to viewings. I bet your client feedback would make interesting reading.”

  Bethan winced at his bitter tone. “The Hunts may yet request another appointment so please don’t be too downhearted. They were shocked at the time, but Mr Hunt admitted to me over the phone that they maybe overreacted.”

  “Is that right? They haven’t actually asked for another viewing though?”

  “I think we’ll have to wait for their next visit to Wales. They went back to Worcester straight after their other appointment. So, you haven’t been able to speak to the owner of the tractor yet? Does he live close by?”

  “No and No. Phil Sartin owns this field to our left and, annoyingly, the patch of land in front of our gateway. Someone must’ve slipped up when defining the boundary but we definitely have right of way over his land written into our deeds.”

  “Of course. We’ve specifically mentioned the fact in our particulars.”

  “Sartin’s house is across the village but there’s a short cut so I used that this morning.” He huffed a sigh. “Nowhere to be found, I’m afraid. After I found the bird had flown, I gave a friend of ours a ring on my mobile. She knows the fellow’s routine pretty well but apparently his land rover and trailer are missing so Ruth thinks he’s probably taken some cattle to market.”

  “Without explaining why he’s blocking your gateway? Please be honest with me, Mr Deacon. Do you have issues with this person? I need to know so I don’t give Mr Kirby the wrong impression. You must know there has to be absolute transparency when it comes to relationships with neighbours. Further down the line you’ll have a solicitor’s questionnaire to complete.”

  “I know. Boundaries, disputes, complaints and so on,” said Eddie.

  They stopped walking and stood on the corner.

  “Sartin doesn’t fit what I’d describe as a neighbour,” he said. “Because his farmhouse is a few minutes’ walk away, we don’t see too much of each other.”

  “Are you quite sure you’ve had no problems in the past?” She watched Eddie’s face, ready to read his reaction. “I don’t recall you mentioning anything.”

  “Not long after we moved in, almost nine years ago now, there was an occasion when Mr Sartin blocked our gateway with his land rover. We hadn’t long known Ruth Morgan but she called round with some homemade chutney as a welcome gift on our moving in day.”

  “That was a nice gesture.”

  “Yeah, she’s been a good friend to us ever since. She was the only person I could think of to ring that first time too. She found Sartin at home and told him not to be such a bloody idiot. He moved the vehicle but I never received an apology. Since then, we’ve had no problems at all until today of all days.” Again, he puffed air through his lips. “I’m sorry but I’d forgotten all about it until now. I honestly didn’t mean to withhold information.”

  “I know you didn’t. Sounds like Mr Sartin was marking his territory, like an animal. Do you think, now he’s become used to you, he mightn’t want you to leave? You’ve lived here – what did you say – almost a decade?”

  “Yes, it did occur to me he might be the one who threw that gunge at the Porsche.”

  “I don’t think the two things are necessarily connected, Mr Deacon. Best to put the first incident out of your mind. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for the tractor being abandoned.”

  Eddie grunted again. “We’ll have to see. Ruth promised to g
et in touch, whether she found Sartin or not.”

  A vehicle appeared, nosing over the hilltop.

  “I wonder if this is our man,” said Bethan.

  As the black Range Rover approached, she held out her hand, signalling its driver to slow down so she could direct him to the lay by.

  “This is a great house you have here,” said Ray Kirby as Bethan escorted him into the sitting room after showing him around.

  “We think so.” Suzanne smiled up at him from the window seat.

  Bethan marvelled at Mr Kirby’s melodious voice, considering he was such a great bear of a man.

  “I hear you’ve decided to move nearer to your daughter.” Kirby directed the remark at Eddie.

  “That’s right, tempus fugit and all that. It comes to everyone in the end, doesn’t it?”

  Kirby smiled politely. “I’ll need to bring my partner so she can take a look before making any decision.” He spread his hands. “I’m not bullshitting when I say I’m impressed. I like plenty of space. Even when I’m home alone.”

  “I can’t apologise enough about this business with the tractor,” said Eddie.

  “That won’t rattle my cage.” Kirby stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “Unless you’re telling porkies, Mr Deacon?”

  “Believe me, Mr Kirby, he’s not.” Suzanne got up from her chair. “Mr Sartin has parked a vehicle in front of our gateway twice in all the time we’ve been here. It’s Murphy’s Law that, on this occasion, it happens to be the very day we have a house viewing.”

  Kirby nodded. “Thank you for being so honest. As it happens, we wouldn’t be forever backwards and forwards if we lived here. I work mostly from home and my partner’s a singer, currently employed on cruises.”

  “How exciting! Would we have heard of her?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, Mrs Deacon. I doubt you’ve heard of Claudia Kelsey.”

  “I don’t think I have. Sorry.”

  “She has a fabulous voice. You can listen to her singing if you visit her website. Just type her name in your search engine.”

  “Is that Kelsey with an S E Y? I’ll get my husband to look her up.”

  “That’s it. She has a couple of albums under her belt, but in her off time all she wants is somewhere quiet with decent walks within reach. That’s why neither of us is looking to be close to a big centre. If we do make an offer for your pad, I shall go and have a heart to heart with this farmer guy and see if we can establish what his problem is.”

  “I don’t think there’s any bad feeling involved.” Bethan looked enquiringly at Suzanne.

  “Definitely not. We hardly ever see the man but if he knocked at the door, we’d invite him in.”

  Kirby nodded. “Whatever the reason, trouble-shooting’s on my CV, though I’m more into other stuff these days. By the way, do you get an online grocery delivery here?”

  “Um, no. I’m afraid not yet,” said Suzanne. “But there are good supermarkets within easy reach. And a few specialist shops in the high street of both our shopping towns.”

  “Okay. I don’t foresee any problems with that. This must be fantastic country for walking?”

  “Oh yes.” Eddie gave a wry smile. “Although, nowadays, some of it’s a bit arduous for us.”

  Kirby nodded again. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Thank you. I hope all goes well for you.”

  “I must get on, too.” Bethan turned to Suzanne and Eddie. “I’ll be in touch soon, to touch base.”

  “I’ll be straight with you.” Mr Kirby’s gaze moved between both the Deacons. “I intend viewing two more properties today. One’s with Mrs Harley’s outfit and the other with a different agent.”

  “We understand.” Suzanne nodded her neat, blonde head.

  “I’m afraid my partner’s not due back for another few days. Unless either of the other properties succeeds in changing my mind, I’ll email Claudia and suggest we make an appointment to come down a day or two after her return. The Sugar House definitely fits the criteria on our shopping list.”

  Eddie showed them out while Suzanne sank down into her chair again and gazed at the cut glass vase filled with green-stemmed, satin-smooth lilies.

  “What do you think?” Eddie returned without delay.

  “I think he’s very attractive.”

  “Bloody hell, I didn’t ask whether you fancied him, Suze!”

  She grinned. “He’s also rather scary. Did you notice the size of his hands?”

  “You wouldn’t want to tackle him in a hurry, that’s for sure.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if a bruiser like him bought the place and saw off Phil Sartin?”

  “Which reminds me. I need that tractor moved before this evening.”

  “Of course. It’s your camera club tonight.”

  “And I don’t propose walking the five miles to Knightly.”

  “If the worst comes to the worst, maybe Ruth would give you a lift. Doesn’t one of the other members have to come through Three Roads on his way home?”

  “Believe me, sweetie, if that tractor’s not moved by half past six, I’m ringing for a taxi and sending the bill to that daft old bugger, Sartin.”

  “Oh dear. We don’t want to antagonise him, do we? Not at this stage of the proceedings.”

  “Let’s leave it to Ruth, like she’s already said. We couldn’t have anyone better than her looking out for us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ruth contacted as many of the farmer’s neighbours as she could. Not that the number overwhelmed her. A couple of the female residents taught at Knightly Primary School and their husbands worked for the Forestry Commission so were out all day.

  A divorcee called Charlotte lived in a cramped little cottage tucked behind Sartin’s farmhouse. This woman, in her forties and who, according to local gossip, had given up on men, knitted sumptuous woollen garments to sell at country fairs and also supplied two or three boutiques in larger mid Wales towns. She and Ruth ventured to the cinema together occasionally but Charlotte was no great fan of Sartin.

  “All I can tell you is, he got away very early because the sound of the tractor woke me. I must have been listening to Radio Four when he came back and loaded his sheep for market. Do you want pen and paper to write him a message?”

  “Thanks, but after Eddie called me, I tried Phil’s number before I dropped everything to go and look for him. I’ve left a message on his answer phone so there’s a good chance he’ll check that, in case there’s anything to do with business on there.”

  “He laughs in my face when I tell him he should buy a mobile phone,” said Charlotte. “If I hear him come back, I’ll pop round to the yard and ask if he’s lost anything.” She pulled at a strand of hair, a bright purple flair amongst black. “I see The Sugar House is up for sale. I imagine you’ll miss the Deacons.”

  “Of course I shall. But they haven’t gone yet,” said Ruth, turning on her heel.

  Charlotte didn’t respond. But Ruth realised her expression might have been a little contemptuous. She turned around again. “What I meant to say was, these things often take longer than one anticipates. I’ll let you know how they get on.”

  “Speak soon.” Charlotte called.

  Ruth left her friend and continued with her charade of a search. It was only when she reached the rundown little community hall where there was a red mailbox in the surrounding brick wall, that she realised she’d mentioned rushing straight out of her house as soon as she left Phil Sartin an answer-phone message. Charlotte might have wondered, why, in that case, Ruth was carrying a rucksack. Bad mistake.

  While waiting for the postman to turn up, she decided it would appear suspicious to hurry back and explain herself. Charlotte, who could be amazingly scatty sometimes, probably hadn’t even noticed. The mailman, nicknamed Knocker, pulled up moments later and said he hadn’t clapped eyes upon the farmer that morning.

  Ruth made her way back down the main road and walked to The Sugar House where she rang the front doorbell rat
her than go around to the kitchen entrance as she often did.

  “Any luck?” Eddie stood on the eco friendly doormat, arms folded across his chest like the nightclub bouncers Ruth had seen, although only in films.

  “Sadly, no news yet. Do you need to go anywhere? If so, I can soon take you in my car.”

  His face softened. “We’re going to miss having you in our lives, Ruthie. I shall need to go out later because of my camera club meeting but surely the old devil will be back well before then?”

  “I’m a little concerned about Phil Sartin, you know, Eddie. In fact, I’m seriously concerned he might be suffering from some kind of mental aberration. If he is, that could be the reason why he’s acting irresponsibly.”

  “It’s beggars belief he could do such a thing on purpose. If the tractor’s kaput, why hasn’t someone arrived to repair it? And why didn’t he give us a knock earlier to let us know? If he’d had the grace to apologise, I wouldn’t be feeling so angry.”

  “Eddie? Are you keeping Ruth on the doorstep?” Suzanne walked across the hallway.

  “I’m not thinking straight. Sorry, my dear. Come and sit down. I think we all deserve a glass of something.”

  He led the way through to the conservatory. “You ladies make yourselves comfortable and I’ll bring the drinks through.”

  Ruth settled in one of the luxurious cushioned wicker chairs facing the garden. “That sounds good. How are you coping with it all, Suzanne? I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you don’t have much colour in your cheeks, dear.”

  “I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit stressed by the last few days.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do, you know you only have to shout. I feel so sorry for you both. You must be wondering if you’ve made the right decision?”

  Suzanne shrugged. “Not really. These things happen.”

  “But you have such a delicate constitution, Suzanne.” She leaned forward. Lowered her voice. “Just between the two of us, I’m surprised Eddie has put your house on the market at this time of year. Everyone knows the run up to Christmas is not the best of times to shift a property. You can do without extra pressure like that.”