‘Expensive to heat,’ she says. ‘Probably not been wired since the turn of the century.’ She looks around. ‘Plumbing’s probably about to break. Rising damp. You want me to carry on?’
‘That’s what the survey’s for.’
‘Why waste your money? I hate it. I may say “country”, but this is not what I have in mind.’
We follow the agent up a narrow staircase that creaks underfoot. Halfway up, I have to duck my head under a beam to follow a winding little corridor up two higgledy steps and then down four uneven steps to a bedroom that sits on its own. It has small, mullioned windows that look out at the garden and is done up in shades of blue.
‘Study?’ I say, turning to Stella.
She turns and exits the room. We continue on up the stairs. The bedrooms are colourful and flowery. Stell barely gives each one a look before backing out.
‘Well,’ I say, as we climb back in the car, ‘you certainly get a lot of house for your money, and I think it’s lovely.’
‘But…’
‘Work with me, OK? I know that kitchen wasn’t your style. But we can lay parquet over the flooring and paint the brickwork white. And the bedrooms – that was all cosmetic stuff. We could make it work. I think it was charming and very homely.’
‘You think, you think,’ says Stell in a nasty tone and I look sharply at her. Then she laughs. ‘Just kidding. Let’s keep looking?’
THREE
Stella
At last, a house that’s perfect. I thought I’d never find it – but here it is: a listed barn that dates back to the twelfth century, except it’s been gutted and completely refitted. Every room in the L-shaped building has double doors facing onto a sunny courtyard; behind the house there’s a large, self-contained garden. The ultra-modern kitchen is so high-tech it makes the one in my London apartment look dated, and every room is an exercise in light, glass and airy space. More importantly, there’s plenty of room for a couple of children, even as they get older. I don’t plan on moving again.
Furthermore, the house is in the heart of a village – exactly what I want – but only a mile away from the last Tube on the line. It’s the country/city compromise I’ve been looking for. Yes, I think, as I walk around the property with the estate agent: this is The One. But how am I going to persuade George? I double-check the listing I’m carrying around with me.
‘So, about the price,’ I say to the estate agent. ‘Is there any flexibility on that?’
The estate agent shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry. A house as unusual as this? As well done-up? No. There’s plenty of interest, and the vendors rejected an offer yesterday of one point two mill. They’re not going to settle for less than one point four. Though I expect they’ll get the full asking price, which is…’ he checks his papers ‘. . . one point five.’
‘Really? I mean…’ I look around at the fields of sheep, the cows and the woods that border the bottom of the garden. ‘It’s in the middle of nowhere.’
The agent laughs. ‘It’s what we call a “rural paradise”. This village is highly sought-after. There’s a very good community spirit here. Socials, fayres, a wonderful library, a fantastic doctor’s surgery and a pub that’s the centre of everything – but still within reach of central London. They don’t call it the “stockbroker belt” for nothing.’
I suck my cheeks in and look around. It’s so quiet I can practically hear my hair growing. It is exactly what I’m looking for, but I’m not keen to tell the estate agent that.
‘Most people moving to this area are looking for a better quality of life,’ says the agent as if I don’t know that. He looks about twelve and I guess he still lives with his parents; has never bought a property of his own. There’s something about his pinstriped suit that I don’t like; that and the fact that he’s lecturing me like a schoolteacher really doesn’t help.
‘They’ve done their time in London; earned their money,’ he says. ‘Then they look up one day, in the City or wherever, and wonder what it’s all for. I see it all the time. Suddenly they want big skies, birdsong, fresh air and neighbours who say hello, not sirens at bedtime and stress, stress, stress. It’s personal, I suppose, if you want a friendly village or to keep yourself to yourself. But look at the house.’ He waves his arm towards the building. ‘They spent half a mill on the refurbs and landscaping alone. Just look at the quality of the work. You can see they haven’t skimped. I mean, the kitchen was imported from Italy. The floors are all solid wood. There’s no laminate in there. It’s all top of the range stuff.’
‘Hmm.’ He’s right. It’s why I love it so much.
‘Look, if this is beyond your budget, I’ve other places. I just don’t think we should waste anyone’s time putting in an offer of anything less than one point four.’ He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘You liked The Lodge, didn’t you? I can get that for you at a million.’
‘I’m afraid The Lodge just wasn’t “us”,’ I say.
‘Oh, that’s a shame because it’s on at a really good price. Owners need a quick sale – they might even come down further. Well, look, why don’t you go and have a think, have a chat to Him Indoors, and let me know what you want to do. But, if you’re interested in this one, I’d advise moving fast. There’s a lot of interest.’
‘Give me a minute,’ I say. I pull out my phone and dial George as I walk away from the estate agent. My heart’s beating fast; I can’t lose this house.
‘Hey,’ I say when George picks up. ‘I’m really sorry. Bad news about The Lodge. It’s been sold.’
‘Oh shame – what was the offer? Can we beat it?’
‘No. Deal’s done. It’s off the market now.’
George tuts. ‘We should have moved faster. Locked them in. I told you to do that! If we have to live out in the sticks, that’s the kind of place I’d like. Not one of those city places pretending to be a country home.’
‘Mmm. But I’ve found another house, same sort of price, that I think you’ll like. Silver lining and all that.’
‘Really?’ I can hear the disbelief in his voice. I suspect George thought I’d never find a house that I’d like. I’ve already rejected so many properties he’s started calling me Goldilocks: ‘This one’s too big; this one’s too small’. He’s hoping, I think, that I’ll give up the country dream so we can stay in central London, closer to his work, his friends and the goddamned motorcycle club Ness let him spend every other weekend with.
‘Just a minute,’ George says to someone at his end. I hear his footsteps; imagine him hunched over his phone, walking away from a meeting. ‘Sorry. Crazy busy day. So what’s it like? Is it similar?’
‘Yes. It’s a twelfth-century barn conversion. I sent you the details – remember?’
‘Umm, yeah, maybe. Is it modernised?’
‘What do you think? Its twelfth century!’
‘Oh. Well, if it’s what you want…’ His tone is doubtful.
‘Thanks, darling. You’ll like it. Trust me. Big rooms, loads of space. A garden.’
‘OK. Why don’t we take a second viewing at the weekend?’
‘That’s the thing. There’s a lot of interest. We’ve got to move fast. I’d like to put in an offer today. We can always retract it if you don’t like it.’
Someone’s talking to George at the other end of the line. ‘Princess, I’ve got to go. If it’s within the budget then go for it.’
‘OK. Bye.’
I walk back to the estate agent. He’s just getting off the phone himself. We start to speak at the same time.
‘I’d like to put in an offer on this place,’ I say.
‘I’m afraid someone’s just put in an offer,’ he says.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘How much? Was it accepted?’
‘One point four. Yes, it was.’
‘Call them back. Tell them one point four five.’
The estate agent raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? I thought your max was a mill.’
‘Do it, please.’
> The agent makes the call. ‘Very well,’ he says, ‘I’ll let her know. Hold on.’
He shakes his head. ‘No deal.’
‘How much?’ I said. ‘Ask them how much to get it off the market.’
‘Asking price,’ he says. ‘One point five million and they’ll take it off the market.’
‘One point five and there’s no more viewings, no more offers?’
He nods.
‘OK, done. One point five subject to survey.’
The agent winds up the call and shakes my hand. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Wolsey. It’s a fantastic property and I hope you’ll be very happy there.’
FOUR
George
The door to Stell’s apartment has barely closed behind me when she appears in the hallway, a huge smile on her face. She’s barefoot and casual, just the way I love her. I scoop her into my arms, whirl her around and kiss her slowly on the mouth.
‘Good evening, Mrs Wolsey,’ I say when I put her down.
‘Good evening, Mr Wolsey,’ she says. She takes my hand and leads me towards the kitchen.
‘So we have a house?’ I say. ‘At last!’ I dance a little chacha. Marrying Stell’s made me feel ten years younger. It may have been Stell who pushed for us to get married, but now I see that Ness and I were stuck in a rut of familiarity – with Stell, everything’s new and exciting again. And now we’re through the property disagreement, I realise I haven’t been this happy in ages. I dance over to the counter feeling like Fred Astaire, pick up the property listing and flick through the images. There’s a lot of gleaming white space. The barn conversion looks more like a hospital than a home.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask. ‘It’s very modern. Are you sure it isn’t too cold?’
‘I love it.’ Stell pulls a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. ‘You will too, when you see it in the flesh.’
I turn back to the front page and then I see the price.
‘One and a half million? Blimey. They took a big knock!’
‘No. They took the asking price.’ Stell says this as if it’s obvious. ‘I started low but had to go up. As I said on the phone, there was a lot of interest.’ She untwists the wire on top of the bottle and starts to remove the foil.
‘Hold on, hold on. You agreed on one point five million?’
‘Yes?’ Stell raises an eyebrow at me and pops the cork. ‘Cheers!’
‘But…’
She stops what she’s doing and looks at me impatiently. ‘It’s perfect, George. You want us to be happy, don’t you? Besides, you said this was fine. I emailed you the details, remember? And you said that if I liked it, we could do it. And I liked it. So…’ She shrugs, and starts to pour the champagne.
‘But, Stell… I didn’t know it was one and a half million quid! Jesus!’
‘Oh, come on: the price was on the listing. Of course you saw it. Don’t be so melodramatic! This is our new home.’ She hands me a glass. I take it but put it on the counter without tasting it. Stella hangs a teaspoon in the neck of the bottle and puts it back in the fridge. Then she straightens up and looks at me. We stare at each other for a few seconds and I feel we might be heading for our first proper argument.
‘Princess,’ I say gently. ‘I’m not being melodramatic. It’s just too much. I’ve freed up a million quid. It’s more than enough for a lovely house. I can’t go higher at this point. I’m sorry.’
Stell looks away. I go over to her and touch her arm, trying to make eye contact, but she won’t look at me. I pull her face gently back and kiss her nose, which is all I can get.
‘I just want us to start our new life together on the right foot.’ I pause. ‘Ness isn’t exactly being understanding about all this. My liquid assets are stripped right back. She squeezed me for all she could get.’ I think about the deal she nailed me to, citing my unreasonable behaviour. Aside from the business, of which I’m the chief shareholder, and my offshore investments, I’m pretty much starting out again, aged thirty-four. ‘I just don’t want us to start off with a debt around our necks. Maybe we should look for somewhere smaller.’
‘We’ll need space for the children,’ Stell says. ‘I don’t want to move again. A smaller house would be a false economy. Think of the stamp duty.’
‘But don’t forget all the other costs. You know – curtains and carpets and…’
‘Shutters.’
‘OK, shutters. Even worse. And furniture – shed-loads of furniture looking at the size of it – and heating and maintenance.’ I snort a laugh. ‘I mean, Jesus, Stell, I think most people could find a pretty nice house outside London for a million quid.’
‘OK,’ Stell says. She turns her back to me and rummages in a kitchen cupboard. ‘Look, if we can’t afford it, I understand. I misunderstood you. I’ll retract the offer.’
‘Maybe we could find a cheaper place – a bit older, maybe a bit more homely, like The Lodge?’
‘But we didn’t like the style of The Lodge,’ Stell says. ‘It was too small, remember? The rooms were too higgledy-piggledy, and you hit your head on the beams.’
‘I liked The Lodge.’
But Stell shakes her head at me. ‘No. You forget. The Lodge stank of dogs.’ Her nose wrinkles and she grimaces as she says it. ‘Other people’s dogs! There were no built-in wardrobes. I told you about the barn conversion and you loved the sound of it. Now, please, even if we’re not celebrating, let’s at least drink the champagne now I’ve opened it.’
She picks up my glass and hands it to me. ‘Come on, let’s sit down.’
I follow her to the living room, wondering how two peoples’ experience of the same event could be so different. I thought I’d made it clear how much I liked The Lodge – though apparently not. I’m shocked that Stell’s committed us to paying one and a half million for a house, but it’s she not me who flops onto the sofa as if our conversation has drained her. I put my glass on the dining table and walk over to the window. Outside it’s dark and the lights of London twinkle below the sodium haze. What’s just happened? I’m not entirely sure. I turn back to the room.
‘I have no memory of any of this: seeing the house details, talking about the price. I don’t remember any of it,’ I say.
Stell takes a sip of her drink and looks at me over the rim of the glass, her eyes narrowed; calculating. ‘Really? You want to see?’
She doesn’t wait for a reply. She picks up her phone and scrolls a bit, then holds the phone out to me. ‘Look. Here you go.’
I read the email she’s showing me: It’s one and a half million but looks perfect, what do you think? And above that is my reply: It’s a stretch but, if you like it, go for it. I just want you to be happy.
I hand the phone back to her. ‘I didn’t send this.’
‘Um?’ She laughs. ‘Who did? Scooby Doo?’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Yeah, yeah, Shaggy.’ Stell laughs, but then she frowns, and I think about how busy I’ve been lately… how distracted.
‘Oh… maybe I did…’ I shrug. Surely I would have noticed something this big. But then, maybe not. I do just want Stell to be happy. I want to buy her her dream house.
Stell smiles at me. She jumps up, comes over and starts kissing my cheek; lots of tiny butterfly kisses.
‘Oh George,’ she says. ‘You crazy cakes. It’s OK. We’ll let the house go. But what are we going to do with you? Having senior moments and you’re only thirty-four!’
FIVE
Stella
I have to work quite hard on George.
‘I really don’t want a huge mortgage,’ he tells me as we sit together at my dining table and go through the figures. ‘Been there, had that millstone.’ He rubs his neck and gives me one of his boyish grins. ‘I’d really like to be able to buy our home outright… are you able to help? Do you have any spare cash lying about?’
I laugh. ‘I would if I could. But every penny of my money is tied up in the company. Sorry.’
George sighs
and rubs his chin. I wait. It’s obvious his mind is whirring.
‘Well,’ he says after some time, ‘I did inherit some money when Granny died. It’s all tied up in investments, but I could potentially free it up. It’s a big chunk.’
‘Is it enough?’
He nods. ‘Yeah. It would get us through.’
I clap my hands together. ‘Perfect!’
‘It might take some time, though. It’s in a bond and I’m not sure when it matures. If interest rates have gone up and it doesn’t mature any time soon, I’ll have to sell below par. It’s probably better to wait till it matures.’
‘We don’t have time. If we don’t finalise this quickly someone else is going to snap up the house.’
‘I know, I know…’ George rubs his temples. ‘But I need to speak to my broker.’
‘Even if you sold below par would it be enough?’
‘Yes. I imagine so.’
‘Great! So, could you borrow the amount in the interim? Get a quick loan or something?’
‘A loan shark? Please.’
I tut. ‘Of course not.’ We sit in silence for a minute. ‘By the way,’ I say slowly, as if the idea’s just struck me, ‘how much did you raise at the charity event in November?’
‘About a million. Why?’
‘And all of that money’s with the charity now?’
George looks at me. ‘No, most of it’s still in the company account. I’m waiting for the last pledges to come through before I transfer it.’
I raise my eyebrows at him but George still doesn’t get it: his eyes are searching my face.
‘When does Nicholas expect the money to arrive?’ I ask.
‘He’s pretty relaxed about it. If he knows it’s coming, he doesn’t push for it. Anyway, he’s overseas at the moment, out in the field. What are you thinking?’
‘Well…’ I exhale. ‘So technically it could be possible for you to borrow what we need for now from the charity account – perhaps give Nicholas the balance – and no one would be any the wiser. Right?’ I can’t read George’s expression. ‘God, don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t saying you should steal it – just borrow it until you release your funds from the bond.’
The One That Got Away Page 11