“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I bark at Simon, throwing the covers back, revealing my scantily clad body and mottled thighs.
This bold move was supposed to intimidate him and have him make gentlemanly apologies, quickly turning to allow a lady a little modesty. But Simon just watches with obvious pleasure, refusing to budge. I feel his eyes scanning every part of me and my ploy to rattle him has pretty much backfired. I’m the one left feeling shy and flustered.
“Here!” he reluctantly concedes, throwing a heavy towelling bathrobe over to me before collapsing on the bed, fresh coffee on the bedside table and the remote control at the ready. “Let me know if you need a hand with showering, won’t you!” he calls as I slam the bathroom door, locking it and yanking down the handle to ensure I’m safe.
“My Rolex!” I yell through the door. “Where is it?” No answer. I yank the door open to confront him. “Where is my Rolex, please?” I ask as sweetly as I’m capable of right now.
“Tina, I wouldn’t know a Rolex from a Timex!” Simon sniggers. “You’re talking to the wrong man there.” He lies back on the bed, no doubt fuelled with impure thoughts and throbbing loins for the second time.
“To Mr and Mrs Heath-Jones!”
We salute the happy couple as they at long last join us for a farewell lunch before jetting off to Bali on a three-week honeymoon. What I wouldn’t give to lie on a beach for three weeks, drinking cocktails and soaking up the sun! Pure heaven!
Apparently Kate and I talked about reliving our holiday in Crete last night. Naturally, I have no recollection of it but am still up for it and right now I could do with getting away. Although there are a few things I need to put to bed first.
My dad puts his arm around me tenderly. “What happened to you last night, Tina? You’re normally first on and last off the dance floor.” He shakes his hips in jest, waving his arms in the air, mimicking me. He’s in good form today.
“Are you still drunk, Dad? And someone please tell me I don’t dance like I’m about to take off?”
“You dance, Tina?” Simon joins in. “I thought you just clung to strange men on the dance floor?”
My dad looks at Simon and laughs. He’s very fond of Simon – at least my mother said so. Not that he’d ever try the matchmaking thing with me, he knows better, and to be honest my own taste in men is so inconsistent that most people gave up trying to help me years ago.
“You two did look pretty intimate with that first dance,” Dad braves it.
“Dad!”
“I was holding her up, Martin, that’s why!” Simon chortles and my dad joins in.
I glare at the pair of them, holding my head in pain and trying to catch Sam’s attention out of the corner of my eye. She sees me staring at her and her eyes soften instantly, making mine water with remorse. We need no words to make conversation right now. She knows how sorry I am and I know she’s slowly coming around. Thank you, God.
18
“Pleased to meet you,” I say for the fourth time in the space of a few minutes. “It looks like everybody’s here so let’s press on. Feel free to interrupt me at any point with your questions.” I smile sincerely at the small but very lucrative group of viewers all anxious to put holding fees on the apartment of their choice but not without the opportunity for closer inspection. This show apartment will have them eating out of my hands. “Each apartment is a minimum of two thousand square feet spread over split levels.”
I put the key card in the door of the impressive prototype, stepping back to allow them to enter while I follow. “As you can see the open-plan spacing is ideal for both family living and social gatherings, and with a view like that,” I gesture to the full-length glass windows overlooking the river Mersey, “you need never leave the comfort of your own home.”
“It’s hardly the Caribbean!” someone pipes up.
“Not quite,” I agree amiably. “But does the Caribbean house the world’s most famous yellow submarine?”
He laughs and the rest join in.
We move around the show apartment while I talk them through the hand-made kitchen with built-in appliances and granite worktops. The fully tiled oyster bathroom with mini-bar and plasma TV goes down a storm.
“Each room contains one or more speakers discreetly placed, allowing you to control the sound level from that room or from the master keypad, which is located in the master bedroom.” God, I’m envious.
Reaching behind the heavy silk curtains, I pull out a slim remote from its walled bracket. Clicking a single button, I stand back to watch a piece of automated heaven as the cyber home cinema screen rolls into place. Pure silence. “The screen is six feet wide and seventy-seven inches diagonally,” I tell them excitedly. “This room has four speakers to maximise the surround-sound field and a sub-woofer to help with those lower frequencies.”
I haven’t a clue what it means but I imagine most of the blokes here will find it impressive.
We finish with the communal gym in the basement and it is clear to see the guys are totally impressed.
“What did you say the ground rent was?” I recognise the lady speaking but I just can’t pinpoint where. Somewhere on the television though.
“It’s twelve hundred and sixty pounds a year,” I reply. “Which isn’t bad considering the level of maintenance required.” She nods, giving nothing away.
A recognisable voice pipes up breathlessly. “Am I too late for the viewing?”
“Kate?”
Kate marches up to the rest of the group, recognising some of them. She exchanges polite kisses on both cheeks with a number of them.
“We’re just finishing up here but if you give me five minutes I’ll show you around,” I tell her formally.
“Okay.”
We finish up with the obligatory question and answer session and all the while my fingers remain crossed behind my back.
This morning has gone well. Really well, in fact. I’m a great one for intuition when it comes to business and I’d safely say that three out of the four will buy in. The moaning guy I’m not too sure about, he may have been along for the ride. Who was he anyway? Nobody I recognised.
As the last of the guests leave, Kate turns into the Kate I know and gives me a great big bear hug accompanied by a sloppy kiss.
“You’re a bad girl, Tina!” she says, wincing.
“What did I do?”
“You got so pissed at your sister’s wedding you missed half of it, you dope!” She wanders off into the kitchen area, opening and closing every door before nosily shoving her head inside for microscopic inspection. “Simon and I had to carry you upstairs.” She presses the ice machine to see if it works and pieces of crushed ice fly past her onto the floor below.
“Here, I’ll clean that up.” I’m glad of the distraction.
“He’s a nice guy,” she adds dismissively, running her hand along the smooth surface of black granite. “Not your usual type, Tina, but he’s definitely got the hots for you.”
I carry on drying the floor although I’m keen to hear more about what they talked about while I was slipping under.
“Kate, he’s practically my brother-in-law and besides,” I push myself up from the floor, “he’s a scruffy little sod who doesn’t know the difference between a Timex and a Rolex!” I laugh, remembering how stupid his comment was. And possibly how deliberate it was. The guy drives a Porsche for heaven’s sake! Bloody hypocrite.
“Stop being so shallow.” Kate stares at me harshly. “I know you too well, Tina Harding. Now where do I sign?”
“Sign?”
“I’ll take one.” Kate beams at me proudly as she pulls her cheque book from her very real Gucci bag.
“What?” I stand back, flabbergasted. “I thought you were here to give me a lecture?”
“I am but I also need a place to live when I come home.” She shrugs, matter of fact. “I’m sick of hotels and my mother wants to fatten me up when I stay with her and my dad. It’s about time I had
my own place here.”
I don’t know what to say for once. “Don’t you want the full tour?”
Kate shakes her head. “My agent sent me a brochure and I’ve read the spec list a thousand times.”
“Wow, Kate, I had no idea you were doing so well,” I say quietly. “I’m made up for you.” Kate takes in my pensive expression and grips me tightly. “Tina, I’m paid a shitload of money for being blonde and thin. I was in the right place at the right time and the minute I gain a few pounds or start to age I’ll be coming to you for a job!”
We burst out in laughter, knowing full well that Kate and administration don’t go very well together.
“I did the right thing, didn’t I, Kate?” My bottom lip begins to quiver. “It’s just that sometimes, lately, I feel like a total failure. I’m all over the place.”
“You are the real worker of us, Tina, not me. You have it all.” Kate’s voice is pure and sincere. “You’re gorgeous, clever, determined and a great friend.”
I stare at the floor for a moment before looking up with deliberate puppy eyes. “Is that it?”
Kate slaps me on the arm. “Stop being so bloody insecure!”
Now I have a reason to be jealous!
Chantelle is deep in conversation with a middle-aged couple, showing them a series of executive properties on the laptop. They look extremely wealthy but then again, with Chantelle’s aristocratic looks, so does she. I notice a bling ring on the woman’s finger and am desperate to ask if it’s real but they’re deep in conversation. Chantelle sits back, waiting patiently for them to decide which of the properties they’d like to view. I smile at her, tilting my head, gesturing for her to come over as soon as she’s finished. I can’t wait to tell her the good news. All four of the guys this morning want the properties. My mobile phone rang incessantly within an hour of them leaving but the fifth contender, now that was a surprise, but Kate swears she told me on Saturday night that she was interested. She currently has a one-bedroom flat in London which has seen a significant rise in value since she bought it five years ago but she now wants a base in her home town. I can’t help thinking it should be me! It should bloody well be me! I would kill for one. Literally. But even though I’ve turned a shade of envious green, I am pleased for Kate. She does deserve it. She words hard, looks after her parents and is a loyal and honest best friend. She’s slightly disturbed at times but that’s what I love about her. On the bright side, consider the parties we can have when she comes home! We can invite the celebrity neighbours and their rich friends across. We can sup on mini-bottles of Veuve Clicquot with little black straws and order in caterers to deliver fancy hors d’oeuvres. Or ‘horses’ hooves’ as Kate and I call them. I pick up a little at the thought of fun-filled nights in the docklands followed by healthy mornings in the gym. A lifestyle one can only dream about because so few are rewarded with such benefits from life. I think about the amount of money I used to make from various acting and modelling jobs. It was exorbitant but the problem was it was just like the buses where all the work came together and you spent the following six months surviving on it while you worked your butt off desperately hoping for your next big break. Sometimes I miss it, sometimes I don’t, but as for having a real opportunity to get cash rich, unless I get my skates on and open a dozen Harding Homes over the next few years, which is unlikely, I’m beginning to think I’m in the wrong job.
My chest feels a little tight and I suddenly feel lightheaded and woozy. I’ve worked so hard both in and on this business. It’s my livelihood, my baby.
Is it ever going to keep you in the life of luxury that you crave?
I’m working at my own pace and doing very well, thank you. Our reputation is growing thick and fast and, with the second shop only months away, I really couldn’t ask for much more.
“You gave in too quickly . . . the self-doubt you carry needs to be removed!”
“No, no, no!” I shout out loud. My head is beginning to throb as I try to erase the voices from it. “Leave me alone!”
“You have great potential in this area . . .”
“Just shut up!”
“Put your trust in unseen events . . .”
“Go away!”
“You are battling with a failed past!”
“Because you won’t bloody let me forget it!”
Chantelle twists the bottle, holding the cork firmly. It hisses seductively as it separates from the neck of the bottle and mini-bubbles surface to say hello before disappearing as quickly as they came.
“You’ve done that before, Chantelle. Good bit of wrist action there, Mrs!”
Chantelle just winks at me.
“Not a drop wasted – although wouldn’t you like to just shake it everywhere like they do on TV?” Heather snorts as she holds up her glass to join ours. “But it would be such a waste.”
“Just keep it away from my hair,” I order. We salute each other warmly, toasting to health, wealth and happiness. Not necessarily in that order.
“I’ve loaded all the figures on to SAGE and filed the VAT returns, Tina.” Heather hands me a tape marked Q1 2009. “It’s all backed up on here and even without Steen Developments we’re looking good. Damn good. The sales are up, overheads are minimal and with a pipeline of pending sales of the docklands properties in tow plus close completion of more than two dozen here, Tina, I’d say you could consider opening two more shops.” Heather takes a rough swig of champagne, leaving her glass almost empty.
Her words are music to my ears but it’s still a little ambitious . . . although I do feel myself tingling with excitement, the same type of excitement I got when my first business loan was approved. I guess it’s like having your first child, nothing can beat the experience. From what I hear!
“Just one will do for now, Heather,” I tell her wisely. Unless you’re actually running the business, it’s easy to forget that there are other considerations apart from the financial. “Don’t forget that I’d have the salary overheads as well as the running costs for two more offices, and until at least one of the two new offices was paying for itself, this one here would be carrying the cost for three Harding Homes. We’re not quite ready for that yet. Oh, that reminds me – I’m expecting the building quote in any day now.” I feel my face redden at the thought of my last encounter with Brian and almost groan out loud as I recall his soft hands openly massaging my breasts, and my nipples harden instantly. Thank heavens for the protection of padded bras. I had to turn down his invitation for dinner last weekend what with Sam’s wedding and all, but this weekend come hell or high water I’ll be there by his side (though preferably underneath him), only this time I will be able to tell him that we’ve sold them all. Every last one of his amazing apartments and in a short space of time that has impressed even me. I suddenly feel the urge to hear his dulcet tones and find out the plans for the weekend. It’s never too early to organise your wardrobe and in light of our recent success, I might even consider treating myself to something new and totally seductive.
Excusing myself from Chantelle and Heather, I run upstairs to use the phone in complete privacy and, dialling his number, I notice my hands are shaking. Damn! Bloody voice mail. Still, I did say I’d ring him and the purpose is legitimate.
“Hi, Brian, it’s Tina here,” I say professionally. “As promised I’m just ringing to confirm arrangements for this weekend. Talk soon. Bye.”
I hang up, wondering if I sounded too disinterested and a little too standoffish. Why the hell is a post mortem necessary after every conversation I have with the guy?
My phone bleeps with a new text message. Pick u up Sat 6pm. Pak overnite bag. BS
I’m not sure whether to be excited or insulted that he’s made the decision for me to stay with him and, after our last episode, I doubt very much we’ll be in separate rooms. God, I hope not! I’m so tempted to text him back to ask where we’re going. What’s the harm?
Where u taking me? I text before I can stop myself.
&n
bsp; 4 me to no’n’u 2 find out! he replies.
I give up. He’s not going to tell me but God only knows how I’m going to get through the rest of the week. The suspense is killing me already. Flicking through the diary, I notice a blank space where I quickly type in No Appointments Please. This will allow me time to go shopping for a new outfit but I’m not sure I can afford the Lejaby underwear I’ve had my eye on . . . after spending a fortune on the last lot for it to be sampled by a middle-aged student. Tragic waste! I really ought to consider wearing that again, given neither myself nor anyone else has had their money’s worth. I’m so excited that I want to tell someone. It’s hard keeping this under wraps but I’ve preached for so long about the business-and-pleasure rule that I’ll appear a complete hypocrite if I even mention it to Chantelle. She did tell me ages ago that she thought he fancied me but still I think the less said the better. I need to continue to lead by example. I could consider telling Kate, given she knows the history so far, but after her comments yesterday she seems intent on fixing me up with Simon, and if I tell my mother she’ll start planning the next wedding and knitting baby booties. Well, the former possibly as like myself she can’t thread a needle yet alone knit and, besides, her acrylic nails would only get in the way.
I laugh out loud as my memory skips back some years, reminding me of a comical night of bowling with Mum, Dad and Sam. My mother truly had no idea what she was letting herself in for and we had to explain to her that the three holes in each ball were designed to fit three fingers. Easy? She nearly hit the roof. “But my nails!” she whinged in a mild tantrum. “You can’t expect me to run the risk of losing them! Do you know how much these things cost?” Dad rolled his eyes as usual as if to say ‘just humour your mother’ but Sam and I could do nothing but laugh. I did hear him say something under his breath about him paying for them. Sam disappeared for a few minutes and then re-appeared pushing a metal stand shaped like a ski-slope with a flat shelf on top. She grabbed a ball, curving her hands around it to demonstrate the no-nails-required technique, and placed it on the flat part of the metal stand which she had positioned just on the red line of our bowling lane.
Crystal Balls Page 21