Madeleine Wickham - A Desirable Residence

A DESIRABLE RESIDENCE

ALSO BY MADELEINE WICKHAM

Cocktails for Three

The Gatecrasher

Sleeping Arrangements

The Wedding Girl

A DESIRABLE
RESIDENCE

Madeleine Wickham

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
ST. MARTINS PRESS
NEW YORK

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martins Press.

A DESIRABLE RESIDENCE. Copyright 1996 by Madeleine Wickham. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

96-35455

CIP

ISBN 978-0-312-56277-9

Originally published in Great Britain by Black Swan,
a division of Transworld Publishers, Ltd.

First published in the United States by Thomas Dunne Books,
an imprint of St. Martins Press

Second St. Martins Press Hardcover Edition: June 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Henry

Warmest thanks to Araminta Whitley,
Diane Pearson and Sally Gaminara,
and to Clare Pressley

CHAPTER ONE

There wasnt much point, Liz told herself, in getting upset. It wasnt his fault, poor man. The estate agent had finished talking, and was looking at her concernedly, expecting a response. To gain time, she glanced out of the sash window of the office, the panes bright with the sun and raindrops of a confused Septembers day. There was a little courtyard garden outside, walled, with a white wrought-iron bench and tubs of flowers. It must be nice in the summer, she thought, forgetting that this still was, to all intents and purposes, the summer. Her mind always worked at least half a term ahead.

Mrs Chambers... ?

Oh yes, sorry, said Liz, and turned back. I was listening. She smiled at the estate agent. He didnt smile back.

I did warn your husband at the time the property went on the market, he said, that this might happen. I advised a price rather lower than your asking price.

I know you did, agreed Liz. She wondered why he felt it necessary to remind her. Was he feeling defensive? Did he experience a need to justify himself; explain why their house had been on the market for ten months with his agency and had failed to sell? She studied his young, well-shaven face for signs of I-told-you-so; if-youd-listened-to-me...

But his face was serious. Concerned. He was probably, she thought, not the sort of person who would countenance recriminations. He was simply pointing out the facts.

And now, he was saying, you must make a decision. You have, as I see it, two realistic options. And a few unrealistic ones? Liz wanted to ask, but instead she looked intelligently at him, leaning forward slightly in her chair to show she was interested. She was beginning to feel rather hot; the sun was beating brightly through the panes of glass onto her cheeks. As usual, she had completely misjudged the early-morning weather and dressed for a brisk autumn day. She should perhaps remove a layer of clothing. But the thought of taking off her unwieldy jerseywhich would necessitate first removing her spectacles and Alice bandto reveal a crumpled denim shirt, which might or might not be stained with coffee, seemed too much to contemplate. Especially in front of this smooth estate agent. She glanced surreptitiously at him. He didnt seem to be too hot; his face was tanned but not at all flushed and his cuffs looked crisp and cool. Starched, probably, she thought, by his girlfriend. Or perhaps, bearing in mind how young he looked, his mother. The thought amused her.

Two options, she said, more agreeably than she had intended.

A flicker of something like relief passed across his face. Perhaps he had been expecting a scene. But before Liz could react to it, he was back into well-grooved, grown-up professionalism.

The first option, he said, would be to put your house back on the market and drop the price considerably. Of course, thought Liz. Any fool could have told me that.

By about how much? she asked politely. Realistically speaking, she added for good measure, stifling a sudden, inappropriate urge to giggle. This conversation was unreal. Next thing shed be saying, Lets have the cards on the table, or, Would you run that by me again... Pull yourself together, she told herself sternly. This is serious.

Fifty thousand pounds. At least.

Lizs head jerked up in shock. The giggle rising up inside her suddenly subsided; she felt shamefaced. No wonder this boys handsome face was so concerned. He was more worried about her situation than she was. And, to give him his due, it was worrying.

Weve already reduced it by twenty, she said, noting with slight horror that her voice was shaking. And thats less than the mortgage.

I know, he said. He looked down at the papers on his desk. Im afraid the market has dropped considerably since you bought.

Not that much. It cant have. Belated worry made her belligerent. Of course she had seen the headlines in the papers. But shed always skimmed them with her eyes; assumed they had no relevance to her. Shed avoided the chat of friends, some overtly anxious, others smugly triumphant. The property market this, the property market that. For heavens sake. Stupid phrase, anyway. The property market ... It made her think of rows of market stalls covered in tiny houses, each with a price label tied around the chimney.

We cant sell it for so little, she added. She could feel her cheeks growing even more hot. We just cant. We wont have enough to pay back the bank, and we only got the mortgage for the tutorial college on the basis of selling the house. We had some people interested in it then; they actually made an offer. She stopped. A tide of humiliation seeped through her. How much older than this young man was she? And here she was, blurting out all her money worries; looking to him for an answer.

But he didnt look as though he had one. His fingers ruffled the papers on his desk anxiously; he avoided her eye. Im confident that if you reduced the asking price by the amount I suggested, we would have a sale within a very reasonable time-scale, he said. He sounded as though he was reading from a prompt card.

Yes, but we need more money than that! cried Liz. Weve got a mortgage to pay off . And now weve got a business to run. And whats a reasonable time-scale anyway? Too late, she realized her error. The estate agents head shot up, an unmistakable look of relief on his face at having been given a question he could answer.

Ah, well, these things always take a certain length of time, he began. Well be promoting the house afresh, highlighting the reduced price, targeting a different purchaser altogether.

As his voice droned on, happily outlining the benefits of local advertising and colour photography, Lizs gaze wandered. She felt suddenly drained, worried and fearful. She had not, she realized, taken the sale of the house seriously enough. When the first buyers had pulled out, she had almost been pleased. She could hardly bear the idea of strangers in their home, using their bathroom, their kitchen, sunbathing in their garden. Even though she had been the driving force behind the move in the first place.

Of course, Jonathan couldnt understand that. One night, several months ago, she had broken down in a torrent of weeping at the thought of leaving the house for good, and he had stared at her in amazement.

But you were the one who wanted to do all this, he had said, almost shouted. It was your idea to buy the tutorial college in the first place.