Love Nest (9 page)

But then she looked at Phil again. His cheeks were ruddy. He looked the happiest Karen had seen in months.

She was going to have to go along with this plan. She’d been studying the ground, but now, looking up, she caught Grace’s eye. The pain there made Karen feel slightly sick.

But that couldn’t be Karen’s problem. Throwing her shoulders back, she said, ‘Absolutely. There’d be plenty to keep me busy here. And there’s nothing I love like a challenge.’

Phil realized they’d gone too far, made it a bit too obvious that they were gagging for the place. Time for a hasty retreat if they were going to get it at the knockdown price he had in mind.

‘Of course we need to have a serious conversation about this.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Crikey, is that the time? We’d better be making tracks soon if we’re going to make it back to London in time for
Robin Hood
.’ They walked back along the drive, hugging themselves against the cold. When they reached the car, hands were shaken again.

‘We’ll be in touch very soon,’ Phil promised.

‘Oh my God, Dad. We’re going to live in a… castle,’ said Bea, as they drove off.

‘
Not
a castle. An Elizabethan
manor house
! Mum, why does she keep saying castle?’

‘Well, we don’t know that for sure, darling,’ Karen said. ‘We just need to do the maths.’

‘But Daddy’s rich since he sold his company,’ Bea said.

‘God, Bea, you don’t go around at school telling everyone Daddy’s rich? That’s sooo embarrassing.’

Phil laughed as they headed back over the little stone bridge. ‘Not rich, darling. Well, not very rich. But we can afford this place. Would you like it? Would you really like to live here?’

‘Yesss!’ the girls clamoured. Phil laughed again. And Karen’s last vestiges of hope withered and died. If his little princesses wanted it, there would be no argument.

‘Where shall we go for lunch?’

‘Somewhere that does spaghetti bolognese,’ Bea said.

Eloise rolled her eyes. ‘Not spaghetti. Penne. Much nicer.’

‘And vanilla ice cream,’ Bea continued undeterred.

‘Pistachio for me. That’s my favourite.’

You’ll be lucky getting pistachio out here in the sticks
, Karen thought. But she just smiled again as Phil cried, ‘Ladies. Your wish is my command.’ It was amazing how obedient her facial muscles could be.

8

Lucinda spent virtually all weekend with Cassandra, her old schoolfriend from La Chêneraie, watching cheesy films, listening to her weeping and periodically saying, ‘There, there.’ Privately, she thought Cass was well out of it. Tim, the dumper, had so clearly been an arse. Lucinda remembered the first time Cass had introduced them at a party. There was a smugness about him, a look in his eyes that said, ‘Hey, I’m good-looking, I work for a bank, I earn ludicrous amounts of money in return for screwing the economy, therefore I’m every woman’s Holy Grail and don’t I know it?’

‘Hi,’ Lucinda had said brusquely, determined not to boost his ego further.

‘Lucinda’s an estate agent,’ Cass had said, eyes shining, obviously thrilled to be introducing the two most important people in her life to each other.

‘Oh yeah,’ he’d smirked. ‘What do you call twenty estate agents chained together at the bottom of the sea?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lucinda replied, thinking,
Yawn, yawn, yet
another one who thinks I’ve never heard an estate agent joke before
. ‘But I know what you call twenty bankers. A damn good start.’

He’d laughed brittly. ‘Touché,’ he’d said and turned away.

From then they’d hated each other. Not in a sexy, really-we’re-so-attracted-to-each-other-and-this-is-how-we-show-it way, just good old-fashioned dislike. Cass, of course, had been oblivious. She’d bought Tim an expensive watch for his birthday, treated him to a weekend at Babington House for their month’s anniversary. She bunked off work early to get her hair done for him, she came in late with stubble burn on her chin and got bollocked by her boss. Lucinda heard about it bemused. OK, Cass was an over-privileged girl, who – like virtually everyone from school – saw her job in the press office at Sotheby’s as a cute little hobby like ballroom dancing that could be put on the back burner whenever. But still Lucinda just didn’t see how such a loser could take priority over work, however trivial.

‘Honestly,’ she said at some point on Sunday morning, when Cass’s snivelling had been temporarily abated by an almond croissant. ‘I know this all seems shit now. But he wasn’t worth it. I never liked him anyway.’

Cass looked up suspiciously. ‘Didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because he was your boyfriend, not mine. I hoped I’d change my mind.’

‘What do you think I did wrong?’

‘Nothing. He’s the one who made the mistake, letting go of you.’

‘Do you really think there’s no one else? I bet he’s met someone and he’s just too chicken to say.’

Privately, Lucinda was sure of that, but she just made mmm-errrr noises. Cass continued. ‘Oh, Luce. What am I going to do? I loved him so much. I know he’s an idiot, but it was just something about the way he sme – he- he- he – helled.’

Lucinda patted her back as the sobs started again. She felt sorry for her friend and yet she genuinely didn’t understand.

Maybe something was wrong with her that she had so little interest in what seemed to obsess every other woman in the world. But why should that bother her, Lucinda decided. She wasn’t the one with the swollen eyes and dripping nose.

‘And it’s Valentine’s Day on Tuesday. I’d bought him a card and a present. Booked Le Caprice. And now I’ll be home alone.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Lucinda said briskly. ‘I’m going to a gig. The Vertical Blinds. You can come with me.’

Cassandra gaped. ‘The Vertical Blinds! They’re a bit cool for you, aren’t they, Luce?’

‘One of them’s a client. I was going to take Benjie, but he won’t mind. He’s always blowing me out at the last minute when he gets GayDared.’

‘Cool.’ For the first time that weekend, Cassandra looked as if life might still be worth living. ‘Thanks, Luce. Their lead singer is gorgeous. Will we get a chance to meet him?’

‘You never know.’ Lucinda stood up, delighted she’d finally made Cass smile. ‘Look, it’s getting late. I’ll head off. But call me whenever you need to vent and we’ll go to the Valentine’s Day gig.’

Gemma and Alex had argued all Friday night about whether to accept the revised offer from Nick Crex. Alex said it was still way too low. Gemma pointed out, smiling all the while, that it was the only offer they’d had in five months; the market was going down but if they accepted it Alex would still have made a profit on the place since he’d bought the flat ten years ago.

‘But I feel I’ve been cheated,’ he protested. ‘Those estate agent shysters told us to put it on at that price to get our business and now they’re doing all this “Oh well, the market’s falling, I’d accept it if I were you…” They’ve conned us. It pisses me off.
And
he’s a rock star.’ Nick and Gemma had been thrilled initially to discover the identity of their buyer, but now it annoyed them that someone with so much to waste on ketamine and fast women was haggling over the price of a flat.

‘They haven’t conned us, darling, just misled us.’ Gemma stroked his brow. ‘And all rock stars are mean. I read Mick Jagger’s as tight as a pair of his leather trousers.’

Alex grunted. He was in a bad mood anyway. He was a very successful barrister but over the last year his workload had been dwindling, thanks to the government changing the system so that a load of his colleagues were now employed in-house by the Crown Prosecution Service, creaming work away from freelances like himself.

‘I’m poorer than I was a year ago, that’s why we can’t just say yes to this lower offer,’ he explained on Saturday morning, as they sat eating porridge at the breakfast bar. ‘The fertility treatment is costing a small fortune.’ He held up a hand before she could protest. ‘
Not
that I begrudge it, but we have to factor it in. The bank’s not going to keep increasing our mortgage because there’s no guarantee I’ll be making enough to pay it off. There’s a certain figure we just can’t go over. Now I’ve got to work. I need to start preparing my new case.’

‘But you said it wasn’t for a few weeks.’

‘It isn’t. But it’s huge. The guy I’m defending is about as dodgy as they come. He’s from the Holmes family. They’re one of those big East End Kray-type families, string of convictions that go from here to China. If I get him off this, it’ll be mega. All the bad-ass mafioso types are going to be queuing for my services. Gunning each other down in the street.’

Gemma wrinkled her nose. She didn’t need to say anything, they’d had this argument a thousand times before.

‘If you want Coverley Drive that’s the way it goes, Poochie. I’m a taxi for hire. If my light’s on then I have to take whoever flags me down. So let me start preparing.’

‘OK. I’ll go for a swim.’

There was a drawn-out pause, like in
Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
before you learn if the contestant got the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-pound question right or wrong. Then Alex said crossly, ‘Oh, bloody hell. All right. I’ll accept the offer on Monday. You realize this means we’re never going out for dinner again, though. Can’t afford it.’

Gemma screamed, just like the happy contestant would.

‘Oh, thank you, darling. Thank you.’

Her husband grinned sheepishly as she showered him with kisses. ‘That’s OK. I guess when Chudney comes along, restaurants will be out anyway.’

‘And foreign holidays. And nice clothes. Too stressful to fly. Or risk wearing cashmere.’ They often played the ‘when Chudney comes’ game, listing all the downsides of babies. It helped distance them from how much they both wanted one.

‘Now go and swim, so I can try to earn an honest bean. Or a dishonest one, if you prefer.’

Thank God Cass had reminded her about Valentine’s Day, Lucinda thought the following morning on her way to work. After she emerged from the Tube at Chancery Lane, she popped into the newsagent’s to buy two Valentines. One for Daddy, another for Benjie. The same one – a bit camp but very pretty with a silver background and a fat satin heart appliquéd to the front.

But in the office, when she opened them, she realized her mistake. Inside, both bore the legend
Marry Me.
For Benjie, it was fine. She added, smirking:
And we’ll move to a trailer park in Kentucky and be right at home ?? xx.
But for Daddy, it was all wrong. He wouldn’t find her joke funny in the slightest and if she crossed it out it wouldn’t look perfect – and everything Lucinda did for her father had to be just right. She’d buy him another one when she went out for her 10.45 viewing. But in the meantime what to do with the spare Valentine? It was too pretty to waste.

Briefly she considered Cass, wondering if it would cheer her up, but no – she’d think it was from Tim and that would be cruel. Lucinda mentally listed the men she knew. No. Absolutely no one she even remotely fancied. Which, perversely, brought her thoughts to Gareth. He wasn’t at his desk. Lucinda was relieved. Cass’s histrionics meant there hadn’t been much time to think about him over the weekend, but whenever she’d gone there she’d felt horribly guilty. Why had she deliberately humiliated him like that by letting him know she knew how he felt about her? Answer: because she was vain. And at sea in this alien environment and in need of reassurance. Even though Marsha had already told her how Gareth felt, him confirming it had given her a kick.

Lucinda felt a faint flush around her earlobes. Basically she wasn’t a nice person. She would have to try harder. Her ringing phone dragged her away from such dismal thoughts.

‘Hello, Dunraven Mackie.’

‘Lucinda? It’s Alex Meehan.’

‘Oh, good morning. How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks. Listen, we discussed the offer over the weekend and even though it’s lower than you’d led us to believe we’d get, we’re going to accept it.’

Lucinda’s mood instantly lifted. ‘OK. I think you’ve made a sensible decision there.’

‘I think we had no choice.’ God, he was rude. ‘But we don’t want to lose the house we want and we can’t keep them waiting for ever. Anyway, I’ve told our solicitor and he’ll be in touch. Look forward to hearing from you later.’

‘Absolutely.’ She hung up with a soft ‘Yes!’ But there was no one to boast to. Niall, with a big patch of babysick on his shoulder, was on the phone. So was Marsha. The others were all out. Well, never mind. They’d all hear later at the midday meeting. Lucinda couldn’t wait to see the expression on Joanne’s face when she discovered she’d sold the unsellable flat. Immediately she called Nick Crex. Voicemail. Not that surprising. Rock stars didn’t get up until the afternoon. She left a message for him to call, then took out her notebook to start listing clients to contact.

The agency door opened. She looked up to see Anton, the South-Efrikan property developer. Just like Friday night, he had that gloomy look on his face. Lucinda watched as Niall hung up, jumped to his feet and held out his hand.

‘Anton! Good to see you.’

‘You too, Niall. I was just passing and I thought I’d drop by. Take the market’s temperature.’

‘Not as bad as it looks,’ Niall said, and they launched into a conversation Lucinda knew backwards, upside down and inside out, about how the market had bottomed out and was definitely on the rise again. She listened for a moment or two, then picked up the phone and called her first client. Voicemail. She left a message, in perhaps a slightly louder voice than was necessary. She hung up. Anton still wasn’t looking at her. Rude man. He hadn’t even acknowledged her and Marsha.

She decided to stare at him. See how long before he noticed. But a whole minute passed and he carried on talking to Niall, oblivious. You could tell he was the sort of guy who’d never care about a woman’s opinion. Sexist pig

Surreptitiously, Lucinda stuck out her tongue. Turning back to her keyboard on impulse, she googled him. She couldn’t remember his surname and
Anton, property developer, Clerkenwell
brought up nothing. She tried
Anton Craighill building EC1
. Of course, Anton Beleek. Funnily enough he didn’t have a Facebook page. But his offices did have an address. Just down the road from them behind Clerkenwell Green. She looked up at him again. He didn’t seem to register her. Looked down again. Looked up.

Looked down. At her Valentine.

Something came over Lucinda. She grabbed a pen and wrote ‘Can’t stop thinking about you’ under the
Marry Me
. Then a big ?. Then XXX000.

Then she shoved it in its envelope and scribbled Anton’s name and address on the front, adding ‘PRIVATE’. Sealed it, stamped it and stuck it in her bag. Time for her appointment.

‘Niall, I’ve got a viewing at Finsbury Square. See you later.’

Walking out of the door, she bumped straight into Gareth.

‘Hi, how are you?’ She couldn’t quite meet his eye.

‘Good, thanks. Good weekend with your mate?’ He seemed his normal, smiling jovial self.

‘If you call listening to “I Will Survive” on a loop good, then yeah, I suppose so.’

He laughed. She laughed too. Great. No hard feelings. For a second Lucinda wondered about fixing him up with Cass. But no. The yokel accent again. What was it with the men around her and funny accents? First Gareth sounding like he was sitting on a tractor, chewing a piece of straw, then Ent-on.

‘See you later. Maybe pop out to Pret after the meeting?’

‘Yeah,’ he smiled. ‘Why not.’

She walked off happily. Paranoia unnecessary. Gareth was still her friend. Reaching the postbox she stopped and considered her actions. It was ridiculous to send a Valentine to a man she didn’t know purely because she had a spare one and he’d wound her up by ignoring her. Lucinda twiddled her bracelet. The same voice that had admonished her for playing with Gareth’s feelings now told her she was being a show-off – again. But then her phone rang. Aha. Nick Crex.

‘Hello? Lucinda speaking.’

‘Hiya, it’s Nick Crex here. I got your message. So the flat’s mine?’

‘Well, not quite. But subject to contract and blah blah, then yes. Congratulations.’

‘Nice one. So what do I do now?’

‘Inform your solicitor. I’d advise you to commission a survey and we can get the ball rolling.’

‘How soon do you think I can move in?’

‘Well, as I understand it the Meehans have an offer in on a property in the country. Depending on whether that’s chain free or not – I don’t know. A month. Two months?’