‘Oh. My. God. This place is amazing!’ Claire bounds up to the cottage door, panting like a six-week-old puppy. ‘Have you ever seen anything so adorable?’ She stands back to admire the trelliswork that runs across the doorway and points out the weathervane on the roof.
I fix a cynical look to my face before I answer. It’s critical that Claire doesn’t get her hopes up about this place. For all we know it could be infested with mice the size of hamsters. ‘It’s OK, I guess,’ I say, acting like I’m unimpressed with what I see. Secretly, though, I have to admit the cottage is a lot better than I ever imagined it would be. Instead of the tumbledown shack I’d expected, the place looks in pretty good order. There’s a neat garden out front and the roof does look as if it’s been replaced pretty recently – the photos Claire had shown me hadn’t been touched up. Still, I don’t get my hopes up. God only knows what we’ll see inside – it’s probably a complete horror show in there. At best, it could be a nightmare of seventies chic. At worst, the place could be covered with mildew and dripping damp. There may even be a few resident rodents. I’ve seen hundreds of homes in my years working in Hanly’s and I’ve come to expect the very worst of all of them, no matter how promising they may look from the outside.
‘Ooooh, look at the décor – it’s gorgeous!’
Claire now has her nose flattened against the traditional sash window pane and is peering inside. ‘I just love the colour scheme, don’t you? All those pale walls mean you can introduce colour with fabric. Isn’t that blue dresser divine? Do you think it’s original to the cottage? Maybe it’s been used by families for hundreds of years – isn’t that an amazing thought? I could be part of history in the making!’
She’s practically drooling over a pine dresser that’s been painted Tiffany blue. Far from being an original feature, the landlord probably bought it for half nothing at an auction, then slapped some paint on to make it presentable – it’s bound to be crawling with woodworm. Claire has a lot to learn about how these people operate. If she goes on appearances alone, she’ll have the wool pulled over her eyes good and proper.
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ I warn. ‘Décor can hide a multitude of things.’
‘Like what?’ She turns to face me, her eyes shining with excitement. I know she’s already imagining herself arranging antique crockery on the dresser that she thinks has been used by generations before her.
‘Like rot. Or wood lice. Or worse.’ I do my best to sound gloomy, even though I somehow inexplicably quite like the cottage. There’s something about the place. Still, it won’t do to become in any way emotional about it – I have to keep a cool head for negotiations. Looking for possible negatives everywhere ensures I’m able to do just that. It’s a trick I’ve learned from working in Hanly’s.
‘Well, it’s not like I’m buying the place – I’m sure I could get along with a few woodlice!’
Claire dismisses my concerns with a wave. Nothing is going to burst her bubble, not even my cynicism and pessimism. She’s genuinely excited at the thought of moving here.
‘Still, there’s no sign of the landlord.’ I glance at my watch. ‘He’s late.’ I look meaningfully at her.
‘So what?’ she asks, right on cue.
‘Well. It’s nothing, I suppose.’ I pause to make sure she knows that I mean exactly the opposite. ‘It’s just that good landlords are usually on time. Being late means he’s not reliable. Like he may not show up in an emergency.’
‘What kind of an emergency?’ She frowns.
This is good – I have her worried: I can tell from the way her brow has furrowed that she’s thinking about the implications of this.
‘Well, you never know what may happen,’ I say, as vaguely and as ominously as possible. Luckily, I’m very good at playing this game – as a child, imagining the disasters that could befall me was one of my favourite pastimes. Mind you, Theresa usually beat me: her version of catastrophe was always off the charts.
‘Try me.’ Her voice sounds sort of edgy. Like maybe she’s getting scared – just a little.
I don’t want to terrify her, of course not. I just want her to know what she might be getting herself into. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t.
‘Well …’ I rack my brains for some top-notch disasters, the sort that could scare the bejaysus out of her without scarring her for life. ‘The water mains could burst and flood the place. Or the gas oven could explode. That sort of thing.’
‘The gas oven could explode?’ She doesn’t look too frightened by that.
‘Yes.’ I’m sticking to my guns. ‘It happens more than you think. These sorts of landlords don’t take due care of their property, you see, that’s the problem. They just cram as many people as they can through the door and collect the money at the start of the month. That’s all it is to them – money. Most of them are money mad.’
‘But he’s not trying to cram anyone in, Maggie.’ Claire is clearly bemused.
‘Yes … that’s what he says now,’ I reply darkly. ‘It could change.’
‘What does that mean?’ She cocks her head.
‘Well, you never can tell what these sorts have planned. Once he gets you to commit he could try to squeeze in more tenants. Who knows how many?’
‘Like in a tenement?’
‘Exactly!’ I say. I’m delighted she’s catching my drift at last. I was beginning to think I’d never get through to her.
‘You’re worrying about nothing,’ she says. ‘This is the twenty-first century, Maggie. I’ll be signing a lease – that’ll protect me surely.’
‘It may,’ I say airily, ‘it may not. Sometimes a lease isn’t even worth the paper it’s written on. You can’t be too careful.’
‘Well, I think you’re overreacting.’ Claire smiles. ‘Everything will be fine. Besides, Edward already knows it’s just you and me. I told him our plan. I mean, if you agree to it, of course …’
‘Well … he is late, that’s all I’m saying.’
I don’t want to let go of this point – it seems important somehow. Claire is pretty confident that I’ll agree to live here while she’s in India. The look in her eye tells me so. I need to pare back her expectations – we haven’t even stepped inside the door yet. This is the problem with her voyage of self-discovery – she genuinely feels enthusiastic about things instead of hating everything on sight like she did before. Surprisingly, it’s turning out to be a very inconvenient trait.
‘Not by much. And I’m sure he has a reasonable explanation. Anyway, what’s time if you think about it really? Just another constraint inflicted by society. It’s so much simpler and less stressful not to focus on these sorts of trivialities too much.’
My jaw drops. Timekeeping used to be such a bugbear of Claire’s. I was once fifteen minutes late meeting her for a pizza date and she didn’t speak to me for a week afterwards. Even then, I had to endure the my-time-is-valuable lecture twice!
‘Maybe he does have some sort of explanation,’ I say ominously. ‘But he could have called us back to tell us. That’s what a responsible, law-abiding landlord would have done.’
I turn away from Claire and decide to examine the external window-ledges for peeling paint or anything else sinister. Unfortunately the surface is smooth and glossy – they’ve been touched up recently, obviously in an effort to make the place look as good as possible. God knows what’s lurking underneath. This cowboy could have done a quick paint job to disguise how rotten the place is – I’ve seen it all before. Behind the perfect exterior there may be crumbling walls or a termite infestation.
‘Look – here he is now!’ Claire says, undisguised excitement in her voice. ‘See? He wasn’t that late!’
A battered green Land Rover squeals to a stop at the gate. That’s a surprise – maybe this guy really doesn’t have money, after all. Or maybe it’s a ploy – maybe he’s driven here purposely in the oldest car he has to make it look like he’s penniless – that’s a smart move. He probably has a fleet of top-of-the-range Bentleys in his custom-built garage at home. Well, if he thinks that old trick will work on me, he can think again. I steel myself: this guy could be a proper operator. Just because we’re in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean the place isn’t crawling with con men.
As I watch, a very tall man in a raggy jumper and filthy jeans leaps out and I realize this can’t be the landlord after all – he’s far too scruffy. He must have sent an employee to talk to us instead. This is probably the caretaker he pays less than the minimum wage to run the place. ‘That’s not the lord of the manor, Claire,’ I say. ‘His wife – what’s her name? June – obviously couldn’t make it so he sent his caretaker with the keys. Imagine! He can’t even turn up to meet us – that’s pretty shoddy of him.’
‘Wow … he’s gorgeous.’ Claire whistles low under her breath. ‘If he’s a caretaker he can take care of me anytime.’
I take a good look at him as he gets closer. He is rather handsome – if you’re into the whole country just-rolled-out-of-a-haystack look. He’s at least six foot two, and even though his face is weather-beaten, there’s something undeniably attractive about his craggy features and long, rangy limbs. I can’t tell what colour hair he has because he has a waxed cap rammed on his head but even from here I can see that his eyes are an unusually bright blue.
‘Hello there!’ the man calls, striding up the path towards us. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. Polly fell off her pony and I had to bandage her wrist. And then there was an incident with a bucket …’
A small child trots behind him, plaits flying and looking mutinous, her wrist bandaged neatly with white tape.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Claire simpers, smiling sweetly at him. ‘It’s no problem.’
‘I’m Edward,’ he says, offering her his hand.
‘Oh, so you’re not the caretaker, then?’ Claire flashes a sneaky smile in my direction and shakes his hand with gusto.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was batting her eyelashes at him.
‘Caretaker? No, there is no caretaker.’ He smiles. ‘Just me.’
They both laugh gamely at his little joke.
‘Well, you’ll do nicely!’ Claire is giggling like a teenager – she is flirting with him. ‘I’m Claire and this is my friend Maggie Baxter. I told you about her on the phone – she might take over the lease while I’m away.’
‘Of course. Nice to meet you, Maggie.’
He nods politely at me and I nod coldly back at him. If he thinks he can charm me with this nicey-nicey act, he’s mistaken. I can see right through it.
‘And this young lady is Polly.’ Edward tugs gently at the child, who’s still hiding behind his back. ‘Don’t you want to come out and say hello?’ he asks her.
‘No.’ Polly sulks and I can’t help smiling. This kid isn’t going to perform in public for anyone – I can tell by the stubborn look on her plump little face. She’s furious for some reason, and no amount of cajoling is going to make her acquiesce to the social graces.
‘Hi, Polly!’ Claire chirps, seemingly oblivious to the child’s bad temper. ‘Aren’t you cute?’
‘Not really.’ Polly looks murderous and I have to stifle a laugh by pretending to cough into my hand. This child is not going to be charmed.
‘Oh.’ Claire is taken aback and a little flustered that Polly is being so obstinately rude.
‘Sorry about that,’ Edward says, shuffling about, embarrassed. ‘She’s in a very bad temper. She’s usually a lot nicer than this.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Polly snorts.
‘Polly, please behave,’ Edward says, his voice strained.
‘No! I won’t.’ Polly stamps her foot. ‘You’re mean, mean, mean! You’re the biggest meanie ever in the world.’
This is getting more interesting by the minute and it occurs to me that it couldn’t be playing out better. Claire has never been a big fan of children – much less children who are as naughty as this one. She’s always subscribed to the school of thought that children should be seen and not heard so, hopefully, this scene will plant another seed of doubt in her mind about moving here. After all, Edward and his family live close by – if she lived here, she’d have to engage with them, probably on a daily basis. Dealing with Polly every day would wear anyone out. Edward looks exhausted, that’s for sure.
I will Polly to do something really vile to turn Claire off for good. If she vomited right here on the step, or even better when we get into the kitchen, that would be excellent. Claire has never been able to tolerate other people puking – seeing a small child barf up her breakfast would guarantee that she’d run screaming for the hills. Then we could go back to the city where we belong. Claire could give up this ashram idea and get another hedge-fund job. I could even become her assistant – it’d be just like that movie Working Girl. I’d be the lovely Melanie Griffith and Claire could be the mean Sigourney Weaver. It’d be great – much better than living here.
‘I’m sure she’s a lovely little girl,’ Claire says soothingly, apparently anxious for Polly to like her.
‘No, I’m not.’ Polly stamps her other foot, her pudgy little face getting redder.
‘Polly.’ Edward’s voice is warning.
‘One little fall and you make me get off – that is so stupid. I’m not a baby – I’m six.’
‘Honey, you sprained your wrist – you can’t ride with a hurt arm.’ He says this with the exhaustion of someone who’s been through this reasoned argument a million times already.
‘Yes, I can.’ The child glares at her father. ‘You just won’t let me. Mum would let me.’
‘Polly. We’ll talk about this later.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you again.’ Polly pouts. ‘Ever.’
‘OK, I’m sure that can be arranged.’ He grins at his daughter, so she knows he doesn’t really mean it. ‘Now, why don’t I let these ladies in to take a look at the cottage?’
He smiles ruefully at us and Claire smiles back sympathetically, obviously wanting to communicate that she knows how difficult and trying young children can be. I, on the other hand, make sure to look blankly at him in return. If he thinks he’s going to charm me with this caring-daddy routine he’s wrong. I’m here to let him know that the customer is king – and if Claire likes this place and decides she’s going to rent it, instead of starring in Working Girl with me, then I’m going to drive a very tough bargain for her. The recession means it’s a renters’ market so we have everything going for us. The ball is in our court and I’m going to make sure this Edward knows it, cute obstinate kid or not.
‘Right, let’s get in, then.’ He takes a bunch of assorted keys from his jeans pocket and wriggles one into the lock with difficulty. ‘The door is a little sticky, sorry,’ he says, as he struggles to get it open.
‘Why? Is there damp?’ I ask. I glance at Claire. She won’t want to move into a place where water’s trickling down the walls. She could pick up all sorts of infections – I read in the paper last week that TB is back on the rise again and surely living in a damp environment could heighten her chances of developing it. I make a mental note to mention this to her. Claire has always been very careful about her health – she takes a cocktail of vitamins and minerals that would put an Olympic athlete to shame.
‘Damp?’ Confusion is written on Edward’s face. I have to hand it to him – he’s got the perfectly innocent I-can’t-imagine-what-you-mean expression off pat.
‘Yes – damp,’ I repeat, my eyes boring into his. ‘You do know what damp is, right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He glances at Claire, who’s glaring at me. Maybe I should tone things down, just a little. I don’t want to be completely unsupportive: I just don’t want to lose her to this place. If she moves here when she gets back from India, I’ll barely get to see her and I’d miss her so much. It suddenly strikes me why I don’t want Claire to come here. I’ve already lost Dermot and Dom at Hanly’s and I don’t want to lose her too. Everything is changing far too fast, so fast I can barely keep up. I want things to stay as they were before the blasted global economy went into meltdown.
‘I know you won’t mind me asking,’ I say, rearranging my face to seem less fierce, ‘but as Claire’s friend I think it’s imperative to be aware of any … pitfalls associated with the property. I’m sure you’ll agree?’
I choose my words very carefully. I don’t want him to know I’m an ex-estate agent necessarily, that’s none of his business – besides, Claire has made me swear not to lord it about too much – but I do want to let him know he’s not dealing with some dumb ingénue. I’m on the ball and ready to take him down if he tries anything sneaky.
‘Of course,’ he says, looking at me strangely, as if he’s wondering what he did to offend me. ‘Well, the door is a little stiff but that’s because it’s rarely used, that’s all. It should loosen up once someone moves in.’
‘So there’s no damp, then?’ I raise my eyebrows to show I’m wise to any sly moves he may try to get over us.
‘No, definitely no damp.’ He smiles at me, but I don’t smile back. I want him to know I won’t stand for any funny business.
‘What about wood rot?’ I stare him down.
‘No wood rot either.’ He smiles again, nervously now.
Good, I’ve got him on the hop. Right where I want him.
‘Oh, this is gorgeous!’ Claire breathes, as Edward puts his shoulder to the door to nudge it open and she tumbles through. ‘It’s just perfect!’
‘Yes, we like it,’ Edward says, smiling warmly at her. ‘It’s been painted recently and all the appliances have been replaced – the fridge, dishwasher, and washing-machine are all new. I have the instructions pinned to the noticeboard in the pantry, just in case you need them.’
‘She hasn’t said she’s taking it yet,’ I say, keeping my voice neutral. ‘Let’s not get carried away!’ I can’t help thinking that there is something lovely about the cottage, though. There’s a really peaceful quality about it … I push these thoughts from my mind – it’s vital I don’t let my feelings show.
‘You have a pantry?’ Claire squeals. ‘Oh, wow! I’ve always wanted a pantry!’
‘Yes, they’re great,’ Edward agrees. ‘You can keep all your food together, and because the walls are so thick it’s always nice and cool in there. You could probably get away without a fridge, to be honest, but obviously I’ve provided one.’
‘Well, you’d have to!’ I laugh darkly. ‘Otherwise she could get E. coli, couldn’t she?’
‘E. coli?’ Edward says.
‘Yes, if her food wasn’t refrigerated properly – she couldn’t be relying on some old pantry, now, could she? We’re not living in the Dark Ages.’
‘You’re right.’ Edward grins. ‘Of course, usually E. coli is transmitted to humans through animal faeces or undercooked beef, not food that hasn’t been chilled properly.’
‘Salmonella, then,’ I retort. I’m furious with myself for making that stupid mistake. I should have known he’d be au fait with the ins and outs of E. coli. I shouldn’t have tried to bluff it.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter – does it? – because there’s a brilliant fridge right here!’ Claire interrupts, beaming at Edward. I can sense she’s just about to whip her cheque book from her damn patchwork handbag and write him a deposit for the first three months here and now.
‘And just look at these floorboards,’ she enthuses, batting her eyelashes at Edward once more, ‘are they original?’
She’s being completely over the top in her fake enthusiasm – if he thinks she likes the place this much he’ll try to push up the rent even higher than it already is.
‘Yes. They are – we had them sanded and then oiled. It was a long process, but they turned out pretty good in the end.’
‘They’re gorgeous!’ Claire claps her hands with glee. ‘Are they oak? Oak has such wonderful energy, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, they are.’ He nods. ‘I have to say, you have a very good eye.’
They beam happily at each other, like a couple from a home-improvement show on TV who’ve just been shown the final reveal and can’t believe their luck.
‘Not very even, though, are they?’ I interrupt, kicking at the floor with my boot, determined to burst their happy-clappy bubble. ‘I mean, there are so many lumps and bumps. That could be a hazard. What if someone were to trip and hurt themselves?’
‘Don’t be silly, Maggie,’ Claire says lightly. ‘That’s part of the charm. I don’t want to live in a place where the floors are some awful pre-finished laminate. This adds to the character of the cottage. There’s such a sense of history here.’ She spins to beam at Edward again.
‘Won’t you miss your polished marble tiles, though, Claire?’ I ask. ‘She had them specially imported from Italy,’ I stage-whisper to Polly.
Polly looks at me blankly. She couldn’t care less about any of this. Not that I blame her. Watching three adults tussle about interiors must be mind-numbingly boring.
‘Really?’ Edward looks very surprised. I get the feeling that importing the most expensive marble available wouldn’t be something he’d condone. He’s probably some sort of eco-freak. He frowns and I try to hide my grin. This is good – he and Claire were getting far too warm and fuzzy for my liking: driving a wedge between them before they start comparing refurbishing tips is vital.
‘No, I won’t miss them at all.’ Claire glowers, her face hot with embarrassment now I’ve revealed her as the snob she can be. What’s up with her, anyway? She can’t really like the oak – she boasted about those marble floors for months after they were installed.
‘But you’re so used to them, Claire!’ I say. ‘She loves her luxury,’ I add, to Edward, smiling with superiority to let him know that this ramshackle place definitely won’t do for Claire – she has far grander tastes.
‘Actually, I hate that marble,’ Claire says quickly. ‘It’s so cold. Sustainable woods are far superior. And this place is absolutely charming – I love everything about it! Even the paint colours are just perfect – that creamy hue is divine. And I love the way you’ve introduced a splash of colour with the blue dresser.’
Edward removes his cap and I see his hair is a shock of black. The contrast against his tanned skin is startling.
‘It was a bit of a nightmare trying to choose the colours, to be honest – that’s why we kept everything pretty neutral on the walls. We did use eco-paints, though – they were very expensive but I thought it was important.’
‘Wow – that’s impressive!’ Claire breathes, stepping forward to inspect the nearest wall – like she actually cares about this stuff! Then she leans in and sniffs deeply. She really is making a total fool of herself. ‘They smell wonderful!’ She sniffs the wall again.
‘Don’t they?’ Edward agrees, smiling broadly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to go round sniffing walls. He hasn’t batted an eyelid at Claire’s insane antics – in fact, he’s behaving as if she’s being completely normal.
‘There are no nasty fumes – that’s what I really like. Sometimes,’ he lowers his voice, ‘sometimes I’m almost tempted to give them a lick!’
Claire bursts out laughing and Edward joins in. Even pouty Polly is giggling at this, although she’s covering her mouth with her hand to hide it. It’s clear she doesn’t want us to know that she’s given up the sulking act.
Right, I have to put a stop to this. It’s all going horribly wrong. They’re getting on far too well. If I don’t break up this giggle-fest Claire will think this is the perfect home for her. She’s so into destiny and karmic energy now – I can tell she’s falling in love with the place already. She probably thinks this is all meant to be, or some sort of bullshit.
‘Was it wise, though?’ I ask loudly, to break up the laughter. ‘Using such expensive finishes on a property that you want to rent?’
‘What do you mean?’ Edward asks, sobering. I see Polly looking intently at me as she peeps out again from behind her father’s back.
‘I mean, if you’ve spent all this money renovating, then you’re going to have to recoup the costs somehow, aren’t you?’
He looks evenly at me, but I know he’s understood my point. Don’t try to fleece Claire with the rent because you’ve made the mistake of using extortionately expensive eco-paints: we’re not going to pay for all this nonsensical extravagance, even if you can lick the bloody walls.
‘I wanted to retain the character of the place,’ he replies. ‘There was no point doing something cheap and nasty here. The cottage is four hundred years old – I want to preserve it for the next four hundred.’
‘Four hundred years old?’ Claire squeaks, as if this is the first she knew of it. ‘That’s amazing.’
I glare at her – she already knew full well how old the cottage is: she’s been Googling it for long enough. ‘Bit small, though, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘How many square feet is it again?’ I direct this at Edward, who’s leaning against a creamy wall watching me carefully. Polly is holding on to his leg, still staring at me. I catch her eye and she sticks out her tongue. It takes all my self-control not to giggle. The girl has gumption and I can’t help warming to her, even if she is naughty.
‘Just under six hundred,’ he replies.
‘Nice and cosy.’ Claire beams.
‘A tight squeeze, more like,’ I retort. ‘Who pays for the utilities?’ I fire another question at him. It’s important to keep up the pressure in a negotiation like this – let him know who’s boss.
‘Maggie.’ Claire gives me a warning look.
‘The utilities are included in the monthly rent,’ Edward says, staring at me without blinking.
‘Yes, about that,’ I start. ‘There’s no way on earth Claire would even consider paying the rent you’ve suggested. It’s outrageous – the market has moved significantly in the renter’s favour, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’ He sighs, looking completely dejected.
He’s probably faking it to make Claire feel sorry for him.
‘We would be looking for a significant reduction,’ I declare. Now’s the time to hit him hard, when he’s down.
‘Well, like I said in my email, if you were willing to give a hand on the farm now and again we could work something out. I’m not sure if either of you has any experience …’ His voice trails away and suddenly he seems very unsure about the whole idea, as if he can’t believe he ever thought it might work.
‘I’d love to help!’ Claire yelps. ‘I really want to get in touch with nature, get back to my roots.’
‘Right.’ Edward looks doubtful. ‘Well, it’d just be working with the ponies, that sort of thing. We operate a full livery service in the stables.’
‘No problem,’ Claire says confidently, and I turn to gaze at her. Claire can’t stand horses – the closest she’s ever been to one is sitting in the VIP stand at the New Year’s Day races, sipping champagne. Now she’s going on like she’s some sort of horse whisperer. I’ll bet she doesn’t even know what a livery service is. I certainly don’t.
‘I don’t want her near my pony!’ Polly stamps her foot and folds her arms and I see Claire deflate a little. It’s really bothering her that Polly seems to have taken an intense dislike to her – which is strange: she doesn’t usually care what other people think of her.
‘Are you insured?’ I interject.
‘Maggie, what are you talking about?’ Claire says crossly.
‘Insurance is vital, Claire. Farm accidents are very common unfortunately. What if, say, a pony kicked you in the head?’
‘Kicked me in the head?’ Claire is trying to pretend she’s not nervous at this idea, but a flicker of fear crosses her face. She’s not an animal person – she was never able to control Charlie the poodle and he was only a miniature. How will she cope with plus size animals?
‘Yes, ponies can be fiery – isn’t that right, Edward? I mean, just look at Polly here – her own pony threw her this morning. She sounds vicious.’
‘She’s not vicious!’ Polly shouts, stamping her foot and glowering at me. ‘Tell her, Dad!’
‘She’s not vicious,’ Edward says wearily, ‘just a little frisky.’
‘Ah, yes, but being frisky can lead to accidents, am I right?’
‘I guess so …’ Edward looks at Claire, who is definitely nervous now. Perfect.
‘Yeah, people get paralysed and even killed all the time on farms. Isn’t that right?’ I say. ‘If he doesn’t have insurance you’d be in serious trouble. Mind you, even if he does have insurance, it wouldn’t help if you had to spend the rest of your days in a wheelchair, would it? No amount of money could recompense for that.’
Edward’s face is white. Good. I want to turn Claire off moving to the country, not encourage her to become a farmhand. ‘We do have insurance,’ he says coldly.
‘We should just take your word for that, I suppose,’ I scoff.
‘No. You can see the certificate, if you like,’ he replies. ‘It’s in the office. But you’re right. If something dreadful happened I’m sure no amount of money could make it right.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Claire interrupts. ‘I love this cottage and I’d like to take it. Maggie, are you in or out?’
She eyes me brazenly and I gape at her, appalled. The landlord isn’t supposed to be privy to our private conversations about the property. We’re supposed to have this sort of discussion once he’s left or is at least out of earshot. She knows that – what’s she playing at? I make eyes at her to stop her talking, but she ignores me. It might be my imagination, but she has a rather rebellious expression. As if she’s decided to defy me deliberately.
‘Make up your mind, Maggie,’ she says mildly now. ‘Unless, of course, you want to call your mum and dad? Or Theresa, maybe?’
There’s an unmistakable hint of steel in her eyes. She knows I don’t want to go into the details of my predicament with my family. She’s challenging me, there’s no two ways about it. Not all of her hedge-fund personality has disappeared under her dog-eaten clothes and dodgy handbag. The options run through my mind: I can stay in the city and have no job and nowhere to live, or I can move here for a while and have Claire pay for everything. There’s no alternative, really.
‘OK, then,’ I sigh, mentally waving goodbye to my Working Girl fantasy. I’m never going to be quirky Melanie Griffith in a shoulder-padded power suit, thanks to Claire’s bullheadedness. It’s such a shame – that look is so on trend right now and I reckon I could carry it off, no problem. Not like those jeggings – they’re a total fashion nightmare.
‘Great!’ Claire joyfully claps her hands together. ‘Why don’t I pop up to the main house with you now, Edward, and sign the lease?’
Edward looks doubtful. He eyes me, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he’s making a horrible mistake and if I’m going to be more trouble than I’m worth.
‘Yes, OK, then …’ he says at last. But he’s not sure: I can tell by the conflicted expression on his face.
‘It’d be better if you took a copy of the lease away with you and got your lawyer to cast his eye over it, Claire,’ I say hastily. It’s my last-ditch attempt to get her to see reason, not to jump into everything so quickly.
‘Don’t be silly!’ Claire tinkles, guiding Edward through the front door, Polly at his heels. ‘This will only take a minute.’
Then they all exit, Claire chattering excitedly as they go, and I’m left standing alone by the blue dresser, wondering how it all went so wrong, because somehow it now looks like I’m moving to the country – whether I like it or not.