Freya North 3-Book Collection: Love Rules, Home Truths, Pillow Talk. Freya North
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who viewed the property half an hour later, made an offer the next day of the asking price. Lance warned the third person before they went to see the flat that he’d already had two offers within twenty-four hours of the property being on the market. That person saw Thea’s flat and offered the asking price there and then, before they’d even stood in the hallway with all the doors closed for maximum Lewis Carroll impact. Thea didn’t quite know why she declared she needed a night to think about it. And nor did the potential purchaser, who promptly raised his initial offer of the asking price by a full five thousand pounds, guaranteed a speedy exchange of contracts and volunteered details of his lawyer, his surveyor and his mortgage company. ‘Let me sleep on it,’ Thea pleaded with Lance.
‘Well, sweet dreams, darls,’ he said to her, ‘but you’d better get an early night because I’m telling you, they’ll be on the phone as soon as the office is open tomorrow morning.’
That evening, Thea thought how Peter Glass calling her ‘babes’ was more classy, more genuinely affectionate than Lance’s ‘darls’. But she couldn’t let that influence her decision. She just wanted a night all alone in her home before she gave the go-ahead. She sent some goodnight kisses in a text message to Saul but it was to Alice that she sent a text: fuck fuck fuck do i sell sell sell??? Tx
The reply was immediate: yes yes yes Axxxxxxxxx
bloke = nice gay guy who sez flat is DIVINE!
Thea sent back.
sounds perfct! ;–) Alice wrote.
r u watchng ER? Thea texted back
yes! Alice replied, Carter damn cute
Luka cuter! Thea responded.
fone during ads? Alice wrote.
k xxx texted Thea.
‘So, basically, if I accept the offer the whole thing could be done and dusted within a few weeks.’ Thea switches the phone to her other ear and changes the subject after a lengthy and thorough dissection of ER.
‘Look, I know this purchaser isn’t in a chain and he’s offering top dollar and he’s a nice sensitive gay bloke who loves your colour schemes and is into the whole Rapunzel vibe, but don’t be pressurized to rush it through,’ Alice advises her, tucking the phone under her chin while she runs a bath. ‘You and Saul mightn’t find somewhere for ages.’
‘Yes, but I can move into his place,’ Thea theorizes.
‘True, but all your stuff would have to go into storage and it is his place,’ Alice reasons, ‘I mean, it may be cool and funky but it’s not big.’
‘True,’ Thea agrees, ‘true.’
‘You should go for a speedy exchange of contracts,’ Alice recommends, ‘and then a slightly longer completion – at least that way you have the security of the purchaser’s deposit.’
‘Makes sense,’ Thea agrees, ‘I’ll sleep on it. Anyway, how are you? Are you packed?’
Alice groans. ‘No,’ she sighs, ‘I mean, what the fuck am I meant to take?’
‘I don’t know,’ Thea says, ‘what does one wear on an all-expenses-paid management-bonding trip? I’ve never been on one – it’s not really a perk in my line of work.’
‘It’s hardly a perk,’ Alice groans, ‘it’s a pain. I mean, we managers all know each other well enough anyway. Why we have to traipse out to France for five days I don’t know. I’d get more of a feel-good factor from a hefty bonus or an increase in holiday entitlement.’
‘Well, at least you can shop,’ Thea says.
‘We’re in the middle of fuck-knows-where,’ Alice says sulkily, ‘the nearest town is Arles which is more famous for Van Gogh or Cézanne or someone, than for Prada.’
‘Well, at least you may come back with a tan,’ Thea says.
‘I looked at the weather forecast there just today. Il pleut.’
‘Come on, Alice,’ Thea says, ‘it’ll probably be a laugh.’
‘They’ve told us to pack “cagoules” – the closest I have is my Agnès B mac and I’m not taking that!’
‘I have a cagoule,’ Thea confesses cheerily, ‘you could borrow it if you like.’
‘Is it repulsive?’ Alice asks.
‘Fuck off! It’s Berghaus, it’s cutting edge and it cost a lot.’
‘Could I borrow it then?’ Alice asks a little sheepishly. ‘That would be great – oh, but what colour is it?’
‘Black and red,’ Thea tells her and Alice can sense she’s raising her eyebrows.
‘Well, my walking boots are black Gore-tex,’ Alice muses.
‘See, you can be colour coordinated and appropriately dressed,’ Thea concludes.
‘Languedoc, here I come,’ Alice says with negligible enthusiasm, ‘whoopee-doo.’
‘When do you leave on Friday?’
‘Some ungodly hour,’ Alice moans, ‘back next Tuesday. I can think of better ways to spend a long weekend, but there you go.’
‘Text me while you’re there, won’t you?’ Thea says.
‘If I get a signal in the middle of Cézanne country,’ Alice says darkly.
‘Is Mark away anyway?’
‘Ironically, no – so it’s his turn to rattle around the house on his tod,’ Alice says with a note of triumph. ‘Listen, can you give that cagoule to Saul – he’s coming in for a meeting on Wednesday so he could bring it in for me.’
‘No problem,’ Thea says, ‘and Alice – shall I accept the offer then?’
‘Yes, yes, you should,’ Alice says encouragingly, ‘it’s time to get the ball rolling, Thea my dear. Time to trade in your little bit of Lewis Carroll Living for something more grown up.’
Alice envisages Thea sitting there, curled on her sofa, looking around her flat, nodding reflectively. She’ll text Thea before she goes to sleep, she decides, tell her again that she should go for it. That it’s the right decision. That she’ll be quids in, in every respect. For now, Alice will drizzle an extravagant amount of Penhaligon’s bath oil into her bath and luxuriate – after all, she may well be restricted to lukewarm showers in the depths of Cézanne country.
The group flew into Montpellier airport. All of Alice’s colleagues had packed rucksacks, two or three even opting for a size small enough to pass as hand luggage. Because it had been traumatic enough for Alice to pack a cagoule, there was no way she was going to forsake her Mulberry grosgrain holdall for a backpack. Her bad mood blackened when her luggage arrived on the baggage reclaim damaged. Off she flounced to the baggage-handlers’ office to complain.
‘Come on, Alice,’ Steven Hunter from the music division called over to her on behalf of the group, ‘the coach is waiting.’
With her hands still stroppily on her hips she spun on her heels and glowered to all asunder. ‘Coach? Coach? Oh, for Christ’s sake.’
However, she was happy to concede that with its air conditioning, the lounge-style seating, various refreshments and superb suspension, the coach was a far cry from that which she was expecting: the juddery, slurching vehicles upholstered in the colours of vomit she recalled from school trips. Her appeasement was short-lived and her lifted spirits dove again on arriving at the hotel.