Dreams to Sell (3 page)

‘Oh, nice! I'll have one with the tea. Then I'll have to be away. Mr MacKenna will be waiting for me.'

‘Wouldn't you really like to marry someone like him?' Norma pressed, but Roz shook her head.

‘I've got better things to do than think about getting married. My sister, Chrissie, thinks of it all the time, but I've got different ideas. I want to have a career first.'

‘Fancy,' commented Norma, crunching her oatcake. ‘I don't care about that at all. I'd really rather just get wed. And I should've thought there'd be plenty after you, Roz, you being so attractive.'

‘Oh, come on!' Roz, embarrassed, was shaking her head when Mr MacKenna put his head round the door.

‘Ready, Miss Rainey? I think we might make a start.'

‘Coming, Mr MacKenna!' With one last frown at Norma, Roz hurried to join him in the hall where Miss Calder was just setting down the telephone.

‘Valuing?' she asked, giving a brief smile.

In her forties, tall, slim, with thin dark hair drawn back from a high brow, she had worked at Tarrel's since leaving school, first as a typist, then as Mr Banks's secretary – her knowledge of the firm, it was said, being now even greater than his. To begin with, Roz had found her cold – certainly her manner could be that – but after Miss Calder had found her hardworking and willing to learn, they had become friendly enough. And of course it was always good to know that if you needed help on anything to do with Tarrel's, there she would be, Miss Calder, the expert.

‘No, just preparing details for particulars,' Mr MacKenna told her now. ‘Valuations have already been agreed for these properties.'

‘Just what we like to hear,' commented Miss Calder. ‘Well, I mustn't keep you, must I?'

‘We're on our way,' he said cheerfully, and as they moved into the street, he exchanged a grin with Roz.

‘Don't tell anyone I said so but it always makes me feel like I'm back at school when I talk to Miss Calder. Though in fact I'm a bit older than she is.'

‘It's just her way,' said Roz, taking her seat in the old Hillman that was the company car parked at the kerb. ‘Though I think she probably would have made a good teacher.'

‘And all her pupils would have got top marks for their knowledge of Tarrel and Thom's, eh? Well, let's get going.'

Though the Hillman was considered difficult to drive by Mr Newman and Mr Wray, it was Mr MacKenna's view that all she needed was a little coaxing, a little respect, and for him it was true the old lady put on her best behaviour and they'd never broken down in her yet. Not that she started first time, even for him, but at last they were away, threading through the traffic into Princes Street, making for the Mound and the Old Town.

How much busier it was now! During the war, there wouldn't have been a car in sight, unless it belonged to a doctor on a visit, but with the coming of peace, more and more cars were appearing; some resurrected from owners' garages where they'd been up on blocks and some being new, though these were still scarce and much sought after.

The Old Town flat, the upper floor of a Victorian terraced house close to the Royal Infirmary, was quite different from the overcrowded tenements in other parts of the city and would, Mr MacKenna remarked, be no trouble to sell. When he had made his notes for the particulars and Roz had completed her room measurements, they made their farewells to the owners who were making a move to Glasgow, promising to be in touch with all necessary details of the sale, and returned to their car.

‘As I say, we'll have no trouble with that one,' Mr MacKenna commented as they drove away. ‘It's just the sort of flat to attract a lot of good bids from middle income families.' He gave a quick smile. ‘Though not your sort of place, I suppose, Miss Rainey?'

‘Why'd you say that? I thought it was very nice.'

‘Ah, but I haven't worked with you for some time without knowing what attracts you. Big, detached, or at least a semi, stone built, or old brick, large rooms, long windows, some garden space or ground at the back and, above all, a feeling of quality. Isn't that right?'

For some moments she sat in silence, her face colouring up to her brow, then she tried to laugh.

‘You seem to know me very well, Mr MacKenna. I don't remember telling you all that, but yes, it's true. Houses like that, they're my dream. Just silly, maybe—'

‘Not at all. Everyone should have dreams. And people buying houses certainly do. Rarely realize them, of course. Begin with high hopes, then gradually settle for what's available or what they can afford. But it's our job to try to get as close as we can to their dreams, even if we know they're pretty impossible.'

‘Your job,' Roz said quietly. ‘Not mine. I wish it was, because I know I could do it. Only I'll never be allowed to, will I?'

‘Don't say that,' he said uneasily as they turned into a wide road of stone-built houses well fitting his description of Roz's favourites. ‘You know you're a massive help to me, Miss Rainey. You're my assistant, after all.'

‘But one day I'd like to be more than that.' She took a breath. ‘I'd like to be in charge. Don't laugh, but I would. If I were a lawyer, it could happen, eh? But it won't because I'm not.' She sat back in her seat, gazing out at the street of gracious houses in the area known as the Grange, not daring to look at Mr MacKenna.

‘Why, Miss Rainey, I never knew you felt like that!' His eyes on her face were large and wondering, his tone kind. ‘I think it's good that you have ambition. I fully believe women should, and there are plenty of women lawyers now, you know.'

‘But I couldn't have been one. I never went on to further education – it wasn't possible. I had to go to work soon as I'd got my Leaving Certificate. But I believe I could do the job I want even without being a lawyer. I know you have other legal duties at Tarrel's, but if I was an estate agent, like in England, I needn't be a lawyer, need I?'

‘You needn't here, if you wanted to open up an office just as an estate agent. There's nothing to prevent you.'

She smiled wearily. ‘I don't see me being able to do that, Mr MacKenna. And there aren't many others trying it, either, are there?'

‘Well …' He glanced at his watch. ‘We'd better get on, see Mr and Mrs Boath. Owners of just your sort of dream house, Miss Rainey.'

‘Maybe I have too many dreams,' she muttered, following him up to the handsome front door of the house they were to sell. ‘Maybe I'd be happier with less.'

She knew it wasn't true – she couldn't imagine life without something to hope for. In any case, the lawyer had no time to reply, as the door was already opening and the lady of the house was welcoming them in.

Just as Roz remembered from the valuation visit, the house was perfect. Admittedly, semi-detached, but so beautifully built and showing quality at every turn, that this seemed to be only a minor point, and did not stop her from dwelling with pleasure on the solid doors and brass fittings, the plaster ceilings, elegant mantels, the long windows with heavy curtains, the fine furniture that so suited its surroundings.

As Roz and Mr MacKenna stood together, breathing in the smell of polish and the scent from bowls of spring flowers, Mrs Boath and her husband, both middle-aged – she very elegant, he quite casual – asked where they'd like to start.

‘From the top and work down, I expect,' Mr Boath suggested, ‘this being the day you write us up, eh? And then there'll be measuring, I believe you said? Might take some time.'

‘No need to worry about that,' Mr MacKenna told him. ‘Miss Rainey here is very quick. We hope not to keep you too long.'

‘Oh, we've got all the time in the world, now that my husband is retired!' cried Mrs Boath. ‘That's why we want to sell, as I think we told you. Our life has shrunk and this place is too big, especially as you can't get the staff any more.' She shook her head with its well-coiffed grey hair, as though confronting tragedy. ‘All I have now are dailies and, believe me, they are not the same. Not the same at all.'

‘Never mind that now, Anthea,' her husband said shortly. ‘Let these people get on. Want me to show the way, Mr MacKenna?'

‘No need, thanks. I remember the layout of the house from my valuation. We'll try not to take too long.'

In fact, the work did take time, which was really only to be expected, as everything had to be done meticulously, mistakes in the particulars being considered misleading and causing trouble. Not that Mr MacKenna was likely to make a mistake and Roz could not remember ever getting her measurements wrong, but she always took extra care anyway. The bonus was that she so much enjoyed working in this splendid house, drinking in the atmosphere and admiring everything – though she couldn't help noting that the upper rooms where the maids had once slept were of a different quality to the rest.

Poor things, she thought, how awful to live in this house and just be here to work! How lucky women were to be able to do something else now, and how lucky she herself had been, never to have had to work in domestic service.

‘All right?' asked Mr MacKenna when they'd finished and were returning downstairs.

‘Fine, no problems.'

‘Good, we'll get back then.'

All that remained to do then was for Roz to take a couple of quick photographs of the reception rooms, after which Mrs Boath offered them a cup of tea. Although she declared it ‘would be no trouble at all, my help in the kitchen will have it ready in no time', they politely declined, saying they had to get back to the office. As soon as possible, they would be sending copies of the particulars and organizing an advert for the present house in the local paper, while at the same time working on the purchase of the Colinton flat Mr and Mrs Boath had decided on.

‘As I don't see any problems with the two negotiations, I think we should be looking at closing dates very soon,' Mr MacKenna told them. ‘Just wish all our transactions were so straightforward.'

As he said to Roz in the car driving back to the office, there'd be people queuing up to buy the Grange house, and the Boaths were putting in such a whacking great offer for the flat they wanted, they'd be sure to get it. They were a lucky pair, eh?

Except that the Boaths were now pretty old, Roz was thinking, and their best years must surely be over. Why else would they want to swap the Grange house for a flat, however smart?

‘Good work, anyway,' Mr MacKenna was continuing. ‘When we get back to the office, we'll deserve a cup of tea there. Except that first I have something I want to say to you.'

‘Say to me?' Roz stared at his profile as he drove smoothly back to Queen Street, a cloud of unease suddenly descending over her. Was she at fault, or what? There'd been no hint of anything different in his manner that she could see; no hint that something might be wrong. But now he wanted to speak to her.

‘Is it something I've done?' she asked quickly.

‘You? No!' He laughed. ‘This is nothing to do with you at all, except it concerns you, if that makes sense. The fact is, I'm leaving Tarrel's.'

There was a silence in the car; Roz, stunned, couldn't speak.

Leaving Tarrel's? Mr MacKenna? He couldn't be; she didn't believe it. He'd always been there, a fixture, the only person she'd ever known in the property department. He was her teacher, her mentor – she couldn't imagine the place without him. As she began to try to think of being without him, it suddenly came to her that she wasn't facing only his loss, but the arrival of his replacement. Someone else would be in his job – someone else working with her, telling her what to do, and how that would be of course she'd no idea. All she knew was that her own life was going to change and maybe not for the better.

‘It's a bit of a shock for you, I know,' he was saying with a certain awkwardness. ‘That's why I've held off mentioning it before – I knew you'd be so surprised.'

‘I am,' she managed to say, ‘I am surprised. I – well, I don't know what to say. I mean, why, Mr MacKenna? Why d'you want to leave?'

‘Let's just stop a moment,' he murmured, drawing up some way from the office. ‘Then we can talk in peace.'

Her thoughts flying everywhere as she tried to make sense of the new situation she found herself confronting, she waited for him to speak.

‘In a way I don't want to leave,' he said at last. ‘I've been very happy here at Tarrel's, very happy. But the time comes to move on and I've had an excellent offer, from my wife's uncle, as it happens. I don't know if you know, Miss Rainey, but my wife is from Aberdeen? She likes Edinburgh, but she'd really love to get back home, so when her uncle, a lawyer, had a vacancy in his firm and offered me the place, I accepted straight away. There'll be a partnership going with it, you understand, so, it makes sense, doesn't it? To take the offer?'

‘Oh, yes, I can see that,' Roz agreed, her heart sinking at the finality of his words. No chance, then, that he might change his mind? Of course he wouldn't. To make a move that would please his wife, to become a partner – what more could he want?

‘Does this mean you won't be working with property any more?' she asked slowly.

‘I'm afraid it does.' Mr MacKenna's smile was rueful. ‘I'm sorry to say, I've never had your dedication there, Miss Rainey. True, I've enjoyed my work here, but I'll be happy to take on something different.' He hesitated. ‘And hand over the reins at Tarrel's to someone new.'

At the look on her face, he said gently, ‘You know, I wish it could have been possible for you to be considered one day for a job like mine. There's no doubt that in time, you could do it easily—'

‘Oh, I wasn't thinking I could do it now,' she said hastily. ‘I know I'm too young. I'd still need more experience. I was only meaning that I could do it one day, and I wished I could look forward to it, that was all.'