Rumours (38 page)

‘So?'

‘It shows.'

Impudent girl! But Lydia had to admit, Stella had a point.

‘Lydia?'

‘Yes?'

‘How is your arm?'

‘Much better. A little achy – still in this hideous sling. Thank you for asking.'

And then Lydia thought, but I never told you about my arm. Lydia thought how she hadn't seen Stella since before Verity's visit. Lydia thought, how do you know about my arm? And then she simply thought, bugger this – I shall damn well ask you straight.

‘Miss Hutton – how did you know about my arm? Some rumour in the village that I was swinging from the chandeliers, perhaps? Or that you'd twisted it, to have me part with Longbridge for a song, perhaps?' Lydia liked that. Very good. ‘Well?'

And Stella thought, very good, Lydia, you've got me. And Stella thought, can it hurt? She wanted to sing it from the rooftops anyway – the presence in her life of a lovely new boyf, as she was already calling him. She cleared her voice. ‘Xander told me.'

‘And when did you see Xander?' Lydia's inference was that
surely
Xander and Stella were linked only by Longbridge matters.

Stella cleared her throat again. ‘On Saturday.'

‘Saturday?'

‘Socially.'

‘Socially!'

Stella waited. ‘I owe you my gratitude, Lady Lydia.' She was utterly sincere.

‘For what?' Lydia wasn't expecting such guilelessness.

‘For Xander, of course,' said Stella.

And Lydia realized she couldn't play further with Stella's honesty and sincerity. She'd just have to be gracious. ‘My pleasure.'

‘Pardon?' Stella had heard her – but she wanted Lydia to repeat it, without the mumble.

‘It's a pleasure,' said Lydia.

Neither woman mentioned Verity though they were aware how Verity had brought Xander to each of them on Saturday.

Geoff had the phone under the crook of his chin, gesturing to Stella while she was finishing her call to Lydia.
Tomp-kins
, he mouthed and Stella beckoned furiously for him to put the call through.

Please please please.

‘Mr Tompkins! Good morning!'

‘Morning, Stells.'

That's fine. You can call me Stells.

‘Did you have a lovely weekend? Is Mrs Tompkins well?'

‘Thank you – yes to both.'

‘Good!'

Tone it down.

‘Good. Mr Tompkins, I'm so glad you've called. Any thoughts about Longbridge Hall?'

There was silence.

Oh please oh please oh please.

‘Been thinking of little else, Stells. I love it, love the place. We both do. Can see it – you know – as the seat for Tompkins past and Tompkins future.'

And Stella thought, so why can I sense the “but”.

‘But the problem is, it scares the wife. It's too much to take on.'

‘If it's the guide price –' Stella butted in, desperate to head off the worst.

‘Not the price, darlin'. It's got all them bedrooms – but only three baths. And a grand dining room – but a rubbish kitchen. And it's listed, so it's non-stop hassle, Stells, hassle all the way.'

‘But you could live in the dower house – while having the main house renovated? We could factor that into any offer you might make?'

‘No, Stells. Not just the house – all that farmland. I mean, I like a garden. I've got a huge one, myself, right now. And Longbridge has
grounds
– which is a rung up on a garden and I like that. But not the farm. We're not farming people, Miss Hutton. No, Stells. I am sorry. Please pass me regards on to the Lady, won't you? And you keep your eyes open, will you? For something big – with nice bathrooms, en-suite, you know? And a killer kitchen.'

Stella was nodding. Mr Tompkins couldn't hear it.

‘Hullo?'

‘Of course, Mr Tompkins, of course.'

She sat with her head in her hands until Geoff came over and gave her shoulder a gentle pat, partly to block the snidely triumphant look on Gill's face.

‘All's not lost,' he said. ‘You have yet to phone back Mr Murdley.'

‘Mr Murdley?'

‘From the consortium,' Geoff pointed to the Post-it he'd placed on the edge of Stella's monitor.

‘How can I sell Longbridge to someone called Murdley? Isn't there a Dickens character called Murdley? In a draughty house with secrets in the cellar and rumours floating out of the rotten rafters?'

Geoff smiled benevolently. ‘You're really not an estate agent, Stella, are you? You need to get out of this trade – just as soon as you've sold Longbridge and you can afford to.'

‘I can't sell Longbridge to a consortium,' she whispered.

‘That's not for you to decide,' Geoff said, quite sternly. He removed the Post-it, dialled the number on Stella's phone and handed her the receiver when he heard the ringing tone. ‘And it was Murdstone,' Geoff said.

‘
David Copperfield
,' Stella said sadly.

Mr Murdley was syrupy smooth on the phone. The offer was eleven, with exchange of contracts in two months, completion by the end of the year.

‘I will present this to Lady Lydia Fortescue,' Stella said, ‘and report back to you.'

Geoff tutted at Stella ten minutes later, as she'd remained at her desk staring into space.

‘What!' she protested, to which he raised his eyebrows towards the phone. ‘Lydia hates the phone!' His eyebrows inched higher. ‘I'm going there on Wednesday – the day after tomorrow. With a Japanese client. I'll tell her then.' His eyebrows stayed as they were. ‘Geoff,' Stella remonstrated. ‘Let me do this my way.' But she knew there was a right way to do things, and her proposed method was wrong. However, there was nothing wrong with waiting until later this afternoon – Lydia tended to nap, intentionally or otherwise, after lunch.

Walking up St Andrew Street, Stella saw two commercial properties to let and as able as she was to imagine her gallery in either, the thought simply depressed her because it wasn't remotely plausible. She mooched off to walk down to the river and sat there, picking at a sandwich and ignoring the swan and the geese and a couple of youths loitering on BMXs. Her mother called but Stella didn't answer it. And then she thought of how her mother always said, if you're feeling upset, do something to make yourself feel not so. She stared at Xander's contact details. And sent a text.

Having a rotten day

Then she wondered if Xander hadn't yet ascribed an ID to her number. So she sent another.

This is Stella

Xander was mid-conversation with Mrs Gregg when his phone bleeped through two messages close together. Mrs Gregg observed him grinning inanely at his phone and realized he wasn't going to finish his sentence. She watched him stare at the ceiling before tapping out a message.

This is Xander. A rotten day deserves a nice evening. You free? Xx

She liked it that he didn't abbreviate. She thought she ought to go easy on the Emojis.

Would love to – but it's a school night.

Mrs Gregg noted that, after that bleep, Xander responded quicker.

Does Will like fish & chips? Do you?

Stella regarded her limp sandwich and thought about fish and chips for tea. With the best delivery man in town. She couldn't think of a larky reply. So she just wrote yes please – thanks ever so. And after she'd sent it, she thought, my mum's right. So she phoned her as she walked back to the office.

Let the afternoon fly by! Let Lydia not be in.

But the afternoon dragged. And Lydia was in.

‘Yes?'

‘Hullo – it's Stella again.'

‘Couldn't this wait until Wednesday when you bring Japan?'

‘I have news – from the Tompkins and Mr Murdley.'

‘Murdley?'

‘From the consortium.'

‘And?'

‘The consortium are offering eleven.'

‘Yes, yes. But what about my friend Mr Tompkins?'

‘Your friend Mr Tompkins sends his regards –' Stella closed her eyes. ‘But I'm afraid Longbridge isn't for him.'

There was a long pause. Lydia's voice, when it came, was brittle. ‘But it
is
,' she said. ‘It
is
for him.'

‘But not for his wife.'

‘No?'

‘No,' said Stella softly. ‘People want en-suites and dressing rooms and snazzy kitchens. It's what they expect.'

‘Has the woman no vision!'

Stella knew Lydia was just frustrated. ‘They wished Longbridge was as they can picture – but they just don't want the undertaking themselves. Or the farmland.'

Silence again. ‘I see.'

‘So we have the consortium and the Hakshimis, both on eleven. I suggest we let them each know we have another offer – plus a viewing on Wednesday.'

‘As you see best,' said Lydia. And she hung up.

Will was delighted with his fish supper – not least because his friend Xander insisted they ate straight off the paper, ignoring the way his mum put her hands on her hips in disgust. Xander didn't even want his mum's knives and forks – telling her that it was a travesty (whatever that was – but Will could guess) not to use the wooden
spork
, as Xander called it. Spork, thought Will – what an ace word! He would call horrid Benji at school a spork from now on. So they all sat at the table, with hills and valleys of paper between them, piles of big fat chips and fish that fell from the batter in landslides of glossy white flakes. And his mum was a bit giggly which sounded nice.
And
she let him stay up fifteen whole minutes later to allow Xander to play in a Lego space battle. Will thought how his mum was double-nice when their friend Xander was about.

Ready for bed in R2D2 pyjamas, he looked Xander up and down. ‘Do you want to come again? You can be Anakin next time. I don't mind.'

‘Brill,' said Xander.

‘Just go and ask my mum – she'll definitely say yes.'

‘OK,' said Xander. ‘Night then, Will.'

Xander came downstairs and into the kitchen, his finger to his lip to hush her until he was close next to her, kissing her silently. Her arms about his neck, his hands in her hair, tugging out her pony-tail to weave his fingers in and out. His hands sweeping over her body, cupping a breast, taking a squeeze between her legs, leading her hand to the thick cord of hardness trapped tormentingly behind his trousers.

Stella pulled away. ‘We can't – not yet. Not with Will –'

‘I completely understand.'

Then he pulled Stella close again, running his hands over her, whispering into the top of her head. ‘When I get home, I'll have to have an almighty wank.'

Stella giggled. It sounded so licentious – yet actually, the thought of it turned her on.

‘And while you're hard at it,' she said, tracing the shape of his straining cock, ‘know that I'll be doing the same.'

The Japanese couple said no to everything Stella showed them at Longbridge but nodded so much and smiled so politely all the while, that she wondered whether no meant yes. However, it was clear they didn't like Longbridge for exactly the same reasons as the Tompkins – they expected modern fittings, dressing rooms and a degree of luxury that Longbridge, currently, could not offer. Lydia was growing impatient, Stella increasingly anxious that if the property didn't sell soon, they'd be faced with the lull over the summer months before trade picked up again in the autumn.

‘I just want it sold,' Lydia said. ‘I told you that. And
you
told me it would go like hot cakes.'

‘I can't force people to buy,' said Stella. They were standing by the tennis court which, in the clean light of a summer's mid-morning, looked mossy and unkempt, the surface scuffed, raised here and there by a tree root, the net in need of repair, the lines wanting a fresh lick of paint. It was the same with the swimming pool. Leaves on the surface and debris on the base, and when the breeze rippled the water green tidemarks on the tiles slugged into view.

‘So we're on eleven. With two offers?'

‘That's right,' said Stella.

‘Well – play them off against each other!' Lydia barked as if Stella was an idiot for not having done so already. Stella watched her walk away, arm still in a sling, the precise reason for it still concealed. Taking a seat on the low wall by the rose bushes, Stella phoned both potential buyers, compromising her integrity in service to her client's instructions. Then she headed back to her car, waving apologetically at Art as she went. She enjoyed their little chats but today she didn't feel like talking. In the five minutes it took to drive through the village, Mr Murdley had called her back. The consortium would up their offer to twelve. But it was on the table for twenty-four hours only. Stella drove back to Longbridge. By the time she parked, the Hakshimis' representative had called her back with a final offer of eleven and a half. Progress and potential felt like the sword of Damocles poised over Stella's shoulders. But she had a job to do. She ignored the scent of early honeysuckle and she looked the other way from the clamber of wisteria adorning the side of the house, marching up the stone steps and telling the lions not to look at her so reproachfully.