Out Late with Friends and Regrets (29 page)

Fin hadn’t been particularly impressed with the agents she had visited so far.
 
None had Victoria’s warmth and air of interest, and Fin was pleased she had remembered to send her flowers.
 
Tuffin and Wilson gave the impression of being more upmarket than most she had so far visited, and she was greeted by a beautifully-suited young man. She would have to make herself very clear as to the limitations of her budget.

“In fact, you probably
can’t
help me, I just came in on the offchance there might be flats more moderately priced than the ones you’ve got outside,” she said.
 
It was one of those agents where only three or four properties were featured in the window.
 
She was pleased to note the widening of his smile.
 
Challenge accepted.

She went away with five sets of details, and sat with them over a pot of chai in an exotic tea house on the same Georgian terrace as Tuffin’s.
 
Strange brew, she thought, but nice.
 
Spicy, different.

When it came down to a rational examination of the details, three were well beyond reach.
 
In the presence of Neville Wilson’s enthusiasm, the figures seemed somehow to shrink to a dinky, manageable size, but Fin couldn’t allow herself to commit herself to a hefty mortgage, with Dek’s wages to consider.
 
Of the other two, one was quite central and sounded comfortable, and she decided to go and have a look at the outside before booking a guided tour.
 
The second was further out in a leafy avenue similar to Mornington Road, half the ground floor of an old house and with its own piece of garden.

Even under a troubled sky without a hint of sun, The Laurels looked very
nice
.
 
Fin smiled at the memory of Sister Francesca denouncing the word
nice
, and trying to abolish it for ever from the minds and compositions of her charges.
 
But it was a pleasant house, decent, attractive. Safe.
 
She parked, and walked up and down the road, until it was time for her appointment.
 
The city centre flat had turned out to be in the street parallel to Clutton Street, and Fin soon worked out that its rear windows would have a view of number six’s back wall, the same three feet of dingy space between them.
 
There were windows to the front of the flat which the smaller 2B did not enjoy, but the thought of the imprisoning effect of that wall right outside the kitchen was depressing.

And of course, it was way too close to Clutton Street for comfort.

There was a well-polished blue Audi in the driveway when Fin returned to the house at one minute to three, and she saw a well-dressed woman being let in by an old lady with a stick.
 
Business at one of the other flats presumably, although there was something vaguely familiar about the woman’s posture and the French pleat hairstyle.
 
She rang the bell, and waited a full half-minute for the door to be answered.
 
The old lady opened it, just as Fin was raising her hand to ring again.

“Yes?”
 
The expression was one of annoyance.

“Mrs. Marks? I have an appointment to see the flat. Tuffin and Wilson sent me.
 
Three o’clock.
 
Fiona Hay.”

“Blasted idiot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Stupid man.
 
He didn’t let me know.
 
I’ve already got someone looking, I’m afraid.
 
I’ve got it with Mason’s as well, and they’re far more efficient.
 
Can you come back in half an hour?”

No, it wasn’t on.
 
Fin’s usual patience gave way to irritation.
 
She smiled sweetly.
 
“I’m afraid that won’t be convenient, Mrs. Marks.
 
Sorry to have troubled you.”
 
One thing was for sure, she wouldn’t be going back to that firm of tossers.
 
It was too expensive anyway, if she was honest; better to lower her sights a bit, or rent again.
 
She must be able to do better than Clutton Street.
  

She turned away, and Mrs. Marks called, “Just a minute!
 
I’ll see if the other person minds you going round at the same time.”

It wasn’t ideal, not having the undivided attention of the seller, and feeling that her key questions might give the other viewer an advantage, somehow.
 
Oh well, since she was here anyway.

“Hello!” said the woman from behind the old lady’s shoulder.
 
“Fin, isn’t it? Ellie’s friend?”

Perhaps, one day, someone would say, “Ellie, isn’t it? Fin’s friend?”

“Oh,
hi
there-” It was – hurry, hurry – that’s it,
Hamish’s ex
– so difficult, when you saw someone out of context – unusual name, P for, ah, that’s it, “Petra!”

“Well remembered, Fin,” said Petra, beaming.

“Well, I suppose that’s all right then,” said Mrs. Marks, a touch sourly.
 
She was apparently unused to others taking over.
 
“You’d better come in, then.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Marks.
 
That would be lovely.”

The flat was very much the character property described in the details, with fine period features which Petra exclaimed over enthusiastically.
 
Fin wished she would cool it a bit, and picked out for comment a suspiciously uneven patch of plaster behind the roseate wallpaper.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” said Mrs. Marks firmly.

“There’s no mention of rewiring in the details,” countered Fin, “when did you last have an electrician in?”

“Oh, that’s fabulous, that fireplace!
 
Original, I take it?” said Petra.

“Yes, of course, Italian marble.
 
Never had any problems with the electricity.”

“How old is the boiler, as a matter of interest?”

 
“Just look at that cornicing!
 
Goodness, they really knew how to live, didn’t they!”

“Yes, this was the finest room in the house when it was occupied by one family. The biggest room in the other flat is the original dining room, and not quite so nice.
 
We’ve never had any trouble with the boiler.
 
My husband used to see to that sort of thing, anyway.”

“Is it all right to have a little look under this rug, Mrs. Marks? It’s a bit bouncy over in this corner.”

“I adore the stained glass in the front door.
 
I bet it looks wonderful when the sun’s shining through it.”

“Yes, really splendid.
 
All right, I suppose so, you will be careful of the china cabinet, won’t you?”

Fin and Petra completed the tour and then wandered separately through the flat, after seeing the garden.
 
Somehow, Fin couldn’t see herself living here.
 
It was too much, somehow, just too
nice
, she supposed, and suspected that it would suck up a stack of money in terms of maintenance and improvements.
 
Oh, well.
 
Back to the drawing board.

“Thank you for showing me your lovely flat, Mrs. Marks,” she said with a bright smile, looking for Petra so she could call goodbye before leaving, “I’ve still some others to see, so-”

“Hey, Fin,” said Petra, emerging from the bedroom in the front, can you wait for me a minute? Mrs. Marks, I have to say I’m quite interested, I’ll be in touch with Mason’s, yes, thank you, goodbye.”

Petra took Fin by the arm as she walked to the gate.

“Fin, are you in a tearing hurry? Will you come back to my place for a quick drink? I need to have a word.”

“Sure.
 
I just need to ring the manager of my shop to check on something, then I’m all yours.
 
Where do you live?”

“Between the lawcourts and the river.
 
Do you want to follow me down? It’s residents’ parking only, but we can usually squeeze in the odd visitor.”

She followed the blue Audi through the busy traffic, and into a part of town she hadn’t yet explored; its terraces were redbrick Edwardian rather than grave and gracious Georgian, and the streets were bustling.
 
Fin tried to memorise the turnings as they went deeper into the warren, but lost track after the second one-way system.
 
She parked behind Petra by a small terraced house, and followed her in.

“You’ll find it’s much easier getting off the Triangle than getting in,” said Petra.
 
“I’ll show you on the map or just lead you out when you go.”

“The Triangle?”

“It’s a funny part of the town, they built it in a triangular shape because of the way the river cuts through the city. Now make yourself comfortable, and tell me what you’d like to drink.”

“I’d love a glass of red, if you’ve got it.
 
It’ll have to be a small one though – I leave my car in Mornington Road, usually.”

“Oh, phooey.
 
Pick up the car tomorrow, it’ll be fine.
 
Where are you staying just now?”

“Clutton Street.
 
How far is that from here?”

“About a fiver by taxi.
 
However, let’s get a drink, before we go any further.”

The parlour and back room had been knocked through into one, and this main room had been furnished quite sparsely, but with interesting antiques: a button-back chaise longue and a fireside chair, a davenport, a corner cabinet and other items presumably picked for their modest size.
  

“This is so attractive, the way you’ve furnished this place.
 
Just enough.”

“Mmm,” replied Petra, bringing in two engraved glass goblets of blackish wine.
 
She arranged two pedestal tables by the seats, and sat down.

“Now you must know why I asked you to come.”

“Actually no, Petra.”

“Oh go on.
 
You must have guessed.
 
You seemed keen enough.”

“I was curious.
 
Go anywhere for a drink.
 
Reluctant to go back to the stinkhole I live in at present.
 
Anxious to make new friends.
 
Take your pick, Petra, they’re all true.
 
Well, I was joking about the drink, though I have to say I’m ready for one.
 
Cheers.”

“Cheers, too.”
 
They clinked the beautiful glasses gingerly, and savoured the first sip.
 
“But come on, now, Fin, admit you were taken with that flat.”

Aaaaah, so that was it.

“It was lovely, but it needed lots of money spent on it, it seemed to me.”

“The old lady’s lived there for years, and it looks fantastic.
 
I saw what you were doing, finding fault with everything, but I can’t see it’s going to need everything fixed all at once.”

“Petra, would I be right in thinking you really want to buy it?”

“
Want
to? Oh Fin, I’m in love.
 
I desire that flat so badly it hurts.
 
It’s got everything I ever wanted.
 
But you obviously love it too, and I thought if we discussed it woman to woman, it would maybe be better than competing through agents and solicitors.
 
I didn’t mean to give myself away, but I’m sorry, I just need to be upfront about it.”

“And assess whether my intentions are honourable, eh?”

Petra sighed.
 
“Yes,” she said.