Abi's House

by Jenny Kane

  Abi had been waiting outside the estate agency door for it to open at nine, determined to speak to Nigel Davison before she was due to see Simon at ten o’clock.

  Her brother-in-law had sent her a text just after eight o‘clock, summoning Abi to the coffee house that was sat opposite to the agent’s to discuss ‘their options.’ It hadn’t been lost on Abi that Simon had said their options and not her options. She had a horrible suspicion that over coffee he would make another attempt at trying to worm his way into her affections and persuading her to stay.

  Now, sat on her own opposite Nigel Davison an hour before Simon had planned, Abi’s brain was struggling to understand what she was being told.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Carter; naturally I assumed your husband had told you.’

  ‘My husband?’

  The estate agent’s ultra-smooth exterior was beginning to look ruffled. ‘Perhaps we should wait until he gets here before we continue?. To be honest I wasn’t clear on your husband’s reasons for taking the house off the market. I assumed he’d made a private sale.’

  With her entire body bristling with anger at Simon’s latest act of almost-criminal interference, Abi raised her voice to make her point very clear, ‘Mr Davison, I put my house on the market, not my husband. It was me that invited you to put the house on the market and not my husband, for one very good reason.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘My husband is dead, Mr Davison. That is why I put the house on the market. If you recall from our last meeting, I was keen on a quick sale.’

  The estate agent blanched as he said, ‘But the gentleman with you at the time, the one who showed you around? That was Mr Carter. The same Mr Carter who cancelled the sale.’

  ‘That was my brother-in-law. Mr Simon Carter, not my late husband, Mr Luke Carter. He, Simon that is, promised me he’d look after the sale for me while I was setting up a new life in Cornwall. He summoned me back here today to discuss a sale, and meet the buyers. I was under the impression we had a meeting with you at ten o’clock this morning? I was also under the impression that he’d made it clear to you, during your initial visit to my home, that he’d assured you we were not married, in case of any misunderstanding.’

  Nigel Davison did not look happy. ‘What can I say? Mr Simon Carter assured me you were married, and I’m afraid there is no such appointment for you and him arranged with me this morning. I was very puzzled when he took the house off the market just as we’d had such an excellent offer for the property, but he was deaf to my persuasions. He led me to believe that you had both decided to rent the house out to provide rolling funds for another property venture, although he didn’t tell me what that venture might be. My diary is fully booked today, and the only reason I had time to see you, Mrs Carter, was that you were here on my arrival.’ Davison ran a hand through his perfectly gelled hair. ‘It seems we have both been duped. I can only say how sorry I am. Is there anything I can do?’

  Another property venture? Abi could feel her insides clenching in anger but she was determined to use it to her advantage rather than to show it. She’d been a businesswoman once upon a time, and she was about to be again, albeit in a much more relaxed and fun way with Beth in Cornwall.

  ‘There are three things you can do for me, Mr Davison. The first is to phone the buyers that were interested and ask if they still want the house. The second is to reduce my agency fee by fifty per cent, as you should have checked with me before taking the house off the market, as we agreed. Third, if my brother-in-law comes in here in relation to the sale of my house, you’ll call me instantly.’

  Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Nigel fiddled with a pile of paperclips on his desk, ‘I’m not sure I can waive half of the fee, Mrs Carter. After all, it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Mr Davison, I am sure you value your company’s reputation far higher than that.’

  The estate agent looked hard at Abi, as if trying to decide if she was bluffing. After an uncomfortable minute, he pulled a folder out of his desk drawer. ‘I can certainly phone Mr and Mrs Adams to see if they’d still be interested in buying your home.’

  ‘Please do. Now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Carter I have a meeting in ten minutes, I can’t possibly …’

  ‘Now.’

  Nigel inclined his head a fraction, and started dialling the number.

  Trying not to show the shake that had started inside her, Abi got up and let him make the call in private, standing by the window of the shop and staring across at the café opposite. She wondered if Simon was in there yet. She didn’t think she’d ever been so furious with anyone in her life. How dare he? And what the hell did he actually want? Her, or her humiliation? It couldn’t be money, surely – he already had more than he could ever spend … but if he needed money for an additional investment … All Abi knew for certain was that she never wanted to set eyes on Simon Carter again as long as she lived.

  ‘Mrs Carter.’ Nigel was waving for her to approach, ‘Mr and Mrs Adams are still interested. They’d love to buy your home, if you’re willing to drop the price by ten thousand?’

  ‘Deal.’

  Nigel nodded and returned to his call.

  Abi made another decision, and as Mr Davison hung up the phone, a satisfied look on his face, she said, ‘I’m going back to the house now to collect up a few of my things, then I’ll be returning to Cornwall. This is my number.’ Abi pulled his notepad towards her and wrote down her mobile number. ‘The signal isn’t always great down there, so this is my hotel number and the address as well. If you can’t contact me on those numbers, you can call my new employer, Beth Philips. She can be relied upon to pass on any message.

  ‘There is one more thing you could take care of for me. I do not wish Simon to be able to have access to my home, but nor do I fancy trying to take his keys off him.’

  This time Mr Davison was ahead of her. ‘You wish me to arrange for a locksmith to change the locks?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘That is no problem. We have a new locks policy on all houses we sell anyway. I’ll have a spare key available here for you so you can get in to sort out your removal requirements. Is that acceptable?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Davison. Once you have that sorted, I will arrange for a removal firm. Oh, and if Mr and Mrs Adams want any of the furniture – apart from anything in my studio, and the sofa and dresser in the kitchen – they are welcome to have it included in the sale of the house. Just let me know. I will call you once I’m back in Cornwall, and we can arrange things from there.’ As an afterthought Abi scribbled down her email address. ‘You can contact me this way as well.’

  ‘Excellent. If necessary I can get all the signatures we need through your solicitors via email or using a courier service. Do you have a solicitor in Cornwall?’

  ‘Not yet, but I will get one as soon as I’m back.’ Abi stood to leave, hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder. ‘Thank you, Mr Davison.’

  The estate agent offered his hand for her to shake, ‘You are very welcome, Mrs Carter. I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding. I’m sure your husband would be very proud of you.’

  Abi gave him a sad smile. ‘That, Mr Davison, I doubt very much.’

  Not so much as glancing at the coffee shop where she was due to meet Simon in twenty minutes’ time, Abi hailed a taxi. Asking the driver to wait, she went inside her former home, filled a holdall with a few clothes, and quickly returned to the taxi.

  ‘Where to now, miss?’

  ‘London Waterloo, please. It’s time I went home.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It was with a sense of surprise that Abi woke up to see the sign for Truro station whizzing past the window. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep. The last station she remembered passing was Reading about half an hour after she’d caught her connecting train from Paddington. Perhaps, Abi mused as she watched the Cornish scenery flash past the window, it was relief at escaping Surrey without having to see Simon that brought abou
t her exhaustion.

  The man next to her was not the same man who’d been sat in the aisle seat when she’d nodded off. Abi smiled at him apologetically. ‘I hope I wasn’t snoring or leaning on your shoulder or anything embarrassing?’

  He returned her smile. ‘Not at all. You looked very peaceful.’

  Abi blushed. ‘Thank you.’ It had been years since anyone had commented on her sleeping. No one but Luke had witnessed her slumbering state since they’d first moved in together.

  She didn’t often speak to people on trains, usually adopting the terribly British line of hiding her face in a book, or staring out of the window with music blaring in her headphones, but as she hadn’t thought to pick up a book, and listening to music would start her thinking about what she’d left behind her, Abi broke her usual rules. ‘Have you been there long?’

  ‘Since Westbury. You?’

  ‘All the way from London. I was lucky to get a seat really. I’m on my way to Penzance.’

  ‘Right to the end of the line then.’ Her fellow passenger’s green eyes reminded Abi of Max’s, although his hair, longer and dragged into a tiny ponytail, along with his goatee beard, made him look more like a student, although she guessed he was at least in his late twenties. Abi had the nagging feeling she’d seen him somewhere before, but as she’d never been to Westbury she dismissed the idea. ‘No wonder you fell asleep. Isn’t that about a seven-hour journey?’

  ‘Seven hours and forty-eight minutes if the timetable is to be believed. You?

  ‘I’m Penzance bound as well. Job interview. Well, sort of.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I’m off on an adventure, I suppose. Something of a fresh start actually. I’m moving down here to manage a friend’s new gallery.’

  Her companion looked at her curiously. ‘What’s it called?’

  Abi shrugged, ‘I honestly have no idea. It’s a brand new venture. The place used to be a cobbler’s shop, run by my friend’s grandfather. Now it’s going to be fifty per cent studio, where I can draw my pictures, and fifty per cent gallery, with a different artist taking on the space every month.’

  ‘That sounds fascinating. Do you have a business card?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t. That is one of the things I will have to sort once I’m settled. I guess we’ll need to do flyers and get a few adverts out there as well.’ Abi retrieved the bottle of water she’d bought at Paddington from her bag and took a swig, ‘I gave Beth a list of artists whose work looked interesting online to phone a few days ago, but I can’t imagine she’s had time to do anything about it. When I left her to go and sort out the sale of my house, she was still putting sealing varnish on the shop floor.’

  ‘So this really is a new enterprise for all concerned then.’

  ‘Yep. I’m really excited about it. I just hope I can run the place for Beth alright while she’s at work.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  ‘Teaches. I’ll be her manager in residence during term time in return for the studio space.’ Abi wondered why it was always so easier to tell things to strangers on trains than people you knew well.

  The man reached into his rucksack and pulled out a bag of Maltesers, offering the packet to Abi before crunching into one himself. ‘What sort of thing do you paint, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Children’s picture book illustrations, so it’s more drawing and colouring than painting as such; although there is a bit of that. And sometimes it’s all done on the computer, it depends what’s needed for each individual piece.’ Aware she was rambling, Abi abruptly finished with, ‘I totally love it though.’

  The smile on her fellow passenger’s face widened further, ‘Tell me, do you believe in coincidences?’

  Abi’s forehead crinkled. ‘I think so, why?’

  ‘Because a Beth Philips did phone at least one of the numbers on that list you gave her. My name is Jacob Denny. Cornish potter, born and bred. You must be Abi Carter; I’m pleased to meet you. Perhaps we could meet up in the morning and share a taxi to the gallery? My appointment with Beth is at ten.’

  Max saw the taxi draw up before Beth did. Rushing out of the gallery, he had opened the door and engulfed Abi in a hug before she’d had the chance to even say hello.

  Pulling back a fraction, but keeping hold of Abi, Max looked down at her, his eyes scanning her frame as if he was inspecting her for bruises or blemishes that might have been inflicted by Simon. ‘Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he? What did he want?’ Not giving Abi the chance to reply, Max pulled her against him and kept talking, ‘Are you sure you’re alright? I’d have come to the hotel last night if you’d let me know you were back.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Max,’ Beth came out of the shop, ‘Give the woman a chance to speak. Oh, hello?’

  Beth’s breath snagged in her throat as she noticed that someone else was climbing out of the taxi. He was carrying a large black portfolio and had a grin so suggestive that long suppressed physical desires lit up all over Beth’s body. It could only be the potter. Damn, he’s hot!

  Aware that Beth and Max were looking at her questioningly, about why she was sharing a taxi with the potter, Abi said, ‘Oh, sorry! Yes, this is Jacob Denny, the potter you were expecting, Beth. I’m so pleased you called some of the folk on the list. Believe it or not we sat next to each other on the train yesterday, and as his taxi was passing the Cairn this morning we thought we’d share one, so that he found the gallery easily. Small world, huh!’

  Beth beamed, hoping that the heat that was infusing her cheeks wasn’t actually visible. ‘Mr Denny, welcome.’

  ‘Jacob.’ He stuck out his hand in greeting as Abi made the introductions.

  ‘This is Beth, who you’re on your way to meet, and this is Max, great friend and decorator of this parish!’

  Max gave Jacob his usual hearty welcome, ‘Pleased to meet you. Which part of this grand county do you hail from?’

  Jacob laughed. ‘Well, Hayle actually, but my folks live just north of here in Pendeen these days.’

  Desperate to have a private word with Abi before she spoke to Jacob, Beth said, ‘Max, I don’t suppose you could take Jacob inside and make him a cuppa? Jacob, perhaps you’d like to have a couple of minutes alone to get a feel of the space on offer, and then I will be with you.’

  The moment the men had disappeared inside Abi pounced. ‘Oh my God, you fancy him, don’t you!’

  ‘Damn, is it that obvious?’ Beth coloured a deeper red.

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Oh, hell. Do you think he’ll guess? I don’t want to put him off, I think a potter would be a brilliant guest for our first month, especially as his website showed that he produces lots of miniature pieces that could sell well before Christmas.’

  ‘As long as you don’t actually start drooling, you’ll be fine!’

  ‘I’m not that bad!’

  ‘Don’t panic, I’m joking.’ Abi gave her friend a hug. ‘I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be back. I have so much to tell you, but in the meantime you’d better go and see to the potting Adonis!’

  ‘You most certainly do have a lot to tell me! I saw that cuddle with Max. That was a cuddle that lingered!’

  Ignoring her friend’s suggestion, Abi said, ‘I’m so glad you’ve been pressing on with preparations for the gallery studio. What are you going to call it? It really should have a name.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to think of one, but no luck so far.’ Beth smiled, ‘I’m just glad you’re back. I had a horrible thought that Simon would emotionally blackmail you into staying up there.’

  Abi grimaced. ‘He was way more underhand than that. I’ll tell you later. Now, go and see Jacob.’

  Beth looked worried again, ‘Aren’t you coming in with me?’

  ‘I’ve met him, hun, and anyway, I want to talk to Max and go and check on Stan.’

  As Beth disappeared, Abi took her mobile from her pocket. She’d been putting off looking at it, knowing that there w
ould be missed calls and messages from Simon. She hadn’t wanted to deal with them until she was back where she felt she belonged.

  There were three missed calls and two texts. The first text was angry. The next was contrite. So I guess one was from the café while he waited for me – and perhaps he popped his head into the estate agent’s when I didn’t show? The thought made her start to smile despite her annoyance. Listening to the messages could wait. It would do Simon good to sweat for a bit after what he’d done.

  Beth felt proud of the space in which she and Jacob now stood. To stop herself worrying about the possibility of Abi not returning, Beth had thrown herself into the final stages of decorating and setting up her gallery. An electrician had been booked to come that afternoon to improve the lighting system, and a new set of easels and moveable picture-hanging systems sat waiting to be installed, propped against the pristine white paintwork of the two walls that weren’t largely glass.

  The blinds that would be required to perfect the amount of light had been ordered, and a heap of furniture brochures sat on her grandad’s old workbench waiting to be read.

  Beth hardly dared breathe as she awaited Jacob’s verdict. Eventually, she had to break the silence. ‘So, what do you think? Could you see yourself over there,’ she pointed to the far side of the gallery space, ‘displaying your work, with Abi working over here?’

  Jacob nodded slowly. ‘I think I could. You’d need a few plinths to display things on, but yes, yes, I think so.’ He cast a professional eye over the space. ‘Will you have spotlights?’

  ‘The electrician’s coming this afternoon. He is going to put in an adjustable system of independently controlled ceiling lights.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Jacob’s smile widened. ‘If you’re prepared to invest in that, then I know you’re serious. The right lighting can make the difference between a successful gallery and an unsuccessful one.’

  Not wanting to look at Jacob in case she flushed and gave herself away, part of her wishing that he wasn’t a nice person as well as gorgeous, Beth said, ‘I hope you’re right. I don’t actually know what the right sort of lighting is, but I’ll do my best.’