The Forever House: A feel-good summer page-turner

by Veronica Henry

  It was the first time Cathy had been to the house and she was blown away.

  ‘I can’t believe I can’t Instagram this. It’s such a waste.’ At the age of fifty-three, Cathy had become a social media freak. There was nothing she didn’t know about search engine optimisation and analytics. Belinda found it amusing, but also useful. She couldn’t deny Cathy had raised their profile through her prolific posting.

  ‘I know, but you can’t,’ said Belinda. ‘We have to respect the Willoughbys’ need for confidentiality. Come on – we’ve got lots to do.’

  ‘It’s a bit like trying to improve on Angelina Jolie,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Everyone can benefit from a little make-up and a few well-chosen accessories.’

  Belinda had come armed with several bunches of fresh flowers – brightly coloured tulips and sweet-smelling freesias and cream roses. There were stacks of vases in the scullery, so she made sure there was one in each of the main rooms and the master bedroom, and one big display of roses in the hall.

  She laid the table in the dining room, and lit slow-burning candles. Today’s papers and the most current magazines were laid out on the coffee table in the drawing room, together with a bottle of champagne and four glasses waiting to be filled. She deployed the oldest trick in the book in the kitchen – she’d bought a bag of frozen pains au chocolat to pop in the oven throughout the day, as the scent of them cooking was irresistible, and freshly roasted coffee beans. She put Classic FM on the radio in the kitchen, very quietly. As a finishing touch, Belinda hung a pair of caps from the local prep school and a satchel on the pegs in the cloakroom, for aspirational parents.

  Cathy was trying to lay out a croquet set on the top lawn, bashing the hoops in with a rubber mallet while trying to read the instructions.

  ‘I’m getting confused,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t think I’ve got it right.’

  ‘Don’t worry if it’s not exact,’ laughed Belinda. ‘It’s only for show.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Cathy. ‘There’ll be someone who’ll pick me up on it.’

  ‘It’s not going to stop them buying the house, though, is it? Come on, let’s have a quick coffee before they all get here. We won’t be able to stop for lunch.’

  They stood on the doorstep with their mugs. It looked perfect. There was even a flock of fluffy white sheep in the field in the distance, with a few spring lambs jumping around.

  ‘I didn’t actually organise the lambs,’ admitted Belinda. ‘That was just luck.’

  ‘I feel as if we’re putting on a play,’ said Cathy. ‘It’s like something out of Agatha Christie. I feel as if some great drama is going to unfold any minute. Miss Peacock on the lawn with the croquet mallet.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Belinda. Desirable houses did sometimes bring out the worst in people though. They would stop at nothing: bribery, corruption, subterfuge, sabotage. She’d been offered crates of champagne and envelopes of cash to sweeten a deal. She’d also been on the end of threatening phone calls. Property could be a dangerous game.

  But she was ready for anything.

  At nine, the half dozen teenagers she had hired arrived. They were all doing business studies at the sixth form college, so it would be useful for their CV and she was paying good money. There were two stewards for parking, two girls who were serving tea and cucumber sandwiches from an open-sided gazebo, and another two in the house on hand to hand out information and field questions.

  Bruce had insisted on coming to help too, as by luck he didn’t have a wedding that day.

  ‘Don’t be surprised if my dad tips up,’ he warned darkly. ‘He’s desperate to come round for a shufty. Any errands you want running, just give me the nod.’

  ‘We should have dressed you up as lord of the manor,’ giggled Cathy.

  ‘Oh please. I love a bit of role play,’ said Bruce.

  ‘No.’ Belinda knew she had to nip the two of them in the bud, but she couldn’t help smiling. ‘Just keep an eye on everyone. Chat to them. See if you can get any inside info.’

  The viewers were scheduled to arrive at half hour intervals, so that it never felt overcrowded. Everyone was checked as they came in. No one was allowed to view if they hadn’t registered. They all had to be in a position to proceed, with either a letter from a solicitor confirming their own property was sold, or evidence of money in the bank. There had been no compromise on this; no promises that their own house was ‘about to go on the market’ or ‘we can get a mortgage’ would do. Belinda was strict on this, after years of dealing with time-wasters. It was amazing how many people pretended, even to themselves, that they could afford a house they clearly couldn’t.

  Then Cathy would do the guided tour, which lasted about half an hour. This ended in the drawing room, where Belinda would have a conversation with each set of viewers and answer any questions they might have, and give them the paperwork they needed to submit their sealed bid.

  ‘I’ll text you info about each client before they get to you,’ said Cathy. ‘I’ll do a heart emoji if they’re nice, and a scream one if they’re awful.’

  They would be on their knees by six o’clock, when the day was scheduled to finish.

  From ten o’clock cars began to swish along the drive. Some viewers brought their entire family – sometimes three generations. Belinda knew from experience you could never tell how much money someone had by what car they drove – a top-of-the-range vehicle didn’t always mean cash in the bank, while some of the wealthiest people she had known drove around in beaten-up old bangers. The parking area began to fill up, and the hordes began to crawl over the house and grounds.

  She was grateful once again that Sally and Alexander weren’t there. She thought how awful it would be for them to see their house treated like a tourist attraction, and worse, to overhear the remarks of those looking round. People could be less than sensitive.

  She and Cathy always had a favourite contender. Every house had a buyer that was perfect for it, but sadly they weren’t always the ones who got it in the end. They would often cheer for their preferred buyer throughout the negotiation process.

  It was a game, matching houses to buyers, a game of hopes and dreams, high figures and higher emotions. It was up to Belinda to steer everyone through the legal and financial knots, the dramas, the logistics. Everyone moaned about estate agents but she knew she earned her commission. People expected her to work miracles, to quite literally open doors. And Belinda always went the extra mile to make sure the right person was holding the key.

  Today, she could see in the viewers’ eyes the lengths they would be prepared to go to in order to get Hunter’s Moon. Everyone fell in love the moment they drove in and saw it in front of them. Sometimes on a viewing people would turn around and drive off without even getting out of the car. This was not going to happen today.

  Throughout the day Cathy kept in touch with her by text, giving her the heads-up on any useful snippets of conversation. People often thought they couldn’t be heard while they discussed their personal lives.

  ‘Flashy Brummie – second-hand car dealer with more money than sense – this is a marriage saver for him. He’s told his wife he doesn’t want any more whining if he buys it for her.’ Scream emoji.

  ‘Horsey woman who wants to move here from London – husband not too keen but she’s got something on him for sure.’ Smile-through-gritted-teeth emoji.

  ‘Really lovely family who would be breaking the bank to buy it but they love it!!!’ Heart emoji.

  Some people seemed to find the notion of a sealed bid difficult to grasp, no matter how carefully Belinda explained it. In particular the second-hand car dealer who had small-man syndrome and was very heavy-handed in his negotiations.

  ‘I’ll pay fifty grand more than the highest bidder,’ he told Belinda.

  ‘Um – I’m afraid that’s not quite how sealed bids work.’

  ‘You want the most money you can get, don’t you?’ The man puffed himself up like Toad of
Toad Hall.

  ‘Of course we want to achieve the best price we can for our vendors. But this is the fairest way with a property that is clearly going to attract a lot of interest.’

  She fixed him with a stern gaze. He looked back at her thoughtfully, then smiled.

  ‘My wife wants this house. I will get it. Because I always get what I want.’

  ‘Then I suggest you make your best offer and back it up with a letter from your solicitor so we can be sure everything is in place.’

  He went a slightly darker shade of burgundy.

  ‘Everyone has a price. Just name yours.’ He gave a smirk. ‘I know how this game works. I know you can influence the outcome. I know you can pick whoever you want.’

  Belinda ignored his overture.

  ‘You have the information pack. You’ve registered your interest. We will be in touch with further details.’

  As politely as she could, Belinda indicated the door. He started spluttering with indignation, but Belinda was having none of it. She knew his type, and he had no place at Hunter’s Moon, that was certain. He was right. She could influence the outcome. He would get the key of the door over her dead body.

  She had a few moments before the next viewers came in. She checked her appearance in the mirror over the fireplace, running a finger under her eyeliner, which was getting a bit smudged, and smoothing down her hair. Cathy texted her the inside info on the next lot.

  ‘He is gorgeous. She is a yoga freak. She wants HM as a yoga retreat.’ Eye-roll emoji.

  Belinda smiled, then turned to greet her next viewers.

  She froze as a familiar voice floated through the door.

  ‘Let’s make an offer, darling. If you think it’s right.’

  It couldn’t be. But she knew that voice only too well, even though she hadn’t heard it for nearly ten years. And then suddenly, there he was in front of her, as bold as brass, not an iota of shame on his face, a tall, willowy girl by his side.

  ‘Belinda.’ He gave her his most charming smile, the one that had lured her in, the one that covered up his insecurities and weaknesses.

  It took all of Belinda’s self-control to hide her shock.

  ‘Charlie,’ she said.

  ‘I did wonder if you would be here.’

  ‘It can hardly be a surprise,’ she said. ‘Given my name is all over the details.’

  ‘I thought you’d be far too grand to actually turn up to the open house.’

  ‘No. No. I’m all about the personal touch.’ She turned to his companion with a smile. ‘Hello. I’m Belinda Baxter.’

  The girl was wide-eyed and extremely pretty – but nervily thin; too thin to be healthy. She was dressed in designer hippy clothes: silk harem pants and drapey cashmere, with an armful of silver bangles and a diamond in her nose. Her skeins of caramel hair were scooped into a topknot with several fake plaits spilling out. Belinda could smell the £200 equivalent of a bottle of patchouli on her.

  Vegan, teetotal, tattoo on her bottom, she guessed.

  ‘I’m Natasha. What a beautiful house. Is it yours?’

  ‘I wish,’ said Belinda. ‘I’m just the estate agent.’

  ‘Oh.’ From her reaction, Natasha had no idea who or what Belinda was or had been.

  ‘Well,’ said Belinda. ‘Welcome to Hunter’s Moon. Are you thinking about it for yourselves?’

  ‘Well – not just us,’ said Natasha. ‘We’re looking for somewhere we can hold yoga retreats.’

  Belinda nodded. ‘Yoga retreats?’

  She tried not to raise her eyebrows. Charlie and yoga?

  He was looking at the floor.

  ‘I’ve got a lot of private one-to-one yoga clients,’ Natasha explained. ‘But what they really want is two or three days when they can really get into it and immerse themselves. This place would be perfect.’

  ‘It’s certainly very peaceful,’ agreed Belinda. ‘And there’s plenty of space.’

  Her mind was racing. What was Charlie’s game? What was this girl to him? Was this his idea of a joke? She looked at him and he had the grace to look a little shamefaced.

  ‘Tash – why don’t you go and have a quick look at the outside again? I’ll chat through the boring bits with Belinda.’

  Natasha looked at Belinda and back to Charlie. She seemed a little puzzled. ‘I don’t mind if it’s boring.’

  Charlie looked at her. ‘We could do with some more pictures to show your father. You know what he’s like.’

  For a moment it looked as if Natasha was going to protest. She looked between Charlie and Belinda again.

  ‘OK.’ Her tone indicated that she wasn’t happy.

  Belinda raised her eyebrows as she left the room.

  ‘So. She seems lovely. Is she your . . . girlfriend? Wife? Mistress?’ She couldn’t help but be scathing.

  ‘She’s my fiancée.’

  ‘Lucky her.’

  ‘I work for her father.’

  ‘Wine advisor?’

  ‘No. All that’s behind me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m a different person. I’ve been dry for five years now, Belinda.’

  ‘Well done you.’

  Charlie nodded, looking pleased. ‘We met at AA. In Fulham.’

  ‘You went to AA?’

  ‘Go. I still go. Every week. Apparently a lot of people meet their partners there.’

  ‘Great.’ She thought about what she’d told him. ‘So was Natasha a raging drunk too?’

  He didn’t flinch at her barb.

  ‘She was a bit of a party animal. Her dad threatened to cut her off. He refused to pay for her to go to rehab so she sorted it out for herself. And now I look after Natasha for him.’

  Belinda felt that saying nothing was best. Charlie in charge of security? She couldn’t think of anyone less suited.

  ‘A bodyguard?’ She managed finally, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Well . . . no. I’m supposed to make sure she doesn’t drink. Or do anything worse.’

  ‘That’s . . . quite a career change.’

  ‘Don’t mock me. It’s been a long journey.’

  He looked at her and she could see he wanted her approval.

  Now she looked more closely at him, she could see his eyes were brighter, his skin smoother, he looked trimmer. He had gone off the boil in the last couple of months they were together: bloated, red-eyed, double chins. He’d been a mess.

  ‘So you fell in love? Like Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner? Wasn’t part of your job making sure she didn’t fall for anyone unsuitable?’

  He looked pained.

  ‘I know I was a shit to you. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘A shit to me? Charlie, you crushed me.’

  ‘I wasn’t in control of my life. I was in a bad place.’

  ‘How did that give you the right to treat me the way you treated me?’

  ‘Don’t think I don’t feel bad about what I did. Don’t think I don’t think about it.’

  ‘I don’t think you do. Look at you. You’ve reinvented yourself. Found yourself another victim.’ Oh God. She sounded really bitter.

  She’d never been bitter. She’d been destroyed, but not bitter.

  She was aware that time was slipping by. That the next viewers would be coming in any moment.

  ‘Anyway, I don’t think now is the time for this discussion,’ Belinda said.

  ‘No.’

  He seemed genuinely remorseful. He was silent for a moment, then looked up, holding the brochure.

  ‘Anyway, here we are, two alcoholics about to open a yoga retreat. It’s a chance for a new beginning for us both, and a chance to pay it back a little. Help people out.’

  Belinda looked at him. She didn’t suppose the yoga retreats were going to be free, so the people they’d be helping would be as privileged as they were. She could feel the rage inside her, starting as a tiny flame, and every time he said something it fed the flame. She could hardly breathe with it now. She told herself she mustn’
t react.

  ‘We are really interested in Hunter’s Moon,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve been looking for months. I kept telling Tash she would get more for her money out of London. This is sensational.’

  ‘Well, here’s a form. Feel free to register your interest,’ said Belinda. ‘We will be doing sealed bids in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Couldn’t you—’

  Belinda looked him in the eye. ‘No, Charlie. Whatever you’re going to ask. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Money isn’t a problem. We have a generous budget.’

  ‘You’ll have to go through the official channels.’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as someone who bore grudges.’

  He was beyond the pale.

  ‘Namaste, Charlie,’ she said. ‘Or as we say in the real world, fuck off.’

  She pushed past him and out of the door of the drawing room, past the next couple who were milling in the hall. She walked past them and down the corridor into the kitchen. She felt safe in here.

  She took in several deep breaths to calm herself. Bloody Charlie. How dare he? How dare he? He must have known she would be here. What was he thinking, rubbing her nose in it like that? Parading that poor creature in front of her? ‘Generous budget’?

  She tried to collect her thoughts. She tried to remind herself that she had got over Charlie long ago. That she had made a huge success of herself despite him, and that she was a better person for it. That he was never in a million years going to be as good a person as she was, and that he couldn’t hurt her any longer.

  Bruce came into the kitchen.

  ‘Babe, there’s about a million people looking for you. What’s going on?’ He stared at her. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Just give me a minute.’

  ‘What’s happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I sort of have,’ said Belinda. ‘Well, not a ghost. More of a skeleton.’

  Bruce grinned. ‘Oh. So you’re not whiter than white. Which one, darling? You must show me.’

  Belinda shook her head. The last thing she wanted was Bruce interrogating her about her past. She had to gather herself together. With a bit of luck Charlie would have got the message, and spirited himself and Natasha out of there.