by Karen Klyne
Love for Auction
by Karen Klyne
2019
By the Author
Parallel Lives
Crossing Over
Destiny of Hearts
Love for Auction
Reviews for Karen Klyne’s Works
Parallel Lives
Parallel Lives is an exceptionally well written story of love, personal discovery and passion. I adored it. Karen Klyne has a very impressive turn of phrase, one that is irreverent and wicked and conjours up just the right image. Her world-building is deftly done and made me want to know more. I didn’t want to put it down! It was an excellent story, very emotional at times, and I literally can’t wait for the next one in the series. Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog
Crossing Over
It was fantastic to be back with Kaitlin and Tannus as they embark on a new adventure, back in Cheshire. Very enjoyable second part of a wonderful and creative series, which I highly recommend. I can’t wait for the third instalment. LesBi Reviewed
Destiny of Hearts
Destiny of Hearts is a fitting end to a wonderful series. The relationship between Kaitlin and Berran was tortured at times but the heat was always there. And I found myself rooting for them—even though I have been a big fan of Tannus throughout. I really enjoyed this story and was so happy that it concluded in a beautifully satisfying way. Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog
LOVE FOR AUCTION
© 2019 by Karen Klyne. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction: names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without express permission by the author/ illustrator.
Imprint Digital, UK
Cataloging information
ISBN: 978-1-9164443-7-9
Credits
Editors: Victoria Villaseñor and Nicci Robinson
Cover Design: Global Wordsmiths
Production Design: Global Wordsmiths
Acknowledgements
Love for Auction has been a new and exciting journey for me. Whereas my Opening in Time trilogy was in the genre of spec-fic, this time I’ve tried my hand at romance.
I came across the idea for the setting when I attended a real live house auction several years ago. It fascinated me. I was mesmerised as I turned my head here, there, and everywhere during the bidding process. The auctioneer was man, but I thought it would be far more exciting if it were a woman. So here it is.
What would I do without my editor, Victoria Villaseñor? I’m not sure how she does it, but she always manages to steer me in the right direction. And, of course, to Nicci Robinson who spends endless hours developing, producing, and marketing my books, and creating my covers. You’re both amazeballs! Thanks again to Gemma at Writing Gems for the proof reading.
Most importantly, I’d like to thank all you wonderful readers and for those who took the time to leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Please continue. I know it’s time consuming, but it does help. I hope you enjoy!
Dedication
For Christine.
Thank you for being there when I
return from my imaginary worlds.
Your support is, and always will be, invaluable.
Chapter One
Taking risks made Philippa Young’s blood sing, made her feel alive. She really shouldn’t have gone up to the house. But it was so bloody cold in the stable. And when Davina had suggested having sex in the library, she couldn’t resist. She’d never had much willpower where women were concerned. God, it was cosy, and all those soft rugs were so enticing. They laughed and threw most of their clothes off, flinging them in all directions. Davina took her hand and pulled her down on the rug to join her. It was a faux fur rug, and it was soft and fluffy…or shaggy, which seemed to sum up their sex life.
They fumbled around and after way too much foreplay, Phil was crazy with desire. She was just about to remove Davina’s panties when she felt a cold sensation on her back. She shuddered and turned to see two Labradors, and one was nuzzling her back. She laughed and turned back to Davina.
Davina wasn’t laughing. “Shit! I locked them in the kitchen.” She sprang up. “Get up. Marshall’s back.”
Phil was minus her jacket, jeans, and boots. She found her jacket and boots. “My jeans. Where are they?”
One of the dogs went bounding past them with Phil’s Armani jeans swinging from its mouth.
Davina ran to the window and shoved it open. “Sod the jeans. You’ll have no legs to put in them if Marshall catches you.”
Phil pulled her boots on, slung her jacket out the window, and dived after it. Lucky they were on the ground floor. The bed she landed in was full of stinging nettles. She opened her mouth and silently screamed. She scrambled out of the nettles and ran full speed towards the stable to her car, which was hidden at the back. She could hear a man shouting from the direction of the house which spurred her on even faster. Fortunately, her keys and phone were in her jacket pocket, so she high tailed it home.
She itched like a flea ridden dog all night and was covered in stings. In the morning she resorted to scouting around hedgerows in search of dock leaves. Isn’t that what they used when they were kids? There wasn’t one in sight, so she headed to the pharmacy. The young shop assistant could hardly keep a straight face. She gave her some baking powder and told her to mix it into a paste with water.
Phil took it home and lathered it on, feeling like an itchy mummy. When would she learn? Women were nothing but trouble.
***
She made it through work the following day, and it was far too late to be eating. Still, Phil placed her pizza, a tub of coleslaw, a bottle of red wine, and a glass on her coffee table. Some company. She kicked off her shoes, picked up the remote, and switched the TV on. She selected a random program and relaxed into the sofa. After a few minutes, she leaned forward, grabbed a slice of pizza, and devoured it. The next piece, she tasted. Triple cheese, anchovies, peppers, onions, and pepperoni. She licked her lips and smiled. She stuck her fork into the coleslaw and shovelled it into her mouth. She munched away, then poured herself a glass of wine and took a large gulp. Better.
After starting work at half-way past the crack of a sparrow’s fart, she’d been determined to eat dinner in peace. Hardly dinner, more like eating to live, but it would do. She felt as rough as a badger’s arse and looked like one too. When she’d brushed her teeth this morning, she’d glanced in the mirror, and some stranger stared back at her. She certainly wouldn’t give her a second look if she saw her on the street. Particularly as she had the added attraction of being covered in a nasty red rash. It didn’t hurt as much now, but the areas she couldn’t reach between her shoulder blades were driving her batty. She’d had to ask Carole, the office manager to put some of the baking powder paste on it, and Phil didn’t miss the wry grin she gave her as she did it.
Then she’d forgotten her car keys when she’d finally decided to go home. What was that proverb about getting old? Ah, yes, first you lose your memory. She scratched her head. She couldn’t remember the other two things. Yes, she’d definitely been burning the candle at both ends. But what the heck, that’s what life was all about. Fine food and beautiful women made the world go around. She was home now, and it was chill time. She was dreaming about a nice hot shower and then flopping into bed. What a novelty. Usually, her dreams involved some luscious young woman, or women, dressed in sexy underwear, lying on her bed to greet her. If they were in her bedroom tonight, maybe they could share a good book. She didn’t have the energy for anything more.
Her mobile vibrated. The humming continued and disturbed her thoughts. She tried to ignore it, but it just kept pulsating. Then there was the pinging. Message after message. Six missed calls. She groaned, poured herself another glass of wine, and pushed her phone under a cushion. She could still hear it. She pulled it out and brought it to life. All the calls were from Alan. Shit. What would her business partner possibly want at this time of night? She selected his number and waited.
“Philippa. I’ve been trying to contact you for over an hour!”
“Yes, I gathered.” She rubbed her head. “Listen, I’ve only just got home. Have you set yourself on fire or something?”
“I’m in A & E, and it looks like I’m going to be here for some time.” He sounded agitated.
She flinched at her choice of words. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Well, not really. I had a slight accident. I was cycling up the lane from the office, and a bloody rabbit ran out in front of me. I had to brake quickly. Well, you can imagine.”
She bit her lip and covered her mouth with her hand. She wanted to laugh but knew he’d be mortally offended. “Do you want me to come down to the hospital?”
“I can’t hear you. The line’s breaking up.”
She coughed and removed her hand from her mouth. “Is that better? I’ve moved to the other side of the room.”
“Yes, that’s better. Anyway, it’s okay. Grace is on her way. Looks like I’m going to be here for a while. I think it’s broken.”
“What? The bike, the rabbit, or a part of your anatomy?”
“My bloody leg, that’s what’s broken. The rabbit got away scot-free. I’ve got to wait for a plaster cast to be put on. I can’t envisage how I’m going to cope, or more to the point, how we’re going to cope.”
“Of course we will. This is Cauthwell village, not bloody New York.”
“That may be so, but I have a valuation tomorrow morning at ten-thirty. I’m not going to make it, and it’s a bit of a delicate one.”
“As in structure, or what?” She imagined a crumbling castle.
“As in sensitive.”
She sighed and rubbed at her temple. “Okay. Fire away. I was only planning a long-earned lie-in.”
“Sorry, Philippa. Normally I’d rearrange, but the house belonged to a very dear friend. He died tragically nearly a year ago. I don’t know whether you’ll remember him: Nigel Besson, our local vet?”
“Vaguely recall the name, though I don’t think I knew him. Remember, I’d only been here a few months.”
“Yes, Philippa. I’m sure you had other things on your mind.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Give me the lowdown.”
“The address is The Chase, Holtney Lane. Nigel’s daughter wants it sold by auction. Well, I think she does. Saying that, you must give her all the options. Tell her about your experience—let me clarify that, I mean your experience as an auctioneer. Nothing personal. We don’t want her running scared. Anyway, her name’s Kim. I’m not sure if she’ll be there. She did say her neighbour, Simone, would open up the house. If she is there…please, handle her with care. She’s very emotional.”
Did he really think she was so lacking in compassion? “Of course I’ll be gentle. I am a professional. I’m beginning to wonder if you believe that.”
Alan lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwrought right now. I trust you implicitly, always have, and always will. Well, mostly.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll call you. I hope everything goes well. Have to say, I don’t envy Grace.” She quickly hung up before he responded, then poured herself another wine.
A year ago? She racked her brain. Ah, yes. She recalled Alan going to a funeral. In fact, the whole village was in mourning. It all came back to her. She didn’t remember it that well, because she was way too busy acquainting herself with the women in Cauthwell. For a fairly small village it had plenty of options for quick companionship. She tried not to scratch at the nettle stings and laughed. Maybe she needed to draw a few lines.
Lie-in on hold until Sunday. She chucked the rest of the pizza and the other bits in the fridge and took the wine upstairs. She took a nice hot shower, re-applied the baking paste, and fell into bed. Her mind was silent, and sleep came easily.
Bells were ringing. It was her alarm, but she couldn’t remember why she’d put it on. Slowly, last night’s conversation played back in her head. She dragged herself out of bed, took a shower then checked the mirror. Most of the rash had gone. There were just a few left on her neck, but she could cover those with a scarf. She threw some clothes on and went downstairs. She heated up some coffee from the previous evening and hunted around for something to eat. All she could find was a stale piece of bread, which she popped into the toaster. She lathered it with butter and honey. Dire.
The office was empty. On Saturday it opened at ten-thirty and closed at lunchtime. She went over to the filing cabinet and pulled open the drawer marked A-E. In Cauthwell, they still had filing cabinets. Nothing was on a PC. It was a different world from the place she’d had in London for so long. She reminded herself that this was somewhere she’d chosen to be. Sort of. Anyway, the least she could do was get a proper brief on the property. It was high time she took things seriously in this village. She’d served her probation, decided to stay, and this was now home. She took out the file on the Chase. It was heart breaking. So many personal memorandums by Alan. It must have been terrible losing such a dear friend, and now he had the task of selling the family house.
She made copies of the house plans, the configuration, the garden, the acreage, and dimensions. Alan had valued it two years ago, possibly when his friend had a suspicion about his illness. Since then property values had slumped, risen, slumped, and risen. The information didn’t help her. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms behind her head. She liked challenges and was ready for a good result in her portfolio. Perhaps then he’d worry less. He always seemed to be on edge, as if he thought she was going to leave him and go back to the city. It was in his imagination but best to keep him on his toes.
When the kettle boiled, she made a strong instant coffee. They didn’t even have a coffee machine here. She dreamed about Café Solo. Maybe she’d buy them a machine for Christmas. For now, her strong instant was the closest she’d get. It was time to go.
It was bright and sunny outside, and the air smelt of freshly cut grass. The smell of spring. The freak warm spell of sunshine had brought everyone out in droves. She suspected it wouldn’t last, but she was no weather forecaster. However, it was unique and instilled that sense of peace and harmony with nature. She was overcome with acute nostalgia for her childhood days when her dad had just mowed the lawn. Such a long time ago, but those memories always came flooding back with that special scent. Before she got into the car, she was tempted to put the top down. But then she shivered and put the heated seat on instead. The sun was a damn fine con artist.
When she pulled up outside the property, she could see the front door ajar, so she gathered her papers and walked up the driveway. Her first impressions were good. It was a mock Elizabethan detached house, but it certainly needed a lick of paint and a touch of TLC. Still, the garden wasn’t overgrown, and the house’s builder was local, and still alive, which always helped. It was a high-end home and wouldn’t take too much to get it back into shape.
A woman greeted her, and she presumed it was the neighbour, Simone.
“Hi, can I help you?”
She stuck her hand out. “Hi, I’m Philippa Young from Farrell and Young estate agents.”
The woman stared at her for a long moment. Maybe the rumours had got around. She always seemed to cause intrigue, and she certainly didn’t shy away from it. Still, it might not be great for business.
“Oh, sorry, Philippa. I was expecting Alan.”
“Unfortunately, Alan had an accident. Nothing serious, but I’m here in his place.”
“Sor
ry to hear that. Anyway, I’m Simone. I live next door. Please come in.”
Phil tossed her hair to one side and eyed Simone up and down. “So how do you want to handle this? Do you trust me?”
Simone’s face flushed. “Pardon?”
Phil smirked. “Do you trust me to walk around on my own, or would you rather accompany me?”
“No, please go ahead. I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.”
Phil grinned. She could never resist teasing women, especially when their curiosity was naked in their eyes. She thought by now she’d have grown out of it, but she hadn’t.
She began downstairs. Considering it had been empty for a long time, it smelled quite fresh and lived in. Obviously, someone had been airing the property. The lounge/dining room stretched the full length of the patio with views onto the open fields. Great potential, but it needed upgrading and modernising. There was a door through to the utility room, and another one to a shower room. She entered the kitchen. It was spacious, good enough to be a chef’s dream after the right makeover. Off the kitchen was a TV lounge, a music room, and an office. She climbed the oak staircase and entered the first of the four bedrooms. It was dark, and everything was outdated. The carpet was almost threadbare and certainly needed replacing. Perhaps there was some nice oak flooring hidden beneath the fabric? Whatever, it was a great size. It had an en-suite bathroom and French windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking the garden and fields. The second room also had an en-suite and doors onto the balcony. It was in much the same condition as the other room but more feminine. There were two other bedrooms with a bathroom between them. She entered the second bedroom again, walked to the French windows, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony. Breath-taking. She was captivated and imagined herself waking to this magnificent view. She’d love to own this house. She wanted it, but she couldn’t have it. It would be totally unethical for her to even contemplate buying it. Real estate ethics dictated that estate agent and auctioneers couldn’t personally buy a property they’d been commissioned to sell. Shame. She leaned on the balustrade and breathed in the clean fresh air. She peered down. Who was that in the garden? It wasn’t Simone. The woman was sitting on the grass beneath the apple tree, leaning against the trunk. Her head was bent, and she covered her face with her hands. Was she crying? She looked so vulnerable. If Phil had been down there, she’d have taken her in her arms and consoled her. She’d always had a penchant for damsels in distress. The woman stood and hugged the tree, then began sobbing in earnest. Poor girl. It must be the vet’s daughter, distraught even a year later. Fortunately, the young woman seemed oblivious to her presence. She quietly closed the doors and headed for the stairs.
