Chapter 39 Vampires
Just two minutes from Hampstead High Street, four estate agents, in their mid to late twenties, are sitting in large, ergonomically-designed Herman Miller chairs at sleekly curved black and cream workstations, staring attentively at their double-sized screens, scrolling and tapping.
I’m staring at Esmae, who’s looking back at me without blinking.
I sometimes wonder if the best estate agents have sociopathic qualities.
This one certainly does. I have two hundred thousand pounds deposited courtesy of Stephen’s saving accounts, and she is smiling in a way that is not exactly reassuring.
‘The rest will come,’ I say.
‘Sorry, I can’t take it off the market,’ she says, turning a pencil in her fingers.
‘Two hundred thousand doesn’t do that?’
‘Four hundred is what they need. They’ve been burnt before.’
‘Not by me,’ I say. I look up at the wall behind her. A large map of Hampstead is surrounded by old photographs of bygone times. They are selling nostalgia at eight million a pop.
‘Your offer has been accepted, but you know, timing is everything.’
‘This purchase is worth about ￡15k to you, I expect,’ I say.
‘The thing is, Mrs Rook, things fall apart all the time. The best-laid plans of mice and men, and all that. House sales fall through, offers are withdrawn. There are a multiplicity of factors. In this case, the vendor wants assurances.’
‘But this is also about trust,’ I say, and pull the annoying pencil from her hand.
‘Trust is best expressed via a non-returnable deposit,’ she says, and grabs it back.
‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’ I move my hand towards her and she pulls back.
‘I have four viewings booked for next weekend, but this is what I’ll do for you. If the other two hundred thousand is transferred by Friday, close of play, I’ll cancel those viewings.’ She gently strokes her lips with the end of the pencil.
‘What if I were to feather the nest?’ I say. ‘Would that extend the timeline? I just need a few more days. How does ten thousand pounds sound?’
‘It sounds like a financial inducement to perform my duties improperly, but I’d hate to think that you were trying to bribe me.’
‘Not a bribe, a downpayment,’ I suggest.
‘I don’t need to be a criminal, Mrs Rook. Selling houses is more profitable than that.’
‘Then I’ll have the two hundred thousand in your account by Friday,’ I say, standing up. I’m about to leave the office, but I can’t. I turn, walk across, grab her pencil, snap it, and put it on her desk.
I walk down Hampstead High Street feeling better.
Three people have already viewed our house while Stephen was visiting his sick mother, so that’s one positive.
But how do I get two hundred thousand pounds in five days?
I’ve already cleared out our savings, and even if Stephen’s mother dies, fingers crossed, probate will take forever.
After dealing with one blood-sucking vampire, I visit another. Divorce lawyers are smart creatures. I can see from the look in her eyes that she’s excited because I’ve dressed to look both powerful and wealthy. Divorce lawyers can smell money and I need someone keen enough to provide free advice.
‘My husband and I have been married for seven years and have two children and a house in North London,’ I say as she stares at me with cold, calculating eyes.
‘He’s an investment banker. His family are wealthy.
His father died recently and his mother’s just had a stroke.
I don’t know the prognosis but I’m hopeful.
I’m hoping to explore the best options, financially speaking. ’
‘May I ask the general cause of the breakdown of your relationship?’ she says, pressing the fingers of her hands together to make a pyramid.
‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘Is it adultery, unreasonable behaviour, or has the marriage just broken down irretrievably?’
‘None of the above,’ I say. ‘I rather like him, actually, which still surprises me.’
‘But you want a divorce?’ she says, somewhat idiotically, given her specialism.
‘Advice, in the first instance, about a small issue, which is probably quite unusual.’
‘It’s often the case. There are rarely simple cases when unravelling two lives,’ she says, and swivels quite dramatically on her chair.
‘Three lives, actually. I’ve been married before. My first husband died in a tragic climbing accident, or so I thought. I have just discovered that he is alive and well.’
Her eyes widen.
‘Officially, I’m a bigamist, I suppose, but it’s not intentional. Who would burden themselves with two incompetent men when one is often too many?’
‘That does muddy the waters of divorce proceedings slightly,’ she says, and takes a sip from her glass of water.
‘How slightly?’
‘Well,’ she says and eyes me slyly. ‘I presume that you had good reason to believe your husband was dead.’
‘He fell into a ravine in the Alps. His chances of survival were minimal.’
‘And was he unable to find you, once he did survive?’
‘I changed my name.’
‘And does your current husband know about this previous marriage and the accident?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You didn’t tell him about your first marriage?’ she says, leaning back in her chair.
‘I’m not a sharer. And I didn’t want to be seen as a widow. Something old and to be pitied.’
‘Right,’ she says, with a pinched mouth.
‘You look doubtful.’
‘I am just here for legal opinions, but it does look as though your second marriage may not be on firm ground.’
‘But I thought my first husband was dead.’
‘Did you file for divorce or get a death certificate?’
‘Neither.’
‘In which case, I would suggest that legally your current marriage would be considered void.’
‘Surely not.’
‘Not in life, but in law, it would be treated as if it never existed,’ she says quite cheerfully.
‘Oh, but it does exist. We have two children and a house in Muswell Hill.’
‘The relationship exists, but the legal contract of marriage is not valid, because you weren’t entitled to enter into another contract and, unfortunately, you failed to reveal your true situation.’
‘And how does that affect divorce proceedings?’
‘Your husband can just walk away. There’s no contract between you,’ she says as if this is a marvellous thing.
‘And what about financial recompense? Would I still get half of everything?’
‘You could try to argue, but case law suggests that there’s no legal grounds for any financial remedy.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
I leave with great disappointment, loss of faith in the legal system, and a new sense of purpose. It’s absolutely clear what has to happen now. If Hollis doesn’t agree to Option 1 (secret divorce and bonhomie), I must move to Option 3 (murder and less bonhomie).