Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
‘It’s not your house,’ she said automatically. ‘Not anymore. It’s ours.’
‘Perhaps I should have said “childhood home”,’ he conceded.
He gazed around appreciatively. ‘It’s good to see it again, actually.
The last time I was here was almost a year ago.
And – this will sound crazy, but I miss it.
Wherever in the world I go for work, some dusty corrupt hellhole or other, this is where I think about.
My happy place, to use that awful phrase they have back in the US.
You probably think my family’s obsession with it is baffling – and it is, in a way. But you’re the lucky beneficiary.’
‘The beneficiary?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘The recipient of a campaign of hate, you mean.’
‘What?’ He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘What campaign?’
‘You really don’t know?’ she said sceptically.
He shook his head. He looked extraordinarily like his father when he did that – the same comma of hair flopping over his blue eyes – though, where Paul’s hair was white, Jamie’s was brown and thick. Automatically, he pushed it off his forehead with his hand – again, very like his father.
‘People round here can get a bit carried away sometimes. That’s not my style, I promise. I’d rather tempt you with a whopping great carrot.’ He reached into his pocket for an envelope. ‘Which is what I think you’ll find this is. Can I come in and talk it through?’
A little reluctantly, she led him into the kitchen.
‘This is nice,’ he said, gazing around. ‘Whatever happens, I hope the permission for the work you’ve done in the house gets granted. The place needed some TLC.’
She refrained from pointing out that it was his own parents who’d shopped her to the council over that.
He was trying to charm her, she knew. He was clearly used to getting what he wanted that way – he had the same twinkle in his eye as Paul, the same affable bonhomie.
But, having discovered that the father’s charm coexisted with a ruthless streak, she wasn’t ready to trust the son just yet.
‘See that?’ he said fondly, tapping the wall.
Around waist height, there was a gouge in the plaster that she’d wondered about when she was painting.
‘When it was too wet to go out, me and Tess used to cycle round and round the dining table, trying to catch each other up. That’s where our brake levers caught against the wall.
’ He pointed even lower, to the ancient skirting board.
‘And those holes aren’t woodworm. If you dig into them, you’ll find airgun pellets.
I used to put a Coke can down there for target practice. That’s where I missed.’
‘You said you wanted to discuss your offer,’ she said firmly.
‘Oh – of course.’ He slid the envelope across the island.
‘Basically, when I got here and talked it over with the aged parents, I realised the amount Dad had proposed wasn’t quite enough.
You’ve made improvements – that’s obvious.
And if you succeed in getting permission to develop the outbuildings, you’ll add a hundred grand to Trade Cottage’s value before you even put a spade in the ground.
Dad’s convinced you won’t get it, of course, but there’s always the possibility he’s wrong.
So –’ he nodded at the envelope – ‘we’ve increased our offer by a hundred and twenty thou.
But it expires the moment that planning meeting starts.
Think of it as a bonus for resolving this quickly. ’
She tried to push the envelope back at him. ‘We don’t want it.’
‘“We”?’ he repeated. ‘Or just you?’ His blue eyes regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I hear your husband’s company’s struggling, now it’s been saddled with all the debt its new owners used to buy it.’
‘Who told you that?’ she said, furious.
Jamie shrugged. ‘He pretty much told Dad himself, the first time they met. I emailed a couple of guys I know in London and they confirmed it – that deal he did was a stinker, unfortunately.’
When she didn’t say anything, he added, ‘Look, this is a win–win situation. I happen to have a lot of money, and you have something I’m prepared to spend big on.
This house has sentimental value to me, but it can’t possibly hold the same memories for you.
So I’ve made you an offer you can’t refuse. ’
‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,’ she snapped.
He looked at her calmly. ‘Sorry – obviously, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I can’t see what you’re holding out for.’
‘We’re not “holding out” for anything,’ she retorted. ‘We simply want to be left alone to enjoy our new home.’
He said patiently, ‘It’s a very good offer.’
‘I’m not disputing that. But this isn’t about money.’
He nodded. ‘OK. So what is it about?’
She didn’t answer. How could she put her attachment to Trade Cottage into words, or explain the depth of her love for it? But the more people like Jamie tried to take it away from her, the more resolved she was not to be trampled over.
He sighed. ‘At least discuss it with Matt, will you? Maybe he can talk some sense into you. I’ll see myself out.’
She bristled. ‘No, I’ll see you out.’
As they went through the entrance hall, he glanced at the console table and stopped. ‘Isn’t that ours?’
‘It was,’ she said defiantly. ‘Your parents gave it to us. Along with a whole lot of other things.’
He looked baffled. ‘Why?’
‘Perhaps they thought we’d be better custodians of them than you would.
’ She saw him flinch, and realised she’d offended him.
Well, tough. How dare he walk into her home and think he could just schmooze her out of it?
‘When we first looked round, your mother told your father that Trade Cottage had found its rightful heirs.’
Jamie flinched again. Then he turned and left without another word.