Chapter Four #2
Kim felt her shoulders slump. Oh, Jesus Christ, bloody London bankers with the hots, spare me.
She had a few days off next week to do some home decorating.
She had plans for the kitchen and the lounge and she had a plan for how she would do it that felt …
right. So this was her last customer meeting for a while.
Did it have to be this pair? Could she not have a Tweed/Silver Fox customer instead?
She shot a glance at Ruhi, believing the woman must be more classy than this, seeing her delicate fingers studded with gems, wanting her at least to show exasperation – or maybe an acknowledgement that this grubby man was punching well above his weight – but she was smiling serenely, apparently smitten.
The pair turned their gazes slowly to the sun-drenched frontage of the apartment block with Shall we get on with it?
expressions. Okay, they were colleagues having a secret affair and could lash out a million on a penthouse flat.
Amazing that sheer money could lure such a stunning woman, an elongated Nicole Scherzinger, to a milk-haired Weeble.
Kim told herself not to care. She was in a good mood and this would not ruin it.
She looked at her watch on the way in, tried to think of her footsteps as elapsing seconds that were drawing her closer to the weekend and the week off.
Ruhi moved past her – through her, almost – into the hallway.
There were letters on the mat. Instinctively Kim dropped to her haunches to move them.
Her face was so close to the man’s red shoes she saw her reflection in the toecaps.
Bristling, she moved the letters to the radiator shelf. She was slender herself, but was conscious of how much less glamorous she was compared to the other woman. Fire would not squat for anyone.
‘Communal areas always give buyers a bad first impression,’ said Kim, ‘because they can seem impersonal. But at least this one is tidy.’ Then she thought, Maybe I’ll kill this sale.
I don’t want to deal with these people. So she added, ‘Well, I thought it was going to be tidier than this. Disappointing, really.’
The trio climbed the stairs. The carpet was a pastel green – Kim would call it thick pistachio – and the paint on the walls was an off-white emulsion which must have been refreshed recently because there were no scratches or other marks.
‘No lift?’ asked Tank.
‘You don’t need a lift. You’re not an old man,’ said Ruhi, ascending the stairs as if she was made of air.
Tank laughed coarsely in Kim’s direction. ‘I have already proved that to her in so many ways.’ Why did he need to constantly signal that they were having perpetual sex?
‘Nearly there,’ said Kim on the fourth. A white banister led the way. But suddenly a stranger blocked them.
The woman’s white hair was bunched at the top of her head and slightly wet, as if she had sprung from the bath to confront them. She wore a felt-green dress with a matching belt which pinched at a frame that suggested skin and bone. Her eyes were black and shone like drops of crude oil.
‘Visiting, you three?’ she asked keenly.
‘Hopefully buying,’ said Tank crassly.
‘I chair the residents’ association, and usually we would expect the courtesy of advance—’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Kim broke in. ‘I’m the agent. I haven’t shown anything in this block before. I didn’t know—’
The other woman had not finished. ‘My name is Beryl Woodward. As I say, Residents’ Association Chairman.’ The very last syllable was stressed.
Tank pushed his hand out. He was reaching for a handshake, but the motion was aggressive. ‘We may not buy! Depends on ’ow you treat us, so watch out!’
‘And will it be a second home?’ asked Ms Woodward stiffly, still not shifting.
‘No, gawd!’ cried Tank. ‘Course not!’
‘You’re very young to be moving down here from … London, is it?’
‘She works for me,’ he said for the second time. ‘We made a lot of money in investments,’ said Tank. ‘I mean a lot.’
‘It’s a lovely spot to retire to,’ said Beryl Woodward, tempting Tank to say that wasn’t what they were doing.
Her eyes narrowed. Kim was starting to like her.
Go on, she thought, one more question and you can frighten them off.
But the wise old lady just offered half a smile, stepped backwards and let them pass.
‘Another two floors, and then I think you might like the view.’
Kim kicked herself as the trio continued their journey up the stairs.
‘Chairman, Chairman, Chairman,’ Tank chanted.
All she would have had to say to Beryl was ‘second home’, and the Residents’ Association would have picketed the apartment and probably organized a sit-in rather than let it go to these two.
She was fully on Beryl’s side. She did not want Tank and Fire to buy the place either – to see this cherished piece of real estate become a ‘shag cabin’ – but something stopped her from torpedoing her own business.
The top floor was split in half, giving the entire space over to just two apartments. Here the landing carpet was shagpile white and their feet sank into it. Kim fidgeted for a second and then took the bankers left towards a door marked Larksmoor South.
The empty space was huge. The main room had a kitchenette in the corner, generous space for dining and seating and high rafters.
Sun drenched every inch of the interior.
The floor was pock-marked timber, weathered just right.
Kim moved across the space to pull the blinds but could not find the controls.
Her eyes would not adjust to this much sunlight.
She could barely see Tank and Ruhi, who had stayed in shade near the entrance.
The windows stretched all the way along one side, and the corner gave a view of the Clock Café and Jacob’s Ladder, which led down to the beach. Kim gasped at the light and the view – the windows were floor to ceiling, nine feet tall – and rummaged blindly for her sunglasses.
As she searched her handbag, she heard Tank’s voice.
‘We’ll take it.’
‘Wait,’ said Ruhi.
Where were those damned glasses? She couldn’t see. The light made her sneeze. ‘Don’t you want to make an offer first, just to—’
‘A million is our offer.’ That was Tank.
‘Wait,’ said Ruhi again.
‘I’m afraid there’s so much light in here, I’m having trouble seeing,’ said Kim. ‘I’m just going to … I’m sorry, I …’
Her eyes were physically hurting with the light. She found her way to a side room that might have been a study.
‘Do you need to see us to hear what we’re saying? A million.’ That was Tank’s voice.
At that moment Kim heard a sharp report, like a single clap. What were they doing, smacking a magazine at a wasp? She found her sunglasses and moved back into the open-plan area.
The other two were silent, staring at her.
It was a slap. The report had been hand on cheek. Had Tank just slapped his girlfriend? Kim goldfished, uncertain how to respond. Why would he hit her?
Ruhi and Tank had found sunglasses already and put them on.
Their spectacles seemed to be a matching pair, the sort you get as fairground prizes, pink with Edna Everage wings on the upper corners.
The match only made the statuesque woman and the squat man look even more unsuitable for each other.
Standing away from the window, no longer blinded, but still heated by the oven-warmth of the huge window pane, Kim felt a shiver. She stared at the two.
What was she missing? Why would Thomas have suddenly slapped Ruhi?
Then she saw the mark.
But it was not on the woman’s cheek.
It was the man who had been slapped. Kim was speechless.
She found her voice at last. ‘I couldn’t hear – did you make an offer?’
Tank was quiet. Ruhi spoke. ‘A million.’
‘She’s the one with the money,’ he said, as if quietened.
The vast empty room was like a swimming pool full of light and she was drowning in it. A million?
A million pounds, a completely improbable duo, a moment of violence … what was going on here? Kim felt genuinely scared for a second. She removed her sunglasses and pushed them back into her handbag, because it was better to be blinded than to see this couple for who they were.