Читать книгу Someone Like You - Cathy Kelly - Страница 16

The one drawback about being one of the three members of staff who could work the switchboard was that you inevitably had to take over when the receptionist wasn’t available. And Carolyn, the girl who’d been working as the Dwyer, Dwyer & James receptionist for the past two weeks, was never available. Hannah was already regretting hiring her. Carolyn had been off sick once the previous week and today, she’d rung in at ten to nine claiming to have the flu.

‘Gillian, can you do reception today?’ Hannah had asked Gillian, who was still deeply resentful of the fact that Hannah had been brought in as office manager. Gillian had loved knowing where all the agents were and phoning them to check if they were all right. It gave her power over them.

‘I can until lunch,’ Gillian had snapped. ‘I’m on a half-day today.’

Which meant that Hannah didn’t have a chance to get on with her own work and had to spend the afternoon at the front desk, fielding calls in between trying to track down a consignment of office supplies which had gone missing.

Naturally, as soon as anybody walked in, the phones went mad. The woman standing at the reception desk didn’t look impressed by the fact that Hannah had had to answer four calls before dealing with her. The woman was quivering with impatience, but Hannah waited until she could see the red light on her switchboard go off, indicating that Donna Nelson was off the phone.

‘Donna, call for you on line one: a Mr McElhinney about the property in York Road.’

‘Thanks, Hannah.’

Swivelling in her new, very comfortable chair, Hannah finally faced the anxious-looking young woman in front of her reception desk. It was a low desk: it had to be, Hannah had explained to David James when he’d discussed refitting the office with her. ‘People need to be able to see you, not feel they’re queueing up at the post office.’

‘I do apologize for all the interruptions,’ she said in a conciliatory tone, ‘it’s been terribly busy today. Now, how can I help you?’

‘Number 73 Shandown Terrace, is it gone yet?’ the woman said, voice rising with each word, pale freckled face distraught. ‘We only realized it was for sale this instant. We’ve always loved that road and we so wanted to live there. Don’t tell me it’s sold.’

‘Hold on one moment,’ Hannah said soothingly. She scanned through her computer files and found the house. Steve Shaw, the agency’s obnoxious young agent, was handling the sale. He’d brought two people to view it but nobody had put in an offer.

‘Needs twenty thou spent on it before rats would live in it!’ Steve had snorted when he came back from his first visit to the property.

‘I’ve good news,’ Hannah said, ‘it’s still on the market. Would you like to speak to the agent who’s handling it?’

A few minutes later, Steve was sitting on the reception area’s oatmeal couch with the woman – sitting far too close to her, in Hannah’s opinion. That was Steve’s technique for selling property – invading women’s personal space and flirting with them as if they were the most beautiful creatures he’d ever set eyes on.

He’d tried it on with Hannah the moment he’d met her. Just back from his honeymoon and with a mocha Bahamian tan, he thought he was gorgeous. He thought she was gorgeous too and kept calling her that.