Читать книгу Hot Property - Cheryl Ntumy S. - Страница 5

2

“The lease will be ready by the end of the week,” said Keabetswe, cradling her cellphone between her ear and shoulder. Her hands were fully occupied with the pot of maize meal she was stirring over her father’s ancient gas stove. “Yes, of course, Miss Lindley. Everything is set and ready to go. Just let me know when you’re available . . . Fantastic. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She abandoned the pot for a moment to deposit her phone on the peeling kitchen counter.

Keabetswe wasn’t a fan of the ugly old flat her father insisted on calling home. She had been only five when her mother left, taking with her as much money and furniture as she could. Her father had packed them up, sold the house in Mafikeng and moved to Cape Town, into a flat in the city centre.

It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but building up his small spaza shop into a mini-market took all his time and money. When Keabetswe asked when they were going to have a home of their own, her father scraped some money together and bought the flat. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but it was theirs.

Keabetswe took the food off the stove and glanced around the kitchen. The paint was dull, the counters were scuffed and grime had collected around the taps, the sort that no amount of scrubbing would remove. But the lounge was cosy, even though it was small and its furniture didn’t match. When the sound system was on, it was invariably playing one of her father’s countless Afro-jazz CDs.

The flat held many good memories for Keabetswe, but as a child she had fantasised about a huge kitchen, a lawn and a marble-tiled bathroom. After working around beautiful properties for four years, she knew she would never be satisfied until she had a lovely big home of her own, complete with a garden and an electric fence.

“Mmmm,” her father murmured as he entered the kitchen, sniffing the air appreciatively. “My cooking never smells this good.”

She laughed. “Your cooking? You mean braaied meat and chakalaka straight out of the can?”

He chuckled. “I’m a simple man.” He took his seat at the small kitchen table.

She served him and then herself, and joined him at the table. It was a basic meal – maize meal and chicken stew – but she knew he would never be bothered to cook real food if he was eating alone. Shadrack Rantao had developed into the proverbial bachelor.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked suddenly.

Keabetswe shrugged. “I don’t have plans. Phemelo might need me for wedding stuff, but otherwise I’ll probably be at home. Or working.”

He nodded. “I want you to come for lunch.”

“Here?”

“Of course.” He chuckled. “Sunday lunch at your father’s. Why not?”

Keabetswe hesitated before asking, “Are you cooking?”

Her father arched his eyebrows as if it were an impertinent question, and she sighed. She knew what that look meant. He wouldn’t be cooking – his new girlfriend would. Keabetswe wanted her father to be happy, but she had grown tired of meeting his girlfriends after the fourth one had come and gone.

“You’ve never met Goldie, neh?” he went on.

“No.” The first thought that crossed her mind when her father mentioned Goldie was a Labrador, like the kind in dog food adverts. The second was a buxom woman in Lycra leggings, with one of those terrible blonde weaves worn by people who had no business being blonde.

“She’s a sweet lady. Very friendly.”

Keabetswe took a huge mouthful so she wouldn’t have to respond. Of course Goldie was friendly. They were all friendly, eager to please his precious only child in the hope that a few weeks of light-hearted fun could be stretched into a lifetime commitment.

“And maternal, you know? She likes to bake.”

“Hmmm.”

Her father sighed. “Keabetswe.”

“Rra?”

“Goldie is going to be in my life for a while. I expect you to be nice to her. And respectful,” he added, a stern edge to his voice.

“Papa, of course,” she said softly. “Have I ever been rude to one of your . . . friends?”

He looked at her and laughed. “My friends. You young people these days. Goldie is not my friend. She’s my lady love.” His face broke into a mischievous grin. “My sugarplum, my sweet-sweet.”

Keabetswe snickered. “Papa!”

“What? We’re both adults now, aren’t we? How old are you these days? Twenty?”

Keabetswe shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Seventeen, Papa. How could you forget?” They played this game often. When she was a child, her answer had always been a few years older than her actual age. Now that she was twenty-eight, seventeen sounded just right.

He laughed and she joined in. “Well, that’s still old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman.” His expression sobered. “I know you’re not happy about the way I live my life. But I’m a man, and I have needs.”

Keabetswe cringed. Being a single parent meant her father had been forced to take responsibility for all the birds and bees talks. Never one to beat about the bush, he had simply decided to be open with her – a little too open sometimes.

“So.” Her father pushed his empty plate away. “Sunday. You’ll come?”

Keabetswe sighed inwardly. “Of course.”

He broke into a vibrant smile. “Good, good. Excellent. Now . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards.

Keabetswe laughed as she picked up their plates and carried them to the sink. “I can’t believe it. You don’t remember how I beat you last time?”

“That was then. This is now,” said her father with confidence, laying the cards out on the table.

* * *

“Morning!” Keabetswe greeted her colleagues when she arrived at work the next day.

Luke waved, already busy on the phone, and Radha smiled from behind her computer.

Keabetswe glanced at the folder on her desk. It was the usual beige, gold and green folder, fastened with gold elastic, with the company logo emblazoned across it. She dropped her handbag on the desk, picked up the folder and opened it.

It was information on the company’s most recent offerings, complete with full-colour photographs and floor plans. She flipped through it, skimming over the details and peering at the images.

Turning to the final page, she gasped when she saw the last image. It was the perfect house. Although much smaller than the sort of residences Peckham Gould usually dealt with, it was still a mansion compared to her father’s flat. It was built like a country cottage, brick walkway and all, with creepers snaking up the front walls.

The house was a single storey but quite large, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, including the en suite. The best part was the kitchen. It was almost as big as the lounge, and decorated in soft earthy colours. Despite its homey, rural look, the yard was surrounded by a brick wall topped by an electric fence, and a heavy wrought-iron gate.

Keabetswe knew right away that this was it, the house of her dreams, the place she had always wanted. She took a deep breath and let her gaze slide down the page to the price. Her eyes widened. R9000 a month in rent. Just as well she was looking to purchase. Renting was an appalling waste of money – she had learnt that from her father. Her gaze slid lower still. The asking price was R990,000. Almost a cool million.

She gulped. Forget it, a little voice in her head told her. Wait another year or two. But Keabetswe was tired of waiting. She had been putting money away every month for years in preparation for the day she found her dream house, and she could always take out a mortgage. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became.

“So!” Esme stepped out of her office with a grin, empty coffee cup in hand, on her way to the small kitchen. “What do you guys think of our new merchandise?”

Keabetswe nodded. “Excellent.”

Luke, still chattering away on the phone, gave her the thumbs up, and Radha glanced up from her computer to say, “Fabulous!”

“I’ll have new properties for everyone by the end of the week,” Esme promised, then started down the corridor.

Keabetswe hurried after her, clutching the folder. “These properties aren’t officially on the list yet, are they?”

“No. Why?”

“I want one of them.”

Her boss laughed. “I should have guessed. Okay, show me.”

Keabetswe fell into step with her and held out the folder.

“Ah yes, that is right up your alley, isn’t it?” mused Esme. “But I don’t think I pay you enough to be able to afford that kind of rent, love.”

“I don’t want to rent it,” Keabetswe explained. “I want to buy it.”

Esme paused in front of the coffee machine. “Are you sure?”

Keabetswe nodded. “I know you have to put it on the list, but I want you to know I’m serious about this. I just need a little time to sort myself out.”

“How much time?” Esme poured herself a cup of coffee – no sugar – and sipped it thoughtfully.

“I don’t know.” Keabetswe frowned. “A month, maybe?”

Esme looked at her, her eyes piercing. “Kea, you know I love you, but you also know that I love my bottom line more. In a month that house could be snapped up by someone with a little more capital.”

Keabetswe smiled. “I know. But if I pay a deposit, it’s as good as mine, right?”

Esme gave her a curt nod and walked out of the kitchen. “I’ll try and steer traffic away from it, but only for one month. No more. And I’m not making any promises.”

Keabetswe hugged the folder to her chest. I’m going to be a homeowner! she thought, and allowed herself a little laugh of sheer delight.

* * *

Keabetswe was early for the meeting with Oagile Motsumi. She parked in the huge driveway and stepped into the sun. The house in Camps Bay was an immense property that stood out beautifully against the backdrop of the ocean, but the view was probably the best thing it had going for it.

She pushed her sunglasses up, propping them in her hair, and walked to the door. There were no other cars on the property; the tenants were halfway through moving out and were almost never around unless they were collecting more belongings.

Oagile Motsumi had not arrived yet. She glanced at her watch, hoping he wasn’t lost. She was about to call him when she saw a black BMW slide into the driveway. She had been expecting something a little flashier from the architect, but the car was spotless and in mint condition. She went down to greet him.

The car pulled up next to hers. She couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows, so she stood aside, waiting for him to get out. Nervous in spite of herself, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and put on her brightest estate agent smile.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and a pair of white-clad legs stepped out. The trousers were expertly tailored and almost impossibly clean, and they fell over the tops of shiny black brogues. Keabetswe’s gaze travelled upwards to the crisp black shirt with no tie, the dimpled chin, the strong jaw, and the skin almost as dark as hers.

Then she met Oagile Motsumi’s gaze. His eyes were clear and wide-spaced beneath thick brows, and they regarded her speculatively. His head was completely shaved. He wasn’t handsome in the classic way, but he was certainly compelling – majestic, even, with his straight posture and air of mystique.

Keabetswe hesitated for a fraction of a second before approaching. Normally she could size people up pretty well and conduct herself accordingly. Oagile Motsumi, on the other hand, was a closed book. Even looking into his eyes, she had no idea what he was thinking. His face was blank, his expression neither antagonistic nor benevolent.

She couldn’t gauge his mood, so she stepped forward, hand outstretched, following Esme’s golden rule: When in doubt, play the secretary. “Mr Motsumi. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Keabetswe Rantao.”

He shook her hand, his grip firm but not too tight. “Oagile, please.” His voice was soft, but with a ring of authority.

“Oagile, then.” Keabetswe turned towards the house. “I hope you found the place easily enough.”

“I did, thank you. Shall we?” He was being rather formal. Keabetswe adjusted her approach to accommodate him.

“This way, please.” She led the way up the driveway. “As I explained over the phone, the tenants are still moving out, so please excuse the mess.”

“Not a problem.” He waited a respectful distance behind her as she unlocked the door.

For a moment she was sure she could feel his eyes on her, but when she turned, he appeared to be staring at the door. He gestured for her to enter first, and as she stepped into the house, she frowned to herself. She didn’t know what to make of him, but he had piqued her curiosity.

He remained silent as she gave him the tour, only offering the occasional murmur or nod to indicate that he was listening. Keabetswe wasn’t used to such quiet clients; they were supposed to ask questions, make comments and give her some idea of what they thought.

They stood in the master bedroom, Oagile’s eyes tracing a path across the ceiling. Keabetswe’s eyes narrowed as she realised what he was doing. He was studying the structure, trying to get a feel of the architecture. His practised eye took everything in.

The silence became unbearable. Keabetswe cleared her throat. “What do you think?” she asked finally.

He was quiet for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to her face. “Can I ask a question first?”

“By all means,” she replied in relief.

“What is your opinion?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He waved one hand at the half-empty room. “The house. What do you think of it? Please be honest. Take this room, for instance. The shape of it, the texture of the walls, the size of the windows.”

Keabetswe swallowed hard. She had never been asked for her opinion before – it wasn’t supposed to matter. In any case, Esme would want her to extol the virtues of every house she displayed. That was her job. But something in Oagile’s manner put her at ease, and she knew she could tell the truth.

“Well, the shape is unusual, for a bedroom,” she admitted. “The rough walls aren’t my cup of tea – I’d be afraid of hurting myself on them. And those windows are terrifying, not to mention a nightmare when it comes to curtains. Imagine falling out of them onto the rocks, then toppling into the water? It’s like a perfect plot for a murder mystery.”

She turned to him, biting her lower lip. Had she said too much?

To her surprise, his lips curled into a slow smile, then spread into a grin, revealing straight teeth with a slight gap. It was the most disarming and infectious smile she had ever seen. Her own lips curled in response.

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he said.

She laughed. “Well, my opinion doesn’t matter. This is still a very nice house.”

“Maybe. But not to me.”

Keabetswe nodded. “Of course.” She led the way downstairs. “I have some other properties in the area, if you’d like to see them.”

“Perhaps we should steer clear of beachfront properties,” he suggested. “I get seasick.”

She glanced back at him and saw a twinkle in his eye. She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe something more suburban?”

“Suburban sounds ideal.” He had a lovely way of speaking, she noticed. He was articulate, smooth and confident.

With each passing moment, he became more and more attractive. He wasn’t your typical eye candy, and somehow that only made him more appealing. As they walked through the house to the front door, he pointed out various little details to her and she gave him her honest opinion on all of them. For some reason, everything she said seemed to amuse him.

“Are you making fun of me, Oagile?” she asked as they stepped into the sunlight.

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’re an expert on this sort of thing,” she pointed out. “Maybe my opinions seem ignorant to you.”

“Oh no,” he assured her. “Your opinions are fascinating.” He gave her one of his radiant smiles again. “How soon can you arrange for me to see another house?”

“Tomorrow,” she beamed, still dazed by his sudden friendliness. “Is that all right?”

“Perfect.” He didn’t say goodbye. He climbed into his car, offered her one last smile and drove off.

Keabetswe stood rooted to the spot for a long moment. Wow, she thought. She couldn’t get beyond that one word – she was still struggling to make sense of the huge impression Oagile had made on her. She felt a little like a loyal fan who had just met her idol.