Читать книгу Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage - Katie Ginger - Страница 12

Joe scratched the back of his head, checked around for customers, and gave the photocopier a swift kick. The damn thing was playing up again and had been for ages. If the paper wasn’t getting stuck, it decided it had run out of toner and he had to get down on his hands and knees and wiggle different bits about until the annoying red light stopped flashing. It wasn’t that he knew what he was doing. It was just that being the youngest of the office staff by a good twenty years, it was supposed he knew more about technology than the rest of them. He didn’t.

Fridays at the estate agents were always quiet for some reason. Maybe people didn’t want the hassle of tidying their houses and making them presentable for viewings, and those who were buying left all the looking for Saturdays, when they could do so without worrying about taking time off work. Either way, he was fed up. He’d completed all the admin he had to do, and the four games of solitaire he’d just played on his computer had done nothing to alleviate his boredom.

The photocopier spluttered into life and kicked out the paper he had been waiting for, as well as a few extra sheets for good measure. He took them and ran a finger round the collar of his shirt. He was sweating. In November. The radiators were on full blast and old Mr Rigby, who owned the business, insisted on having a couple of heaters on as well. It was only about eight degrees outside, but it was as hot as Dubai in here – a place he would definitely rather be right now.

Even though he’d been back for a long time, he was still getting used to working nine to five back in England. After moving to Australia with his girlfriend, Clara, he’d worked a normal working week. But with long lunch hours, swims before work, and barbecues on the beach after, it had made the slog of the daily grind so much easier to bear. He stared out of the window at the threatening grey sky and pouring rain, and sighed. The landline on his desk rang and he hurried over to answer it. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

‘Hi, Joe?’ said a singsong female voice.

‘Hi, how can I help?’ He didn’t recognise the voice.

‘It’s Annabelle.’

‘Annabelle?’

‘Yes, Annabelle.’ She sounded annoyed now. ‘We met in the pub the other night and then we … we went back to yours.’

‘Oh yes. I remember.’ He did, just about. He’d made sure they hadn’t swapped numbers, he didn’t want to lead her on, but if she’d found the work number and rung that, she clearly wanted more than he could give. He realised he’d been quiet for a while and glanced up to see Mr Rigby smiling at him. Keeping his voice professional, he asked, ‘What can I help you with?’

‘I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner sometime?’

‘Yeah, um, no, thanks.’ There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. ‘What I mean is …’ He leaned down behind his desk, pretending to look for something in the bottom drawer. He didn’t want the whole office to hear him and brushing off a lady could be quite difficult sometimes. He knew that from experience. Joe kept his voice low. ‘The other night was great, but I’m not looking for anything more right now. Nothing serious.’ It was a bit of a corny line but he’d used it before and it had worked fairly well. Plus he meant it. He wasn’t leading anyone on. He wouldn’t do that. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping it would work again now. Annabelle said nothing and he could feel the anger emanating from her and travelling over the air waves.

‘Oh. Okay.’ Her voice was curt and clipped. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you around then?’

‘Yeah, okay. Bye.’

She hung up and Joe sat up from behind his desk. Calls like that were the worst part of one-night stands. The fact that they weren’t fulfilling didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to be fulfilled. He couldn’t anymore. Sometimes, like with Amy – no, Annabelle – he felt bad for a while, but he never promised them anything more. He wasn’t a complete bastard. Joe was adjusting his tie when the office phone on his desk rang again. ‘Good morning, Rigby Estate Agents, Joe speaking. How can I help?’

‘Hi? Is that Joe Holloway?’

He didn’t recognise the female voice on the other end of the line, and his brow wrinkled. He hoped this wasn’t another one-night stand wanting more. Before Annabelle, his last one had been a few months ago, so it would be odd her calling now. Why did he do this to himself? It never helped and it just caused more trouble. If they were going to start phoning him at work, he could lose his job. ‘Yes, this is Joe. How can I help?’

‘It’s Alice Potts. I’m looking for some properties for my sister, Esme.’

‘Alice?’

Oh God, was this Annabelle calling back pretending to be a customer? Trust him to pick a psycho. He gazed at the rain battering against the large glass windows and pictured her suddenly standing there, wielding a knife. Joe shuddered but tried to remain professional. Mr Rigby was typing slowly with two fingers and hadn’t seemed to notice.

‘Alice and Sean Potts. You helped my husband and I find our first house.’ Alice laughed. ‘You’d know me better as Alice Kendrick. We were at school at the same time. My sister, Esme, was in your year, I was a year below.’

A small smile pulled the corner of his mouth upwards. ‘Alice and Esme Kendrick? Yeah, I remember you guys now. I thought Esme moved to London?’ She’d been the talk of the town having worked hard to get to a good London university and then found a job working for a television company. ‘She was one of the major success stories of our school. Not like the rest of us normal folk.’ He sat back in his chair and played with the telephone cord.

‘Yeah, my sister was always super-focused. So, she was hoping to see some places tomorrow. Is there any chance you could line up a few viewings?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Joe replied, grabbing his notebook and pen. It didn’t give him much time, and he wondered what the rush was, but still, business was a good thing. ‘Is she renting or buying?’

‘Renting.’

‘Any particular times for the viewings?’

‘Nope. She’s free all day.’

He made a note. ‘And what about budget? What type of properties does she like?’

‘Budget needs to be as small as possible. She doesn’t want to spend much per month and as beggars can’t be choosers, just show her anything that’s cheap.’

That was odd, but he made a note anyway. ‘Okay, I’ll call you later with the details. Can you give me your number? Or should I take Esme’s?’

Alice hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘No, take mine. She’s not really ready to … no, never mind. But if you could call me, that’d be great.’

Joe took the details and hung up. Esme Kendrick? Now there was a turn up. But what was Alice going to say? She’s not really ready to what? He rested his elbows on the desk, tapping his pen against his notepad. Looks like things were going well for Esme and her boyfriend, presuming she had one, if they were getting a place down here as well as having one in London. Of course she’d have a boyfriend. She was probably married by now, or at least engaged. She was always the most intelligent, not to mention the prettiest, girl at school. Joe could picture her now as a grown woman all pale-skinned and wide-eyed, with that mop of red curls like some Highland beauty from the Middle Ages.

He went to the filing cabinet and pulled out some brochures for the cheapest rental properties. If it was a holiday or weekend place, why rent? And why the tight budget? It all seemed very strange, but before he could think about it any further, an old male voice from the other side of the office said, ‘Joe, this bloody printer is messing about again. Can you come and unblock it?’

Filing his questions at the back of his mind, Joe closed the drawer, took a deep breath and replied. ‘Yes, Mr Rigby. On my way.’