Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(19)

The door opened even before she reached for the knocker.

'I'm sorry I'm late,' she apologised to the woman who opened it. 'I have an appointment with Mrs Birtles. Charlotte-'

'Yes, yes … please come in. We saw you walking down the drive and Mr  Tennant told me who you were. I'd no idea you intended to walk,' she  added vaguely. 'I'm May Birtles, by the way,' she added, leaving  Charlotte to follow her across the stone-flagged dimly lit hall.

Instinctively, Charlotte cast a professional glance over her  surroundings. The house had a Queen Anne façade, but here in the  panelling adorning the walls, and the stone-flagged floor, was evidence  of an older building.

An intricately carved staircase led up to the upper storeys of the  house, and, although Charlotte would have loved to have stopped and  studied it in more detail, she followed Mrs Birtles, who opened a pair  of beautiful panelled double doors into another room.

At first the sunshine streaming in through the windows blinded Charlotte  to her surroundings. She had a confused impression of rich brocades in  soft faded colours, of a highly polished marquetry floor covered with  delicate silky rugs, of immense gilt-framed portraits of sober-clothed  individuals, of a scent of some kind of sharp, fresh pot-pourri, and  huge bowls of freshly cut flowers, and last of all of Oliver Tennant,  standing in front of one of the windows.

He was frowning, Charlotte recognised, when her eyes had become accustomed to the brilliance of the sunshine.

Initially his terse, 'Are you all right?' confused her a little until Mrs Birtles explained.

'Mr Tennant was concerned about you. He told me that something must have  happened to you to make you late for our appointment. I did offer to  take him round the house without waiting for you, but he insisted on  waiting.'

While Charlotte absorbed this, she was staring at Oliver, unable to  comprehend that the grim look of concern tightening his mouth was  actually on her account. 'My car broke down,' she told them both.  'Luckily I was only half a mile or so away, so, after someone helped me  to push it out of the way, I walked here.'

She heard the sound Oliver made under his breath. 'You could have asked me for a lift,' he told her sharply.                       
       
           



       

Charlotte stared at him. Ask him for a lift … ?

She could tell from the way Mrs Birtles was smiling so approvingly at  him that the older woman was completely bowled over by him. No prizes  for guessing whom she would appoint as her agent, Charlotte reflected  sourly, refusing to allow the warmth which had developed inside her when  she had recognised his concern to grow.

'Well, now that you are both here,' Mrs Birtles was saying placidly,  apparently unaware of Charlotte's antipathy towards her fellow agent,  'shall we make a start?'

* * *

The house was large and rambling and, in addition to selling it with the  several acres of land that went with it, Mrs Birtles also wanted to  dispose of a large number of pieces of antique furniture.

'I'm going to live abroad,' she told them both. 'I have no one to leave  the house to. It's a family home really. My husband inherited it from a  distant cousin and we lived here for almost twenty years. When he  died … well, I have a sister living in Florida who's invited me to join  her.'

Oliver, who had been inspecting a piece of furniture, turned round and asked her, 'Is the house listed?'

Mrs Birtles frowned. 'No … no, it isn't. Why do you ask?'

Charlotte thought she knew. A listed building was protected and could  not be altered in any way without proper consent. A listing protected a  property, but sometimes put off prospective purchasers, especially of a  house this size. A developer who might be interested in purchasing the  house for the value of its land, with the intention of destroying the  house and using the land to build a new estate, wouldn't be interested  if he knew the house was protected by a listing.

Charlotte had stopped listening to Mrs Birtles and Oliver; heaven alone  knew why Mrs Birtles had asked her here. It was painfully obvious that  she was going to commission Oliver. Fair-mindedly, Charlotte  acknowledged to herself that Oliver with his contacts in London would  probably be able to effect a sale much more easily than she would  herself. This property was way outside the normal type of house she  dealt with. It would need specialised handling, ads in such publications  as Country Life, special brochures. It should perhaps be sold by  auction-certainly an auction of the furniture Mrs Birtles wanted to  dispose of would bring in more money than private sales.

She heard Mrs Birtles saying something about terms, and switched her attention back to their conversation.

'I think you'll find that both Miss Spencer and I operate a similar scale of charges.'

Charlotte stared at him. This wasn't what she had expected. She had been  waiting for Oliver to go all out to sell himself and his services to  Mrs Birtles. Instead he was saying something about Charlotte's having  the advantage over him in local knowledge, and then he paused, as though  giving her the opportunity to take advantage of her cue.

No, this wasn't what she had expected at all. Where was the  hard-driving, ambitious, unscrupulous sales technique she had expected?  Where was the sharp cutting edge of the London-trained businessman?

Honesty had always been one of Charlotte's strongest virtues. It niggled  at her now, forcing her to confess to Mrs Birtles, 'Lovely though your  home is, I've got to admit I've never handled this kind of sale before.'  She looked instinctively towards Oliver as though seeking his support.  'Mr Tennant is probably far better placed to advise you on the best way  of achieving a sale.'

She saw a faint hint of respect tinging Oliver's eyes. Had he really  expected her to behave less professionally and honestly than he had  himself? Now he spoke again.

'To be honest with you, Mrs Birtles, this is a prestigious property, and  would be best handled in conjunction with one of the agents who  specialise in handling such properties on a countrywide basis.

'As it happens, I know one of the partners in one of these agencies, and  I'd be delighted to arrange for him to come down here and see you.'

'No,'Mrs Birtles told him firmly. 'My husband always believed in giving  his business to local people and I have carried on that tradition.'

'Well, then, in that case,' Oliver said with a smile, 'perhaps I could  suggest that you appoint both Miss Spencer and myself as joint agents.  That way you could have the benefit of our joint expertise.'

'Joint agents … that's a marvellous idea,' Mrs Birtles enthused, while  Oliver looked across at Charlotte, one eyebrow lifted as he awaited her  comments.

Joint agents …  That was the last thing she had expected him to suggest.  There was a hard lump of emotion in her throat. Honesty compelled her to  admit that he had probably far more experience in this field than she  did herself, and he must know that, and yet he had still suggested a  joint agency.                       
       
           



       

She swallowed and said huskily, 'We'll both do our best to obtain a good sale for you, Mrs Birtles.'

There were various arrangements to be made. The items to be sold would  have to be catalogued. Charlotte had had experience of this while  working for an auction house during her university holidays, and offered  to take over this chore.

'It will give me an opportunity to teach Sophy how to prepare a catalogue,' she explained, when Oliver said quietly to her,

'Cataloguing is a bit of a chore-are you sure?'

'Sophy is working for you?' He frowned.

'Just on a part-time basis at the moment,' Charlotte told him. 'To fit  in with the twins.' Pride forbade her to add that Sophy's job would be  more temporary than she had planned if he succeeded in taking the major  part of her business.

He was still frowning. 'I shouldn't have thought your business merited taking on extra staff at the moment.'

Mrs Birtles had left the room to instruct her housekeeper to bring them  all some coffee, and so there was no one to overhear them as Charlotte  forgot how grateful she had been to him not five minutes before and  hissed bitterly, 'What do you know about my business? For your  information, until you decided to open up in this area-' She bit her  lip, suddenly aware of what she was giving away, but it was too late.

Oliver was saying softly, 'You took Sophy on because you knew, if she didn't have a job, she'd lose her home.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Charlotte denied. 'I'm a businesswoman, not a charitable organisation.'

There was no opportunity for them to say any more because Mrs Birtles had returned.

After they had finished their coffee, Charlotte offered to drive over  the following week to take the necessary measurements on a day when Mrs  Birtles had informed her that the house would be empty.