Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(3)

'It's just as well they didn't. I wouldn't have sold. Have I signed  everything now?' she asked him, changing the subject. She hated being  the object of the concern and almost pity of her friends, who all seemed  to assume that she was bound to lose out to the newcomer. She was proud  of the way she ran her business-her values might be old-fashioned, but  she intended to hold on to them. If the arrival of the newcomer meant  that she had to scrap the plans she had been making for expanding, then  at least no one but herself knew of those plans.

'I suppose you're going to the Jameses' tonight?' Paul asked when he had checked that she had signed everything.

Charlotte nodded and grimaced. 'Yes, but I'm not looking forward to it. I like Adam, but Vanessa isn't really my type.'

'Nor mine,' Paul agreed. 'She's a bit of a man-eater.'

Adam and Vanessa James were the local high-fliers. Adam was a quiet,  studious man in his late thirties whose innovative skill in the world of  computers had led to his establishing a very successful business. They  had moved into the area five years ago, buying a large Victorian house  on the outskirts of the same village as Charlotte's father's house.

Charlotte had always felt that in some way Vanessa resented her,  although she could not see why. By her own lights Vanessa had everything  she wanted from life: a wealthy, generous husband, who turned a blind  eye to her determined flirtations with other men; a superb home, on  which no expense had been spared; two quiet, dull children, who spent  most of their time away at boarding school. Add to that the frequent  shopping trips to London, their attendance at all the major events of  the social calendar, holidays in the Caribbean in winter, and other  far-flung exotic and fashionable spots in summer, and it was difficult  to understand the resentment that Charlotte always felt emanating from  Vanessa. What had she got that Vanessa could possibly envy?                       
       
           



       

Vanessa was a small, delicate blonde with a façade of pretty-prettiness  that set Charlotte's own teeth on edge; they were poles apart in every  way there was.

In Vanessa's shoes, Charlotte doubted that she would have asked her to  her dinner party, but Vanessa always made a point of including her in  her invitations, and then always put her back up by making derogatory  comments either about her single status or what Vanessa liked to call  her 'feminism'.

Given free choice, Charlotte would not be attending tonight's dinner  party, but she liked Adam and felt sorry for him, and it was the kind of  affair that would be bristling with important business contacts. She  was attending in her role as local estate agent, that was all, and she  would much rather have spent the evening getting some of her paperwork  out of the way.

The car park was almost empty when she returned to her car. She noticed  guiltily that the dark blue Jaguar was parked a few spaces away,  mercifully without its driver.

As she drove homewards, perhaps because of Paul's comments, her mind was  on the new estate agency opening up in competition to her. She had told  Paul that there was enough business for both of them while the boom  lasted, and that she suspected that once it was over the newcomer would  close his office and go elsewhere. These new high-powered agencies  weren't interested in local communities and small business, they wanted  quick high profits, so in the long term, if she could just survive, she  felt she had nothing to fear.

None the less she did feel slightly uneasy as she drove back to the  village. From being bright and unclouded, the future had suddenly become  threateningly overcast. As she turned into the long gravel drive to the  house, the knowledge that there was no one inside waiting for her, no  one with whom she could share the burden of her doubts and fears,  depressed her.

She and her father had not been close, but she did miss him. They had  not always agreed, but before his illness had become too much for him,  they had been able to discuss the business. She had friends, of course,  good ones, but her father's teaching and her own natural caution  inclined her away from discussing her problems with them. She was more  used to the role of confidante, that of receiving confidences rather  than giving them.

Her telephone was ringing as she walked into the kitchen. She picked up  the receiver, and frowned a little as she recognised the still girlish  voice of Sophy Williams.

Sophy had been widowed tragically six months previously. Her husband had  been killed in a road accident. At only twenty-three he had not thought  to carry adequate insurance on his own life, and, although their small  house was now Sophy's outright, with two small children to support and  no proper income she had no idea how she was going to find the money to  run the house and feed and clothe the children and herself. Although she  didn't want to do so, she was beginning to feel she would have to sell  her home and move in with her parents.

Promising to visit her the following day, Charlotte was still frowning as she replaced the receiver.

Although luckily she had not as yet said anything to Sophy, Charlotte  had been considering offering her a part-time job. She could do with an  assistant to help her. Sophy's twins were only three years old, but  Sophy's next-door neighbour in the small row of terraced houses where  they lived was a retired school-teacher, who Charlotte suspected would  be only too happy to look after the children for her for a small part of  each day. It had been her intention to propose to Sophy that she made  what outside visits to potential clients were necessary during the hours  that Mrs Meachim looked after the twins, and that all her paperwork  could then be done from home, so that she was there with the twins for  the rest of the day.

At this stage she could not afford to pay Sophy a great deal, but she  would train her properly and, once the twins were at school, she  envisaged taking Sophy on on a more full-time basis.

Sophy was a touchy, proud girl, all too well aware that her parents had  not approved of her marrying so young. As she had confided miserably to  Charlotte, the only option she seemed to have was to sink her pride,  sell the house and move back in with her parents who had grudgingly  offered her and the twins a home. Charlotte knew quite well that if  Sophy thought for one moment that she was offering her a job out of pity  she wouldn't take it. She had hoped to convince the younger girl that,  with the sudden property boom, she desperately needed more help than  that provided by Sheila Walsh, who ran the office for her, but now that  she was facing competition from another agency Charlotte was not sure  that Sophy would be so easy to deceive. She was an intelligent girl.                       
       
           



       

Tomorrow Charlotte hoped to dissuade her from putting her house on the  market. She knew how much Sophy prized her independence. Her parents'  home was immaculate, and Mrs Sellars was particularly fussy about both  the house and the garden. She would not enjoy having a pair of  mischievous three-year-olds permanently about the place.

Sophy had said as much herself, and then added that, despite her own  reluctance to accept her parents' offer, she didn't see that she had  much alternative. She had no mortgage to pay, but no money coming in  either. With what she would make on the sale of the house, she would be  able to invest money for the twins' future, and living with her parents  she would have very little outgoings.

Tomorrow, hopefully, Charlotte would be able to persuade her to  reconsider, knowing as she did all the doubts Sophy had about moving  back with her parents.

A glance at the kitchen clock warned Charlotte that it was time for her to go upstairs and get changed.

The kitchen had changed very little over the years since her mother's  death. In fact, nothing in the house had changed. There had been times  when she had tried to persuade her father to redecorate and refurnish,  but he had obstinately refused to do so.

Now the house was hers, she recognised, and, looking around the bleak,  dull kitchen, she acknowledged that it was no wonder she found it  unappealing to come back to.

If she were selling it for someone else, she would be forced to tell the  owners it had very little buyer appeal, that it might be structurally  sound, waterproof and weatherproof, but that it lacked warmth, and the  kind of ambience that drew prospective purchasers.

Her father hadn't been a wealthy man, but he hadn't been poor either.  Charlotte had been a little surprised to discover how much money she had  inherited, quite apart from the business. By rights she ought to sell  this house and buy something much smaller, more easily run-something  more suitable for a career woman who had very little time to spend on  caring for her home.