Lois settled down to write the advertisement, and was still chewing the end of her pen trying to get it right. “‘Charming one bedroom flat, quietly situated above the village shop in Long Farnden. Use of garden, and parking space at rear of building.’ No, that won’t do,” she said aloud as Gran brought in her usual offering of coffee and biscuits. “Here, read this, Mum, and see if it sounds right.”
“Do you have to start with the bedroom?” Gran said. “I should describe the delightful sitting room with views of the village playing fields, then go on to one spacious bedroom, then modern bathroom and kitchen. Parking space at rear of shop, and use of landscaped garden. That’s more like it, isn’t it?”
“Mum! The bedroom’s no bigger than a box room, the bathroom has a lavatory that could have been designed by Thomas Crapper himself, and you couldn’t swing a cat in the kitchen. As for the garden, nothing’s been grown in it since Josie took over the shop. No, it’s better not to arouse expectations. Better the other way round; then a viewing will be a pleasant surprise.”
“We don’t want no more surprises in that flat!” Gran said. “Pleasant or otherwise!”
“Of course not,” Lois said crossly. “Anyway, thanks for your help. And the coffee. I must get on now.”
“Dismissed,” said Gran, her nose in the air. “Don’t forget that actor man who might be interested,” she added, and stomped out, leaving the door ajar, knowing that nothing was more calculated to annoy Lois. She was sure her daughter was wrong. All estate agents exaggerated the wonders of the properties for sale or rent, so why should they be any different?
After Lois had written the advertisement, she sent it by email to the newspapers and relaxed. Job done. Now she had to tackle the flat itself. Perhaps she would do a quick repainting job, and get Derek to smarten up the bathroom. She could even make a virtue of the antique lavatory, with its flowery printed bowl and wooden seat. A few flowers strategically placed in the tiny hallway and sitting room would work wonders, and she would make a list of necessary pieces of furniture to replace. The dump in Tresham, now elevated to a recycling centre, had the most amazing bargains. Secondhand chairs and tables in good condition, and loads of other things. They even had a section for practically new curtains.
She stood up from her desk. “That’s my weekend settled,” she said to Jeems, who, as usual, sat at her feet while she was working. “Now, this afternoon I’ll go into Tresham to see Hazel and buy some paint from the wholesaler.”
“Talking to yourself again,” said Gran, coming in with a handful of post. “Postie’s late again. I reckon she ought to be replaced. Hey, Lois, that’s a good idea! Why don’t we offer the flat to a reliable postman. Special rates for assisting in post office on pension days?”
“Postmen, or postwomen, don’t forget, have to be appointed by head office, or some such. And anyway, we want as much as we can get in rent, without offering special rates. We shall see who comes to view. I’d be happy with a nice middle-aged professional bachelor, who’d be equal to burglars and snakes, and good at housework. Josie might hear again from that actor bloke.”
“Well, all I can say is good luck to whoever takes it on. And I promise to keep quiet about recent invasions of snakes, spiders, toads, rats and frogs. Sounds biblical, doesn’t it? One of them plagues in the Old Testament. At least I escaped boils. And when you’re in Tresham, can you get another couple of rat traps?”
*
Hazel Thornbull was the wife of a Farnden farmer, and had worked for Lois since she first founded the New Brooms cleaning service. When they set up the Tresham office, Hazel immediately applied for the job as manager, and with her small daughter now at school for a full day, and her mother able to help out with her timetable, she had established a well-organised office in the heart of town. This morning had been busy, with two of the cleaning girls coming in for changes in rotas, and a new client in Waltonby to be visited.
“So what’s new this afternoon?” said Lois, coming through the door. “And how’s your family? Busy time on the farm?”
“Morning, Mrs M. Everybody’s fine, except John, and he’s exhausted, as usual! Still, it’s been a good year so far, for once. A happy farmer is a rare bird!”
They got down to business then, and Lois gave Hazel a flier advertising the flat to stick up in the office window.
The potential client for cleaning was from Waltonby, the new owner of the old vicarage, a massive Victorian house built in the days when maids occupied the attic rooms and gardeners tended the extensive grounds.