Dreams to Sell (21 page)

The young man leaned forward, his eyes very direct on Roz. ‘Look here, this is absurd – we've been talking all this time and we don't know each other's names. I'm Laurence Carmichael.' He held his hand across the table and Roz, after a moment, shook it.

‘I'm Roz Rainey.'

For a second or two longer than was necessary he held her hand, then let it go.

‘Miss Rainey, I'm very glad we've met.'

‘Me, too.'

Carmichael, Roz was thinking – there was something familiar about the name. Had she heard it at Tarrel's? She couldn't be sure. Suddenly, she looked at her wrist watch and gave a little cry.

‘Help! I think I've got to go. We have to meet in the car park in half an hour. Where's the waitress? I'd better get my bill.'

‘I'll get the bill.' Laurence Carmichael stood up, his eyes searching the café for their girl. ‘But couldn't I drive you back to Edinburgh? I have my car.'

‘Oh, thank you, that's very kind, but I think I'd better go back with the others. Our teacher will be checking us all into the coach.'

‘It would have been no trouble, but I understand.'

Roz hesitated. ‘And it's really nice of you to offer to pay for my tea, but there's no need. I mean, why should you?'

‘Why shouldn't I? I feel we're already friends.'

As their waitress came hurrying up with her notebook, Laurence looked down at Roz, his gaze serious.

‘I'd like to, anyway.'

‘Oh, well, thank you,' she murmured, gathering up her packages. ‘Now, I'd better go. It was very nice, talking to you.'

‘Hang on, I'll just pay this and then I'll walk with you to the car park. I have to collect my car.'

Saying that would be fine, Roz was already wondering what Norma would say when she saw Roz arriving with this tall stranger in tweeds. ‘Where'd he come from?' she was bound to ask, and if Roz had to tell her they'd met over tea in a café, she'd put on one of her funny looks and think Roz had been some sort of pick-up.

Perhaps that was true, but when she glanced up at the man walking by her side, pulling on a tweed cap and smiling down at her, she knew it wasn't. To use her mother's phrase about Richard Vincent, Laurence was what Richard was not, a ‘perfect gentleman'. Even on their short acquaintance, Roz knew she could trust him, and that was the difference between him and another man, wasn't it? But Roz would not think of
that
one.

‘There's the coach in the car park now,' she said quickly. ‘Thank you for coming with me.'

He smiled and put out his hand. ‘Well, it's been good to meet you, Miss Rainey. Perhaps we'll meet again. If I come into Tarrel's, I'll be sure to look out for you.'

‘Please do,' she said politely, shaking his hand. As she began to walk away, she looked back and waved. ‘Thanks again for the tea.'

‘My pleasure, Miss Rainey.'

She did not look back again.

Mrs Burr and a number of her students were already milling round the coach as Roz arrived, and amongst these were Norma and Tim.

‘Who was that fellow you were with just now?' Norma asked at once, as Roz had known she would.

‘Just one of our clients. We met in the museum café.'

‘I don't remember him. Who does he see?'

‘Mr Banks, but he doesn't come in much.'

‘What's his name, then?'

‘Mr Carmichael.'

Norma wrinkled her brow. ‘Seems familiar.'

‘Look, can we get on the coach now?' Tim asked impatiently. ‘What does this client matter, anyway?'

Nothing at all, thought Roz, as she followed Norma and Tim on to the coach once Mrs Burr had ticked off their names on her list. Except that she had enjoyed meeting Mr Carmichael and did wonder if she might see him again. It was possible, wasn't it? Better not count on it, though. As though she would! Why, she wasn't looking for any kind of new relationship. She'd burnt her fingers once and that was enough. All the same, it had been very pleasant talking to him. Even if she never saw him again, she would remember that.

In the days that followed her meeting with Laurence Carmichael, Roz continued to wonder who he was and why his name seemed familiar, but she knew she couldn't ask Mr Banks, who would not take kindly to enquiries about his client. Why the interest? she asked herself, and wasn't sure. Just curiosity, perhaps, or more that he'd been very nice to talk to and she might like to meet him again? Pointless, anyway, thinking about him, because he hadn't come into Tarrel's and it seemed it was unlikely there'd be any more meetings. Probably he was the sort of client who never needed to visit his lawyer more than once in a blue moon, and as June succeeded May and the summer weather sparked off interest in property buying and selling, Roz became too busy to think of anything but work.

‘Just the way I like it,' Mr Appin commented on their increased business. ‘Our figures are going to break records at this rate.'

‘I like to be busy too,' said Roz. ‘But you mustn't forget your summer leave, Mr Appin.'

‘September will do for Pattie and me. No kiddies with school holidays to worry about, you see.' He gave a self-conscious smile. ‘Though, of course, we hope that won't always be the case.'

‘Oh? Does that mean …?' Roz was looking interested.

‘Nothing on the horizon at the moment,' he said hastily. ‘As I say, we're just hoping. But what about a holiday for you, Miss Rainey? You know what they say about all work and no play?'

She laughed. ‘Oh, I don't forget to play sometimes, Mr Appin. As we're so busy, I'll be happy with a break in the autumn when you come back.'

He looked at her thoughtfully and she knew just what was in his mind. Attractive girl, only seems to think about work in spite of saying she likes to let her hair down – why hasn't she got a young man? At least no one had told him about her affair with his predecessor, though they could only have had their suspicions, apart from Norma and Mr Wray, and they wouldn't say anything. It was all in the past now, and if she did seem to prefer work to having a young man, that was her business. Mr Appin was far too tactful ever to question her private life, anyway, and for that she was truly grateful.

‘Coffee time!' she announced now. ‘I think we could do with it – we've a lot on this morning.'

But before she could depart to make it, the door opened and Mr Banks himself came in, causing Roz and Mr Appin to exchange glances, each thinking, what could he want? Must be something important.

‘Had a good holiday, Mr Banks?' asked Mr Appin, for the senior partner had recently taken a few days in Bamburgh. ‘You're looking well.'

‘Excellent holiday, thanks.' Mr Banks, who was indeed looking unusually tanned, gave a beaming smile. ‘And I found some interesting news waiting for me on my return.'

‘Oh?' Mr Appin pushed forward one of the leather chairs. ‘Won't you take a seat?'

‘No, no, I shan't stay long – I've a mountain of work to get through. I just wanted to advise you both that a significant property will be coming on to the market shortly and is to be sold through Tarrel and Thom's.'

‘Sounds good. Which one is it?'

‘A house called Bellfields. A Georgian place a few miles from Edinburgh, off the Galashiels road. You may not know it, Mr Appin, but Miss Rainey will, I'm sure?'

‘Oh, yes, Mr Banks. At least, I've heard about it but I've never seen it.'

‘It's only open a couple of times in the summer – not one of your tea room and gift shop sort of places. But now it's coming on the market and we're the sole agents.' Mr Banks's smile was now showing his satisfaction even more. ‘Of course, it's only to be expected – the Carmichaels have been clients of ours for generations. I remember Laurence Carmichael's father consulting my father – keeping up the tradition, you understand, but I'm glad there's been no question of calling in one of these smart London agents. It's a Scottish house and should be sold by Scottish lawyers.'

‘Did you say Carmichael?' Roz asked, her thoughts in turmoil. ‘It's Mr Laurence Carmichael who owns Bellfields?'

‘Yes, yes, exactly so,' snapped Mr Banks, annoyed at being interrupted. ‘I thought I'd made that clear!'

‘I know, sir, I'm sorry. It's just that I met Mr Carmichael not long ago and he never mentioned Bellfields.'

‘You met him? Where?'

‘It was in Kirkcudbright. I'd gone there with my art class and he had been to the same museum I'd been visiting.' Roz was now blushing hard. ‘I think he'd just sold a painting to the musuem.'

‘I see.' Mr Banks and Mr Appin were both staring at Roz as though amazed at this insight into her life outside Tarrel's, and perhaps also at her little piece of information about Mr Carmichael – something she was already regretting having mentioned.

‘Poor fellow,' Mr Banks said, ‘he's had to part with quite a number of assets lately to try to avoid selling the house, but it looks as though he's lost the battle.'

‘I should have thought he'd have rents and so on from his land,' Mr Appin remarked. ‘He must have tenants, surely?'

‘Very few now. I'm afraid we sold a good deal of the land for his father years ago, and that wasn't the first time land had been sold.' Mr Banks sighed, then brightened. ‘Well, if it has to go, it's good that Bellfields will be sold by us. And that's why I wanted to speak to you, Mr Appin. We must make the best showing we can for this sale. There's to be no auction, but plenty of advertising, the price to be made on application only. I want special brochures printed and interior photographs taken by the usual professional fellow we employ – what's his name, again?'

‘Reginald MacEwan,' said Roz. ‘He does the exterior shots of houses while we usually do the interiors.'

‘As I say, no disrespect to you or Mr Appin, but I'd like him to be booked to do all the photography for Bellfields. Mr Carmichael is relying on us to do a good job for him – we must not let him down.'

‘Certainly not, Mr Banks, we'll do our very best,' Mr Appin said at once. ‘You can be sure of that.'

‘I'm sure I can. Well, I'd better get back to my desk.' Mr Banks moved to the door. ‘As soon as I get the official instruction to sell from Mr Carmichael, you must arrange a visit with Mr MacEwan to take particulars. Then you and I can discuss the brochure.'

‘And the valuation, Mr Banks?'

‘Don't worry about that. I'll arrange the asking price with Mr Carmichael myself. All right, Mr Appin?'

‘Fine, Mr Banks.'

‘As I say, I've every confidence in you – and Miss Rainey.'

With a slight inclination of his head, Mr Banks left them and again Mr Appin and Roz looked at each other.

‘Thank God he's doing the valuation,' Mr Appin said, sitting down at his desk with a sigh of relief. ‘At least I needn't worry about that, but the rest of this sale looks like being one big headache. Obviously, the house needs a fortune spent on it. Nobody will want to shell out for it, and if we don't do well for this Carmichael guy, we'll get the blame. Or I will.'

‘Don't say that, Mr Appin. He's very nice, Mr Carmichael. You'll like him, and you'll do a good job, so stop worrying.'

‘How about that coffee, then?' Mr Appin, unusually, lit a cigarette. ‘I rather wish your old boss was still here to hold my hand.'

‘My old boss?'

‘Mr MacKenna. Calm as a cucumber, wasn't he?'

‘Why, so are you, usually!'

He smiled wryly. ‘Think so?'

‘Well, aren't you?'

‘I put on a good act. It helps being somewhat fat.'

‘You're not fat, Mr Appin!'

‘Plump, then. People expect me to be unflappable. Goes with the double chins. In fact – oh, look, forget I said anything! I'm calm as a cucumber, apart from melting like a jelly. We'll get through this sale, of course we will.'

‘Honestly, you've no need to worry,' Roz told him firmly, concealing her surprise at his concern. ‘You'll do a lovely brochure, there'll be lots of offers, and there you are – job done!'

He looked up at her and nodded. ‘Thanks, Miss Rainey. Think I don't need Mr MacKenna, after all. You're just as good.'

She laughed, but as she went away to make the coffee, the laughter died. If she'd discovered a side to Mr Appin she didn't know existed, she'd also found out all she needed to know about Laurence Carmichael, and what it added up to was that if she saw him again it would be purely on a business footing and that was the way it would stay. Why hadn't he told her he owned a place like Bellfields? Because he knew she wasn't the sort of person who knew people like him. Just for a little while that afternoon in the museum café, she'd thought … wondered … what? Nothing worth thinking about now, that was for sure. Thank heavens she'd found out who he was before she'd indulged in any more thinking and wondering. Thank heavens, as usual, for work.

The visit to Bellfields was arranged for a day in July. As soon as Roz leaped out of bed in the early morning after a troubled night, she saw that the weather was perfect – calm and still, with not a cloud in the azure sky. What to wear, then? Something cool, in case it became very warm. There might even be thunder.

‘Aren't you dressed yet?' cried Chrissie, throwing back her sheet. ‘Anybody'd think you were going to Holyrood, the time you're taking.'

‘The thing is, I should wear a jacket,' Roz murmured, not admitting that she felt as nervous as if she were in fact going to the royal palace. ‘But I don't want to be too hot.'

‘Well, you've got that nice green one you bought lately. Won't that do?'

‘If I wear it with my sleeveless white blouse and my light skirt it might be OK. Just wish I hadn't to go. It'll be a bit of an ordeal for us all.'