‘Oh, and Mr Ashton would like to make an offer for the entire contents too. Could you speak to your client about that as well, please, and let me know?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Thank you. Can I ask who put you in touch with me?’ Blythe was keen to find out if it was Arthur’s old network, her many desperate phone calls to solicitors and funeral parlours, or the note she’d left on the kitchen table.
‘I’m afraid our client would prefer it if we didn’t share any unnecessary information. I’m sure you understand.’
She didn’t understand at all, but she really didn’t care because now she would be able to sell Sam Ashton his dream home and hopefully start to repair the situation at work and in particular with Ludo. She thanked the solicitor again and ended the call – things were definitely looking up.
Blythe walked back inside the office feeling like she’d grown at least a foot in height. She could hold her head up now. She’d resolved the problem. Lots of smiling faces turned her way and their smiles faltered.
‘What was this big news then, Amir?’ she asked, returning to her desk and swinging gently from side to side in her swivel chair.
‘I’m taking on the additional role of office manager.’
Blythe spun herself so violently in his direction that she threw herself off her chair and came back down to earth with a bump.
*
Vicky was beyond pleased with the response she’d had to her flyers. Her problem now was scheduling everyone in, labelling house keys and keeping track of payments. Although the five dachshunds currently using her as a maypole was a more pressing problem. They all had names beginning with C, which she couldn’t remember, and although she had been assured that they were all very well trained they were refusing to respond to her commands. Perhaps it was the doggy equivalent of a school trip when normally-well-behaved children got overexcited to the point of vomiting just due to being outside their usual environment. She had to admit when she’d met the dogs in their home they had all been obedient and calm. That wasn’t the case now.
After the incident where Princess had briefly run off when she’d been out with Blythe, Vicky was terrified of losing a dog. This situation with five leads wrapped around her legs and five small dogs all pinned to her ankles was quite the opposite. She decided that logically if she turned the other way to the dogs she would become untangled. Unfortunately the dogs seemed to want to follow so they all turned in circles together. After a few moments she started to feel dizzy.
Vicky loved the dogs and she was sure she’d lost a couple of centimetres off her waist with all the walking, but she had to admit it wasn’t the easy money she’d thought it would be. That caravan holiday in Devon wasn’t looking like it would be any time soon.
‘Are you all right there?’ asked Norman, carrying a loaf from the bakery. ‘Can I give you a hand?’ he asked, as his image spun past her at speed whilst she did another pirouette.
‘No thanks, I’m fine,’ said Vicky. She’d always been fiercely independent. Two of the dogs raced around to see who was approaching, tightening the lead around her legs and making her topple. ‘Argh!’
Norman stepped forward just in time to steady her.
‘Thank you,’ said Vicky, glad of the hand that gripped her arm. The dogs focused their attention on Norman, giving her a chance to stand still for a moment and rearrange the mass of leads.
‘What’s this I hear about new blood coming to the village?’ Norman cocked an ear expectantly.
‘Oh, Murray’s old place you mean?’
‘Someone said it had been bought by that chap off the telly with all the animals. Now that would be good for your business. Wouldn’t it?’
Right at that moment, Vicky couldn’t think of anything worse.
8
24thSeptember
The last Friday in September
After all the shenanigans it was finally completion day on Murray’s old cottage. Blythe was looking forward to handing over the keys to Sam Ashton and finally drawing a line under the fiasco. Everything had thankfully settled down at work. She was no longer a pariah. Things with Ludo had improved. She was still unhappy that Amir had been made office manager although Ludo insisted it only meant he’d taken on some additional admin. Amir was borderline unbearable because he seemed to think he was now Blythe’s boss and they were banging heads on a daily basis. But not today. Today she was hoping everything was going to go smoothly for Sam. As soon as she got the call that the money had changed hands she hotfooted it over to Holly Cross with the keys.
Holly Cross looked particularly pretty in its autumn colours as Blythe drove into the village. The fields that encircled it had all been harvested and were now being ploughed ready to repeat the whole cycle again. The trees were just on the turn, making Blythe happy with the thought that winter was on its way. Sam Ashton was standing by a large van when she pulled up.
‘Congratulations, you are now the owner of 32 The Green,’ she said handing him two sets of keys, a small welcome pack and a bottle of champagne; the latter was something she had bought with her own money and went a little way to make her feel better for the lie she’d told, although thankfully now Sam would never have to know about that whole debacle.
‘Thanks,’ he said. He looked really happy and that made all the hassle almost worth it. Despite the fact her actions had all been about winning the sales competition her instinct to match the right property to the right buyer had kicked in, and seeing someone in a home they would love was always the best part of the job for Blythe.
She delayed her departure because she was keen to see what Sam’s stuff looked like, especially as he was keeping all of Murray’s furniture too. ‘You’d best get moved in,’ she said, as two men got out of the cab of the van and came to the back of the vehicle. One of the men opened up the back of the van and Blythe had to do a double take. The van was completely empty. She looked at Sam for an explanation.
‘We need to get everything out of the cottage first and over to my warehouse,’ he explained, handing a set of keys to one of the men.
