Noah was the only one of his three brothers living in the UK and had been for some years. Their father had died ten years ago, and their mother had remarried and emigrated to the United States. She had little interest in the estate of the father of her dead husband, and so it had fallen to Noah, Joel and Marc to manage Jack’s affairs after he’d passed. Marc, though well-meaning, had concerns of his own – an unwell wife and three small children, among other things, and so, apart from checking in from Toulouse where he now lived, much of the heavy lifting when it came to their grandfather had been done by Noah, whom Jack had made executor. At the time, Noah had been surprised, but on reflection, it had made sense. Joel, the youngest brother, lived and worked in Dubai and, like Marc, wasn’t in the UK enough to oversee things. It was probably just as well; if Joel had been at the helm, things might have been sorted out more quickly, but Joel would have probably rubbed everyone up the wrong way. The bluntness and killer instincts that made him a success in the cutthroat world of international finance didn’t exactly endear him to other people. And, when Noah had thought about it, he’d realised that it’d been himself who’d spent the most time with Jack over the years.
Noah had been fine with Jack’s decision and, after raising their eyebrows initially, his brothers had, too. They’d all get a share of the proceeds from the sale of the house, and they’d already divided up most of their grandfather’s possessions equitably. For Noah, being executor had meant a certain amount of control over the situation. It had allowed him to channel the grief he’d been feeling into something productive. But the estate had been taking a lot of time to sort out, and his grandfather’s cottage was at the heart of this tangled ball. Noah knew he’d been putting things off, but this last phone call had clarified that. It was time to actually do something.
The trouble was, he wasn’t sure what. And in the end, it wasn’t the cottage, or the will, or the contents of the house that had brought things to a head.
It was the bloody cat.
Four months on from Jack’s death, and Noah still hadn’t had the time to sort out Monty. The one sentient being who’d kept his grandfather from shuffling off this mortal coil for far longer than anyone could ever have expected.
Monty. Four kilograms of Bengal-tabby cross with a mind of his own.
Monty. The kitten who’d featured in well over half of Noah’s life.
Monty. The cat who, in his grandfather’s lighter moments, he’d joked would inherit everything.
Monty. Who was now incarcerated in the Purrfect Paws Cattery, awaiting a decision on his future, and had been for eight months.
Monty. Who had hated Noah on sight, eighteen years ago, and was unlikely to feel any differently now.
Noah sighed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford the bills from Purrfect Paws – he earned a decent salary and was more than happy to keep forking out for the cat, if it meant that he didn’t have to think too much about where he was. The problem was that Monty had gone into a bit of a decline since he’d been boarding, and if he didn’t make a decision soon about the cat’s future, Monty could end up costing him even more money. He’d better get down there this weekend and work out what the options were, he thought, as he tried to focus on the million and one other things he had to do that day.
Clicking into his diary, he looked over the next few days. As the owner of the estate agency, he was used to managing his own time, but he had a lot on at the moment. He had several viewings booked for today, and even more calls to make to chivvy along some sales in progress, as well as more admin and paperwork to do tomorrow for another lucrative potential sale. Travelling to the West Country hadn’t been on his list of priorities, but, he supposed, it would have to be now. Hopefully, he could zoom down, check in on the cottage, work out what the heck to do with Monty and head back before anyone missed him. It could all be done and dusted by the time he got back to his desk on Monday, or so he hoped. As he clicked out of his diary, though, the rogue thought that handling the complications of his grandfather’s estate could be as tricky as handling Monty himself sprang to mind. He hoped against hope that that wouldn’t be the case.
3
The next morning, things weren’t looking so good for his grand plan. Noah opened an email that had dropped into his inbox from the firm of surveyors in Somerset while he’d been getting a coffee from the machine in the corner of the office. Not expecting much more than a standard level two survey, he was brought up short by the email, and then shorter by the attachment.
The survey had detailed several potentially problematic obstacles that Noah and his brothers would need to consider when they put Jack’s cottage on the market. These included an issue with the electrical wiring, and, more worryingly, the presence of expanding foam insulation in the roof space which had already caused problems with damp timbers. If the insulation was not removed, the report went on, then the structural integrity of the roof could be compromised.
Sorry, Noah. If you’ve any hope of achieving the market value for the cottage, some serious work is going to have to be done first, or you’ll have to drop the asking price. Even if you did that, with the roof and its timbers in their current state, I doubt it would be mortgageable by a prospective vendor.
Noah’s heart sank. Shit! That was going to throw the mother of all spanners in the works. Neither of his brothers would be happy with the delay. The two choices he had – put the cottage on the market for a low price and hope someone who didn’t need a mortgage snapped it up, or do the re-wiring and hire a contractor to strip out the foam insulation around the timbers – would both be expensive. He got the feeling that his brothers would baulk at being asked to cough up the money to take out the insulation, but the other choice, risking selling the house for less, wouldn’t sit well with them either. It seemed, along with Monty, there was yet another complication.
He was also cross that, while his grandfather had kept his paperwork in order on virtually everything, there was no documentation about the cussed spray insulation. Noah hadn’t looked in the loft on any of his visits to the cottage after Jack’s death, and now he wondered if the company who’d done the job was on the level. As an estate agent, he well knew the depressing preponderance of shady businesses connected to home improvement and house building, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if, especially in later years when Grandpa wasn’t quite so up with it, Jack had fallen for a cowboy builder’s patter. Perhaps that was why there was no paperwork to be found, and why Jack hadn’t mentioned he’d had it done.
Noah looked at his watch. He had to check in with Ruby and Violet, his two salespeople, about the viewings they’d conducted yesterday. There was a friendly competition between them about who could hit their sales targets quickest each quarter, and this time Ruby had pipped Violet to the post. Violet, therefore, had doubled her efforts in July and wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. He tried to put the issues with his grandfather’s cottage out of his mind as he went through to the small space that constituted the storefront for Noah Hathaway Estates.
Violet was on a call, and Ruby was getting her things together for another viewing, but she paused when Noah came through.
‘I’ve just got off the phone with a prospective buyer for 15 Cavendish Road. They love it but won’t go the distance on the full price. Do you think the vendors’ll take ten grand off?’
‘Worth a try,’ Noah replied. ‘Cavendish Road’s been on our books longer than anywhere else, so it’s worth shifting, if you can.’
‘I’ll give them a ring this afternoon, when I’m back from the viewing in Rotherhithe Street.’ Ruby smiled. ‘Any plans for the weekend, Boss?’
Noah grimaced. ‘A lot of miles to Somerset and back, but hopefully that won’t be for much longer.’ Noah had been in the office early, and although he’d heard Ruby coming in slightly before eight thirty, she hadn’t disturbed him, so this was the first chance they’d had to catch up.
Ruby gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Your grandpa’s house?’
‘Yup. Some stuff’s come up in the survey that I need to sort out, so I’m heading down there after work.’
‘Well, let me know if you need us to shift anything around – I don’t mind taking over for a couple of days if you have to spend some more time down there.’
‘Thanks.’ Noah smiled at her. ‘Any news on the Henderson place?’
‘Not yet, but I’ll check in with the buyer this afternoon. It would be good to get that one clinched before the end of the month.’
‘I can do that, if you like,’ Violet chipped in, having wound up her phone call. ‘That couple who wanted a second viewing on the flat in Berkeley Place just cancelled, so I’m free.’
