He had stared at her, the slow rise of his Adam’s apple suggesting he wasn’t entirely on board with the idea.
‘Maybe help is a good idea,’ he’d conceded.
It made her smile, even now, to think of Marguerite’s rather unorthodox interview.
‘So you’d be looking after Evie, as I’m going back to work in a few weeks.’
The woman had nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you like babies?’ Ashleigh had prompted, feeling her enthusiasm slipping away at the woman’s rather no-nonsense attitude. She had hoped for someone like her mother or Remy, someone with that lovely, soft, maternal edge.
‘I’m not sure, but I figure I don’t have to like them to do a good job.’
Ashleigh had laughed out loud, uncertain if the woman was joking. It became a moot point almost immediately. Marguerite’s face when she saw Evie for the first time was something she wouldn’t forget, the wide smile, the sweet burbles of affection she lavished on her. She had hired her immediately and Marguerite had fallen in love with Evie, who loved her in return.
‘I have a dinner tonight,’ Archie informed her.
‘Fine. To be honest, I’ve got such a day, I’ll probably be fast asleep by the time you fall through the door.’ She drained her glass and winced, unable to find a liking for this brand, but she’d persevere, a little obsessed with the whole idea of juicing and cleansing her gut.
‘It’s not a boozy one, strictly business with a complete bore. A partner in the Berlin office.’
‘Won’t he want beer? Isn’t that what Germans drink?’
‘I have no idea what Germans drink.’ His hand appeared from behindThe Timesand reached for the mug of coffee. ‘And actually, Ashleigh, I can’t remember the last time you didn’t havesucha day, or, come to think of it, a night when you weren’t fast asleep by the time I got home.’
It was true.
But today promised to be a stressful one, an early meeting in her Chiswick office with the rather fed-up owner of a 2.3 million-pound Edwardian villa on Hartington Road, who was fuming about a lack of progress on his house sale. The fact she had valued it at £1.5 million and the listed price was at his insistence was frustrating. It happened sometimes, when pure greed and not sound demonstrable property and land variables dictated the asking price. Ashleigh knew theirs was the third agent to take the property on, and while it looked good on her books, she knew it was a case of lowering the price or she’d behaving these conversations with the fuming vendor on a regular basis. The thought alone was depressing. Having so far only dealt with his nervous wife, she wondered if it was worth the hassle. Maybe she’d tell Guy to pull the plug, tell him it was a case of ‘new price’ or ‘adios’ – yes, she’d get Guy to do it, depending on how their chat went this morning.
‘You’re right, Archie, there is always a meeting, and I’m always in a mad rush. I guess it’s not my fault my business is so in demand that I’m permanently rushed off my feet!’ She put her empty glass in the sink.
‘Hmm, I don’t think it’s being in demand that’s the problem.’ He lowered his newspaper. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure if I came in and spent a day looking at your processes, your admin procedures, your—’
‘I’ll stop you right there.’ Her husband might be a very fine management consultant, specialising in streamlining and re-financing inefficient businesses, but she would never, could never, let him get his hands on her mini empire. It was the one thing that was hers and hers alone. Her success, her validation. ‘Guy and I have built this from the ground up.’
‘I know. I was there when it was first suggested and have been there every day since!’
‘Yes, but my point is, it runs how we like it, and it works, for us.’
‘Andmypoint is, people pay a hefty daily rate for my expertise, and I would do it for you, in exchange for no more than sexual favours and roast lamb on Sunday.’
‘Think I’d rather pay your hefty daily rate,’ she half-joked, and he again shook his newspaper before hiding behind it.
‘Maybe I should go to Gigi directly? Isn’t he the senior partner?’ he goaded, and ducked as if she might lob something at him. He was not wrong. Sadly, with only her phone and a glass fruit bowl within reach, she had nothing to hand that wouldn’t cause serious damage either to his head or the item.
‘In name, yes, and only because we were advised to do it that way by our accountant because Guy’s mother put up surety for the first loan. Which we paid back a while ago now,’ she reminded him.
‘I’m joking, of course. We all know you’re the brains of the outfit.’
‘Correct!’
She spoke with her hands on her hips and was not about to confess to her husband that she and Guy were a little worried about their pipeline. Sales were slowing, instructions taking longer to come on board, commission percentages were being whittled by penny-conscious vendors, and with the uncertainty of the world economy, people were, it seemed, a little reticent about rushing into huge mortgages or upsizing when neither jobs nor financial stability was guaranteed. They’d figure it out. They always did.
‘Better dash. See you later.’
She grabbed the gold knot earrings from the mother-of-pearl trinket dish next to the oversized orchid on the counter and put them into her ears, tucking her neat, straight, blonde hair behind her ears. Hair that she kept in check via her permanent hair-straightening treatment that set her back a small fortune every six months to fix any curly regrowth. It was, in her book, worth every penny to rid herself of those darned ringlet curls that had been the bane of her younger life.
Popping her sleek head into the den, she found six-year-old Evie lying recumbent on a vast leather beanbag, still in her soft pink pyjamas. The girl was indeed transfixed by a loud, flashing animation of high-kicking ninjas, whose saccharine-sweet, squeaky voices were akin to nails on a chalkboard. For Ashleigh, at least.
