58
‘Good news, Mr James, an offer’s been made,’ the estate agent trilled.
‘The asking price?’ replied Daniel.
‘Err… not quite.’
‘How much has he offered?’
‘Three eighty.’
‘No. I want the full four hundred,’ he stated flatly. A few weeks ago he’d have snapped the offer up, but not now. An idea was forming in his mind, which meant he’d need every penny available. There was a brief pause; obviously his tone had surprised the estate agent, who had been led to believe his client had wanted a quick sale.
‘Right… I’ll get back to Mr Jones and let him know.’
‘Yes. Any other viewers?’
‘Not yet, but it’s appearing in the centre pages of our property post as you directed.’
‘Good. Bye.’ Daniel hung up. He didn’t intend to be quite so abrupt, but he was on a roll to get things going. Since having his idea, he’d become focused. Once Daniel set his mind on something there was no room for manoeuvring, he had to have total control and see it through. It was this level of determination that had made his business the success it was. Having the house valued had made him realise just what he had been prepared to sacrifice for Jenna. It had put matters into a sharper focus and made him sit up. There had been every chance of Jenna returning to live in that property, he was convinced; and if that JonJo had followed her, there they would have been, tucked up nicely inhishouse, again.
His blood boiled. How had he not seen it earlier? His mind cast back to the last time he’d been in there, JonJo’s DVDs scattered on the living room floor, his used razor on the bathroom windowsill, the unmade double bed. The very same bed he and Jenna had bought together, a king-size sleigh bed. His hand curled into a fist. Potentially, he could have provided them both with a roof over their heads until Emily was eighteen. It beggared belief.
Events had changed his outlook. Obviously he’d never been happy about JonJo living with Emily, let alone in his own property, but he’d seen it as a means to an end. At least it meant that Emily would still be near to him. Daniel had been prepared to subsidise them, in order to keep Emily close by. But now it had all moved on. Jenna was gone. His eyes filled. He wasn’t sure what to feel anymore: hurt, anger or sorrow. Probably a mixture of all three he concluded.
It was time to get practical and stop being maudlin about the past. The first thing he needed to do was empty the property. He didn’t envisage any of the furniture fitting in well at Keeper’s Cottage, and besides he wanted a complete fresh start. He’d be glad to sell the lot, especially that bed. His thoughts were interrupted by his mobile ringing again. It was the estate agents with an update.
‘Hello, Mr James. Mr Jones has upped his offer to three eighty-five. He gave the usual reason for not wanting to offer the full asking price, that the house needs redecorating and some money spent on it.’ With that he couldn’t argue; the property did need a little TLC. Jenna had hardly looked after the place.
‘Offer him the furniture, see if that makes any difference,’ replied Daniel. With a bit of luck he could be shot of the whole lot and still get the asking price. It was worth a try.
‘Will do.’
‘Thanks. Bye.’
Within a quarter of an hour, the estate agent rang. Mr Jones had offered a further three thousand, but gave a clear indication three eighty-eight was his final offer. Daniel took it. His instincts told him to accept and be rid of it. Considering what he had paid to build the house, he’d made a very good profit. Plus he wouldn’t have all the hassle of clearing it. Job done. Time to move on.
Now he had to concentrate on furnishing Keeper’s Cottage, especially Emily’s room. He missed her terribly. Although he spoke each day to her and she sounded happy enough at his parents’, he wanted her with him, where she belonged. Ever mindful of the start of school term in a couple of weeks, he realised time was of the essence. He didn’t fancy another night in the campervan. He felt the need to celebrate selling his house. The workmen had long gone, finishing off the final touches. Now all the rooms had been plastered, the skirting boards and architraves fitted, the doors hung. Keeper’s Cottage stood waiting for Daniel to make his mark, to make it his own.
*
Christie had had a busy day. Business had picked up and all the rooms were currently full. Being so busy had left her with very little time to think about a business partner. She had outlined her meeting with the bank manager to Dermot, who had listened carefully. She knew that her days with him were numbered, but couldn’t bring herself to actually broach the subject. Christie didn’t want to see Dermot go – he was a part of The Templar as much as the fixtures and fittings. But go he must. He couldn’t stay indefinitely – that she knew.
The prospect of running The Templar completely solo daunted her slightly. Without the added worry of paying Stephen off, she would probably have seen it as a challenge, but a positive one. Now her mind spun with worries of the future. So different for Daniel. She smiled, recalling his buzz when showing her round Keeper’s Cottage. Christie was genuinely pleased for him. He more than most deserved it. As if reading her thoughts, he entered reception.
‘Hello there.’ Good God those pale blue eyes and dimpled cheeks could brighten anyone up, she thought.
‘Hi.’ She smiled.
‘Busy?’
‘Very, we’re full.’
Daniel leant over the reception desk seductively. That heavenly sage aroma hit her senses. ‘That’s a shame. I was going to ask for a bed for the night.’ He gave a smouldering look.
Christie yearned for him. It seemed like ages since they’d spent the night together, each wrapped up with the necessities of everyday life. She knew Emily would soon be returning to Treweham, which would occupy him even more. Christie had enjoyed long, relaxing baths in the evening after a hectic day in the pub, but longed for Daniel’s warm, firm body lying next to hers. Instead he’d been working flat out, well into the evening until dusk, then collapsing on his camper bed.
Not tonight. Daniel had other ideas. So did Christie – she needed comfort, and not the tea and sympathy kind.
