Anthony had meticulously collected all the necessary information from every single person stepping foot inside the house. It was a job he thoroughly savoured, being the inquisitive kind. He’d overseen enough open days in his time not to be too in awe of the cliental – dealing with multi-millionaires, the rich and famous were old hat to him now, and he always conducted himself in a business-like manner, no matter who the client or buyer was, refusing to be either intimidated or star-struck.
He welcomed the viewers at the front entrance, along with his trusty clipboard containing the registration list. As each person passed through, they were greeted with a glass of champagne after giving their names. Today there were three couples, a father and daughter and one gentleman. Anthony had instantly recognised a few names, having shown them other properties previously. He had a staple group of potential buyers who, if they didn’t like one property or were outbid, would request to see another. Anthony knew that one of the couples today particularly sought an art deco house, having been gazumped on the Devon house which Bunty had seen on the Grand & Country website. The father and daughter he had done a little research on, enough to know that Daddy had very deep pockets. He was in the oil business and his daughter was getting married next year. Anthony assumed they were looking for a potential marital home for her. As for the sole gentleman viewer, he was somewhat of a mystery to Anthony. It irked him that all attempts to glean more information on him had met a dead end. Yes, he had answered all the obligatory questions and more than proved his very solvent position, but that’s all he had, the basics. Often when prospective buyers completed the forms, or attended the offices, they couldn’t resist boasting, proclaiming how rich and successful they were; it more often than not came with the territory. But not in this case. Whoever Mr Adam F Sinclair was, all Anthony knew about him was that he was rich and currently living in Central London. It further annoyed Anthony that he hadn’t yet arrived along with all the others.
After giving a short, potted history of the house, Anthony invited all the viewers to ‘wander round at leisure and discover the charm and delights of the place.’ Bunty stood and watched the proceedings wondering what her parents would have made of it all. She stole a glance at Perry, who was standing by Emma at the piano. Once the group dispersed, she started to play a pleasant sonata which set the tone beautifully. What a lifesaver she was, thought Bunty, feeling an affinity towards her, like she had with Jasmine.
Thinking of Jasmine reminded Bunty to add her name to Anthony’s registration list. Beginning to understand just how fastidious he was, she wouldn’t put it past him to refuse her entry.
‘Is there anyone else I should be expecting?’ he asked a tad primly. He clearly didn’t approve of her friend coming along for a nosey.
‘No just Jasmine Boyd,’ replied Bunty firmly.
Refraining from telling him that this was still her house and she’d have who she wanted in it, Bunty made herself scarce. It was all starting to get on top of her. In desperate need of a gin and tonic, but unable to get to the drinks cabinet, she took a glass of champagne off a silver tray and went out onto the lawn. Discretely, she sat down on a bench behind a gigantic stone urn, bursting with mounds of hideous, plastic ivy. Glad to be camouflaged, she took a deep breath and tried to relax. She could do this.Just focus on that lovely flintstone cottage waiting for you, she told herself. After a large gulp of champagne, Bunty began to ease up. She overheard voices and deciding it was in her best interest, sat still and listened.
‘Daddy, it’s perfect! Hugo’s going to adore this house.’
‘Now, now, let’s not be too hasty, Tabitha. Doesn’t Hugo need to see it first?’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ came the petulant reply. ‘Hugo says it’s up tome. It’s whatIwant.’
Bunty stifled a giggle and took another sip of champagne.
‘All right, princess, let’s take another look.’
‘Yes, let’s!’ cheered Tabitha, all signs of tantrum gone.
Dear God, please don’t let my house go to that spoilt brat, prayed Bunty. She’d almost finished her drink and decided to get another. On her way back into the hall, she saw that Jasmine had just arrived and was giving her name to Anthony.
‘Ah, there she is.’ Jasmine pointed towards Bunty and went to join her.
‘Am I glad to see you,’ said Bunty in a weary tone.
Jasmine gave her a hug.
‘It’ll soon be over,’ she soothed.
‘They’re crawling around the place like ants,’ choked Bunty on the verge of tears.
‘Oh Bunty, is Perry here?’ Jasmine asked, thinking he’d be good support for her friend.
‘Yes, so is Emma, come on, I’ll introduce you,’ she said with a sniff. She mentally shook herself and ushered Jasmine towards the piano.
Emma was just finishing a piece of music when she noticed Bunty approach with Jasmine.
‘Hey, loving the outfit,’ said Jasmine, recognising Bunty’s mother’s dress from the dinner party.
Emma laughed.
‘Emma, this is Jasmine,’ said Bunty, then linked arms with Perry. ‘And this is Perry.’
‘Hi,’ replied Jasmine, smiling at them both.
Perry reached out a hand.
‘I believe we have a connection?’ he grinned.
‘We certainly do. Fellow narrowboaters,’ said Jasmine giving a firm handshake. ‘It was Tom, my husband, who bought your water pump through the marina website,’ she explained.
‘Yes, I’m so sorry to hear about poor Tom,’ Perry gravely replied.
