Page 109 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘Please, give us a few weeks,’ she said. ‘I promise we’ll leave the place tidy. As we always do. You’d never even know we’d been in there. And we won’t make any fuss when they want to start demolishing. I can sign something if you like? A legal agreement? It’d mean the world to us. Please. Let us stay.’

He looked dubious. He put his hands together as if he were going to pray and for a second, she thought he might ask her to get down on her knees. But he didn’t. He strummed his fingers against each other and looked pointedly at the door.

That second cup of tea had never materialised, Jo realised.

‘Well,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘I suppose I could talk to Tarquin. See what he thinks.’

‘Tarquin?’ she said.

‘The estate agent.’

Tarquin. There couldn’t be two, could there? Not with an unusual – and, let’s not forget, high-scoring – name like that. He’d said he worked in property. She’d assumed a developer or something, but could he be an estate agent?

And then she remembered what he’d said on their first date: when she’d mentioned that there was a shortage of housing in Hebbleswick, he’d said something about checking it out, seeing if there were any opportunities. Was that what he’d done? Had a scout round the little town, come across the church hall and persuaded the vicar to sell? In other words, was it her fault? She felt sure that it was and even more determined that she would be the one to fix things.

*

It didn’t take her long to track him down. A quick search on Rightmove and she found the sales details of the hall and discovered where he worked: one of the larger estate agents in Huddersfield, which dealt with commercial as well as residential property.

Jo stood outside the window, peering at him through the glass between the sales blurb of a three-bedroomed terrace with a view over Greenhead Park and a high-tech apartment near the Royal Infirmary.

The sight of him made her shudder. Her hands were shaking and her legs felt weak underneath her. This was the man who’d tried to force himself on her. Was she mad to be confronting him for the sake of a few more weeks in the church hall?

But it was about more than that. She’d been strangely pleased when she’d discovered the estate agent was the same man she’d dated a few months ago; this was a good excuse to seek him out and to face up to him. This wasn’t only about having a venue for the Scrabble club; it was about putting the past behind her. About drawing a line under things and acknowledging that never again would she allow a man like him to come anywhere near her. Sure, he wasn’t a Si – well, he might be, but she couldn’t know that as she’d only met him three times – but he was definitely a player. And he hadn’t shown any respect for her or her feelings.

Later, she wasn’t sure what made her record the conversation. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She didn’t trust him, not one little bit. He might well say yes to her face, then renege on it afterwards. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, clicked on the voice recorder app and pressed the red button, before secreting it into her open handbag, balanced on top of her beloved Filofax.

He didn’t look up as she opened the door. His eyes were fixed on his screen, some frantic mouse action going on as he scrolled.

‘Hello, how can I help you?’ said the woman at the desk next to his. She wore a neat navy shift dress and far too much make-up.

Jo’s mouth felt dry. ‘I’ve come to see Tarquin.’

At the sound of her voice, he glanced up and mumbled something to his colleague. It sounded very much like, ‘Here we go.’

‘Darling,’ he said, getting up and air-kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Take a seat. However did you track me down?’

‘Er, your name’s Tarquin,’ Jo said. ‘It’s not exactly common.’

‘Yes, it means…’

‘Ruler. I know.’

She sat down opposite him, putting her bag on his desk, and looked him squarely in the eyes. She’d thought his brown eyes were beautiful once, but now she preferred blue eyes. You’d think that blue eyes would be cold and brown eyes warm, but somehow Razz’s eyes managed to be warm and Tarquin’s appeared cold. Maybe it was less to do with the eyes themselves, and more with the face surrounding them. The way a genuine smile caused wrinkles to form at their corners. The way they looked directly at you, hiding nothing, rather than shifting about.

He was wearing the same suit he’d worn on their first date. How easily impressed she’d been. His appearance was immaculate. Tanned skin. Fake tan, presumably. Every hair gelled into its perfect position. Not a hair out of place. It struck her suddenly that he was, like Si, a little bit too perfect. How had she not spotted that similarity from the start?

‘Tarquin,’ she said, wondering how she had ever fancied him.

He paused.

‘It’s Jo,’ she said, forcing herself to smile.

‘Jo, we don’t do rentals, I’m afraid. Only sales.’

‘When you said you worked in property, I didn’t realise you were an estate agent.’

‘Yes, I’m the manager here.’