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Marry and have children, Charlotte wondered as her heart suddenly thumped frantically. But of course those were questions she could not ask. Instead she returned to a subject which was still plaguing her a little.
‘I’m not sure I’ve got the expertise to deal with a property like Mrs Birtles’.’
‘Don’t you want to do it?’ Oliver asked her.
Charlotte stared at him and then said firmly, ‘Of course I do, but I fel
t I ought to be honest with you…I don’t think it will be easy to sell. Even with the influx of London buyers. Had you thought of any kind of valuation?’
‘Yes,’ he told her, and named a sum that made her gasp a little.
‘As much as that?’
‘More,’ he told her crisply, ‘if it was sold to a group enterprise.’
‘A group enterprise?’ Charlotte faltered.
‘Mm. You know, one of these conglomerates that specialise in turning large old properties into desirable smaller units. The fact that it isn’t listed would make the necessary planning permission easier to acquire, of course.’
‘You mean destroy the house and build an estate,’ Charlotte fired up immediately. Suddenly all her pleasure in his company, in his treatment of her as an equal in matters of business, had turned to ashes in her mouth. She had thought that, like her, he had felt a genuine desire to find exactly the right buyer for the house—someone who would love and cherish it as it deserved to be loved and cherished—and now here he was casually talking about its destruction.
How wrong she had been. She could have sworn as she watched him gently smoothing his palm against the polished wood of the carved banister that he had felt the same way about the house as she had done, but it had all been just an act.
‘That’s sacrilege,’ she told him bitterly, and then added, ‘That was why you asked Mrs Birtles if it was listed, wasn’t it? Oh, God! Stop the car!’ she demanded furiously.
‘What?’
‘I want to get out—out of your car, and out of any joint selling agreement. I thought you felt as I do, that you wanted to find the right purchaser for the house, when instead—’
‘I do,’ he interrupted her ruthlessly, ‘but you seemed to be forgetting that our first responsibility isn’t to the house but to Mrs Birtles. It’s obvious that she is having difficulty maintaining the house now that her husband is dead. It’s her sole investment.’
Charlotte blinked at him, suddenly and shamingly aware of how much she had missed. She had seen the house and fallen in love with it, but now he made her remember the small touches of shabbiness she had seen but not really registered.
‘I suppose you’re saying that it will be much easier to find a conglomerate buyer than a private one.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed emotionlessly. ‘But that doesn’t mean that a private buyer isn’t possible. You know, you’d find life much less fraught if you learned to trust people a little, Charlotte. You’re always so ready to believe the worst of others.’
A dark flush stained her skin. His accusation was justified, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier.
‘I’m sorry if I misjudge you,’ she said stiffly.
‘Are you?’The look he gave her made her feel uncomfortable, guilty in some way. ‘I’ve got to go up to London for a couple of days, to finalise things with the buyer of my agency there. While I’m there I’ll have a word with a couple of people I know—see if they know of anyone who might be interested in the house, strictly off the record.’
‘I suppose the best thing will be to auction it,’ Charlotte suggested tiredly.
Oliver had ripped the veils of naïveté from her eyes. Every word he had said to her had been true. They did owe it to their client to get the best possible price for her, but she could not bear to think of the house being destroyed.
‘Possibly,’ Oliver agreed, and then changed the subject, saying, ‘I was wondering if it would be convenient for me to move my things into your place tonight, then I could get an early start for London in the morning.’
There was no real reason for her to object. It was crazy to feel suddenly as though the ground was falling away under her feet, as though she wanted to protest that things were happening far too fast for her, that she needed more time…
‘The men started work on the kitchen today,’ she warned him. ‘Everywhere will be in a bit of a mess.’
‘I only want somewhere to sleep tonight. And I’ll be gone early in the morning.’
They were approaching the town now, and after she had said quietly, ‘Very well, then, if you’re sure you still want to go ahead,’ he gave her a sharp look, but said nothing for a few seconds as he negotiated the traffic.
‘What will you do about your car?’ he asked her as he swung into the empty town square. There was no market today, and plenty of car parking spaces.
