up. ‘It’s a top floor flat in Seaspray Cottage, the rambling pile at the far end of the quay.’
Sophie lets out a shriek. ‘Not the place with peeling paint and the long ocean facing balcony?’
‘That’s the one.’ He nods.
She rounds on him. ‘Shit a brick, George, if you’d told me that I wouldn’t have let Clemmie mess around for weeks. I’d have had her on the next plane home.’
He’s laughing at her now. ‘However much you bully me, I can’t tell you all my secrets.’
She sniffs. ‘You never actually tell me any.’ Then she turns to me. ‘Are you bat-shit crazy, Clemmie? Of course, we’ll take the damn keys. You’re looking, not committing, okay?’
The reminder of commitment sets my alarm bells jangling. ‘What about repairs? And common areas? And meter readings?’ If I sound absurd and random it’s because these are my mum’s questions not mine. In the depths of my bag there’s a crumpled reality-check list she wrote out for me before she left for South America. If I’d intended to use it, I’d have read it more carefully.
George blows out his cheeks. ‘The Residents’ Committee handles most things. They’ve been a bit fierce with their rules over the years. But let’s deal with the detail down the line.’
Sophie catches my appalled groan. ‘Sweat the boring stuff later, Clems. Only when you have to. Do you have the keys?’ Then her hand shoots out across the desk, George’s drawer opens and the keys drop into her palm before I’ve stopped choking. She jingles them at George as she shoves Maisie and I towards the door. ‘Expect us back in half an hour.’
‘Lovely to have you in the office, Clementine.’ Before you can say ‘soggy cereal’, George has my hand and its contents in the kind of power press that could crush molecules.
Whatever the theories on disappearing dark matter, when I get my palm back it’s entirely crispie free. Maybe George won’t be quite so pleased when Maisie’s breakfast resurfaces on his designer suit.
He calls after us. ‘Make sure you work your magic, Sophie Potato. St Aidan could definitely do with another mermaid.’
As Sophie propels me past the empty desk in reception, I let out a shocked squawk. ‘Did he just call you Sophie Potato?’ That was her name from when we were kids, because she refused to eat anything other than Smash. It went nicely with Nellie Melon and Victoria Plum.
She lets out a laugh. ‘First rule of great business, keep your enemies close and your solicitor closer. He can be quite playful once he lets himself go, those childhood names of ours are a great way to get him to loosen up. When he hears you’re Clemmie Orangina, there won’t be any more of this Clementine shit. Have you noticed how much he sounds like he’s got a poker rammed up his butt when he gives you your full title?’ There’s no room for a reply, because she’s spotted a cardboard sign that’s propped on the desk where the receptionist should be sitting. She snatches it up. ‘Yay, Trenowden, Trenowden and Trenowden have a short-term vacancy for a front of house assistant. Their usual treasure Janet is off because her daughter’s had twins. How auspicious is that? Talk about good timing and heaven sent all rolled into one.’
I’m picking up my jaw off the floor as she rams the sign into her changing bag. ‘Tell me you’re not stealing their sign?’
Her grin is inscrutable. ‘Borrowing’s a better word. Winning for Beginners, watch and learn. No point leaving the job ad lying around when the perfect applicant is already in the building.’
As I screw up my face, I’m squeaking. ‘You’ve got four children, a factory, and a marketing team. How do you have time to do extra hours?’ Sophie has always been big on moonlighting, and huge on ambition. But even for a high achieving workaholic, adding this job in is ridiculous.
She lets out a laugh. ‘Not me, silly, this one’s got your name all over it. It’ll be a perfect fit while you refurbish the flat. Let’s face it, you’re going to need to earn something to pay for paint. And seeing as it’s temporary, you won’t feel trapped.’
Considering George just gave me the perfect get out for the flat, she’s jumping ahead to a place I don’t intend to go. ‘Who said anything about decorating?’ Apart from anything else, the biggest area I’ve painted in my entire life is my nails. And although I like a colour change every day I have trouble with them if they get too long.
‘Not meaning to be ageist, but the flat’s bound to be old-person magnolia. A quick lick of warm white and the occasional feature wall will add thousands to the sale price. You have to do it.’ The determined set of her jaw tells me it’s pointless to object. ‘More importantly, think of all the hot guys who come to see George. Once you’re behind that desk, we’ll find you a keeper before you can say, “Power of Attorney”.’
I thought I made it clear last night. ‘Don’t confuse me with Nell here, I’m not the one who’s heartbroken, lonely and on the lookout. I’m single because I love my freedom. I just spent three months not hooking up with ten million Parisians, I don’t see anyone from tiny, dull St Aidan changing my mindset.’
She lets out a sigh. ‘Globe trotting’s great when you’re twenty. But perpetual motion isn’t the answer to inner happiness and harmony when you’re the wrong side of thirty.’
I have to tell her. ‘Quite apart from the Hygge shit, you sound as “stay at home and boring” as my mum.’ She used to love me travelling because it’s what she wanted to do but never did. But since I passed the big three zero she comes out with Sophie’s mantra so often she sounds like she’s on repeat.
‘That would be your amazing mum who’s so un-adventurous she’s currently spending six months on a Peruvian mountain top?’ Her triumphant nod as she pushes through the exit door says she thinks she’s won this round.
‘They’re visiting hillside villages not climbing peaks.’ She and Harry have gone to spend six months working on an out-reach health education programme.
‘You know what I mean.’ Sophie grins over her shoulder at me. ‘And right on cue to prove my point about George’s handsome client base, look who’s coming.’
‘Oh shit.’ My headache was easing, but a full-frontal view of Charlie Hobson speeding towards us across the cobbles has my brain hammering against my skull again. When I party in Paris I can’t find people afterwards even if I want to. Here in St Aidan, it’s not even nine and the guy I’d hoped never to see again is right under my nose.
Sophie jumps in. ‘Hello, Charlie, how are you this morning?’
He wiggles his eyebrows at Maisie but by the time he looks up again he’s frowning at his phone. ‘Running late, but thanks for the party last night.’ As he pops his head round to where I’m skulking behind the changing bag he still hasn’t cracked a smile. That far-away, empty look in his eyes has to come from too many dodgy deals. ‘No tail today? Did someone do a better job of stealing it than me … or did you decide Friday was a good day to be a human?’
I can’t believe what he’s handed me here. ‘Actually, it’s Thursday.’ I pause for the words to sink in. ‘In which case you’re probably a day early for your appointment.’
He pulls a face. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ He flashes a glance at Sophie. ‘Any confusion, blame the cocktails. Next time you serve dynamite
