style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I didn’t notice the time,’ Sarah said with complete truth.
‘Because you were lost in rapt contemplation of your work. Understandable,’ he said, looking along the row. ‘The houses look good.’
‘Thank you. So why do you need to speak to me, Mr Merrick?’ she asked, cutting straight to the chase.
The smile vanished. ‘I could have done this officially, requested a meeting at my office, but it’s probably better to talk here on site. What are your plans when the houses are finished?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Professional interest,’ he said briefly.
She eyed him warily. ‘I shall put them up for sale to first-time buyers, or city dwellers with a fancy for a bolthole in the country.’
‘I can save you the trouble.’ He took in the cottages with a sweep of his hand. ‘On behalf of the Merrick Group I’ll buy all six from you—if the price is right.’
She stood erect at last, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘What for, exactly?’
Alex Merrick frowned, as though he couldn’t believe she wasn’t overwhelmed with delight. ‘The usual reasons, Miss Carver.’
‘I’d like to know exactly what they are, just the same. Because the land they stand on borders yours you might have demolition in mind—in which case nothing doing.’
His eyebrows snapped together. ‘I assure you that provided they meet with Merrick standards I want them as they are. May I take a look?’
‘Of course. Follow me.’
Sarah felt rather like a new mother showing off her baby as Alex followed her inside the first house. She’d done nothing about her own appearance, but she’d gone on a whirlwind tour of all the houses with broom and cleaning rags, determined to present them at their best in the evening sunlight pouring through the windows.
She found she was holding her breath as Alex inspected the kitchen in the first cottage, but in the sitting room she relaxed a little as he nodded in approval at the horseshoe fire-grate gleaming like ebony under its creamy marble mantle. ‘Original feature, Miss Carver?’
‘Yes, but not the genuine Victorian article, of course. It’s a copy, dating from the twenties, like the houses. The fireplaces were boarded up before I rescued them,’ Sarah told him. ‘The sitting rooms were a bit dark, so we replaced the original windows with French doors to give access to the back courtyards. Some of the flagstones out there were already in situ, and I found more in a reclamation yard. After a check with building regulations I removed the dividing walls between the kitchens and dining rooms. Fortunately they were neither party walls nor load bearing, so I achieved more space and light, and at the same time catered to the current preference for combined cooking/eating areas.’
‘Good move.’ He followed her upstairs to inspect the small bathroom Sarah had created by stealing a sliver of space from the main bedroom.
‘There were no bathrooms in the houses originally, of course, just the downstairs lavatory I replaced with a small cloakroom,’ she told him, finding his silence oppressive.
‘You’ve utilised all the space very cleverly,’ he said at last, ‘and installed high-end fittings. Very wise. Which firm did your plumbing?’
‘When I embarked on the project I made a conscious decision to use local craftsmen, and I had the most enormous stroke of luck when master builder Harry Sollers agreed to work with me. He knows all the local tradesmen. He recommended an electrician for the wiring, and introduced me to his friend, Fred Carter, a semi-retired plumber who installed the fittings. But I did all the tiling, and I installed the cupboards in the kitchens and bathrooms myself.’
He shot her a startled look as they returned to the kitchen. ‘This is your work throughout?’
She nodded. ‘I stripped and sealed the wood floors, and plastered all the inside walls, too, but I asked Harry to paint them because his finish is so superb.’
‘But you did the plastering?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Yes. Next I’m going to tackle the gardens.’
‘You found someone local to help you with those, too?’
Sarah nodded. ‘But only to do the digging once all the building site gear is cleared away. I need advice on what to plant and where, but I’ll do the rest myself.’
When they were outside in the lane Sarah could tell that Alex Merrick looked back at the row of cottages with new eyes.
‘So what do you think?’ she couldn’t help asking.
‘I’m impressed. Congratulations on your achievement.’ His manner suddenly changed. ‘So, Miss Carver, I repeat my offer. If your terms are realistic I’ll buy the lot, but I want the houses ready to inhabit on the day of completion, also cleared parking space at either end of the row. So name your figure.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Impossible right away. I can’t say to the day when the cottages will be completely ready, and costs may increase before I can get them valued.’ And, much more important than that, no way would she sell to a Merrick.
‘If you hang about too long, Miss Carver, the offer may no longer be on the table.’ His eyes, which had opalescent grey irises with dark rims, which gave them an unsettling intensity, held hers. ‘Have a chat about it with Oliver Moore. I assume he’s your financial backer?’
Her jaw clenched. ‘No, he’s not, Mr Merrick. His sole involvement in my project is on legal matters.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘A bit minor league for a Queen’s Counsel!’
‘But not for the local solicitor Oliver found for me.’ She turned away. ‘Now, I’d like to get home, Mr Merrick. I’m tired and dirty—’
‘And hungry? In that case let’s discuss the deal in more detail later over dinner,’ he said promptly.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Another time, maybe? Contact me when the houses are finished.’ He reached for his wallet and took out a card. ‘Here’s my office address and my various phone numbers.’
Sarah tucked it into a pocket without looking at it. ‘I’m surprised you came yourself, Mr Merrick. Surely you pay people to do this kind of thing for you?’
‘True. But after meeting you last night it seemed best to sort it myself.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Though I confess I didn’t recognise you in the pub today.’
‘I could tell.’ She walked round the car and got in.
His eyebrows rose as he glanced down at the passenger seat. ‘Do you always carry a lump hammer round with you?’
‘Only when I’m meeting strange men.’
‘Nothing strange about me,’ he assured her. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Medlar House,’ she said, and started the car.
