Finding Home Read Online Free Page B

‘Ms Wood,
Tetherington Bowen Knowles
has a very exclusive clientele. Our buyers demand taste, refinement, and discretion.’ He looks down his nose at me. ‘I’m sure it’s impressive that you’ve read books about historic houses, and that your father “did up” an old cottage.’ He shakes his head and tsks. ‘But frankly, I question whether you have the right demeanour to work here. This is a business – it’s about numbers and commissions; not some kind of pie-in-the-sky matchmaking service. We expect the refinement and gravitas of Cheltenham Ladies College; not Wookey Hole.’
    The styrofoam cup pops in my hand, startling both of us. I’m not sure whether to laugh in his face, or stand up and storm out. Maybe I have been blathering a bit and obviously, I don’t have any sales experience. Maybe he’s testing me, or maybe he’s just rude. All I know is, now that he’s telling me that I’m not worthy to be an estate agent – even a temporary one – I’m determined to prove him wrong.
    â€˜Mr Bowen-Knowles…’ I lift my chin and sit rigid in the chair, ‘I understand your concerns. But if you hire me today, you won’t regret it, I promise. I’m smart and enthusiastic, and I learn quickly. Plus, I know Somerset, Wiltshire and Gloucester like the back of my hand. I’m asking you to give me a chance…’
    Give me a chance
– I’d said that to Simon when he came back to the flat we shared in Docklands to officially break up with me. Give me a chance to learn to cook. Give me a chance to clean up my papers, books, and clutter. Give me a chance to watch Sky Sports with you on Sunday nights instead of
Antiques Roadshow
. Give me a chance…
    Did I really say those things? How pathetic.
    Mr Bowen-Knowles doesn’t bother to respond. He picks up his BlackBerry again and checks the screen.
    I stand up, sighing inwardly. If I’ve learned anything from surviving the worst month of my life, it’s that there’s no point sticking around to be humiliated further. I’ll just thank him politely, walk out with my head held high, and forget I ever set foot—
    All of a sudden, there’s a commotion in the outer office.
    â€˜Shit Sally!’ someone male yells.
    â€˜It’s not shit, it’s my waters breaking,’ wails a female voice.
    â€˜Shit!’ Mr Bowen-Knowles echoes, his lip twisting in annoyance.
    I fling open the office door. The pregnant niece – Sally – is standing next to her desk, with gooey fluid running down her leg and puddling at her feet. The other woman I saw earlier is nowhere to be seen, and the spiky-haired man has a look of disgusted horror on his face.
    I rush forward, strip off my jacket, and push up the sleeves of my ivory silk blouse. Only then do I realise that I don’t have a clue what to do. Sally’s body tenses and she begins to moan. The sound crescendos into a deep groan and rises in pitch, climaxing into a shriek.
    â€˜Oh God, it hurts! Fuck!’
    I put one hand on her back to steady her. She leans over the back of her chair and somehow manages to knock my jacket into the pool of goopy fluid at her feet. Biting my lip, I reach across her to the desk phone. I may never have worked in an office before, but even I know how to dial 999. Sally begins to breathe again as the pain seems to pass.
    â€˜I think it’s coming,’ she gasps.
    â€˜What? Now?’
    â€˜I’ve had the pains since last night. Oh… fuck!’ She doubles over again.
    With forced calm, I try to explain what’s happening to the emergency services operator: pains since last night, waters oozing over my jacket and the posh parquet floor of
Tehtherington Bowen-Knowles: Estate Agents and Specialists in Unique and Historic Properties
. I give them the address. No, I’m not her friend or her doula. No, I’m not a colleague. I’m