Free A New Beginning by Miranda Barnes Page B

area, and people know it as such. You won’t have any difficulty selling this one.’
    ‘It seems a lot of money.’
    He laughed. ‘That’s an unusual point of view,’ he said. ‘Most people think they’ll be robbed if they sell at the price we value the house at.’
    Mr. Edgar, from the estate agent “Edgar, Edgar and Son”, based in Newcastle, was a dull, middle-aged sort of man who had probably been born in the Harris Tweed jacket and moleskin trousers he wore. He really did look the part. Kirsty felt he was exactly the right man for the job, and she trusted his judgement implicitly.
    ‘People, eh?’ Kirsty said, smiling at last. ‘What do they know? Well, you must know what it’s worth. I’m very lucky.’
    ‘It’s a nice house in a good location,’ Mr. Edgar re-affirmed. ‘It wants a bit doing to it, of course. Nothing serious. Updating, mostly. Decorating. New windows, maybe. New kitchen. Possibly a new bathroom, as well. That sort of thing.’
    Kirsty nodded. She had expected that. The house her mum had been happy with for forty years wasn’t one many twenty-something, newly-wed young things would want today.
    ‘But that’s nothing out of the ordinary,’ Mr. Edgar concluded. ‘You can pretty well say the same thing about any house that comes on the market these days. A lot of the so-called improvements are unnecessary, in my opinion, but most people feel they have to make them.’
    ‘Really?’
    He nodded. ‘I blame these make-over programmes on television. All the young ones want this month’s fashion. Then, in a year’s time, they want what was there originally. So they go hunting round architectural scrap yards – “salvage” businesses, they call them – looking fruitlessly for the marble fireplaces they threw out when they first bought the house. So then they buy new Victorian fireplaces – made in China last week.’ He paused, shrugged and added, ‘We’re fast losing our traditions.’
    ‘You’ll be more aware of that than most of us,’ Kirsty said, trying to be agreeable, but wondering secretly if there was anything at all worth salvaging in her mother’s house. Now she’d collected her moth-eaten teddy bear, with its one remaining ear, she couldn’t think of one single thing. And she didn’t think even Mr. Edgar would count Teddy as an architectural treasure. The old place needed a revamp.
    Mr. Edgar hadn’t finished yet. ‘The important thing to remember is that whatever you do to a house, you can’t change the location. And basically location determines price. So this house will sell quickly at the price I’ve suggested. If you’re happy with it, that is?’ he added, eyebrows raised in enquiry.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Kirsty assured him. ‘My mum would have been happy with it, as well.’
    ‘What did he say?’ Joyce asked.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The estate agent. Who else?’
    Kirsty laughed. ‘It was very interesting. Very satisfactory, as well. Mum’s house is worth more than I realised, according to him. And he thinks it will sell quickly.’
    ‘That’s good.’ Joyce looked pleased. ‘I’m happy you took my advice, in that case.’
    ‘Oh, Joyce! I always listen to what you say. You’re such an intelligent, knowledgeable, authoritative, impressive sort of person.’
    ‘Hang on a minute. I want to write all that down to show Alan. I’m seriously under-appreciated at home.’
    ‘I’ll tell him, Joyce. Next time I see him I’ll let him know what a jewel he’s got.’
    Joyce smiled and said, ‘What about my hair? Do you like my hair this way?’
    ‘It’s perfect, Joyce. Absolutely perfect.’
    ‘Good.’ Joyce looked satisfied. ‘So that’s one thing settled. Your mother’s house, I mean,’ she added.
    Kirsty recovered from a moment of confusion. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a relief to get that started.’
    ‘And I’ve got some news for you.’
    ‘Have you now?’
    ‘Don’t give up, Kirsty. Don’t ever give up.’
    ‘What do you