Free Out Late with Friends and Regrets by Suzanne Egerton Page A

break, after which a buzzer indicated Mr. Jebb’s availability.   The model-in-waiting indicated the office door, and Fin, noting the fair one’s indifference, went through.   Mr Jebb’s was an over-whitened smile she thought she recognised.   As she tried to recall where she’d seen him before, he had begun, without preamble, to describe his company’s excellent record in selling even the most difficult of properties. He might be able to fit in a visit to her home this week, and would her husband be in on Thursday evening?
She remembered him, now.   At the Sports Centre, getting out of a customised white car. Rapping the desk, demanding immediate attention from the receptionist, who happened to be on the phone.   Fin had registered an instant dislike for Colin Jebb, in his designer kit and hard-man haircut.   She had emphasised the title “Ms” when the model had taken her name, and this clown had not even troubled to read it properly.
“No, Mr. Jebb,” she replied with tragic dignity, fixing him with an intense stare, “my husband will not be available on Thursday, or any other time.   He’s dead.   And I don’t think we’ll be doing business.   Goodbye.”   She paused for a moment to enjoy his reaction, and left.
After shutting the shop she made it to Victoria Drummond Properties just before the 5.30 closing time, but there was no sense of irritation or rush about either the proprietor or her friendly assistant.
“Come and have a seat …do call me Victoria …now tell me a bit about the cottage, if you would… can I offer you tea or coffee?”   Victoria radiated charm and enthusiasm. Her sandy hair, touched with grey, was beautifully coiffed, and her navy and white outfit looked smart and appropriate. The difference between the two businesses could not have been more marked, and Fin looked forward to showing Victoria round the cottage the following afternoon.
She laughed to herself in the car on the way home.   This was only Monday, the day after the squash game, not even forty-eight hours after meeting Ellie; and already, her house was almost on the market.   The speed of events was exhilarating. She hadn’t even talked to Rosemary yet, and as the hours went by it seemed there was an ever-increasing mountain of stuff to relate. She would need to ring her tonight.     
However, she still had to address practicalities, such as what to do about the shop. The one certain, non-negotiable plan was to move to the city.   Be in the thick of things.   Begin a new life.   Harford was too far for a daily commute, but could she entrust the running of the shop to Margaret, her dependable part-time assistant, and would Margaret even want to go full time?   Oh well, not today’s problem, houses didn’t sell in a week, and everything would work out the way it was meant to.   Wouldn’t it? She would make it work out.
At eleven o’clock that night she was still adjusting cushions and blinds. She had scrubbed, polished, dusted and Dysoned, singing and gyrating to Monsters of Rock as she did so. Leaning against the door-jamb and surveying the sitting-room, she made her final decision of the day.   The brass candlesticks on the mantelpiece would need to be moved, say, another half-inch inwards, for perfect effect.   Otherwise… all was ready.
A crashing weariness overwhelmed her, and she could hardly drag herself off to bed. She collapsed between the sheets, and oblivion swiftly wiped the day’s slate clean, leaving only blankness.
 
“Oh, this is utterly charming,” declared Victoria, leaning back in the best easy chair as she sipped her tea.   Fin would not have been surprised had she kicked off her neat court shoes and drawn her feet up into her chair. “Your viewers are certainly going to ask why on earth you would want to move away from such an idyllic spot.”   A compliment, combined with a bit of shrewd preparation.
“I’m going to Harford, to do a degree,” replied Fin, the