beginning of the company, which was more than any of the girls had been. In any case, she didn’t want more people in her life, more people to accommodate and consider.
‘What she means,’ Ashley said to Cara, ‘is that she doesn’t want anyone to know exactly where she is or what she is up to. And, situated as I am right now, I can’t blame her.’
Jasper never questioned anything. He knew she didn’t mind if his studio was full of sundry musicians, and by the same token, he didn’t mind if she was, unpredictably, somewhere other than Radipole Road. They had, she thought, and not without a touch of self-congratulation, reached a point of immense mutual respect and comfortableness, and the liberty they both cherished would only be diminished by the introduction of an assistant – however delightful – who would, of necessity, know every detail of their lives.
They had, after all, managed an overall harmony for the past thirty years that was nothing if not impressive. They were still in only the second house they had ever bought, and if it now boasted a hi-tech music studio and sound system and a lavishly enormous hot-water tank, it was still basically no more than a Victorian terraced house with a fifty-foot garden – now cunningly landscaped – and a paved patch in front where passers-by threw crisp packets and stringy wads of chewing gum. As they both had a horrorof pretension in any form, this house and a mildly amateur way of approaching the nuts and bolts of Susie’s business life suited them admirably. Cara and Ashley and Daniel could chastise Susie for a lack of professionalism as much as they liked, but they knew that it was all about control. If you stayed in the house you knew, with domestic arrangements that weren’t just familiar but entirely manageable, with as few intimate human commitments outside the immediate family as possible, then not only were you free to concentrate all your energies on creativity, but you remained undeniably in charge.
And that, Susie thought, flicking through the envelopes, is what suits me. I’ve been in command of my own life since I got my first bank loan, and nothing –
nothing
– is going to take that away from me. She put the last envelope down on the stack – nothing there that needed any immediate action on her part – and carried the kettle over to the sink to fill it. Coffee first, and then a brisk walk to the office with the details of the Parlour House on her laptop. She wouldn’t explain or justify her decision; she would simply announce it. And add that she had had an offer accepted of forty-five thousand below the asking price.
Polynesia had shunted herself along her perch once more until she was as close to the bars of her cage as she could get.
‘You bugger off,’ she said again.
Susie was talking in the steady, unhurried way she had that was so difficult to argue with. Her laptop was open on the boardroom table, showing a shot of the Parlour House taken from the lane, with an improbable hydrangea-blue sky behind it.
‘It really was that colour on Saturday,’ Susie said. ‘And the house is so sweet – just a cottage really. I made the offer at lunchtime and Mrs Whatsit from Lyndhurst had said yesby mid-afternoon. Exchange of contracts by the end of the month and completion to suit me. Perfect.’
Ashley did not look across the table at her sister. She knew, from a sidelong glance, that Cara was looking down at the figures in front of her, and not at either the screen or her mother. Cara wanted a normal Monday meeting, as scheduled. She was trying to move on, round an immovable, immutable obstacle. Susie, on the other hand, only wanted to talk about the house.
‘I’ll use it when I’m in Stoke. I’m there a day or two a week, as it is, and maybe Jasper will come and join me sometimes.’ She paused, and then she said, ‘I’m longing to show it to you. And the PR people. It will be great for publicity.’
Neither Ashley nor Cara
‘What she means,’ Ashley said to Cara, ‘is that she doesn’t want anyone to know exactly where she is or what she is up to. And, situated as I am right now, I can’t blame her.’
Jasper never questioned anything. He knew she didn’t mind if his studio was full of sundry musicians, and by the same token, he didn’t mind if she was, unpredictably, somewhere other than Radipole Road. They had, she thought, and not without a touch of self-congratulation, reached a point of immense mutual respect and comfortableness, and the liberty they both cherished would only be diminished by the introduction of an assistant – however delightful – who would, of necessity, know every detail of their lives.
They had, after all, managed an overall harmony for the past thirty years that was nothing if not impressive. They were still in only the second house they had ever bought, and if it now boasted a hi-tech music studio and sound system and a lavishly enormous hot-water tank, it was still basically no more than a Victorian terraced house with a fifty-foot garden – now cunningly landscaped – and a paved patch in front where passers-by threw crisp packets and stringy wads of chewing gum. As they both had a horrorof pretension in any form, this house and a mildly amateur way of approaching the nuts and bolts of Susie’s business life suited them admirably. Cara and Ashley and Daniel could chastise Susie for a lack of professionalism as much as they liked, but they knew that it was all about control. If you stayed in the house you knew, with domestic arrangements that weren’t just familiar but entirely manageable, with as few intimate human commitments outside the immediate family as possible, then not only were you free to concentrate all your energies on creativity, but you remained undeniably in charge.
And that, Susie thought, flicking through the envelopes, is what suits me. I’ve been in command of my own life since I got my first bank loan, and nothing –
nothing
– is going to take that away from me. She put the last envelope down on the stack – nothing there that needed any immediate action on her part – and carried the kettle over to the sink to fill it. Coffee first, and then a brisk walk to the office with the details of the Parlour House on her laptop. She wouldn’t explain or justify her decision; she would simply announce it. And add that she had had an offer accepted of forty-five thousand below the asking price.
Polynesia had shunted herself along her perch once more until she was as close to the bars of her cage as she could get.
‘You bugger off,’ she said again.
Susie was talking in the steady, unhurried way she had that was so difficult to argue with. Her laptop was open on the boardroom table, showing a shot of the Parlour House taken from the lane, with an improbable hydrangea-blue sky behind it.
‘It really was that colour on Saturday,’ Susie said. ‘And the house is so sweet – just a cottage really. I made the offer at lunchtime and Mrs Whatsit from Lyndhurst had said yesby mid-afternoon. Exchange of contracts by the end of the month and completion to suit me. Perfect.’
Ashley did not look across the table at her sister. She knew, from a sidelong glance, that Cara was looking down at the figures in front of her, and not at either the screen or her mother. Cara wanted a normal Monday meeting, as scheduled. She was trying to move on, round an immovable, immutable obstacle. Susie, on the other hand, only wanted to talk about the house.
‘I’ll use it when I’m in Stoke. I’m there a day or two a week, as it is, and maybe Jasper will come and join me sometimes.’ She paused, and then she said, ‘I’m longing to show it to you. And the PR people. It will be great for publicity.’
Neither Ashley nor Cara
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