Read Online Christmas on Primrose Hill by Karen Swan - Free Book Online Page B

had ever been impelled to get it fixed; they simply kept a saucepan in the airing cupboard and brought it out when storms were forecast. The wind also blew in through a thumb-sized gap in the spare-bedroom window, making ghostly noises, which had convinced Nettie for years that the house was haunted.
    It had been a scruffy, bohemian, slightly oversized house to grow up in, which was precisely why she wasn’t thrown by the sight in front of her. When Jules had been looking to buy, she hadn’t considered anything that wasn’t newly plastered, right-angled and whitewashed, with beech worktops and a ‘damned good’ laminate floor. But Nettie wasn’t fazed by the damp patch in the bathroom or the signs of mildew on the kitchen curtains. The lino floor looked level at least and would be easy enough to rip up.
    She walked over to the window, which appeared to be painted shut. She was on the second floor of three, so there was a chance she could be disturbed if the neighbours upstairs were noisy, but on the other hand, it wasn’t a basement or garden flat, which would please her father. It had been his one condition.
    She looked out across Princess Road – the painted-shut windows seemed to do a good job of insulating the flat from road noise. From where she was standing, she could just glimpse Primrose Hill itself, and through the leafless canopy of beech trees, she watched the last of the day’s walkers come down it with jaunty strides, dogs and children running ahead as they enjoyed the downward momentum.
    ‘The view really is extraordinary,’ Lee said, ignoring the mechanic’s garage on the opposite side of the road and following her skewed eyeline to the Hill. ‘If the flat wasn’t so . . .’ he hesitated and she knew he was looking for a euphemism for ‘dilapidated’, ‘tired, this would be in the high six figures. I’ve taken you round enough properties to know this one’s a prime development opportunity. No sweat, no diamonds, am I right?’
    Nettie nodded. Lee, alone, must have taken her round over thirty flats, not to mention the other estate agents in the area. Jules had thought it was fun, at first, coming with her and looking for the ‘potential’ in the starter flats they were shown, but eventually the litany of reasons why they ‘weren’t right’ meant she’d stopped coming and had asked simply to be notified by a change-of-address card.
    ‘And three fifty’s an
incredible
price,’ he said again. ‘If this goes onto the market, it’ll go for five, five fifty no problem. Even if you did nothing structural to it and just painted the whole thing white, you’d still be guaranteed to make a profit on this.’
    ‘So why would they accept three fifty from me, then?’
    Lee smiled sympathetically. ‘The trustee involved owes me a favour.’
    And he was doing her one, she knew, spurred on by the pity that everyone in the area reserved for her family. She’d be practically robbing him to buy at this price. She had to do this. Grasp the nettle. It was now or never.
    ‘I’ll offer three thirty-five,’ she said firmly, turning back to face him. ‘Obviously, with the amount of work it needs . . .’ she shrugged, glimpsing his shocked expression.
    Lee looked uncomfortable. He was putting himself on the line for her. ‘They won’t take less than three fifty, Nettie. That’s the rebuilding cost, the lowest they can go. Anyway, I know you can afford it. I’ve taken you round properties that cost significantly more than this.’
    She shifted her weight, remembering the red-topped electricity bill that had landed on the doormat last week. ‘Well, we’re all feeling the squeeze, aren’t we? I’ve had to revise my sums a bit. Three fifty is my top-out budget now, and there’s no point in me getting this if I then can’t afford to do anything with it. Let’s be honest, it’s uninhabitable in this condition. I’m sorry, but that’s the highest I can go to.’
    Lee looked disappointed.