Read Online LAID & BETRAYED (Getting wrong with Mr. Wright) by Chloe Thurlow - Free Book Online
Authors: Chloe Thurlow
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Part I
My exams finished at the end of July. Three days later, I was sitting in the office of Drew-Butler, the estate agents in Canterbury, studying the houses for sale on the computer. F ather played golf with Peter Drew and, with his belief in hard work and discipline, I was spending a month of my holidays learning the art of the property business . I wasn ' t even being paid , but would earn a commission if I made a sale .
My desk was adjacent to the main window and I felt like a dummy in a store as the shoppers and tourists wandered by. Most p eople in Canterbury a re far too polite to stop and stare. B ut that Friday , the end of my first week, someone did stop , a man who shaded his eyes with his palms , not to study the photographs of the property for sale, but to get a better look at me . I turned away, and when I turned back again, he grinned and marched in the door.
'Good morning,' he said, and glanced at his watch. 'Sorry, good afternoon. '
I stood.
' Sorry, yes,' I stammered. ' Can I help you?'
'You bet.'
He had a broad smile on his lips and a heavy bag on his shoulder. He wore white trousers , a blue shirt with too many buttons undone and a decidedly un-Canterbury-like gold chain nestl ed in the dark hair of his chest. He must have been almost forty, which seemed awfully old to me at the time , with twinkling amber eyes like a cat that settled on me with such intensity I turned the same shade of pink as my summer skirt.
'There's a place in the window, Black Spires,' he continued. ' I'd like to take a look.'
My armpits tingled and my brow was suddenly dam p . I had not taken anyone to see a house on my own before. But there was no one else. Like anyone with any sense, Peter Drew was on holiday, and Mr. Butler was 'in conference' with Melinda McKinley, a young widow with a large piece of real estate she wanted to develop into luxury apartment s with tennis on the roof. Robin, Mr. Butler , was the young partner in the business, unmarried, and , as far as I could see, totally under Melinda McKinley 's spell. Before vanishing into his office he had held up a warning finger – just like my father – and told me he didn't want to be disturbed 'under any circumstances.'
But this was an emergency. Black Spires was an old white elephant of a house outside the village of Wingham . It had been on the books for a long time and I kn e w they were desperate to sell the property .
I looked back at the man with the open shirt.
'Just a moment,' I said.
He smiled broadly and I was conscious of him watching me cross the office and tap on Mr. Butler's door.
As I poked my head into the room, Melinda McKinley recrossed her long legs and lowered the veil on her little black hat; she was as pale as a ghost with bl u e eyes and a wave of blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. Robin Butler sat back in his chair as if he had just been shot.
'I told you…'
' Someone wants to see Black Spires , and .. . '
' Yes, yes, yes. C an you deal with that yourself , Grace , we're very busy.'
'I haven't don't it before.'
' Well, it's about time you did. Now, o ff you go.'
I closed the door, then remembered, I didn't have the keys, and poked my hea d back inside the office again. Mr. Butler was holding them up, the keys dangling from the ring hooked over his finger . Melinda McKinley recrossed her legs again .
'Always engage you r brain before proceeding forward,' he said. 'You'll reach your destination far more quickly that way.'
I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew that instant that if Mr. Butler had designs on the happy widow they were n't going any where. I took the keys, closed the door and followed the client out into the afternoon sunshine. We introduced ourselves as we cr ossed the road to the car park.
' Grace Goode , ' I said , extending my hand, which he shook .
' Charlie Wright . Good to meet you , ' he replied ,
He look ed me up and down, as if I were the house he was intending to buy , then held the car door
My exams finished at the end of July. Three days later, I was sitting in the office of Drew-Butler, the estate agents in Canterbury, studying the houses for sale on the computer. F ather played golf with Peter Drew and, with his belief in hard work and discipline, I was spending a month of my holidays learning the art of the property business . I wasn ' t even being paid , but would earn a commission if I made a sale .
My desk was adjacent to the main window and I felt like a dummy in a store as the shoppers and tourists wandered by. Most p eople in Canterbury a re far too polite to stop and stare. B ut that Friday , the end of my first week, someone did stop , a man who shaded his eyes with his palms , not to study the photographs of the property for sale, but to get a better look at me . I turned away, and when I turned back again, he grinned and marched in the door.
'Good morning,' he said, and glanced at his watch. 'Sorry, good afternoon. '
I stood.
' Sorry, yes,' I stammered. ' Can I help you?'
'You bet.'
He had a broad smile on his lips and a heavy bag on his shoulder. He wore white trousers , a blue shirt with too many buttons undone and a decidedly un-Canterbury-like gold chain nestl ed in the dark hair of his chest. He must have been almost forty, which seemed awfully old to me at the time , with twinkling amber eyes like a cat that settled on me with such intensity I turned the same shade of pink as my summer skirt.
'There's a place in the window, Black Spires,' he continued. ' I'd like to take a look.'
My armpits tingled and my brow was suddenly dam p . I had not taken anyone to see a house on my own before. But there was no one else. Like anyone with any sense, Peter Drew was on holiday, and Mr. Butler was 'in conference' with Melinda McKinley, a young widow with a large piece of real estate she wanted to develop into luxury apartment s with tennis on the roof. Robin, Mr. Butler , was the young partner in the business, unmarried, and , as far as I could see, totally under Melinda McKinley 's spell. Before vanishing into his office he had held up a warning finger – just like my father – and told me he didn't want to be disturbed 'under any circumstances.'
But this was an emergency. Black Spires was an old white elephant of a house outside the village of Wingham . It had been on the books for a long time and I kn e w they were desperate to sell the property .
I looked back at the man with the open shirt.
'Just a moment,' I said.
He smiled broadly and I was conscious of him watching me cross the office and tap on Mr. Butler's door.
As I poked my head into the room, Melinda McKinley recrossed her long legs and lowered the veil on her little black hat; she was as pale as a ghost with bl u e eyes and a wave of blonde hair that fell to her shoulders. Robin Butler sat back in his chair as if he had just been shot.
'I told you…'
' Someone wants to see Black Spires , and .. . '
' Yes, yes, yes. C an you deal with that yourself , Grace , we're very busy.'
'I haven't don't it before.'
' Well, it's about time you did. Now, o ff you go.'
I closed the door, then remembered, I didn't have the keys, and poked my hea d back inside the office again. Mr. Butler was holding them up, the keys dangling from the ring hooked over his finger . Melinda McKinley recrossed her legs again .
'Always engage you r brain before proceeding forward,' he said. 'You'll reach your destination far more quickly that way.'
I wasn't sure what to say, but I knew that instant that if Mr. Butler had designs on the happy widow they were n't going any where. I took the keys, closed the door and followed the client out into the afternoon sunshine. We introduced ourselves as we cr ossed the road to the car park.
' Grace Goode , ' I said , extending my hand, which he shook .
' Charlie Wright . Good to meet you , ' he replied ,
He look ed me up and down, as if I were the house he was intending to buy , then held the car door
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