111 West End

Chapter Five: The Agent

Ben parked his car on the cobbles opposite 111 West End. He waited as Mrs Reynolds locked the front door and strolled to her yellow Fiat 500. He rolled his eyes. Typical.

He watched her drive in the town's direction and climbed out of his black Porsche. Ben fished the spare keys from his coat pocket and let himself in.

The hall still smelt musty.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed into the ether.

Ben walked through the hall, stepping around the new carpet runner. Mrs Reynolds must've thought it suited the wallpaper. Ben thought it was gaudy. He walked into the lounge and ran his finger along the grey marble mantlepiece. At least she kept a clean house. The two large brown leather sofas were more suited to a modern apartment than a listed building, but he was sure they'd cost a small fortune.

Displayed on an oak sideboard beside the window was a collection of framed photos. Each one was taken in a different country. As he had thought, more money than sense.

"This is my house," he muttered, walking into the kitchen diner. He stood by the French doors and stared out across the lawn. Terry, the maintenance man, had replaced the glass in the orangery and repainted the flaking paint. Good. The gardener had recently weeded the flowerbeds and cleaned the pond, its fountain now fixed and flowing. He scanned the grass and frowned. Despite the recent rainfall, a patch nearest the pond was no longer green, but dry and yellow. His one true obsession was his garden. He liked it to look perfect, and dead grass would never do. He'd call the gardener first thing tomorrow.

Ben turned and headed into the hallway and up the stairs, ignoring the faint tick and slight breeze, the gentle tap on the chandelier, and the quick rustle of fabric. 111 West End was not a quiet house.

Ben pushed the door of the master bedroom and stepped inside. This was his favourite room. He'd spent hours agonising over how best to preserve the coving and reinforce the ornate balcony.  

And when it was complete, it was a masterpiece. He even considered moving in, but the rental income was too good to turn down. And when his first tenant arrived, she was perfect for the house.

*

Fifteen years earlier,

Ben waited outside 111 West End for his appointment to arrive. He'd already been inside to open the windows and collect his mail, presenting everything perfectly.

The faint smell of paint lingered in the air, along with the slightest hint of bleach from the deep clean. All appeared to be as he wished. This house had caused a lot of uncertainty. Ben had hoped it would be a quick refurbishment. Then, after six months, he would put it back on the market. But he'd developed an unexplainable attachment to the house.

As the builders peeled the layers of wallpaper and scrapped back the gloss paint, they revealed the mouldings and coving. This house was a rare find.

Previous owners had hidden original features. The fireplaces once exposed were an asset rarely found in houses these days.

In the sixties, it was fashionable to replace anything original with something worse. But not in this house. Even the old gas light fittings remained.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it, 111 West End had a grade two listing. This caused Ben more than a few unforeseen problems, delaying the building work frequently.

Negotiating with the conservation officer was problematic. The officer hated him and was determined to make things difficult. To where Ben had contemplated selling the house. But the financial loss was more than he could stomach and he was stubborn. So he'd pushed on with his plans to split the house in two. At the conservation officer's request, Ben divided the house with a door. Agreeing for once that it was a clever idea, leaving him the option to revert it back into one house in the future. So no permanent structural alterations were needed and everyone was happy.

Working out the potential rental income further persuaded him to keep the property. He would earn a good return on his investment. In a few years, he may decide to sell.

The weather was perfect the day Natalie viewed the house. The sun shone as she pulled up on the cobbles opposite. Ben rolled his eyes as she closed the door to her cream beetle. Ridiculous car.

His attention shifted from the car as she looped her suede handbag over her head and across her chest. She locked the car and crossed the road. He stepped forward, "Good morning Miss Wilson, I'm Ben Goldman." He held out his hand in greeting and as her hand met his, he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Hello," Natalie replied, smiling at him.

Ben noted how green her eyes were. Very unusual, and it was at this point that he made his first mistake.

"In the interest of complete transparency, I must tell you I am not only the agent, but I am also the owner." In hindsight, he should've kept that information to himself.

"I see. Will it affect the tenancy agreement?"

"No, I'm  just obligated to tell you."

"Well, I'm sure it won't be a problem."

Ben hesitated before replying, "Good."

How long he stood staring at her he didn't know. It felt like minutes, but it was more likely seconds. Ben struggled to stay focused.

"Mr Goldman."

"Erm... yes, follow me." Ben opened the door and stepped inside. It was at this point he made his second mistake.

"Please, call me Ben. Mr Goldman seems so formal."

"Thank you, Ben."

"The house dates back to the 1750s. As you can see, it has kept most of its original features. The doors are Georgian as are the fireplaces, coving, and staircase." Ben walked towards the living room door.

"This is a large house for just me," Natalie said, looking at the ceiling rose in the hallway. "I didn't realise it would be quite so... overwhelming."

"It is a large house. I assumed you knew that from the property details." Ben opened the living room door and stepped inside.

"I guess until now I couldn't visualise how spacious it would be ." Natalie followed him to the living room. "Oh, it's beautiful."

"Despite the room proportions and the space, it feels welcoming and homely." Ben looked out the window. "You are aware of how competitive the lettings market is. We have very few properties available. And none offer the same quality of finish as this house."

Natalie stood beside Ben, her gaze fixed on the orangery. "I know. I've been searching for a place for six weeks. Every time I find a property I think will suit me before I even get to view it, it's already let. I have a month to find a home."

Ben shrugged. In his opinion, she'd be mad not to take his house. He'd priced it competitively. She wouldn't find anything better.

"Shall we look at the rest of the house?" he asked.

Natalie smiled at him. "Sure."

Before leaving the property, Natalie expressed a wish to rent it. She'd given him her details and paid a deposit. It was at this point he made his third mistake.

He had given her his mobile number, stating that if she had questions or if he could assist her, then she was to call him directly. As soon as he handed her his number, he knew he would live to regret it. It was unprofessional; it was inappropriate; it would end one way.

*

A blast of cold air brought Ben to his senses. Time had got away from him. It did that here, in this house. The keys were still in his hand. He'd learnt never to put them down once inside 111 West End.

"I'll see you again soon," he whispered and turned to leave. Only then did he hear the thud.