Short Story: No Sale

Short Story: No Sale

"It's a bijou residence," I said. "Deceptively spacious but with considerable scope for improvement."

Delora was unimpressed. "Isn't it a lot of hard work for you?" she said, "having a full-time job and all?"

"Oh no!" I protested. "It was built by a local builder for his own occupation and architecturally designed. The kitchen was ergonometrically designed, too."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Well, sort of easy to run," I said, uncertainly. Not that I let it show, of course.

"Sounds like a modern thing," she said, "sort of one of those buzz-words you hear about."

"No it's not modern," I told her. "Built circa 1953," I added somewhat proudly.

Her eyes widened. "Really!" she said. This was better. The prospect for a satisfactory outcome to the evening looked promising, provided a full survey revealed no structural flaws.

I had only met Delora a few days ago. Well actually I had really met her about two months ago. At the checkout. I did my big shopping at the local supermarket once a week. Thursday night usually, as that's the quietest night for shopping, and that's where I first spotted her. Over the weeks I always ended up at her at the checkout, even though she worked at a different till each time. Must be fate or something, I told myself. Anyway, last Thursday, I casually mentioned this funny coincidence as I was putting my personal identity pin number into the little credit card machine, and before you could say Jack Robinson, I was suggesting we meet somewhere a bit more elegant - at my house and go onto the multiplex maybe. In my opinion Delora would surely be impressed. In my job you have to look smart at all times and no doubt my sharp suit helped.

Anyway, there we were on Monday evening ready to enjoy some much-deserved leisure time. I was rather proud of my property and I showed Delora some of its delightful features. Not that Delora didn’t have some delightful features of her own, but perhaps we would come to that later.

"All the plumbing is made of copper," I told her, "even though it is an old house, and all the ironwork on the doors is burnished aluminium, not to mention the stainless-steel porcelain in the kitchen. And there's melamine ceramics in the bathroom, too. Would you like to see the upper storey?" I asked hopefully.

"I thought we were going to the pictures. That's what you said, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes," I replied hastily. It's best not to be too pushy with nice girls like Delora. I had separated the entertainment section from the local paper. I opened it at the page with the multiplex's listings for the coming week.

"There's a choice of entertainments," I said. "With offerings for professional couples or for the growing family. The former might prefer 'Notting Hill' or perhaps 'Bonnie and Clyde'. The latter will more likely be attracted to something from the Disney style of construction."

Delora regarded me with some puzzlement.

"You do talk funny," she said.

But on further perusal of the listings and with no prompting from me, she expressed a preference for the latest chapter in the Terminator series.

"An excellent choice," I said. "It has all the features you would expect from a master body builder, and it has a ten-year guarantee."

Delora had arrived at my home in her rather battered second-hand car, which would have benefited from internal inspection and renovation, although the external appearance was in keeping with the period style. Naturally she had the pleasure of travelling in my two-seater to the city. The city was easily reached by car from all the local sought-after villages.

"What do you do?" she asked, as we sped along. "Must be a good job to afford a car like this."

"Property," I said. "My business mostly involves property. Land. Bricks and mortar - that's what you should put your money in these days." It sounded very impressive put that way.

"You make deals and stuff?" she asked. I could see she was impressed.

"Sure," I replied. "I made a big deal today, as a matter of fact."

"Really?"

"Two-hundred and fifty thousand," I said. "A quarter of a million."

She let her breath out hard.

I couldn't resist it. "And maybe an even bigger one tomorrow. But I can't talk about that,” I said, “it might jeopardise the negotiations."

Delora was silent. She obviously appreciated that my business deals were highly sensitive as well as being extremely important. This was good as it saved me having to give anything away about my real work. She might not have been so impressed by the small shop in the high street, even though it boasted a team of well-trained negotiators who would ensure the clients’ needs would be met from opening evaluations to closure of the sale.

We enjoyed The Terminator. At least the part we saw.

"You know," she said, as we drove back to my property after the entertainment, "looking at you now, I'm sure I've seen you somewhere. Have you been on television or something? You’re someone important, aren’t you?"

"No," I said. I was a bit puzzled, but flattered too. I thought it best to play along.

"I would probably be too busy to notice," I said. "You know the media can be so obtrusive."

"Or perhaps in the paper," she mused. "Could it be the paper?"

We pulled up onto my Pavia driveway, which boasted off-road parking for two cars, so essential these days for the growing family.

"Coffee?" I said. "Or perhaps something stronger for the more discerning?"

"You mean like a night-cap," she giggled. "But then I wouldn't be able to drive off straight away, would I?"

"No," I agreed. "Good idea, hey?"

The negotiations were proceeding without any undue hitches. Delora liked the coffee with the generous addition of whiskey. We sat on the settee in the twenty-foot lounge. The French windows looked out onto an easily-maintained area of lawn screened from neighbouring properties by a Leylandia hedge.

"Do you have today’s paper?" she said. "I'm sure I saw you in the paper."

I looked around the room. "No, just the entertainment section. I think I threw the rest away."

"It's quite hot in here," she said, as she removed her jacket. "Or is it just the Irish Coffee you've been plying me with?"

"It's the oil-fired central heating throughout," I explained, "coupled with sealed unit double glazing to all windows where specified. And the property is ecologically friendly as well as energy efficient."

The scenario was proceeding smoothly with no problems and with the full cooperation of both parties, hopefully leading to a mutually agreed transaction, subject to contract. Delora even consented to inspect the landing and adjoining rooms.

"The bedrooms have the original fireplaces," I explained, "although they have been blocked in, they could be reinstated to their former glory, if required."

I showed her how smoothly the draw-curtain mechanism worked, and how the main bedroom had ample room for a double bed, while there was still considerable room for manoeuvre if the conditions were right.

But something was still troubling her. She sat down on the side of the bed.

"I'm sure . . ." she said screwing up her face.

I sat down beside her. Close. I put my arm round her and drew her even closer. Delora was not resisting but I didn't like the faraway thoughtful look that was coming over her.

"Oh, there it is!" she said suddenly.

She had spotted the rest of the local paper on the bedside table where I had left it earlier in the evening. I had to release her as she stretched out to annex it.

It was then that I realised.

"No that’s not today’s," I said with sudden desperation.

But it was too late. As fate would have it the property section (which covers the surrounding villages as well as town-centre properties) fell out onto the floor and flipped open just at the wrong page. There was the picture of me in all my glory - quite a good picture actually - smiling to all prospective purchasers and clients wishing to market their properties in association with an efficient professional.

"Good gracious," she said, displaying a deceptively quick eye for the situation. "It's you. What a surprise. Whoever would have thought you were an estate agent?"