Page 9 of Safer Alone
“Hello Sir. I’m Angela, will you be joining us?”
When his companion doesn’t speak, he looks up at Elliot and then myself, realizing that I must be speaking to him, “Ah, no ma’am. I’ll just be waiting right here for Mr. Sands. When you’re ready to leave, sir, just let me know and we will head off.” He speaks in a polite and yet clipped manner.
Elliot faces the gentleman as he replies, “I won’t be long, Price,” who nods in response, giving me a small smile. His eyes hidden behind sunglasses, he hops back into the car. Who is this Price fellow and why isn’t he coming inside? Maybe he is a chauffeur that Mr. Sands hired when he arrived in town? After all, it was evident that he didn’t drive himself here.
“I appreciate you showing me this property on short notice today. I know you probably don’t often work on a Sunday, and I don’t make a habit out of it either. However, as I am sure my assistant told you, I am only in town for one day, so this was the only chance I had to make it here.”
He was only in town for one day? Why would he travel all this way for only twenty-four hours? Did he arrive last night or early this morning? Not that any of that matters; what does, though, is that I won’t be able to show him again tomorrow if he required a further showing.
Mentally I scold myself. I needed to stop being so pessimistic. This viewing hasn’t even started yet. I hope that I won’t need to come back. I’m going to try my hardest to sell the cottage today; positivity must shine through. Besides, if he did want to have another look at the property he would have to come back and that would mean that I could see him again. And that would be okay with me. After all, he is well worth looking at. And that, ladies and gentleman, would be my hormones talking again. They are being quite loud today, not that I blame them. It has been quite some time since my libido did any talking whatsoever. I was starting to think that it had vanished, gone on a long vacation. But now, in this moment, it’s making itself known. As much as I would love to revel in the fact that it’s back, it’s time to come back to the here and now, and the task at hand.
“That’s fine, Mr. Sands. A few of our clients are from out of town, so we regularly conduct after-hours showings. Where is it that you have travelled from?” I settle a calm smile on my face. I know what he is going to say, however a normal conversation will get my mind back on track.
“I have flown in from New York,” he replies; no fluffiness, just straight to the point. Obviously, he is not one who is interested in small talk. Well, that’s fine by me. I’ll just get on with it then, shall I?
I hate New York, myself, but that didn’t mean he did. He lives there, so he must love the area. Or maybe it is because his company is based there? Or could it be that his family all live there? Or if not his family, maybe his special someone? I decide nodding is the best course of action as a reply in this instance, it will help me remain strictly professional. He doesn’t need to know my thoughts and feelings about his city, as if he would care anyway.
“Let me tell you a little bit about the property before we move inside, Mr. Sands. This is a four-bedroom, four-and-a-half bathroom, all-brick home. There are three separate living areas and a formal dining room, all of which bring the house size to approximately 4,700 square feet. There is also an additional separate three-car garage that was added on a few years ago and the property sits on just shy of two acres, which have been landscaped.” Taking a breather, I look back towards my client before continuing.
“I would love to give you the tour now, Mr. Sands. If you are ready, you can follow me into the home, and we can get this tour started.” I turn around and begin to make my way up the front path to the large wooden doors. I had closed one of them behind me when I went to greet him. The reason is that it these are statement doors. I wanted him to see the double doors together.
Hopefully he could see the handcrafted beauty of them; hopefully they make a good first impression. “Nice pair of doors,” he comments. In my head I’m screaming at him, “That’s all you have to say?”
Biting my tongue, I plaster a smile on my face before turning to face him, time to give him my opinion, whether he wants to hear it or not. “Yes, they are nice, aren’t they? These are completely original to the time period, fully handcrafted, one-of-a-kind pieces. Much of the interior has similar elements, which you will see as we walk through the space. It really is such a beautiful home.”
As soon as I finish my pitch I want to kick myself. I know that I sounded as though I loved the home, more than an agent usually does about a property they are trying to sell. It was easy to get carried away, and in truth, I do in fact love this home. It is exactly what my dream home would be, actually. One that I could see myself living in, once I had fixed it up a bit.
“I’m after a residence with lots of character,” his voice comes from beside me. I turn to face him as, he continues. “I’m looking to complete a sympathetic restoration of a home. I finished another one recently back home and it’s already been sold so it’s time for a new project. When I noticed this one come up online, I sent my assistant to look through it for me before I made the trip. I have an incredibly hectic schedule, so I generally will send her ahead so she can scout them out for me first.”
I remembered the assistant well; impeccably dressed. Working for him as his assistant would definitely give her plenty of money, no doubt. Not wanting to be rude, “Yes I remember your assistant. She spoke to you while I was showing her the property. It sounds as though you are on the right track with this home. I’m sure it will have everything you are after, Mr. Sands. Come, let’s go inside. Let me show you around”.
I open the front doors wide and stand to the side, allowing him to walk through into the space before me. Straight into the open foyer, leading to a large ornate staircase, the timber treads were scuffed from years of foot traffic. The timber railing had more than a few scratches, the painted walls were faded, almost impossible to ascertain the original color, the remains of the floral wallpaper was coming away in areas. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling wasn’t exactly from the original time period of the home; however, it suited the space in its own way.
I avert my eyes, looking back towards him, trying to gauge his interest level. He had pulled a small notebook and pencil from somewhere, and held them both in his hands. He was jotting down some information. His eyes flicked up in my direction, almost as though he felt my eyes on him. “ Do you mind if I take some measurements of the rooms while I’m here? That way I will know what I am working with.” That’s interest in the property. Good sign, Angela. Let’s give him what he wants, whatever he wants.
“Of course Mr. Sands, you can take any measurements you wish. I also have the measurements of most of the rooms on my computer at work. I can email them to you if you wish. Would you like to see the rest of the home first and then you can wander back and forth? I’m happy to help you if you like.”
He turns his entire body in my direction and smiles at me. I am once again hit with the fact that he really is incredibly handsome. That smile could break a thousand hearts and cure cancer at the same time. I could easily fall right under his spell. Looking at his face day after day would not at all be a hardship. Waking up in a bed beside him, looking into his eyes while he smiles down at me while saying good morning: an absolute dream.
He speaks, and that’s all it takes to break the fantasy, allowing it to retreat back into the depths of my mind. “Sounds good. Lead the way Miss White.” And with his confirmation of my suggestion, that’s exactly what we do.
“Let’s go this way first.” I hold my hand up to the left of me to make our way along the hallway.
During our tour, we wander the hallways, enter the huge master suite and out onto the attached balcony, the other three bedrooms, each of the four bathrooms. I point out all of the important architectural elements of the home, including the brick fireplaces and the original hardwood timber floors. I offer some friendly advice on the areas that I know would be easier to renovate than restore. He listens to me intently every time I make a suggestion. I have to admit, I enjoy being listened to. I wonder if he would listen to me babble on all day if it wasn’t about the home?
“You seem to know quite a lot about this house, Miss White. The suggestions you are making in regard to improving the home are commendable. Is it a passion of your own to renovate homes?” His tone wasn’t at all mocking. Instead he seemed genuinely interested as to what I was going to say, even intrigued. I didn’t see the harm in answering one slightly personal question. It wasn’t as though it was anything that was going to reveal the inner workings of Angela White.
“I would love to renovate an older home, one just like this, Mr. Sands. I find myself drawn toward history and I have a total appreciation and immense love of older pieces, especially antiques.” He nods slowly at my statement.
“Interesting.” I arch my eyebrow, awaiting the rest of his speech. sensing I am awaiting more of an explanation, he continues. “It’s interesting, Miss White, because this is something that we have in common.” Finishing his statement, he smiles at me.
We have something in common. What a pleasant surprise. I find that this makes me incredibly happy; I’m not sure why that is, though. One of the things that catches my attention about Elliot Sands is that he doesn’t act like someone who is worth millions of dollars. He dresses like one, for sure, but he doesn’t treat me as though I were beneath him, like so many of New York’s wealthiest members do. It made it easier for me to relax around him.
I wonder what he would think of me if he knew that instead of him being in a totally different class than me, we were more like equals. More so than he could possibly imagine a Nashville real estate agent could be. My wealth isn’t common knowledge unless you know the family I belong to. When my grandfather passed, the people who knew us presumed that his fortune would all be passed down to my father and not me. That wasn’t the case.
My mother and father are wealthy in their own right, mainly due to his successful career. They also received quite a large chunk of change from Grandpa and Grandma. Not as much as I did though. Mom and Dad were happy that I now had enough income to do as I please. They were not, however, happy that I decided to leave it all in the bank account that it was deposited into, and not use it. Instead, choosing to work for a living, rather than being out in society, looking for an even wealthier husband.
I had told myself before Mr. Sands arrived earlier, that I would treat him just like I would a regular client. There was no need to treat him any different. So far. I have accomplished that task. For all I know, he didn’t have the faintest idea that I knew exactly who he was. Why would he suspect that I looked him up on the internet? He was in a different town, he wasn’t a local celebrity, it’s not as though he is well known in this area. Maybe he was, in certain circles; not any I am a member of, though. My father though, a certain possibility. Thank the lord my last name is common.
