Page 18 of Safer Alone
Jenny is thirty-six, so a few years older than I. “First, how about you tell me what you did over the weekend?” I knew this question would buy me a few more minutes of enjoying my tea. One thing that Jenny could be counted on was telling you, in great detail, anything she gets up to outside of work hours.
“It was really great, Ange. Ben and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. He made this delicious meal for us at his house. He cooked a roast. I was so surprised that he could do that, and then afterwards we had some ice cream. And then the best thing ever happened,” she pauses, waiting for me to ask her.
I smile. “Well tell me. What happened?”
A huge smile spreads across her beautiful features, her green eyes filled with excitement, she sweeps her forefinger, in an attempt to brush her short brown hair behind her ear, “Oh, Ange, he asked me to move in with him. I couldn’t believe it. Of course I said yes. I was never going to say no. It was amazing. I’m just so happy. How about you? Anything interesting?”
I couldn’t help but smile with how happy Jenny was, “I’m so happy for you and Ben. As for me, nothing out of the ordinary, just my open houses. You know me Jen, I don’t have a social life, except for the occasional drink with you” I roll my eyes and take another sip of tea.
Jenny doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to, it’s written all over her face with the sympathetic look that she is wearing. “Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up. I’ve got two sales on the line at the moment. The first is the Belle Meade Homestead. I’ll be sending off the written offer to the owners after our meeting. The other is that brand new listing on Johnson Street, you know the one I haven’t advertised yet. I am still waiting to hear back from the owners. If I haven’t heard anything today, can you please send them an email on my behalf? You know the one we generally use asking them to please contact me as soon as they can?” Jenny is scribbling madly on her notepad, nodding so often she looks like one of those bobble head dolls. I don’t know how anybody else would be able to decipher her notes, but as long as she can, I am happy.
“That’s no worries, Ange. Is there anything else you need that I can do to help? Do you need me to scan any paperwork for you or organize any other showings?” This is one of the many things I love about my assistant and friend Jenny, her efficiency. She is always there to help me out with the things that I hate doing. The printer is right next to her desk so scanning is something I usually give her to do. It saves me making a hundred trips back and forth.
“I will have some important documents for you to scan and file later. Can you please draft out the advertisements for this weekend’s open houses and send it through?”
“Can do.” Standing up she makes her way to the door.
“Thanks Jenny” I call out just before she disappears.
She smiles over her shoulder. “You got it, Ange,” and then she is gone.
The remainder of the morning is spent fielding phone inquiries, returning emails and checking that all paperwork is in order. I submit the last item of paperwork for Liam and Jess and email their full-price offer through to the Johnson Street sellers’ solicitor. The day is going quickly.
I don’t even have time for a proper lunch break, instead I end up just having a cup of soup at my desk. You know the ones that you tear open the sachet, empty it into a mug and add boiling water. Then in two minutes, hey presto, you have a delicious soup. Chicken noodles it is for me today. What I would give for a fresh crusty bread roll to dip into it though. It would make it perfect.
It is a quarter to five when I next have a chance to look at my watch. I have accomplished nearly every task I had set for myself for the day, with the exception of one. I compiled the appropriate paperwork that required signatures from Elliot earlier today. All that remains is to email them off to him. I had decided to wait till later in the day in the hopes that he wouldn’t reply before I leave for the evening. I compile the email, reminding myself that there is no need to say anything further about last night’s dinner. Instead I decide to remain completely professional, stick to the facts, and those facts are that this email is in regards to the sale of the property:
Dear Mr. Sands,
I hope your trip back to New York went well.
I have attached the appropriate paperwork requiring your signature, this will allow me to submit your offer to purchase the following property:
Belle Meade Homestead
If you could please sign and return to me as soon as convenient, I will then commence proceedings on your behalf.
Warm Regards,
Angela White
Licensed Real Estate Agent Nashville Realty
I attach the forms which I had Jenny convert to a PDF to the email, including my own email address in the list of recipients, and hit send. No mention of last night, entirely professional. I hear the all-too-familiar ping from my phone which alerts me that the email has gone through. I shut down my computer and collect my items, including the paperwork that I had just sent to Elliot, which I slid into my folder. “See you tomorrow, Sandra,” I wave as I walk past.
Not content with a simple goodbye, Sandra stops me. “Angela, honey. I wanted to congratulate you again on the two possible sales you created over the weekend. Well done, keep up the good work!” She takes my hand in hers and gives it a quick squeeze before letting me go. I can’t help but smile.
“Thank you” I turn on my heel and hurry out the door.
I am so ready for home. It’s a bad sign when on Monday you are already counting down the days until the weekend arrives. Four more days, I think to myself. In that moment my cell phone rings. Looking at the screen it appears to be a local phone number. It could possibly be the Thompsons who looked at the house on Partridge Street this morning. Not wanting to miss them, I hit the green accept button and hold it to my ear, “Angela White,” I answer while retrieving my keys from my handbag.
“Good evening, Angela, it’s Elliot”
I drop my keys and almost the phone at the same time at the sound of his deep voice. Luckily I manage to keep hold of it. Why on earth was he calling from a local Nashville telephone number? He was supposed to have headed back to New York City this morning, wasn’t he? “Ah, Elliot, hi.” Why is he calling?
I bend down and scoop my keys from the ground and press the unlock button for my car. Opening the driver’s seat door, I throw my handbag and folder across onto the passenger seat before sliding in. “I apologize for not knowing it was you, but the number I have saved for you didn’t come up on my phone.” it was a lame excuse but I hoped that it would get him talking.
“I’m not calling from my cell. I’m using the landline in my room at The Hermitage.”
