Lisa made sure every surface was gleaming before anyone set foot over the threshold, which meant she got her asking price from cash buyers for both the flat and her house within a week of them going on the market. George was equally lucky as the agent he chose had a waiting list for property in his street, and found him a buyer straightaway. It had just been a question of agreeing a price.
‘I could probably get more,’ he told Lisa. ‘But I want a quick, watertight sale. And I got a hefty discount from the agent as they didn’t have to do any particulars, so I’m not going to complain.’
Luck, it seemed, was on their side.
There was only one moment when Lisa got cold feet about what she was doing. She went to say goodbye to the tenant in her flat, an earnest American girl called Dawn who was studying for an English degree at nearby Warwick University. They went to a local bar to share a farewell bottle of wine. Clutching a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses, Lisa pushed her way through the jostling tourists who had recently spilled out of the RSC and were now discussing the finer points of the play in loud voices, hoping that whoever overheard them would be impressed. With the consummate skill of one used to crowded places, she appropriated a table that was just being vacated and beckoned Dawn to come and sit down.
After two glasses Dawn, slightly flushed, leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile.
‘So – does this all mean wedding bells?’
Lisa looked rather startled.
‘Not at all.’
Dawn drew back, mortified that she’d got the wrong end of the stick.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be personal. It’s just . . . well, it’s kind of a big commitment, don’t you think? Buying a hotel with someone? Even bigger than buying a house?’
Lisa thought for a moment.
‘Yes, I suppose it is. But it’s a business arrangement. I mean, there’s someone else in on the deal.’ She smiled tightly, feeling a trifle defensive. ‘And I’m not going to marry him either.’
Dawn looked excruciatingly embarrassed.
‘I shouldn’t drink.’ She put down her glass. ‘It makes me say stuff I shouldn’t.’
‘Hey, it’s no big deal.’ Lisa was anxious that Dawn shouldn’t feel bad. In fact, it was the first time she’d seen the girl relax. She hadn’t meant to be snappy. But Dawn had hit a nerve. It hadn’t really occurred to Lisa that this move somehow meant her relationship with George had moved on a step. They’d been so wrapped up in the machinations of buying The Rocks, and what they were going to do with it, that they hadn’t really touched on their personal life.
Yes, when you looked at it closely, they were moving in together, technically. But only because it made economic sense, not because they’d made a conscious decision to do so. After all, there was only a small apartment in the hotel, with one bedroom. If they lived apart, it would mean one of them renting, or sacrificing a hotel room, which would eat into their profit margin.
She wondered if she should talk to George about exactly where they stood with each other. But then she decided to leave it. They had enough to worry about. And, anyway, if she started analysing where they were, he might think she was dropping hints, and that was the last thing she wanted. Dawn was being typically American, reading into it things that weren’t there. From her reaction, she obviously thought Lisa was taking a big risk.
If there was any risk in what they were about to do, it was that neither of them had the first clue about running a hotel . . .
It was only later, in bed, her head swimming slightly from having drunk the lion’s share of the bottle of wine, that she felt a slight panic. Lisa valued her independence. She had always clung to it fiercely. Had she sacrificed it unwittingly? Did George see this as some sort of commitment? She didn’t think so. They’d always respected each other’s space. That was why she was still with him, almost a year after they’d first met.
In the past, most men tried to crowd her after just a few weeks. They needed constant reassurance, bombarding her with presents in order to secure her undying love. They just didn’t get it when she threw them back. Two weeks later it would be all over, Lisa backing off like a frightened horse being led into a box. George didn’t shower her with meaningless gifts. He was more secure than that. And she trusted him. He was solid. She felt sure that whatever happened they could keep things on a businesslike level.
Reassuring herself she had done the right thing, she spent the next few days throwing herself into the task of packing up what she wanted to take with her, which didn’t amount to a great deal. She’d sold most of her furniture with the house and the flat. And Lisa was always very careful not to accumulate clutter. At the end of every season she threw out any of her clothes that were worn or no longer fitted well or no longer pleased her, sent shoes to the cobbler for repair, suits to the dry-cleaners, then wrapped everything up in tissue paper and packed it away. She wasn’t given to impulse purchases, never made mistakes. She knew exactly what suited her. Her wardrobe had to work, after all. She would be called upon at short notice for a particular job, and she needed to put her hands straight on the appropriate outfit and be safe in the knowledge that it was clean, pressed, fitted perfectly and had no loose threads or buttons missing.
The rest of her life was as streamlined and organized as her wardrobe. Her essential paperwork was always dealt with immediately and neatly filed away in colour-coordinated box files. She didn’t keep personal letters. She threw them away. Or old photos – she put the few she liked (usually of places, rarely of people) in an album and chucked the rest. She dropped magazines off at the dentist or the recycling centre. It was as if she lived almost entirely in the present. She needed no relic from her past, either distant or immediate. Lisa had absolutely no sentiment. George was amazed that she kept no record of her modelling career – she didn’t have a single photograph.
‘What do I need them for? I’m not going to do any more work, so I don’t need a portfolio. Anyway, I’d only look at them and get depressed.’
‘No. You should be proud.’
She shrugged.
‘It’s hardly an achievement.’
That chapter in her life was definitely closed, and she didn’t want to go poking about in it. As far as she was concerned, her erstwhile career had bought her a house and a flat, which in turn had enabled her to buy The Rocks. That was a sufficient memento.
George was absolutely staggered when she announced that she had finished.
‘You’d better come and help me, then,’ he said gloomily. He was rather overwhelmed by the undertaking, not least because he kept being distracted by emails and missives from the architect, by a flurry of applications for the various posts they had advertised, by articles and ideas in design magazines he fell across. This to him was far more interesting than sorting through his belongings. So Lisa came and stood over him.
By contrast to her, George was a spendthrift and a hoarder. His house was stuffed with clothes, gadgets, gizmos, works of art, CDs, DVDs, kitchen equipment, wine. And shoes – he was the king of shoes. Boots, brogues, loafers, trainers, from Patrick Cox down to three pairs of Timberlands in varying states ranging from pristine to distressed.
Lisa forced him to whittle his collection down to five pairs.
‘You’re moving to the seaside. What possible use can you have for black patent dinner shoes?’
Grumbling, George made his final selection, knowing that there would come a day when he would curse his culling. But time and again she reminded him that the owner’s accommodation was only tiny. This really was the start of a new life, George realized eventually. He was downsizing, relocating, changing career. He looked at the boxes neatly stacked in the living room. Lisa had packed it all for him, labelled it neatly. There was nothing superfluous. They were ready to go. For the past month, George had kept on top of all the various estate agents and solicitors, snapping at their heels and smoothing out any possible snags almost before they had reared their heads. He knew how fragile property chains were, and as the purchase of The Rocks involved coordinating the sale of three properties, the likelihood of something going irretrievably wrong was pretty high. But eventually, just as a foul and blustery April transformed itself into a warm and balmy May, the day of completion arrived with no threat of the deal collapsing.
George stood on the pavement for a moment, then closed his front door for the very last time and posted the key back through the letterbox for the new incumbent. As he heard it thud on the doormat, he realized that this was the moment of no return. He loved Bath. It suited him. He understood how things worked; knew where to get things done, who to turn to. He had people who owed him favours; people he could do favours for. He didn’t have a clue how things worked in Mariscombe. And George was no fool. He knew that every town, however small, had its own peculiarities, its own hierarchy. There were unwritten rules about what you could and couldn’t do. Mariscombe, for all its superficial charm, wasn’t going to be any different.
He looked at his watch. Five to twelve. The contracts were due to complete at midday; the monies would be transferred electronically. Theoretically, he could put in a phone call to his solicitor and stop the sales. For a wild moment, it was a possibility. He imagined the chaos, the uproar, the panic, all the other people in the chain standing on their pavements, waiting for the nod, then realizing it had all fallen through, that the removal lorries would have to be unpacked . . .
One minute to. The removal men were satisfied that everything was safely lashed up and covered over. They pulled down the back of the lorry, snapped up the lock.
‘All right?’ the gaffer asked George.
He took in a deep breath and nodded. Lisa appeared round the corner, with a carrier bag stuffed full of sandwiches and mineral water for the trip.
‘Let’s go.’ She smiled, pulling her car keys out of her pocket. They had decided to keep her soft-top Mazda, as it seemed appropriate by the sea. George had sold his car, and to replace it they were going to buy a small van which would come in useful both during the renovations and when the hotel was up and running.
As he opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, the minute hand on his watch slid smoothly on to twelve. Midday. It was a done deal. No looking back. As Lisa started up the engine and followed in the wake of the removal lorry, George shut his eyes and put his head back, breathing deeply.
‘OK?’ Sensing his disquiet, Lisa looked at him sideways. George nodded, unable to vocalize exactly how he felt – elated but terrified. By comparison, Lisa seemed unfazed by the proceedings. She hadn’t expressed a moment’s regret at selling her house.
‘It’s just a house,’ she’d shrugged. ‘Four walls.’
He wasn’t sure whether to admire her for her lack of sentimentality or pity her.
The further west they drove the warmer the day became. Once they left the motorway, Lisa pulled the roof back and they drove through the rolling Devon countryside, the hedgerows edged with citric yellow gorse, the velvet green fields sprinkled with an abundance of fluffy, bouncing lambs. And as they drove down the tortuous hill that led into Mariscombe, saw the golden crescent of Mariscombe Sands and the shining blue ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see, George found his fears and worries dissipating. As they pulled into the driveway of The Rocks, he smiled. How could this possibly be a mistake?
The removal men stood in front of their van, gawping in awe at the view.
‘Bloody hell, mate. I can see why you’ve bought this place.’
George gave a disparaging smile that disguised how he felt.
‘Yeah, well.’ He tried to keep his voice downbeat. ‘I’ll probably be in debt for the rest of my life.’
‘Who cares, with a view like that?’
Exactly, thought George, but he didn’t want to come across as smug. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that he had this opportunity, this magnificent outlook to wake up to every morning, while these three guys had to trundle back up the motorway and go home to what were no doubt stifling little boxes on some faceless estate somewhere. But then he was taking a huge risk. If this venture failed, they would be homeless and broke. Their fabulous view came at a price. And the hard work hadn’t even started yet . . .
He and Lisa spent the next hour directing boxes and furniture into various rooms, then made the removal men a cup of tea – Lisa had made sure to pack a kettle, mugs, tea bags, milk, sugar and a huge packet of Hobnobs into the boot of her car so they wouldn’t be caught out. As soon as the removal van disappeared out of the drive, Lisa picked up George’s hand and wordlessly they walked back inside.
Often when a property is stripped bare of its previous occupants, the new arrivals feel a sense of disappointment as dirt and imperfections are suddenly shown up. Rooms seem smaller or shabbier; pictures make themselves felt by their absence. But once The Rocks had been relieved of the Websdales’ gloomy furniture and plethora of knick-knacks, it seemed to come to life. The atmosphere inside lifted, as if the house felt relieved of its shackles, and it seemed to have increased in size. They walked round silently, almost in awe. Finally, they came into the dining room. The hideous brown curtains had been left closed, hanging off the plastic rail that wasn’t really strong enough to support their weight. The two of them looked at each other and, without a word, each took one end and pulled, until the entire rail collapsed, taking reams of dusty velvet with it. Light flooded the room. Outside, the sun sparkled in a periwinkle blue sky that bent down to kiss a cobalt blue sea.
George felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
‘It’s even better than I remembered,’ said Lisa softly.
‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ said George. ‘We hardly need to do anything to it. It’s perfect, under all the crap they stuffed in it. Thank God they didn’t put it on the market when it was empty. We wouldn’t have had a hope.’
‘Let’s take our sandwiches down to the beach.’ Lisa held up the carrier bag.