I was sitting in my office during lunch break vaguely eating my salad from a Tupperware as I was busily trying to keep up with my accounts as well as rather a long list of email enquiries. Rachel, my highly capable assistant passed me the office phone, whispering softly, ‘You’d better take this one, it’s urgent, Ms Kamau.’ Well Ms Kamaus’ calls were apparently always urgent. She must have been looking for her dream home for months now but however many absolutely beautiful homes I had shown her, nothing seemed quite good enough. I had compiled a tediously long tick off list of all the requirements of this perfect home to accompany an even longer tick off list of all the features she certainly did not want in her dream home. How was I possibly going to please her? The idea of actually making a sale and gaining my commission had vanished after dozens of trips around the most magnificent homes on our books.

Really, the last interruption I needed was a call from Ms Kamau. I braced myself ready for her demands and derogatory tone, Good afternoon Ms Kamau,’ I spoke in my most welcoming voice,’ How can I help you?’ Ms Kamau was surprisingly chatty. She lost no time in telling me how she had been taking her new car out for a spin; much faster than the S Class, she loved the acceleration along the bypass and had fortuitously managed to avoid the cops because a truck had suddenly pulled out into the fast lane, allowing her to test her brakes and as she levelled with the police she was still trapped behind the truck crawling along at a snails pace. Anyway, somehow she had taken a couple of wrong turns and come across a wonderful neighbourhood with new homes and the most amazing gardens. The compounds were vast and apparently this is exactly where she wanted to live and could I meet her there now? I would find it easily. She would drop a pin immediately, there was no time to waste at all. She had a meeting after lunch and the house could not wait. I closed my Tupperware and took a large breath in. how did I manage to be talked into this? The fuel getting there was another expense and all these tours of homes with Ms Kamau were not actually earning me any money. The accounts were building up and I had planned my lunch hour shut firmly in the office instead of joining my friends at the local café. I checked my What’s App and there was the pin; totally the other side of town but actually rather a convenient location for Ms Kamaus’ office, perhaps worth the drive. The homes were new on our books. Things were gradually looking more positive. I called to Rachel that I was meeting Ms Kamau and she smiled sweetly, ‘I knew I should disturb you. Go and make a sale!’ Lunch hour was surprisingly quiet on the bypass and I soon pulled up next to Ms Kamaus’ gleaming red sports car. As usual she was immaculate, brightly coloured business suit with new hair extensions and such high heels that I couldn’t imagine walking in, let alone driving in. ‘Number seven,’ she said. No greeting or idle chatter.She had obviously exhausted her chit chat in the enticing conversation earlier. I followed her. She certainly had a brisk pace in those heels. I really wasn’t in the mood for this. She would have at least five negative comments before we had even crossed the doorstep.

‘Look, it’s absolutely perfect!’ beamed Ms Kamau.

I must have looked shocked. She continued, ’Come inside my new home. The care taker kindly showed me around while I was waiting. When can I sign the papers?’

Due to popular demand as readers didn’t enjoy the ending to part 1…

By Becky Gutche

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