2

~ To clean vases, swirl some uncooked rice around in the bottom with warm water to loosen any dried-on leaves, then pour hot water over a dishwasher tablet and leave overnight.

I 'd met Mitchell Maitland when he chose Marsh obviously I said I would, but didn't add, just as soon as I've done it . Johnny asked me what TikTok was, so I told him it was a dating app for clock enthusiasts (I literally heard him on the phone later, urging his dad to sign up).

When we got the call from Nihal to say we'd been selected as the launch agency for the development, Diana was instructed to go out and purchase the coldest, most reasonably priced champagne available on Longhampton High Street. And when Nihal's follow-up email requested that I was to take the marketing lead, working closely with Mitch, I got a reluctant pat on the head from Dean and, crucially, what amounted to a promotion – a desk further away from the front door.

We completed on all ten apartments ahead of the target date, every single one over the asking price. I negotiated four of them myself. I also got to spend at least five hours a week with Mitch Maitland and, exactly as I'd hoped, that initial click soon developed into the kind of flirty friendship that always felt – to me, anyway – just one after-work drink away from tipping into something more. Mitch was fantastic company, funny and well-connected, and the more he talked about the process of property developing, the more I wanted to know. Spotting opportunities, briefing architects, marketing the projects – it sounded fascinating.

‘I think you'd be a natural,' he told me. ‘You understand people, you understand property. The rest is just paperwork.'

Which wasn't exactly my strong point, but Mitch didn't need to know that.

‘I really appreciate you making time to have a look at this place with me,' said Mitch as we swept up the drive to Lark Manor in his BMW. ‘I know how busy you are right now.'

‘Never too busy for you,' I said, casually. I had earmarked the evening for the aforementioned admin blitz, but as soon as Mitch had rung to ask if he could borrow me for an off-the-record second opinion on a property, I'd abandoned that good intention faster than you could say ‘permitted development'. ‘I've wanted to have a nose around inside Lark Manor for so long . I call it the Turret House – you know, you can see them over the treetops as you come down the hill? Can you imagine having a bedroom up in the turret? Waking up to that view …' I sighed. ‘There must be so many stories in a house like that. The parties, the weddings, the balls, the proposals.'

OK, so I'd been bingeing a lot of Bridgerton .

Mitch glanced across from the driver's side, amused. ‘I love the way it's always about the people and the stories with you, not the square footage.'

‘Isn't that what houses are? Places for people to live their own stories?'

I said it only half-seriously, in case I needed to pretend I was joking (I wasn't).

‘I've never thought of it like that,' he said. ‘But now you mention it …'

‘Dramatic people need a house that gives them drama,' I elaborated. ‘Staircases to flounce down, lots of doors to appear in – or slam. Statement wallpaper, quirky features. Peaceful calm houses are for quiet people, open-plan, lots of white. When I'm conducting viewings, I sometimes try to imagine who'd suit the house and then kind of … channel them while I'm going round. Clients see themselves in the house because I show them how easy it would be to live there.'

It was like acting, though I didn't tell Mitch that. As far as I knew, he wasn't aware of my previous life, and I didn't want to have that ‘but I prefer property, honest!' conversation with someone as successful as him; my failure to transition to adult acting (not adult film acting, acting as an adult – you know what I mean) was a failure any way you tried to spin it.

Mitch grinned at me as if I'd said something brilliant. ‘And that's why I wanted your professional insight on this place. I think it's going to require some vision.'

I smiled and discreetly stretched my new dress over my knees. It was nearly six o'clock and we were in that ambiguous no man's land between work hours and social hours. Mitch and I had often had lunch together when we'd been collaborating on the St Anselm's offer, but this was the first time we'd met outside the office. I wasn't sure if it was an actual date date, but I'd nipped out and bought something fresh to change into, just in case. Unfortunately I hadn't bothered to sit down in it in the changing room, and I really should have done.

I wriggled in my seat, feeling something sharp between my skin and my bra, and realised, too late, that I hadn't cut out the swing tag either.

Lark Manor wasn't on the books at Marsh I had a knack for doing quick deep dives into topics, even if the information didn't always stay in my brain for longer than twenty-four hours.

‘You realise this place isn't exactly ballroom-ready, don't you?' he said, in one of my rare pauses. ‘As in, no one's lived there for years? The last lot were hippies, and they weren't growing oranges in that orangery.'

‘Yes, but imagine the staircases,' I reminded him. ‘And the ice house!'

‘And the damp and the compromised foundations …' Mitch pretended to look serious. ‘There will be mice, Robyn. They probably don't turn into coachmen at midnight.'

‘Yeah, yeah.' I didn't tell him about the pet cemetery. I'd save that for later.

When we pulled up outside – I noted the satisfying crunch of gravel – the agent was already waiting by the front door with a leather document wallet under his arm, checking his phone and glancing warily at the stone griffin over the door, as if it might collapse on him.

Mitch turned to me in the half-shadow of the car's interior and gave me a conspiratorial look; excitement fluttered in response, deep in the pit of my stomach. ‘Now, I've told Simon you'll be looking round with me, but I haven't mentioned in what capacity. Didn't want to make things awkward for you.'

I raised an eyebrow, not sure what he meant. Was this a roundabout way of enquiring if I had a boyfriend? ‘Awkward with …?'

‘With Dean,' Mitch clarified. ‘We might not be involving Marsh the house had that grand calm bestowed by high ceilings and lots of wood. Simon guided us into the first reception room, which I could tell had once been a much bigger salon from the way the mouldings running around the ceiling like wedding cake icing abruptly stopped; mentally I knocked the partitions back down to reveal an elegant drawing room. And then had to remind myself I was supposed to be slicing the place up into units, not restoring it to former glories.

‘As you can see there's a ton of potential,' Simon went on, gesturing at a luscious stained-glass window over a full-length window seat. ‘They managed to leave most of the original features, just slapped a lot of MDF over most of them.'

Mitch was rapping on the walls with his knuckles, up and down along the chimney breast. He frowned, as if performing complex mental arithmetic. I tried to look knowledgeable but I was distracted by that staircase. It was almost impossible not to imagine sweeping down it, Martini in hand. Or winding pine garlands round the bannisters at Christmas, tiny lanterns on every other rise. Carol singers gathered in the hall. Mistletoe.

With some effort I dragged my attention back to Mitch and Simon, and made myself listen carefully to Mitch's questions, noting which of them Simon wasn't answering.

We passed through a series of rooms on the ground floor – a stone-flagged Downton-esque kitchen the size of my current flat, two reception rooms with views out to the wilderness that was once formal gardens, a strange bathroom where the loo was in one corner and the basin was in the other, a boot room that smelled strongly of damp coats even though the hooks were bare, and so on. Mitch glanced at me, raising his eyebrows in question; I wasn't sure how I should react, so I rapped a nearby wall the way he'd done. The second his back was turned, a chunk of plaster cracked off, so I hastily kicked it under a moth-ravaged chair and followed him out of the room.

By the time we were climbing the staircase to the first floor (six bedrooms, two bathrooms, billiard room, panoramic views of the park which made me want to stand by the window and murmur, ‘My darling, we must talk,' in a low, urgent purr), I was itching to get my own deposit down on the first apartment; I placed imaginary rosebowls in a communal hall, where I'd exchange pleasantries with neighbours; I parked my car outside on the gravel; I threw balls for two bouncing Scottie dogs on the lawn, which was of course now restored to lush stripes. I'd viewed hundreds of flats in my time, and the ‘small corner of a big pile' model had always appealed to me. All the architectural glamour of a big house but with a fraction of the bills. Obviously I had no idea how much it would cost to convert it, or how you'd do it, but I could definitely see myself selling it.

And more to the point, living in it. Although the reasonable voice in my head pointed out that apartments like these, particularly once spec'ed-up by Mitch's designers, were way outside my budget.

I had no idea what Mitch was thinking. He was playing it cool, merely nodding at the various rooms as we passed. Then we were outside on the moss-scabbed steps again, Simon was leaving and reaching for my hand to shake. It felt good to be treated as an equal, and I liked the way Mitch said, ‘We'll be in touch!'

We .

He waited until Simon's car had disappeared down the drive then turned to look quizzically at me, holding the silence just long enough for my heart to start pounding. The early evening air was fresh with the smell of green leaves, excitement buzzed between us, as though we'd just discovered a hidden treasure, oh my god, I didn't want this to end.

‘So,' said Mitch. ‘Thoughts?'

‘Lots,' I said.

‘How about sharing them over a glass of wine?'

I made myself check my watch – as if there was anything else I'd rather do – and said, ‘Maybe just a quick one.'

For want of a better option on the drinks front, I was forced to navigate us to Ferrari's on Longhampton High Street, which I swear isn't as bad as the name might suggest. It's the kind of place your parents go for a ‘date night', but the food's good and it's the only place in town where they have more than one size of wine glass.

Gratifyingly, Mitch asked for the quiet corner table in the bar, and we were soon being settled in by the head waiter with a bottle of wine and some better than average snacks.

‘What do you think?' He popped an olive in his mouth, revealing his perfect white teeth. ‘Was Lark Manor as full of stories as you'd hoped?'

‘Definitely. Although you were right when you said it wasn't ballroom-ready.' I chose my words carefully, not wanting to reveal my ignorance. ‘How many apartments would you want to create?'

‘OK, so this would be a boutique development. One-two beds, period detailing, bespoke interiors … Aimed at single people, professional couples, people downsizing. We don't just do big projects like St Anselm's. And smaller projects mean quicker turnarounds.'

‘How quickly could you get it to market?' I asked, thinking of the general air of dilapidation. ‘Apart from the legal side, it's impossible to get hold of builders round here, they're booked up for months .'

Even as I said it, I knew it was a stupid question to ask a property developer but Mitch, to his credit, answered without rolling his eyes. ‘We've got teams working on different projects across the country, moving them around as they're needed. My project manager's a miracle worker. Never lets the plumbers stop working long enough to go AWOL.' He flicked another olive into his mouth with a cheeky glance at me. ‘Anyway, now I've looked at it, I don't think it's actually that big a job.'

‘Can you tell just from a walk-through?' I was curious about where you'd even start on a house as big as Lark Manor. ‘Don't you need a structural survey? I mean, there's damp isn't there? Everywhere? And the roof – is it even safe?'

The dark cracks in the upstairs plaster looked like subsidence even to a non-builder like me, not to mention the prospect of bringing the house up to modern safety, environmental and insulation standards. The more I thought about it, the more daunting it seemed, pulling apart the whole house to fix the bodges of the past and then rebuilding it into neat shapes.

‘Surveys always pick up something or other you weren't expecting.' He shrugged. ‘Can't worry about that till then. But in terms of what we were talking about the other day, the sort of properties that you're selling …'

I nodded. ‘There's definitely still a market for character apartments like that. I sold one last week the same day it went online. It's the combination of historic detail, but with modern amenities.'

‘We'd have superfast broadband, underfloor heating, car charging points, alarms everywhere …'

I nodded. ‘But with original tiles, stained glass, high ceilings. Plus, it's the ultimate in recycling, isn't it? Making an old house like this warm and safe and modern, capable of housing six families rather than just one. A green house, with an orangery.'

Mitch looked pleased with that. ‘That's a great line – can I have it?'

‘Feel free,' I said.

‘The main thing is, can you imagine yourself living here?'

‘Yes, I can.' I nodded. ‘Very much so. And if there was anything like that on the market in my price bracket you wouldn't be talking to me right now, I'd be measuring it up for curtains.'

‘Ah. Yes. I was going to ask how the flat-hunting was going.' Mitch hovered the wine bottle over my glass until I stopped making ‘maybe not' faces and nodded. ‘From the look on your face, I'd say not great?'

I sighed, but inside I was thrilled that he'd remembered. Mitch had been in the office when the final paperwork went through; he'd gone out and returned with a doughnut from the bakery opposite and a bottle of champagne, which he made me promise we'd share at the first opportunity.

‘I've gone into rented.' Should I invite Mitch round to toast my new flat? I had a mortifying vision of the heaps of crumpled laundry, the stacks of unread books, the boxes of junk, and instantly discarded the idea. I rarely let anyone into my house, other than immediate family. It was too much like a glimpse inside my head.

‘Rented, eh? So you can move quickly when the right flat comes up? Smart thinking.'

‘It would be if there was anywhere to move to.' I took the refilled glass, and sank back in my seat.

‘We need to get moving on Lark Manor, then.' He smiled. ‘And which flat would madam prefer?'

‘The garden apartment, please.'

‘Oh? And why's that?'

‘Warm summer nights, bifold doors opening onto the stone patio flags …' My mind was back in the Doom Barn which had, for all its faults, a rather lovely kitchen garden with raised herb beds and thick lavender hedges. ‘Walking barefoot on the grass under the night sky, listening to the owls, imagining the people who'd strolled on the lawn before me …'

Mitch sipped his wine. ‘And in the winter?'

‘I'd put a big squashy armchair by the window so I could watch the snow falling onto the topiary. With a cup of hot chocolate and a dog curled up on my knee.'

I paused. Adding the dog really sent that into the realms of fantasy. The ideal, sorted-out me of the future had thriving house plants, a proper sofa, a marble mortar and pestle, and a dog. I just wasn't confident I'd ever get that far.

Mitch smiled. ‘This is what I hoped you'd see in the place. Even I want to live there now, and I know what the service charge is going to be! You're really good at this, Robyn.'

I made a polite, embarrassed noise.

‘Don't undersell yourself.' His expression turned serious. ‘You're the most effective negotiator in the office. I've seen your sales figures. The client feedback. You could be running your own agency in a year or two. You should be. You just need to believe in yourself more.'

It wasn't the first time he'd told me that – and I wasn't quite daft enough to buy into his flattery – but the wine was going to my head. ‘I'd rather be doing what you do.'

‘And what's that?'

‘Property developing. Making new homes out of old buildings.' It came out a bit slurred, and I wished I'd eaten a proper lunch instead of trying on dresses. ‘Taking something neglected and fixing it, making it better. Creating homes.'

And meeting successful people, changing my car every two years, splashing fifty quid on a bottle of wine. Gaining the respect of people like Cleo, who judged you on things like cars and wine, even though she denied it. And Mum. It would be nice if she and Dad would stop covertly worrying about me.

Mitch didn't reply. He was looking at me as if debating whether to say what was on the tip of his tongue.

‘What?' I said. I knew I was blushing because I could feel the outer edges of my own ears. They were hot.

He pushed his glass to one side and tapped his two forefingers on the table in front of me. ‘Robyn, how would you like to get involved in this project?'

‘What? Marketing it?' My mind spun. ‘I probably could. Would I need to take time off?'

‘No, I mean personally involved. As a co-investor.'

Mitch's dark eyes were locked on mine, twinkling as if we were about to hatch a brilliant plan. ‘You're looking to buy somewhere for yourself, right? And you've got capital sitting in the bank, doing nothing. Well, why don't you invest that money in this development? You can choose the apartment you want, spec it however you like, then we'll come to an arrangement about final sale price. Or you could have it back with a share of the profit if you found something better.' He grinned, delighted at the neatness of the idea. ‘It's not going to be a long-term project, I reckon you could be measuring up for curtains before the end of the year.'

‘That soon?'

He nodded. ‘You say you want to get into property developing – well, this wouldn't be a bad place to start. It's a straightforward job. And if you wanted to be involved in the marketing? You'd be motivated to make it amazing.' He swung back in his chair, always a risky position to take at Ferrari's considering their furniture was so old it had gone out of fashion and come back in at least twice. ‘I'd teach you everything I know.'

‘Oh, really?' I said, with a hammy raised eyebrow.

‘Oh, really .' He returned my gaze with a wicked expression that managed to be both camp and also unnervingly sexy.

The blushes had spread down from my ears and were now running across my whole body, making me hot and cold. Not just because Mitch was flirting with me, but something even more exciting than that: he was offering me a genuine opportunity, a chance to step into a different world.

He tipped his head, waiting for my answer, and I forced myself to say nothing.

I also made myself eat an olive to buy more time while my staggering brain considered the proposal.

There was no way I could afford to get into property developing on my salary, not unless I won the lottery. But I could work out for myself how much money Mitch's company had made from the St Anselm's development, and those were just the figures I'd seen.

I also needed somewhere to live. The windfall I'd scooped on my flat had been a fluke: I wasn't going to have a lump sum like that ever again. It wouldn't get me into a luxury flat like the ones I'd just sold for Mitch, but maybe this way it could – I'd get a first step on the property developing ladder and end up in an amazing home.

Dad had drilled financial caution into me and Cleo our whole lives – not always successfully. Normally, I'd say opportunities like this were too good to be true, but I couldn't see the downside. I genuinely couldn't.

Mitch waved at the waiter to get the wine list back, turning to me to check with a tilt of the head that I'd got time for another. The gesture was so easy and confident that I instantly felt more sophisticated.

I could walk home from here. Or get a taxi. I settled back into my chair and let Mitch refill my glass.

‘So?' he asked, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. I could see a long, strong muscle under the fine cotton of his shirt. ‘Is that a yes, so we can stop talking business and move onto more interesting topics of conversation?'

‘I'll think about it,' I said. I made myself say that. In reality I'd already thought about it for the nanosecond it warranted, and was halfway through working out how to get the money out of the deposit account I'd put it in.

And by the time we left, I had Mitch's business bank details, as well as his personal phone number.