If all goes well… If he managed to steal virtually all her business, he meant, Charlotte acknowledged, hating him for putting her in the wrong, and hating herself even more for making such a fool of herself…
‘I presume that that little bit of play-acting about the house not being for sale was directed at me as a fellow agent rather than as a prospective purchaser and, that being the case, I have no objection to going through you. If I could make an appointment to view…’
He was laughing at her, Charlotte was sure of it. Well, she knew how to stop him doing so.
‘Those might be your business methods, Mr Tennant,’ she told him crisply. ‘They aren’t mine. The reason Sophy told you the house wasn’t for sale was quite simply because it isn’t.’
‘But I’d heard…’ He was frowning now, looking more irritated than remorseful.
‘She was considering selling it…but…circumstances have changed, and she’s decided not to.’
‘So it looks as if we’ve both lost out,’ Oliver told her. ‘Pity…I can’t stay at the Bull forever, and I’m not having any luck at all in finding rented accommodation.’
Charlotte bared her teeth at him and said saccharinely, ‘Why don’t you ask Vanessa to help you? She has at least three guest bedrooms empty…I’m sure she’d be delighted to offer you one.’
The look he gave her wasn’t amused.
‘I’m sure she would,’ he agreed coolly.
He was blocking her path to her car, inadvertently she was sure, but suddenly, looking up at him—and she had quite a long way to look up, Charlotte realised warily—for the first time in her life she suddenly felt very, very vulnerable and fragile.
How ridiculous. He wasn’t threatening her in any way. Any fool could see that he was a totally non-violent man, for all the powerful strength of his body. Whatever else she might consider him capable of doing, she couldn’t deny that there was something about him that suggested he was the kind of man who would always be protective of those weaker than himself. There was almost a gentleness about him…
As she stared up at him, confused by her own feelings, by her awareness that in other circumstances this was a man she would very much have liked to have as a friend…or a lover…she felt her skin grow hot and, without thinking, heard herself saying breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry if I misjudged your…your motives. I expect I did rather over-react, but things haven’t been easy for Sophy. She was widowed some months ago. She desperately wants to keep her house and her independence. She was considering selling, but it wasn’t something she wanted to do.’
She saw that he was frowning.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is there no one who can help her…family?’
‘She has parents, but—’ Realising suddenly just how far she had dropped her guard, she said quickly, ‘This is what happens, you see, when you get a property boom. Those at the lowest end of the market lose out. If Sophy sold her house, what chance would she have of ever rebuying, once the influx of London yuppies had pushed up local prices? Those with properties think only of the profit they’re going to make. They don’t think of the people who haven’t yet got their feet on the first rung of the ladder…young couples, often with very low wages.’
‘That isn’t the fault of the agents,’ Oliver told her quietly.
‘No,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘It’s the effect of market forces. We all know that, but you can’t deny that there are unscrupulous, greedy agents.’
‘Just as there are unscrupulous and greedy buyers and sellers,’ Oliver agreed evenly, and then almost abruptly he added, ‘Look, I know you don’t like the fact that I’m opening up here, but I honestly believe that there is enough business for both of us. It isn’t my intention to force your agency to close.’
His assumption that should it be his intention he could do so infuriated Charlotte, her anger overwhelming her earlier softening awareness of the man behind the image she had mentally created for him.
Not trusting herself to speak, she wheeled round sharply on her heel and unlocked her car door.
Mercifully this time it started at the first turn of the key, although Charlotte knew that her hands were shaking when she drove carefully away, her body intensely aware of the man standing on the pavement watching her, although she didn’t betray by a single sideways glance her knowledge that he was there.
Why was this happening? she wondered miserably as she drove back to her office. She didn’t want to feel like this about any man; she had got to an age where she had believed that she never would. She liked her placid, safe life; the fear of being hurt, of being found wanting, of being rejected had successfully protected her from the dangers of any potential involvement.