Distraction

Chapter Nineteen

Highfield House is a beautifully refurbished Lakeland country home set in three acres of gardens and woodland. The house dates from 1861 and has retained its period detailing.

Ideally located between the busy market town of Haverton and the bustling Lakeland village of Gosthwaite, the property is set amongst the lower fells of the south-eastern Lake District with very easy access to M6 or the west coast main line at Oxenholme.

Pleased with her mental copy for the brochure, Zoe crawled her BMW up the drive, carefully following Dorothy Kilburn's instructions not to exceed five miles per hour near the house. Okay, this had to go smoothly. She already had four potential buyers lined up for Highfield House, what she needed was for the bloody place to be up for sale.

I want, need, must have this house.

She could easily market it for one million and with her receiving two percent of the agency's commission, she could have two grand in the bank within eight weeks. Okay, it was a long way off the eight grand MasterCard bill from hell, but with another three houses teetering on signing, this could be the start. But Mrs Kilburn was playing stubborn, so Zoe had to resort to playing good cop, bad cop with Greg.

His Prius sat outside the house already, and he climbed out as she parked up. Christ, he was perfect - a blue-eyed blond, Rugby-educated only son to a couple with a country estate. Well, he was almost perfect. Being a little less married wouldn't hurt.

He opened her door, helping her out of the car, his eyes firmly focussed on her cleavage. One of Greg's many charms was his utter devotion to his dick. It made him so easy to persuade.

'You look beautiful,' he said, his hand skimming over her arse, snugly clad in a vermillion pencil dress.

'Remember, your bonus. If she signs...'

His eyes glazed over. 'In the car park at Tarn Howse. Fuck, you're hot.'

Zoe's heels clattered up the steps, her heart pounding. She needed to keep cool, be as nice as nice can be, thoroughly understanding and it'd all be fine. She'd shag Greg then get back to Gosthwaite in time for the Bank Holiday football match. It'd be fine.

She pressed the doorbell. Ding, dong, don't make me wait long.

'I knocked when I arrived,' Greg said as they waited. 'She didn't answer.'

'She was in when I rang earlier. That was what, twenty minutes ago?'

No answer.

I Must Have This House.

She hammered on the door. 'Hello? Mrs Kilburn?'

Fuck it. She peeked through the letterbox, staring at the empty hallway. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay... She glanced down, spotting a pair of out turned cankles in Marks and Spencer brogues.

'Oh my god,' Zoe said, staring up at Greg. 'She's on the floor.'

'Is she dead?' He peeked through the letterbox. 'Mrs Kilburn?'

A low groan came from the house. She was alive. Zoe's hand shook as she seized the brass door handle. Highfield House wasn't a Yale lock kind of place and sure enough, Mrs Kilburn wasn't the kind who locked the door.

'Oh gosh,' Zoe said as she pushed against the door, sliding Mrs Kilburn out of the way. 'I'm so sorry. I hope that doesn't hurt. Greg, call an ambulance.'

The old woman's eyes flickered. 'Didn't help...'

Zoe knelt beside her. 'Shush, shush. You're okay. You're going to be fine.'