My Grape Escape by Laura Bradbury Read Free Book Online Page B

suite ,” Franck added. We moved quickly to break up the worrisome tête à tête .
    As we neared them, snippets of the promises Le Maître was pouring into our realtor’s ear floated over to us. “Already have clients lined up. Switzerland. More than the asking price…just what they are looking for…cut for you…”
    My fingers balled into fists.  
    Franck cleared his throat. The agent jumped.
    “We are ready to make an offer,” Franck informed him. The agent’s face was bright red and, in stark contrast to Le Maître’s belligerent countenance, sporting a sheepish expression.
    “ Quoi ?” he spluttered.
    “We want to make an offer. Now .” Franck fixed the pair of them with his famed oeil noir , or “black look”. “Our offer will match the asking price.”
    “It will have a time limit of twenty-four hours,” I added with an arch look at Le Maître. I wasn’t sure why that stipulation had popped into my head, but there was no time to ponder that now.
    Le Maître tried to stare me down. “As your advisor, I really do not believe - ”
    I turned my back to him and smiled at the real estate agent. “Can you please write the offer up?”
    Beads of sweat dripped off his earlobes. “ Ici? Right now ? ”
    I gave an imperious nod.
    Le Maître brushed past me and stalked to his Mercedes. Before he got there, however, he turned and shot our realtor a meaningful look. “Call me.” He sped off in a cloud of dust. The realtor let out a sound of disbelief at the perfidy of his accomplice.
    “What were the two of you plotting?” Franck demanded, his not unimpressive forearms like iron.
    “Nothing… rien du tout …a simple misunderstanding…it was about another house I have for sale. I have the paper work for this one right here. You are not truly ready to sign an offer right now, are you?”
    Franck extracted a pen from his back pocket. “Just tell us where to sign.”
    The realtor clawed a hand through his hair. “If only it were as simple as that! I need to go back to my car and find the paperwork.” He gnawed his lip. “But a 24-hour expiry on the offer? Ce n’est pas possible ! Nobody demands that of the sellers.”
    “That’s not negotiable,” I said, waving my hand meaningfully towards the empty space where the notary’s car had been parked. “Especially given the circumstancesof the last few minutes.” It was a desperate tactic, but it was perhaps our only hope of preventing the property from being sold out from underneath us.
    The realtor’s eyes darted like minnows searching for an escape route, but Franck and I stood elbow to elbow across from him, unyielding.
    He sighed and opened his trunk again. “Just let me find the documents. It may take a moment.”
    I grabbed Franck’s hand and squeezed it hard in an attempt to calm myself down. Did he feel as bewildered and angry as I did? Could this really be happening?
    Franck chewed on his lip. “I can’t believe it,” Franck said. “ Les salauds .” Some urgent whispering came from around the back of the realtor’s car. “He’s on his cell phone!” Franck hissed. We darted around the open trunk in time to see the realtor gabbing into his cell phone while making frantic gestures with his hands. He was now the color of a ripe aubergine.
    “ Merde !” he gasped as he caught sight of us and hung up without even saying good-bye.
    “The paperwork?” I reminded him.
    “Turns out I had it in my bag after all.” He made a stab at laughter which fell flat with his audience of only Franck and me. “Sorry, phone call with a client,” he lied.
    “C’est cela.” Franck arched a disbelieving brow. “Can we get on with it, please?”
    The agent reluctantly slid out a wad of paper from his satchel, shut the trunk to use it as a writing surface, scrawled on the papers here and there, finally shoving them over to us. He pointed to the front sheet.
    “You sign here and here. Both of you.”
    Wasn’t there supposed to be more gravitas