Beyond the Call


I had been looking forward to this appraisal.  I knew the house; I had driven past it on many occasions and always admired it.  It was a rare thing – an elegant mock Georgian property sitting in about one acre along a popular and private, tree lined residential road; to be asked to value anything on this road was good news, the potential was there to bag an absolute corker of a listing.

Simply put, I would do anything to win an instruction on this road.  Anything.  It’s a sign you’ve arrived as an agent.

I pulled up on the drive, it was immaculately presented on the outside, huge kerb appeal.  I had to have this instruction.

I walked up to the front door, pillars and perfectly manicured shrubs.  Nice touch.  Pulled – perfectly polished – the brass door ringer; another nice touch.

After a few moments the door opened, “Christ” I thought, in her late 40’s and wearing some shorts.  Short shorts.  Very short shorts, high heels, shirt tied up at the front and very clearly no bra. I was in my late twenties and not quite sure where to look.

“Mrs Heff, pleased to meet you, my name is ACA and I’m from My Company.”

She thrust her hand out and greeted me warmly “Hello there, come on in, my husband is just making some drinks, would you like one?”

“That would be lovely,” I thought, I’m in my suit, its baking hot and I would love a nice cold beer.

“Just some water with ice would be perfect if possible.”

She led me through the chintzy hall and into the very impressive modern kitchen. “He only wants water, this is my husband.”

I introduced myself.

“Nothing stronger on a day like today?” he said, pouring himself that beer.  He was a big chap, shirt open too far with his gold chains hosting a large gold cross. Big chunky gold bracelet on his wrist, Bermuda shorts, flipflops.  The pair of them had clearly seen a lot of sun and had evidently recently come back from holiday.

She sat on a chair behind me grinning. He looked at her, looked at me, grinned and said, let’s have a look around.  I felt I was missing out on a joke.

As we went from room to room I was making all of the right noises, turned on the charm.  I tried to work my magic, I wanted this job, it was an absolute belter.

It seemed to be working, I was getting all of the right responses, laughing at my jokes, hanging on my every word.  This was going well.

We got to the master bedroom, Mr Heff turned to his wife, slapped her backside, bold as brass turned to me and winked “And this is where the magic happens…”

She pushed the door open, I was confronted by one of the biggest and roundest beds you have ever seen, mirror on the ceiling, walls, everywhere.  Animal print throws covering the animal print bedding next to the animal print chairs and animal skin rugs.

The ensuite was huge – everything was made for two.  Everything.

Theirs was evidently a marriage with plenty of spark & passion.  Hope for us all, I thought, fair play to them.

“Do you have a wife?” Mrs Heff said, back to me.

“Not yet.”  I was in my late twenties, didn’t want to rush things and I was enjoying life too much as it was, footloose and fancy free, or so I thought anyway!

“Don’t wait too long mate,” Mr Heff said, landing himself hard into one of the leopard skin chairs, “just make sure you find one with the same… interests as you.”

“I’m sure that time will come, but in the meantime I’m happy enjoying myself.” I said, unaware that I was just about to instantly regret my comment.

Mrs Heff was walking towards the ensuite, “Oh good,” she grinned at Mr Heff.

She walked over to the shower, and turned the taps on and began taking her clothes off.

A massive klaxon started going off inside my head.  I needed to get out of there right now.

I handled it in the most professional way I could muster, “haha, you’ve got to be kidding me.  This is a blo*dy joke isn’t it?”

Mr Heff looked at me, it was clear that this was not a joke. “Some of your competitors didn’t think so.”

I wanted this house, my career needed this instruction.  I did the only thing I could do in such a situation.

I ran.

Out of the gorgeous master bedroom, down the beautiful staircase, through the glorious reception hall, past the fabulous kitchen and out of the grand front door, into my car and down the exclusive road.

I would do anything for an instruction, but I wouldn’t do that.

The anticipation of who had got the instruction was killing me and a few weeks later when it appeared in the paper, I got straight on the phone to the agent.

“You dirty bugger!”

He knew immediately what I meant. “you actually went through with it didn’t you!”

“You know me chap, I’ll do anything for good business…”

A Country Agent, understandably, wishes to remain anonymous. We hope to feature more of his amusing stories here on Country Squire Magazine. If you’re unable to wait until then, you will find more tales of the intrepid Country Agent’s adventures here. 

4 thoughts on “Beyond the Call

  1. Hahaha, splendid! When I was younger I hoped something like that would happen to me, as I got older I prayed it didn’t.

  2. What’s the difference between an estate agent and a sperm?
    1 in 500 million sperms has a chance of becoming a human being.

  3. More the Country Gent than a Country Agent. I am sure most would have undressed.

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