Shattered, Abbey fell into a deep sleep but stirred when daylight peaked through the gap in the curtains. She showered, dressed in her black jeans and oversized blue Shetland jumper. As she slipped a pair of trainers over her small feet, she chatted to her baby. "It's you and me now, babe. We don't need that arsehole, but we can't afford this place. We need to take an inventory of our life. Where would you like to live? No, I don't know either. How about we have a look at what's available?"

She thought she felt the child kick. "So you are paying attention."

Hungry, she went to the kitchen and made four slices of toast, covered them with raspberry jam and ate them.

Two hours seated in front of her laptop, staring at property adverts online made her eyes ache and head throb. She made a decision on a two-bedroom apartment with riverside views, and private car parking.

She printed the details, closed her laptop and headed out to the coffee shop. With her mind focused on a new start, she strode along the pavement with an air of determination.

The window of Charles and Son, Estate Agents, garnered her interest. On entering, a tall, blonde-haired woman wearing a dark blue trouser suit strolled towards her. In a patronizing manner, she asked, "Can I help?"

"I have a property I want to sell."

"Can you give me the address?"

"Flat number 1, 14 Chelsea Grove Gardens."

"I take it the owner knows you are here?"

The tone of the woman's voice irritated Abbey. "Tell you what; I'll try an agency where human beings work."

A frown filled the woman's face. "One moment, please. I need to speak to my boss."

"Why? Is it above your pay grade? Don't bother, I'm out of here."

"Is there a problem, Debbie?" His tone matched his Savile Row suit, and his face shone with confidence. He smiled at Abbey and offered his hand.

Abbey found him unnerving. He was captivating and spoke the words she wanted to hear but somehow could not trust. Everyone has flaws. He was too perfect.

"Nothing I cannot handle, Barry. This young lady wants to sell her flat."

He turned and offered Abbey his right hand. When they shook hands, she found his grip harsh. "It's my pleasure to meet you." He pointed with his right hand. "Please come to my office, and we can discuss your details in private. Debbie, forget that instant muck. I'll have a fresh peculated black coffee, and for this charming young woman?"

"A glass of water, please."

Abbey watched Debbie stomped away.

Barry guided Abbey to his sanctuary.

She walked faster when his hand brushed her thigh.

Seated in an expensive black leather chair, he asked the pertinent questions.

Debbie appeared and slammed a glass of water on the desk. "It's instant or nothing, the machine broken."

Barry gave her a scornful look, said nothing and dismissed her. As he completed the forms, Abbey sipped at her glass of water.

"You are in luck. I have a dozen clients in mind for your accommodation. How soon can you vacate?"

She leant back, churched her fingers and stared at him. "Haven't a clue."

"What profession are you in?"

She frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"It's quite simple. My clients often want a flat close to their office. Saves time on the commute."

"You must be psychic. I have a flat in mind, but it's not with this agency."

"Have you the particulars?"

From her jeans pocket, she removed the details and passed them across.

His eyes scanned the crumpled sheet. "Downsizing are we? Two bedrooms, Rotherhithe and on the river. Good choice. What I can do, with your permission, is to kill two birds with one stone. That way you will have a smooth transition from your present home to your new one."

She folded her arms. "How much will it cost me?"

He gave a calm, composed smile. "If I sell your place, nothing."

"Can I have that in writing?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Shrewd. If you can wait five minutes, I'll type the agreement."

"I'll read every word."

A smile filled his face. "I've no doubt that you will."

While his fingers rattled the keyboard in front of him, she relaxed.

In a few minutes, he handed her three sheets of paper from the printer by his desk. "If you're happy, please sign at the bottom."

She glanced at him. "And if I'm not?"

He laughed. "Take that to any legal beagle, and they will tell you it's legit. I'd stake my life on it."

She leaned on his desk and gave him a searching stare. "I'll do that." She pointed at her print out. "I need you to arrange a viewing,"

"A minor problem." He lifted his mobile and pressed the keys. "Hi, Barry Thompson, Charles and Son, Chelsea. I have a client interested in a property you have for sale. Out of interest, the price appears a tad high. I don't suppose you give discounts for cash?"

"It depends."

"My buyer needs to view this morning. Two bedrooms, Sophia Crescent, Rotherhithe."

"One moment. I can make it. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Abbey noticed as Barry spoke his eyes shone. She waited until he finished. "You assume I want you to act on my behalf."

Barry closed his eyes for a moment. "I ask you to put your faith in me. You wish to sell your flat and buy another. I take full account of your needs. No one loses. If you have any problem with me or the way I deal with others we can end this, and part friends."

She raised her eyebrows. "It sounds great until it isn't." She held up the agreement. "I'll talk to my legal beagle. I hope you have a car because I'm not walking to Rotherhithe."

He jumped up. "Your carriage waits. As Nelson Mandela said, 'Your life is in my hands.' Follow me."

Cautious, she looked him in the eyes. "Actually, Nelson Mandela said, 'I, therefore, place the remaining years of my life in your hands.'"

Barry shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

She strode out of the office, waited until he opened the door of his Aston Martin and slid into the passenger seat. "Business must be good."

"It is."

The car took off with the tires screaming but soon travelled at twenty miles an hour through the heavy traffic. "Do you know that you can travel by subway, train, bus, taxi, car, foot or bike, from Chelsea to Rotherhithe?"

"No, I didn't, but I prefer being chauffeured."

Ten minutes later, Barry drove into a visitor's parking space and killed the engine. "Here we are. Depending on the flat, there are great views of the river." He pointed to the stairs that led to the first floor of the property. "Glad the agent made it on time."

They exited the car and strolled towards the property.

The man waiting smiled and held out his right hand. "Bill Franklyn, Riverside Properties."

"Barry Thompson." He turned. "My client."

Bill nodded. "Let me show you around, and before you ask, I have spoken to the owners. If you can close the deal in less than three months, they are prepared to drop the price by ten thousand pounds."

"I'm sure they can do better than that," said Barry.

"At this moment that' not necessary," said Abbey. "Bill, please give me the guided tour and if I like it, we'll discuss the price."

"Of course," Bill muttered.

Abbey could not help but smile. "You lead, and I'll follow."

The circuit of the five-rooms took ten minutes.

Barry slipped in front of her. "Yes or no?"

She was staring straight ahead, but her eyes flickered. "Get me a good deal for cash, and I'll move in the day after you sell my place."

He held out his right hand. "I can do that if I'm the sole agent."

She gave him a sharp look. "Get me the best price for this and top price for mine, and I'll shake your hand."

Barry turned to Bill Franklyn. "Are you in a position to negotiate with your client?"

"I haven't told you this, but I know the present owner has a bridging loan."

Barry grabbed Bill's arm. "If you want your bonus this week, shift your backside and get on your phone to the seller."

He shook himself free. "That sharp mind of yours will cut your face one day. I'll do it my way."

"Time's money, my friend."

Bill glared back as he strolled to the main door and opened it. "I'm not and will

never be your friend." The door slammed.