Haunting Memories

Chapter 2

On entering the sitting room, Ritika found a steaming cup of tea on the table and the sofa empty. She looked around the room to find a man standing on one side of the old grandfather clock, running his hands along the wood. He was tall, had shrewd brown eyes behind a pair of black framed rectangular glasses and was wearing a stiff grey suit that crumpled awkwardly as he ran his hand higher along the clock. A pang of irritation filled her. She didn’t like the blatant scrutiny of her belongings. But of course, it was natural. He would want to look at what he was about to buy, and the furnishings were a major attraction in the deal.

“Like what you see?” she asked, trying to keep her voice polite.

The man turned. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her enter the room, for he looked surprised and a little embarrassed.

“Yes,” he muttered, “Beautiful piece.”

Then he suddenly stopped, checking his tongue. Ritika couldn’t help a wry smile from crossing her face. Of course he wouldn’t compliment it. How would he bargain if he did?

“Please,” she said, “Have a seat.”

The maid brought her a cup of tea, and her eyes met Ritika’s. They were wide and full of meaning. Something unexpected had happened. Ritika looked at the man, but he just smiled back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. She decided she didn’t like him. But she didn’t need to like him to sell him her house.

“I believe you have already discussed the details with my lawyer,” Ritika said bluntly. He looked back, surprised. Ritika supposed it was kind of a rude gesture- no pleasantries, no questions about his trip, just coming straight to the matter. But the matter was heart breaking, and she didn’t want to prolong it.

“Uhh... yeah,” he replied lamely, trying to quickly change to business mode, “I’ll be honest with you lady. I am genuinely interested in the deal. Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? But even though it’s a beautiful property, the price is a tad too steep. It is quite an old structure, and as far as I know, you don’t have many buyers. Not many people looking to shift to the countryside. It’s the metropolitan age.”

Yes. The metropolitan age. That was why she was selling her beautiful home. So that she could shift into some cramped apartment in the city. She scolded herself for her pessimism. She was depressed. She needed to trust her family’s advice.

The melancholy thoughts didn’t stop her from keeping her professional self active however, and she was so not going to part with her precious home for less than her estate advisor had quoted.

“That all may be the case,” she replied, “But you know as well as I do, that the price I have quoted is very reasonable for this property. It might be the metropolitan age, but it is also the age for inflation and drastic property price rise. I’m sorry Mr. Arora, but the price is not up for bargaining.”

He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket, and wrote a figure on a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table to her, and returned his pen to his pocket.

“Last price I can offer,” he said firmly.

It was slightly less than the asking price, but then she had expected a little bargaining. She could work with this. It was a reasonable price. She felt elated at the price the property was fetching, she would never have imagined it possible, and yet her heart sank, deep into the pit of her stomach. She was doing it, selling it off. It was a strange mix of feelings. She stared at the piece of paper a minute, and then looked up at the man.

“I believe you wanted to see the property?”

“Yes, please,” he replied enthusiastically, “That price is subject to the property being satisfactory. I would like to look around. Once satisfied, I will send in my lawyer and we can move on with the legalities.” 

Ritika nodded her consent, and rose from her seat. He took a last sip of his tea and stood up. They exited the room, and Ritika found her man-servant Ravi waiting outside, as instructed. She sent him off with Mr. Arora, with instructions to show him around the house and the grounds. As they left, Ritika stared at the back of the undeserving man who was going to buy her house. He didn’t appreciate the worth of the place. It was priceless. She looked back in the sitting room, at the crockery on the table missing a cup and plate. It brought back memories of the previous days, memories of that cup lying on her bedroom floor, tea spilled, and she decided with a shiver, that none of it mattered, she needed to move out.