Dave salivates, smelling money.
As I stare sideways at Tristan, I attempt to decipher his unreadable expression.
“Here we are,” Dave announces dramatically. “The nineteenth floor.”
Dave leads us down the corridor to the door at the end. “It’s the best one on the floor. You’ll see why.” He winks conspiratorially and flashes a white card across the door, like in hotels.
We step inside a brilliant white apartment with panoramic views overlooking the Thames. And I mean everything is white, the floor, the walls, the sofa, all the furnishings. Like a beautiful surgery waiting room with sleek, stylish Deco.
“Whoa!” Megan and I shout simultaneously.
“Welcome to the ultimate smart home,” Dave declares, making exaggerated sweeping hand gestures. “Everything is sound-controlled or app-controlled based on your preference-heating, lighting, doors, air-con, even the underfloor heating.” He pauses for effect.
“There’s a connected home sound system in all rooms, even the bathroom. Concealed speakers with voice control, obviously.”
“That’s good.” Tristan nods approvingly. “Hopefully, it will understand the Welsh accent.” He winks at me.
“Tristan,” I start the second Dave is out of earshot, “are you moving in here? I don’t understand why we’re here.”
“It’s yours,” he announces. “If you like it.” I blink wildly as my brain misfires. “Mine?” “We’ll take it!” Megan shrieks.
“I mean as a rental, not to own,” he adds quickly. “There are three bedrooms, so you and Megan have a bedroom each plus a guest room when you want someone else to stay. It means your mum can visit.”
Before I can react, Megan does a victory dance beside me.
“Thank you, Tristan!” she screams, flinging her arms around his neck.
“Megan and I can’t afford this place,” I say in a low, strained voice so Dave can’t hear me.
“Don’t worry, it’s covered.” He dismisses me in an authoritative tone like he’s telling off an employee.
Maybe he is.
What?
“It’s covered?” I repeat. “Cool it, Megan! We are not moving in here!”
She’s bouncing around like a refuge dog who has found a new home. “Speak for yourself.”
“Tristan,” I say in a controlled tone as Dave’s fancy shoes click out of the kitchen. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘covered’ but you’re mistaken.”
The light in Tristan’s eyes dies. “Let’s just finish the tour first. Just hear him out.” His voice is hard.
I cross my arms across my chest as we follow Dave into the kitchen. I feel more uncomfortable by the minute. What is Tristan proposing exactly? That Megan and I live here rent-free? I’d be a gold digger.
“The smart fridge!” Dave gestures to the white fridge. “There are cameras inside that send pictures to your smartphone, allowing you to see what’s inside your fridge from anywhere. So, when you’re in the supermarket, just have a look inside the fridge, and you know what to top up. Simple!”
“Thank God we don’t have it in our house.” I shudder. “Only scientists would want to watch that video.”
He opens the fridge, pointing to an appliance at the top. There’s more?
“The food sniffer is your own electronic nose. It also connects to your smartphone and tells you how fresh your food items are.”
The tour continues into the bathroom. “In Nine Elms luxury living, your bathroom is as smart as the rest of your home,” Dave explains. “The showerhead has built-in Bluetooth speakers, motionactivated night lights and a smart toilet with automated flushing and built-in cleansing technology.” It’s every IBD sufferer’s wildest dream.
“This really is a first-world apartment,” I marvel. “I’m wondering how I survived for so long.” “Why are there two toilets in the bathroom?” Megan asks. “In what situation would you need that? Is this for your IBD?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a bidet.”
“This is off the charts BDE,” she says in a low voice. Thankfully, the acronym of Big Dick Energy washes over Tristan and Dave.
“Now for the bedrooms.” Dave winks at Tristan conspiratorially, directing us into one of the bedrooms. It’s white.
“We don’t want the beds supplied,” Tristan says firmly. “We’ll secure our own.” “And will both ladies be staying in the apartment?” Dave asks.
“Yes,” Megan and Tristan both say.
“That’s the tour.” Dave beams. “It speaks for itself, really. Do you require any other apartments,
Mr. Kane?”
My eyes widen. Oh my God. Dave thinks we’re part of a harem of Kane women holed up in various apartments across London.
“Not for the time being,” Tristan replies.
What the hell does that mean? Is there a harem?
“Tristan.” I smile politely for the sake of Dave. “The apartment is lovely, certainly the most intelligent apartment I’ve ever been in, but Megan and I aren’t looking right now.”
“Don’t be silly,” he says, scoffing. “You can’t stay in that house. See sense.”
“See sense, Elly!” Megan yelps behind me. “For the love of God, see sense!”
My nostrils flare. “You’re treating me like a child, Tristan. You can’t railroad me into moving.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Let’s not do this here,” he grinds out. “Don’t be rash, Elly.”
“I’m not being rash,” I say through equally gritted teeth. “Daddy,” I add with a growl. “You never consulted me on this before you sprung it on me. This is a huge deal.”
“Is it the area?” he asks, bewildered. “I was considering putting you in one of my apartments that we rent out in Mayfair, but I thought Battersea would be better for your age group.”
“Putting me…? It’s not the flat or the area, Tristan,” I say with forced calm. “I’m not accepting free rent from you…”
“Can you give us a minute?” Tristan says, turning to Dave. Dave nods and retreats into the kitchen.
“Elly!” Megan wails. “Don’t be stupid. Take the goddamn flat. I’m sick of keeping all our baked goods in my bedroom.”
My scowl deepens. “You want me to take this flat even though it would make me some sort of golddigging freeloader? You would be a freeloader too, you know.”