The Perfect House

Chapter 1: finding the house

"That place is perfect. Dammit, we've got no hope of finding anything else even remotely as good."

"Nah, not a chance."

"And it's fully furnished as well, that will save us a lot of hassle."

"Yeah, that's right, it will."

"Stuff it, what did that woman say again, Harold?"

It was a Saturday morning: four young men, all from well-to-do families were sitting around a table in a coffee shop. They'd been friends for years and having recently graduated from high school were preparing to go off to Calmont University together.

Commuting from their homes was not a practical option and, being used to living well, low-budget university accommodation wasn't for them. They were looking for a house to share, but not just some dump, they wanted a classy place.

They had found the ideal house: double storey, four large bedrooms, two with en-suites, a huge open living area, good kitchen, pool and so on; and all within walking distance of the uni. The rent was high, but that didn't matter, their parents would pay.

But there was a problem . . .

Harold sighed and repeated what he had already told them, "The property management woman, Mrs Castell, said that the owners wanted one or two couples as tenants and would not accept four boys. She said that she might be able to get them to be a bit flexible, but four boys, no way."

"Shit."

"Hell, we're not going to trash the joint. We're not a bunch of yobbos, we'll look after it."

"Maybe if we offered to put up a bigger bond?"

"I tried that," Harold responded dismissively, "no go."

"What about we see if one or more of our parents will buy the place?"

"Asked about that too; it's not for sale. The owners are interstate, but plan to return in five years and move back into the house."

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

Harold Julian Vandon was a tallish, studious-looking young man, possibly the smartest of the four and usually the organiser and spokesperson. He sank into thought as gloom settled around the table, and then he started to look searchingly at his friends. He asked, "Do you guys think that Mrs Castell got a good look at all of us?"

"What are you on about, Harold?" from Preston Stanmore Gemell, a well-built young man, dark-complexioned with strong beard growth; already a very handsome fellow.

"She could hardly miss me." Roberto Grantham Connelly, the tallest and biggest of them, somewhat overweight and with a loud bold manner. He was known by the unappealing nickname of 'Bobba' to his friends.

"Yes, but why do you ask, Harold?" Florian Leighton Wensley, usually called Flo or Flor. Although not keen on either diminutive, he preferred the latter. He was the youngest and smallest of the four, a lightly built lad with rather dainty good looks.

Harold was still gazing at them, and it was Preston who slowly and thoughtfully answered the question he had asked. "We all drove to the house in the one car, Bobba's big American heap, and we sat in the car waiting for Mrs Castell. She arrived a few minutes later and as soon as she got out of her car, she took a phone call. She tossed the keys to you, Harold, saying, 'I have to take this call, you start having a look'. She was still on her phone when we eventually came back out."

"I don't think she looked at me at all," Florian put in.

"Nor me," Preston added.

Bobba burst out with, "Oh, Pres, you must have been shattered, man, a female not giving you the once over . . ."

They had a laugh, but it didn't really lighten the mood.

Preston resumed with his observations, "When we came out of the house, we three just walked across and got back in the car - we were all pretty excited I might say - while you, Harold, went over to deal with Mrs Castell."