Marion told the agent to give them some privacy so they could talk. But once the short man was out of range, she paced while Max waited.
She had been top of her class, a position she wrestled from a male student who not only found her presence in the school annoying, but her ambition and fierce competitiveness vulgar. Damon Lewis, principal of DLA, attended her final-year project presentation; he took her aside afterwards and rookie architect Marion had the heady sensation of never having applied for a job, never having sat for an interview. It pained her, though, on the first day of work, to see snot-nosed Harry Cumfred, her long-time adversary from architecture school. Initially they were set to work together, under various project architects, until Cumfred was given his own project – a bakery in the east city had burned down, a heritage job that would win him an award and a nod from Council.
Marion boiled for almost a year until she was finally given the opportunity to design her first house. It was high-profile. DLA’s reputation had been built on the quality of their residential work. The new clients were a Norwegian couple, not much English but fluent in French. Marion had taken French in her matriculation exams and aced it – she was given the job, with Cumfred glowering in the background. Marion, however, made one mistake. In her haste to prove herself she put everything she had into the design. She tucked features into the details that in truth she should have saved for her own home. By the time she’d noticed her error, the house was done; DLA could not praise her enough and the clients loved it.
The house was reviewed in one of the journals of the day. And it was during the short interview that the sense of horror began to come over Marion. Something like giving a gift to a friend and only then realising you actually wanted it for yourself, but of course not that, something much much bigger with a lot more at stake. The more congratulations and accolades the house received, the deeper that feeling had sunk.
Marion paced; unable to help herself, she looked across the low wall at the other property. No. 10 was larger than No. 12. It had a grander forecourt, while No. 12’s front door was but steps away from the front gate. Next door had subtle character (the best kind) made all the more charming by a small koi pond at the bottom of the sloping back garden. It had an oak, and hung from one of its strong branches was a swing. It was one of the largest houses in the Katterijn Estate. It stood on ground where the great manor house would have stood when the Estate was still an Estate. Max took a call from his business partner about a deal they were closing.
‘Alright,’ Marion said.
She stopped pacing and walked to the agent, who was leaning against the side of his car smoking a cigarette.
Marion and Max moved into their home within a month. By Christmas Marion was with child. She’d started her own firm with none other than Harry Cumfred. He’d suggested the alliance; we’re the best there is, he’d said, and she’d found she couldn’t disagree. She worked until the day before the birth and, leaving the child with the nanny, was back at work within a week. Her firm, importantly stationed on Loop Street, flourished, expanding to almost thirty employees including one new partner, two associates, four project architects, an army of draughtspeople and administrative staff. She brought in most of the residential work; Cumfred used his old-boy network for the larger schemes he believed would make them formidable. He teased her about her houses, although her clients were millionaires, the jobs far from paltry. Their families sometimes socialised – Cumfred had married and they’d had twins – but Marion never quite believed in his friendship. She’d gone into business with him because working together was the best way for her to keep an eye on him. She suspected he had done the same.
Marion grew another bump, disappeared for a week or so, but for the most part things stayed the same. She went through periods of ignoring No. 10. And at other times the house consumed her.