Chapter 3 C3: Home Sweet, New Home

As soon as we stopped in front of a Victorian house, I saw an old lady, standing behind the door with a grocery bag in her hand. I quickly climbed out of the car and jogged quickly in her direction. I caught up to her before she was about to close her door in my face.

"Mrs. Jones? Wait!"

Sliding my foot between the door, the old lady jumped backward. Holding her heaving chest, I smiled at her apologetically.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you Mrs. Jones? The landlady?"

Recovering from my sudden appearance, she perked her thick-lens eyeglasses and scrutinized me from head to toe.

"Who are you, young dearie?" Still holding the door, she refused to open it for me. I removed my foot.

"I'm Fleur Williams..." Yes, I preferred to use my mother's middle name instead of using my father's last name. I hated being a Dawson ".... I was the one who called you yesterday about me renting one of the flat units."

Her wrinkled face abruptly lit up, her mouth gaping. "Oh, it's you, dear."

"Yes, Mrs. Jones. I'm sorry I was late from the time you told me to show up. An accident happened on our way here."

Her mouth gaped.

"Is that so?" an undeniable surge of empathy in her voice. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes, Mrs. Jones. I actually wasn't the one who-"

Opening the door, she held my hand. "You must be exhausted."

What a sweet old lady.

I awkwardly smiled. "Quite so, but we're fine. Really."

She sneaked out from behind me, and then a naughty smile formed on her thin lips. "Is that your husband?"

I looked back at where she was pointing at. Simon was busy standing against the hood of his car while wandering his eyes around the area. By the looks of him, he's not impressed by the neighborhood.

"Oh, no. He's just a friend. He insisted on helping me with my stuff and moving here. Well, he won't be living with me, just to clarify that part."

She nodded slowly. There was a bit of...disappointment?

What's with this old lady? Wasn't she convinced?

"Okay. Your flat is right next to my house. Over there." She said, pointing to the left side of her house. An old and tall Victorian-styled red brick building with ornate balconies.

Hmm...looks quite acceptable and comfy. Much better than my previous flat in Wales.

"Wait here, my dear. I will get my keys. Just a moment."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

With a sweet smile, the old lady headed inside while I waited patiently on her porch. Like Simon, I also started to wander my eyes around the place until I saw him walk towards me and stand beside me.

"So, what do you think about Gloucester Place?" I asked him brightly, grinning at him.

"Quite nice, but I doubt about the people. Considering the crime ra-"

"Sshh. Just shh." Raising a finger in front of his face. "You're being paranoid. There's no such place in the world that has a zero crime rate."

"Exactly. But at least other places have less than a percent crime rate. Did you see the latest news about three people who were stabbed by phone snatchers?"

"No."

"See? That's why I'm worried about you."

My eyes narrowed. "You're worried about me just because I'm not watching or reading the latest news?"

He rolled his eyes. "No. I'm worried because I don't know what will happen to you for the next few hours when I leave. What if-"

I raised my palm, telling him to stop. I sent him a warm smile. "We talked about these many times before. I thought you already agreed."

"You forced me to agree."

"No, I didn't." My eyebrows were hoisted, and then I squinted at him.

"Yes, you did." He insisted.

"N-"

"Here's the key. Please follow me, Miss....what's your name again dearie?"

Glancing at Mrs. Jones holding a bundle of keys in her hand, I smiled sweetly. "Fleur Williams and this is my best friend, Simon Davies."

The old lady's face beamed at Simon, making me giggle a bit. I sent him a mischievous grin which he snorted in response. Good thing, Mrs. Jones has poor eyesight even though she wears thick glasses.

"Oh, yes. Such a fine man. Very gentleman to accompany this lovely girl and help her with her stuff." Extending her timeworn hand to him. "I'm Ethel Jones. Everybody calls me simply, Mrs. Jones."

Simon gave her a small smile and accepted her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones."

"The pleasure is mine, young man. Now, where were we?"

"Uhmm.. You're going to show me my flat."

"Oh, yes dear. Come along, please." Walking past us, we followed her silently though I knew Simon wanted to argue with me again about me moving to London. He sent me a sideway glare.

Baker Street is a famous street in London's Marylebone district. It's best known as the address of the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes, who lived at 221B Baker Street with his trusty friend Dr. Watson. The Sherlock Holmes Museum is located there, offering fans a chance to explore exhibits related to the famous sleuth. The street itself is bustling with activity, featuring a mix of historic and modern buildings. It's also home to the London Beatles Store and several significant landmarks. Baker Street tube station, one of the oldest in the world, serves the area and makes it easily accessible.

The key's rustling noise echoed through the cold, wet, and one of the oldest streets of London. After a long moment of waiting behind Mrs. Jones, the door creaked open.

"Come in. Let me show you around before you put your stuff inside." She sluggishly walked inside.

I peeked at Simon and I saw him mumbling to himself, which I found funny. As soon as our eyes met, he rolled his eyes again in annoyance and went back to mumbling.

Giggling, I stopped in my tracks and left Mrs. Jones talking to herself. I clung my arms around his arm and pulled him gently towards the entrance. He pulled back his arm, but I tightened my grip while grinning.

"I will smack you in the head later." He grumbled under his breath.

I leaned sideways towards his ear. "And I will do the same thing to you."

He sent me a menacing look and I stuck out my tongue as a response.

Mrs. Jones was saying something in front of us that I couldn't make out since her voice was so low, so we continued walking until we reached the bottom of a staircase. She made a halt in the middle of the stairs and looked back at us.

"Your flat will be on the third floor. My daughter Amy stays on the second floor. I hope you two will get along. She's also your age. She'll be here any moment. Her work hours were done." She said with a beaming expression on her face.

Of course, we will.

Still clinging to Simon's arm, we sluggishly ascended the stairs right behind Mrs. Jones.

Reaching the third floor, Mrs. Jones turned to us. "And here's your flat. Please come in."

She opened the door for us and, believe me, this place is nice. I couldn't suppress my smile and that's the moment I released Simon's arm, then I walked in.

Imagine an old London apartment that retains its vintage charm while being infused with modern touches. With its high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings and a sense of history in every corner. The wooden floorboards creak gently underfoot, carrying the echoes of our footsteps.

Soft, natural light filters through the tall, sashed windows, casting a warm glow on the weathered brick fireplace that serves as the room's focal point. Hardwood floors, polished to a gentle shine, maintain their original character with visible grains and knots. The fireplace, though unused, stands as a statement piece, now surrounded by sleek, minimalist furniture. A plush, contemporary sofa and a glass coffee table sit atop a colorful Persian rug, creating a cozy yet stylish living area. A hodgepodge of antique furniture fills the space.

My heart filled with awe and excitement. This place is absolutely relaxing.

Amazing.

Bookshelves, crammed with a mix of classic literature and modern bestsellers, line one wall, while the opposite wall features framed artwork-both vintage prints and contemporary pieces. Industrial-style lighting fixtures, with exposed bulbs, hang from the ceiling, adding a trendy touch to the space. Ornate picture frames and vintage mirrors dot the walls, reflecting the light and adding depth to the cozy, slightly cluttered environment.

"My daughter Amy designed the interior. She wanted to preserve the historical features inside and, at the same time, a touch of modern design." Mrs. Jones stated.

"She's incredible. Where is she?"

"She's out of town on a condo project in a newly opened luxurious hotel in Knightsbridge."

I nodded in slow motion and smiled, then I continued wandering around.

Houseplants and greenery bring life to the room, their vibrant colors contrasting against the muted tones of the decor. The kitchen, though compact, is equipped with the latest appliances, seamlessly blending with the apartment's historical elements. The blend of history and modernity creates a unique ambiance, where every corner feels thoughtfully curated.

The bedroom is simple but comfortable, with clever storage solutions to keep things tidy. The bathroom is small but functional, often with a walk-in shower and up-to-date fixtures. Even in a budget flat, you can expect some modern conveniences like a washer-dryer combo or a small dishwasher. It's all about maximizing space and smart design, so a £1,500 budget, one-bedroom flat per month is enough.

"I like it, Mrs. Jones. This place is cozy."

"Is this your first time here in the City of London?"

I smiled softly. "Uhm, technically yes."

"From which city are you, if I may ask?"

"I'm from Seattle, Washington. That's in America." I grinned at the old homeowner.

Her surprised look was amusing.

"Indeed, dearie? So, that explains your accent. It's good." My smile widened, then I glanced at Simon who was standing against the doorframe of the bedroom. His arms crossed over his chest. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Is he also from America?" she curiously asked. She was pointing at Simon.

"No, he's from Leeds here in England. That's where we met."

She sent us a mischievous grin which I really found amusing.

This old lady was really something and I knew what was behind those smiles. I chuckled silently.