There's No Place Like The City

When London born and bred, career girl, Rachel, goes on a trip to the country in a bid to impress the boss and gain the much-wanted promotion she has been waiting for, she is surprised to find how much she has been restricted by city life, and finds herself reverting back to her immature, young self after meeting a strapping young bakers son who sweeps her off her feet .

The train picked up its pace and sped past the abundance of city slickers, tall sky scrapers and heavy traffic, towards the leafier isolated and unspoiled treasures of the countryside. Or at least thats how Rachels boss had 'sold' it too her when his agent had suddenly took off to New Zealand for a family funeral, with no prior warning. Initially, Rachel had thrown herself at the chance to take the place of the current sales agent as an attempt to impress the boss when the another agents position would open up in 3 months, but she soon regretted her eagerness when she was told what it involved.

She had woken at 5 and went through her usual ritual of shower and moisturizing before primping and perfecting her stylish yet professional up-do, applying neutral but complimenting make-up and downstairs for her tall black coffee and bagel, before donning a cream A-line skirt, matching fitted jacket and chocolate-coloured shirt. She picked up her suitcase and stuffed numerous folders of paper, a handful of pens, a packet of imperial mints and laptop into her day bag and put on her 3 inch 'work heels' before rushing out to catch the train.

Now she was just 15 minutes away from her arrival into the broad Yorkshire Peak District - no coffee shop, no midday retail therapy and definitley no James. James was a smart, proper, good example of a working male, who donned a smart grey suit, complimenting his perfect blue eyes and jet black hair. He worked in Finance and she in sales, but her booth was less than 10 feet from where he was based giving her the perfect opportunity for long flirtatious stares. Rachel thought of him as she sped past endless, rolling meadows. She thought of her possible promotion. It would mean her selling properties permanently, restoring them to their best before persuading buyers with deep pockets to shell out hundreds of thousands of pounds, giving her a hefty wage packet on a very juice raise in her commission percentage.

She smiled to herself, this opportunity was a handsome one, and also a potential goldmine. As a junior, she had sales amounting to a quarter of a million at best. But the market was slim for the type of properties she was selling. It usually consisted of run down commercial properties, with no chance of renovation or ex-local authority properties in what can only be described as the slums. Not exactly Londons prime property diamonds. But it was only temporary for she was gonna get that promotion whatever it took.

Rachel stepped off the platform and gasped at how different it was. The sheer size of everything to start with. Smaller houses, smaller cars, smaller coffees. But what really caught Rachels eye was a small lane leading up to a row of pretty Georgian houses. They weres gems. Real hidden treasures. Nothing like she'd ever had the pleasure of passing in London. She carried on down the lane which opened up onto a cobbled street and a large sign announcing the little villages proud name of Bakewell. It was quaint and very fitting to its surroundings. Rachel saw a small local cafe offering her next fixture of coffee. A mature woman was sweeping the outside, humming a sweet tune and smiling to herself. She looked up and caught Rachels eye. Her smile turned into a toothy grin and she bellowed in her rough, broad, northern accent

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing, a bit dressed up for round our sorts"

Rachel blushed and looked at the sign above the cafe door displaying the words 'Olde Little Pudding Shop' and said

"I could murder a coffee if your open?"

Rachel had got used to putting on a polite voice for strangers, particularly possible buyers, but in this situation she wasn't trying hard, the cafe owner reminded her of her late nan who also lived in the countryside. A wave of nostalgia took over Rachel and for a second she just stood their with a faint smile on her face.

She sat in the little cafe sipping a liquid that had been called coffee on the menu but resembled something more like coffee flavoured milk. The cafe owner stood behind the counter squinting at something she had wrote down only minutes before, yet looking puzzled. Although she had been pleasantly surprised at how comfortable she had felt coming into this village, she still yearned for the dirty air of the city and the smell of coffee that bit the air every morning. It wasn't quite 9 yet, and Rachel didn't have to view the property til half past. But something told her that finding a house amongst the clutter of Yorkshire would be more difficult than she had originally anticipated.

The End

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