I’m house-hunting for Celine, a recent divorcee. Her life has been uprooted by a marital storm: her staggeringly wealthy husband went off with a woman half his age. A woman Celine introduced him to. A woman Celine met at a spiritual retreat. As a friend of mine said to me on hearing the story, “Never go to a retreat or try and be too thin — it ruins everything.”
The Chelsea mansion that husband and wife shared is now up for sale at an eye-watering £30 million. Off-market, of course. So Celine certainly has a healthy budget and she’s been property-prowling with me. She wants to be in a new area and explore a new life. She’s embracing change after over 30 years with her husband and having raised three children with him. They’ve now all flown the multimillion-pound nest. It’s not what Celine wanted or planned, but life is insisting she move on to pastures new.
We’ve honed in on a probate-sale flat that hasn’t been lived in for six years. The four heirs have been wrangling over strategy for so long — whether or not to give it a lick of paint or even stage it for viewings, not to mention which agent to settle on out of the several they’ve met with and interrogated — that the asset has depreciated significantly. It’s now a financial burden as the family continue paying for upkeep.
It’s a complete gut-and-refurbish job, but it could be spectacular. High ceilings, amazing light, views (from its ideal location in Hampstead) over the heath to the city beyond.
I can well imagine the glow draining from Celine’s radiant complexion when her interior designer gives costs and timelines. Which would be a shame on multiple fronts, not least as it would counteract whatever tweakments she’s been having since the separation. She’s looking better than ever, definitely in defiance mode rather than a mournful one.
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I’m reporting my admiration for Celine to the office when John, our resident thespian-cum-estate agent, mentions the choir he sings with and tells the story of a choir friend whose life was saved by singing after his divorce. John’s not one for understatement.
He runs through the musical theatre showstoppers they’ve performed, from Sondheim and Lloyd Webber to Lin-Manuel Miranda.
“I’m not getting divorced, but your choir sounds joyous,” I say.
“Come along,” John offers, “and bring Celine.”
“I’d love to, there’s just one problem: I can’t sing.”
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“Don’t be silly, everyone can sing, and there’s no audition.”
So on Monday evening Celine and I find ourselves in a west London church. One Day More from Les Misérables is the song of choice. I attempt it with gusto. At one point John leans over and whispers into my ear: “Can you read music?”
“No, I can’t. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.”
I wonder.
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We get to the rousing finale:
“Tomorrow we’ll discover
What our God in Heaven has in store
One more dawn
One more day
One day more.”
I give it everything I have.
“You sang one line in tune,” John says.
I beam.
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“But you weren’t singing the tenors’ part,” he adds. I’m happy that I managed to get any part in tune at all.
Celine, by contrast, has the voice of an angel and harmonised with the sopranos to perfection.
The next day we go back to the Hampstead flat. Its east-facing kitchen is flooded with light and the bare floors and high-vaulted ceiling resemble a stage.
Celine swings around, arms akimbo.
“This is it,” she says. “I’ve felt so uplifted since yesterday.”
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So there’s a death, a divorce and the power of music all involved in this house hunt.
We’ve put in an offer … and I’ve got a recommendation from John for a vocal coach who trains actors how to sing. I may not be joining the choir just yet, but I want to be ready for their Christmas concert. Who knows, Celine and I could take solo roles.
All hail new dawns.
The Secret Agent is the author of Highly Desirable: Tales of London’s Super-Prime Property (Headline £22). Buy from timesbookshop.co.uk or call 020 3176 2935. Discount for Times+ members
