The star, his lawyers, his wife and their house

Story © by The Sunday Times 2005

Celebrity owners may give a property kudos. But when Afsun Smith bought Kiefer Sutherland's house, she found stars can be the sellers from hell

Kelly Sutherland is on the line. She is threatening to call the whole deal off if she doesn't get her cheque now,” said Mrs Kiefer Sutherland's lawyer over the phone.

My husband and I groaned, though we weren't surprised. It had never been easy dealing with Kiefer Sutherland and his wife Kelly on our 2003 purchase of their Toronto home, so we weren't surprised by this latest piece of news. The only problem was that we didn't want the deal to be called off because the star of the television series 24 and Kelly, a former model, were selling what amounted to our dream house.

However, had we known before we started what extra layers of hassle and frustration buying a house from a celebrity was going to involve, perhaps we might have decided to seek our dream at a different address.

My husband and I, both Canadians working in London, decided to buy a house in Toronto with a view to returning home at the end of our UK work visa.

I viewed more than 30 properties, all disappointments. But walking into the Sutherland home I knew, despite the very strange vibes, that my search was over.

Viewing their home was akin to viewing a show home in a new development. Certainly, smart sellers will try to keep their home tidy during viewings, but everything was picture-perfect to the point of surrealism. It was hard not to notice the shiny, happy photos of Kelly Sutherland with her kids and dogs — all staged like a Ralph Lauren ad. Here she is in hunter's red on a chestnut gelding taking a jump; there she is with the dogs and kids by the lake, ear-to-ear grins; and more smiles on the ski hills.

Oh, and there were no photos of Kiefer. Just by noticing this, I felt like an intruder, a peeping Tom invading their privacy and said so to the estate agent, who quickly admonished me: “Oh, please, you are viewing a home, so get on and view.”

The gigantic ladies' walk-in closet was filled with that season's Gucci and Prada, with dozens of Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos perfectly lined up. I wondered how my H&M or Topshop garments would look in their stead. Oddly, there were no clothes in the man's walk-in closet.

It looked like the beautiful couches and chairs had never been sat in, and there was nary a scratch on the kitchen counter, to the point where I wondered if anybody had ever cooked a meal.

The home was too tidy for a family with small boys and hairy dogs. There were no toys, no tell-tale greasy fingerprints. In short, it had all the furnishings but it didn't have a soul.

“It is fake,” whispered the starstruck agent to me, as she chattered excitedly about how Kiefer had been recently flown into Toronto on a private jet from Las Vegas by his good friends the Rolling Stones, and how they had thrown legendary parties in this house. “It's obviously staged to make it seem like a perfect house. But you have to strip everything away and see if it works for you.”

In the end, it did work. Located in Toronto's best neighbourhood, on a street where houses sell for between £900,000 and £2.2m, it was a 4,000sq ft six-bed, four-bathroom house with oak beams, wood floors, a dream kitchen and sumptuous bathrooms. All of this — and only slightly higher than our budget.

We gritted our teeth in anticipation of a tough negotiation, especially since we were warned in advance that the Sutherlands were inflexible on price. They were looking for 100% of the asking price — unheard of in the property market. They also refused, for unknown reasons, the obvious tactic — which was to raise the price of the house so that any negotiation would come down to their desired price, a point that agents found odd and frustrating.

It was no wonder the house was on the market for months. It had dozens of viewings, but mostly by the terminally curious with time to waste. The Sutherlands did little to prevent this from happening, as they kept their name very publicly on the listing — a fact that shocked me. “Don't celebrities want to maintain a certain level of discretion?” I asked the agent.

“One would think so, but in this case, they think that adding their name to the listing will draw attention to the house, which it does,” she said, adding with a bit of a snort, “but the offers aren't exactly rolling in.”

Putting a celebrity name on a listing is not unusual in Britain either, says Kit Allen, an estate agent at Savills's Kensington office: “Celebrities are useful in selling a home because they are good with PR, mostly because they are used to being in the public eye. For example, Peter Bowles of To the Manor Born was struggling to sell his property, but when he agreed to talk about it publicly it sold within 24 hours.”

Despite being slightly disgusted that so many rubberneckers had viewed what was potentially my future home, we placed a bid 15% lower than the asking price. But the agents were right. The offer was refused and, disappointed, we returned to London without a Toronto home.

Some five weeks later, the agent called. It seemed like the Sutherlands had a change of heart. “Is your offer still on?” “Yes, but we can't go a penny above our original offer,” we countered, not wanting to raise our own hopes.

“That's fine,” came the shocking reply. “And by the way, would you be interested in the furniture?” In short order, we were the proud owners of a beautiful house, plus most of the custom-made furniture at a giveaway price.

It was an astonishing deal and we later realised that the Sutherlands were having a fire sale: the announcement of their divorce was made public shortly afterwards, and it seemed that when I had viewed the house, Kiefer had recently moved out. At that point I felt sorry for them, because I knew that the erratic behaviour and new-found willingness to negotiate was the result of an impending divorce.

But even though I had some sympathy, this latest chapter to the saga was ridiculous: when we agreed to buy the furniture, all parties agreed to a cheque and it was duly couriered to Kelly Sutherland's lawyers, with a tracking number provided to all involved.

But not even 12 hours after it was sent from London, she threatened to call off the deal unless that cheque was received now . Her rising panic was felt by all — even her lawyer apologised to us for her unstable behaviour. In the end, her lawyers calmed her down and the deal was done with, thankfully, no further blips.

Our run-in with celebrity homes did not end there. Soon after, our search for a rental property in London started in earnest as our two-bedroom apartment in Holland Park was too small for our expanding family.

Perhaps our mistake was looking in Notting Hill, an area chock-a-block with celebs, where almost every viewing was preceded by some celebrity name-dropping:

“Valentino has exquisite taste, and he lives on this street.”

“If you rent this place, you will be able to look into Richard Branson's car park!” “This is George Michael's home — isn't it stylish?” “Simon Cowell will be your neighbour.”

And so it went. I realise it is a celebrity-driven society on both sides of the Atlantic, but these people mean nothing to me, so why is it such a big selling point? Allen explains: “You are establishing the credibility of that street or home by saying that somebody with incredible fame, wealth or success has chosen the same as you. And agents can easily use celebrity names because they are in the public domain and, as such, are not breaching confidences.”

But Charlie Ellingworth of Property Vision, which finds homes for wealthy buyers, has a simpler and perhaps more cynical take: “It's just the agent flattering the potential buyer and stroking their ego. If they tell you Elton John lives down the street, you become rich or famous by association.”

Ellingworth, who has seen his fair share of celebrity homes, adds: “Some homes have celebrity longevity. Ava Gardner used to live on Ennismore Gardens and 15 years after her death it is still known as the Ava Gardner home. The same for Noel Gallagher's home in Primrose Hill. Although it has changed hands over the years, it is still known as Supernova Heights.”

But is that legacy now haunting me? Back in Toronto, organising our new house, an acquaintance I hadn't seen in years dropped by. Over coffee, she confessed: “This house is famous — all those parties! My best friend viewed it last month even though it was way out of her price range. She just wanted to see how the celebrities lived and she hasn't stopped talking about it.”

She settled back into what was once Kelly Sutherland's sofa and patted the cushion with satisfaction: “I can't believe I am actually here.”

I groaned. Neither could I.