Paradise Fields (18 page)

Consultant? That must be what Jake was doing here. But why?

‘What do we want Ja— a consultant for? I thought we were discussing losing our income from the farmers' markets? Mind you, I'm cautiously optimistic about finding a new venue, provided we can comply with the regulations.' As if Nel weren't busy enough, she had been researching possible new sites and now had a shortlist: none was as appealing as Paradise Fields though. ‘So why do you think they've got – a – consultant in?'

‘Perhaps he's going to tell us how to maximise our assets.'

‘I don't think so! He's the Hunstantons' solicitor! I just met him outside,' she added. Nel felt deeply depressed. Why was he here, appearing in every aspect of her life, like a dark, desperately attractive nemesis, preventing her from functioning normally? She suppressed a sigh. She would find out soon enough.

Vivian and Jake came in together. They were both laughing. For a split second, Nel knew what jealousy was as she saw her best friend, younger and infinitely more gorgeous than she had ever been, sharing a joke with a man, who, even while she had been grinding cake into his shirt, she wanted with every part of her.

Nel fiddled with the papers in front of her. If Jake and Vivian wanted each other, there was nothing she could do about it. Viv might hold back if Nel asked her to, but what would be the point? Jake would never look at Nel, now he had seen Vivian, who was, she thought sadly, looking particularly lovely today.

Much to Nel's huge relief, they couldn't sit next to each other, because the chairman, Chris Mowbray, a middle-aged man who had once been Big in the City, but had taken early retirement so he could be Big in Good Works, got up to greet Jake in what seemed to Nel to be a rather obsequious way.

Nel and Vivian had never liked Chris Mowbray much. As soon as he had arrived in the town he had got himself onto every committee and had become chair of this one extremely quickly. The trouble was, they had said at the time, it wasn't easy to find people to take on such positions, so that anyone who was willing was instantly voted for.

Now, he ushered Jake into the chair next to his. Nel could see him murmuring but couldn't hear what. Jake caught Nel's eye and gave her a sort of half-grin. It could have meant ‘sorry' again.

Nel looked down at her papers to hide her own grin of response. It was too soon to forgive him, but however smug Jake might be, however much he was fawned upon by the other committee members (who obviously
were a bit surprised to see him without a tie, but with a lot of greasy spots on his shirt and suit), there was no getting away from the fact that he looked like he'd been in a food fight. Which of course he had.

‘Are we all here?' said the chairman. ‘I think we'll make a start. Can you sign the book as it goes round?'

Nel's neighbour passed the little hard-backed notebook to her and she signed it, noting as she did so that there was still cake under her nails.

‘Now, this is an extraordinary meeting, have we all got our financial reports with us?'

Nel realised she had forgotten hers. She had been too preoccupied with getting the cake into the car to pick them up off the kitchen table. Her neighbour put her own report where Nel could see it.

‘Apologies for absence? Only Michael and Cynthia? No one's heard from anyone else?'

Nel found a pen in her bag and began to doodle on her agenda. Could they not just cut to the chase and tell everyone what Jake the Cake was doing here? Thinking of this sobriquet cheered her up somewhat.

‘Before we begin, I should tell you why we have Mr Jake Demerand here.'

‘Yes,' said Nel. It came out rather loudly.

‘There was an unfortunate incident with Mrs Innes's cake,' said Jake, as if to explain Nel's rudeness. ‘A football accidentally landed on it.'

‘It wasn't my cake,' she said, still more loudly and more belligerently than she really intended. ‘It was the birthday cake for the hospice, for the party. Tomorrow.'

‘Oh dear. That is a shame.' Chris Mowbray looked down his nose at her. ‘Nel does make quite good cakes for the hospice and the amounts they raise, though
small, shouldn't be discounted. However, I'm sure you can knock another one up in no time.'

Nel's hackles rose instantly. He had somehow managed to imply that making cakes was all she did for the hospice. As for ‘knocking another one up in no time', she'd like to see him try!

‘Well, I didn't have an opportunity to see it before it was squashed by the football,' said Jake. ‘But I can vouch for its deliciousness.' He looked at Nel. ‘I inadvertently ate some.'

Nel added some thorns to the stem of the rose she was drawing, biting her lip. She was steaming with rage but also unable not to respond to Jake. Revenge was definitely better hard and hot and not cold and premeditated. Like sex, really.

Instantly the thought was formed, she blushed. Do not think about sex, she ordered herself severely. Do not! You are here for the hospice! He is the enemy! Anything that happened between you is over! Anyway, now he's met Vivian, he's not going to look at you. Except that he was looking at her, and she blushed even more hotly, in case he was reading her mind.

‘So,' she demanded, ‘why is he here? I mean, is it ethical to have Mr Demerand on the committee when he's acting for the Hunstanton Estate? He's hardly disinterested.'

‘Could I just explain—?'

Nel, who was usually very well behaved in committee meetings, found herself getting more outraged and more outrageous with every word the chairman spoke. ‘It's just not democratic, roping people onto the committee without consulting the rest of us, just because – because they want to ingratiate themselves into the community!
Surely we should be allowed to vote on who we are to work with?'

‘Nel! Could you please address your remarks through the chair!'

‘She has a point,' said Vivian. ‘
Mr Chairman
.'

Jake put up a hand. ‘Could I just explain? I'm here to represent my clients, to make sure their interests aren't jeopardised in any way. That OK with you, Mrs Innes?'

Nel blushed. He shouldn't have looked at her like that. It wasn't fair.

Chris Mowbray made the sort of gesture that told the committee that he never had been able to deal with women on a professional level. Nel noted it with a shudder. Chris had squeezed her rather too hard on more than one occasion while they were shuffling round the dance floor.

‘I don't know how your clients' interests could be jeopardised. They own Paradise Fields, land which enables us to raise huge funds for the hospice, and there's planning permission on it. What more do your clients want,
Mr Demerand
?'

Jake looked at Chris Mowbray, as if prompting him to speak.

The chairman cleared his throat and got to his feet. ‘I think all the members of the committee are familiar with the situation. Of course, it is a shame for the hospice that we can no longer use the fields . . .' He paused and sent a ghastly smile in Nel's direction. ‘But I'm sure your delicious cakes will go some way to making up the shortfall.'

Nel wanted to stalk out. She had never felt so patronised in her entire life. But she couldn't stalk out. She
needed to be here, to find out what was going to happen.

‘But we will be able to have our spring jamboree as usual?' said Vivian. ‘Nothing will have happened to the fields by then.'

‘That will, of course, be at the discretion of Mr and Mrs Hunstanton,' said Chris Mowbray, deferring to Jake with a bow.

‘Can you tell me what it is you mean, exactly?' asked Jake.

‘It's our twice-yearly fundraiser,' explained Nel's neighbour, Muriel. ‘We have two big do's a year, to do most of our consciousness-raising and fundraising. We have one in the spring and one in the autumn. It would be a great shame if we weren't allowed to use the fields this year.'

‘We can't presume to use the fields. They don't belong to us,' Chris reminded them.

‘We know that. Now,' muttered Nel, drawing furiously.

‘I'm not in a position to comment on whether Mr and Mrs Hunstanton will allow the fields to be used again—'

Nel put up her hand. ‘But Kerry Anne said we could use them! She told me.'

Jake regarded her sternly. ‘But I will assure them that it will be for the last time, and that the hospice needs to raise money,' said Jake.

‘We don't want any special favours,' said Chris.

‘Yes, we do!' said Viv. ‘We're a charity!'

Muriel put her hand up. ‘Mr Chairman? Can we just confirm: is it absolutely inevitable that the fields are to be built on? There's nothing we can do to stop it?'

‘I'm afraid so.' Chris Mowbray smiled in a way that made Nel suspect that, in fact, he was pleased. He wanted the fields to be built on. Why on earth was that?

‘Have you got any plans for us to look at?' asked Vivian. ‘So we know what's what?'

Chris shook his head sadly. ‘I'm afraid not—'

‘It's all right,' said Jake, ‘I have a set here.'

‘Oh,' blustered Chris. ‘I didn't realise they were ready. Well, by all means have a look at them, if you think they'll mean anything to you.' He picked them up, keeping them folded. ‘But I beg you, you ladies in particular, not to try any stunts, like lying down in front of the bulldozers.'

Nel at once winced and wondered – why was he using exactly the same expression Simon had used? But she felt too angry to cry, and too miserable to spend much time wondering. It was just an expression, after all. Was this the end of her campaign? Was there no way to save the fields?

‘Can we see the plans?' demanded Vivian. She twitched them out of Chris Mowbray's fingers and opened them. After a moment she said, ‘Hang on. By the looks of things there are more houses than would fit on Paradise Fields.'

Chris Mowbray twitched the plans back again. ‘I think you're mistaken, Vivian.'

‘Who are the builders?' asked Muriel. ‘Are they local?'

‘Gideon Freebody,' said Chris Mowbray. ‘Very reputable builder.'

‘Ha!' said an elderly man, who hadn't spoken before, and who never did say much. ‘Reputable! My eye!'

‘He's like a character out of
The Archers
,' whispered Chris to Jake. His comment was audible to Nel, but she hoped not to the speaker.

She wrote a quick note on her agenda.
What's his name?

Abraham something
, wrote back Muriel.
Nice old chap
.

‘Did you want to address the committee?' asked Chris Mowbray loudly. ‘If so, could you kindly do it through the chair?'

Abraham got to his feet. ‘I just said, Gideon Freebody is not a reputable builder. His houses fall down and he rips people off!'

‘That's tantamount to slander!' said the chairman, affronted.

‘Not if it's true, it's not,' said Abraham.

‘Well, we're not here to discuss the merits or otherwise of the builders,' went on Chris Mowbray.

‘Could you let me see the plans, please?' persisted Abraham.

‘Oh very well, if it will make you happy. Now I really think we should press on. The first and most important item on the agenda is the roof,' said the chairman.

‘What about a new director?' asked Vivian. ‘I would have thought that was pretty important, too.'

‘Important, certainly, and we are doing all we can, but so far no suitable candidates have presented themselves. Now, if I can go back to what I was saying about the roof, I've had quotes from three builders, but they are all for much the same amount.' He named three astronomical figures.

‘Bloody hell!' said Vivian.

‘Hear, hear,' said Nel.

‘How are we going to get our hands on that sort of money?' said someone else.

‘There are a few grants we can apply for,' said Chris. ‘But, basically, it's a fundraising job. Which rather puts
the matter of the water meadows being built on into the shade.' Chris regarded Vivian and Nel in turn. ‘We'll use tomorrow's party to spearhead a new campaign, but I have to say, I'm not hopeful. People worked very hard raising money for the jetty and the road, which as it turns out was a complete waste of time. I don't know if we're going to be able to raise that sort of money again so soon. There's only so many bring-and-buy sales and raffles people can support.' He looked at Nel in an almost accusing way, as if she organised tombolas and car-boot sales just to annoy people. ‘There are Nel's cakes, of course.'

‘And fundraising isn't going to be any easier if we lose the farmers' market money,' said Nel. ‘You seem to forget that it isn't only the jamborees we arrange that make us money. The farmers' market gives us quite a large lump, every time it's on. And if it gets on a more official footing, and happens every fortnight or so, it would be a lot more money. But there's no guarantee yet that it
will
get off the ground, or that I can arrange for it still to support the hospice. I don't think you're taking the loss of the fields anything like seriously enough.'

‘Look, I can see you're upset, seeing that two years' fundraising has been entirely wasted—' Chris started impatiently.

‘I don't think it's been a waste of time having the jetty,' said Vivian. ‘I think the two summers the children have been able to use the boat have been well worthwhile. They've loved it. And I can't help feeling that someone on the finance committee should have realised we didn't own the land. Nel and I are fundraisers, we don't have access to the deeds of the
house or anything, so it's not our fault it has turned out to be a wasted effort. What's the alternative to replacing the roof? Plastic sheeting and buckets underneath?'

‘The alternative is closing the hospice, selling the building and trying to find somewhere else,' said Chris.