The Garden Plot

by Sara Sartagne

  “You’re Sam Winterson, yes? You fought the development, didn’t you?”

  Sam nodded warily. The woman threw back her head and cackled.

  “I pass your cottage every day when I come into Sherton. You’re such a hypocrite, all cosy in your cottage, while trying to stop the rest of us getting a decent home. All you care about is preserving your privilege!”

  “It's not just about my privilege—it's about preserving part of the village's heritage! For your kids, and their kids!” Sam protested, putting her hand on her hips.

  “All the time keeping me out of a home of my own!” the woman snapped back at her.

  “None of us wanted to stop anyone getting a home of their own, we just didn't want the homes there.”

  “And where else would they be?” the woman sneered. “If the development was relocated to somewhere more convenient to you, the price would go up because of the work they'll have to do on the land! Which would’ve scuppered my plans to ever have my own place. So I’m bloody chuffed we won!” And the woman wheeled round and marched in the opposite direction.

  Sam stared after her, shaken and then caught sight of the Manchester lobbyist who smiled and put one finger up. Sam looked away and caught sight of Amanda by the door, staring at her phone. She battled her way through the crowds with her head down.

  “Have you got a signal yet?” Sam said when she reached Amanda. “I can hardly believe it—it looked as though we’d win and then they brought up this partner company. What were they called? Halston?”

  “Halcyon. They’re a German company, headquarters in Switzerland, Zurich, I think. I’ve only just got a signal, this place is like a bunker.”

  Sam waited as Amanda thumbed through her phone. “Right, let’s have a look at you, Halcyon...” Amanda navigated through the pages, commenting as she did. “Sustainable property development… use of recycled materials…solar panels…sympathetic design… I suppose if we were to be stuck with development on Jessops Field, they’d be a good company to do it,” she said finally. “We could contact them and plead for special consideration, I suppose?”

  “Might be a reasonable idea. How do we get hold of them? We don’t want to just write to the company address, we want to write to the boss. Who’s the CEO?” Sam peered over her shoulder at the tiny screen.

  Amanda navigated to the relevant page. Sam stared at the photo, small but perfectly clear and the noise of the room suddenly faded away.

  “He looks familiar…” Amanda said uncertainly, looking at Sam.

  “The bastard,” Sam said finally, her voice shaking. “The utter bastard. No wonder he wouldn’t give us any advice!”

  “This is the guy from the pub isn’t it?”

  “It is, and the bloke whose garden I’ve designed. The one and only Jonas Keane—CEO of the company ripping up my childhood playground. The total bastard.”

  “Christ,” said Amanda. “Are you ok, Sam?”

  “No,” she said, her voice breaking as she sat down heavily on a chair. “No, I don’t think I am.”

  24

  Lisbeth took out her phone and stared at it. She needed to call, but... She hung her head, feeling sick at the memory of her words. Before she could change her mind, she pressed the button. The phone rang for so long, Lisbeth’s heart sank. Just as she was about to disconnect, Magda answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me. Please don’t hang up—look, I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?” Lisbeth said in a rush. There was silence on the end of the phone and Lisbeth bit her lip and added in a tight voice, “Magda? Really, I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to see me, but…you’re my best friend. How are you?”

  There was a deep intake of breath on the phone and Magda said in a small voice, “Miserable. I’m miserable. I hated what you said—but you’re right. I thought if I paid for the garden…I feel a complete pillock.”

  Lisbeth felt her eyes fill with tears. “Do you want to meet up?”

  “Yeah, I’d like that. Shall I see you at Jessop’s Field? I don’t really want to talk at home...” Magda’s voice trailed off.

  “Of course. Shall I come now? We can go to the lake, there’s still ages before sunset.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I know you think I’m off base, but I could have sworn…But perhaps I was imagining it all?”

  “We could just go over it—review the evidence, so to speak?”

  “How very sensible of you, Lisbeth!” Magda said with a short laugh which broke in the middle. “I’ve probably got it all wrong.”

  “Let’s talk it all through. I’ll be right there,” Lisbeth soothed, shrugging on a jacket with one hand and heading for the door.

  “Keane.”

  “Jonas, we won the planning application for Jessop's Field.” Neil's voice came down the line. Jonas felt his stomach lurch.

  “How do you know?”

  “I've been keeping in touch with one of Tyler's administrative assistants. She texted me about ten minutes ago.”

  Sam, Jonas thought, bleakly. He shook himself. He should be pleased for the business.

  “We’ll probably need to make some amendments to the plans to take them back from the protected area.” Neil paused. “And…”

  “And?”

  “Tyler told the meeting Anglo Homes were in partnership with us to swing it with Nature UK—our environmental credentials glow in the dark compared to theirs.”

  Jonas swore. So much for keeping our heads down, he thought.

  “Without clearing it with me? I’ll have his bollocks on a plate.”

  “We’d probably have lost without that.”

  “Were the press there?”

  “Yes—too big a deal in a small village for there not to be,” sighed Neil.

  As if on cue, the phone in the hall began to ring. Looking at the display, it was the office. “Hang on, Neil.” He picked up. “Keane. No, Claudia, of course I didn’t agree the announcement beforehand! What do you take me for? Hang on—”

  He swapped phones to talk again to Neil. “It’s going to be a long evening. I’ll call later.”

  Sam was sitting on her sofa, staring into space. She felt close to tears. The silence in the cottage pressed on her head and she tried to focus on what to do next. Write letters to her local MP? Ha, that was a joke. Call the newspapers?

  She needed to talk to Amanda, to Tom. God, even to bloody Desmond. She hunted for her phone among the cushions.

  “Amanda? It’s Sam. I’m sorry, I had to come home.”

  “Are you ok? You looked as though you’d seen a ghost!”

  “Sadly not. He’s alive all right. Bastard.”

  “Let me get this straight—he pumped you for information and then made a pass?”

  “More or less. I’m such an idiot…” Sam felt her voice clog with tears.

  Amanda sighed.

  “Now, sweetie, don’t beat yourself up. He’s a good-looking man—anyone would be charmed if he put his mind to it! Thank God you didn’t sleep with him!”

  Yeah, I’m SO grateful for small mercies! Sam thought.

  “Anyway, you left just in time, it got quite nasty. Tom took a swing at the bloke in the leather jacket.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, he just didn’t seem to know when to shut up. Christian charity only goes so far, it seems,” Amanda sighed. “Tom didn’t actually manage to hit him, the bloke ducked. The police let him off with a warning, and Jenny dragged him away.”

  “Are you at home now?” Sam glanced at the clock—nearly ten o’clock.

  “Yes, just got in and I’m about to hit the gin.” Sam could hear the ice dropping into a glass and the fizz of tonic.

  “What do we do now?” Sam asked after a moment. “I’m feeling a bit floored.”

  “That’s hardly surprising, sweetie. As for what we do next—Mrs Pratchett was all for us meeting tomorrow to develop a plan, but Desmond seems to have accepted the result.”

  “He has? But
that’s so—so—flimsy!” Sam was diverted for a second from her bruised heart.

  “Who knows the workings of Desmond’s brain? Perhaps he’s realised that in the future they’ll be three hundred and fifty more decorating jobs to do.” Amanda paused. “But what are you going to do about this Jonas Keane?”

  “I’m going to talk to him.”

  “Is that a wise thing?”

  “Probably not, but I won’t be able to keep a civil tongue in my head during the remaining garden build unless I do. And I need to know why he’s doing it. Why team up with that bunch of shysters Anglo Homes? Why bloody come on to me, if I’m fighting the development? Some kind of game?”

  “He does sound a bit warped, certainly,” said Amanda. “Be careful, won’t you?”

  “He won’t dare touch me after hearing what I’ve got to say to him.”

  The following day, Jonas was scowling at Tyler across the boardroom table at Halcyon’s offices in Manchester. John Fairchild was looking uncomfortable and was fiddling with his gold pen. Neil sat quietly in the background.

  “We had an agreement. Halcyon was not supposed to be in the spotlight at all, let alone announced without any warning. Have you seen our share price this morning?” said Jonas.

  “Jonas—” began John.

  “It has dropped nearly ten percent, wiping nearly three hundred million euro from our value. In addition, I’ve barely been off the phone all night, fielding calls from my chairman, who’s been asking what the fuck is going on, plus more investors than I care to mention. I’ve had questions about my absence from the company for the last three months—also supposed to be confidential. And you did this to secure a development for three hundred and fifty houses?”

  Tyler was silent. John took one look at Jonas’ face and shut his mouth. After an agonising ten seconds, Tyler said:

  “How was I to know the local journo would cover it? Or that they’d pass it to the London business press? It seemed a justifiable risk to take. Otherwise we’d have lost the decision.”

  “We could have appealed,” Neil said. “There was no need for the histrionics.”

  Silence.

  “What do we do now, then?” Tyler said, looking at his fingernails.

  “You don’t do anything. We mop up all this mess with the media and then we’ll talk again about the Jessop’s Field development. In the meantime, don’t talk to the media and don’t get involved with the local authority.” Jonas’ voice was icy. Tyler stared at him, and then left the room.

  John sighed. He looked old and tired.

  “I’m truly sorry, Jonas. I thought he could handle the project.”

  “I think we need to sort out the immediate issues and then we’ll talk about it some more, John. Can I get back to you when I think things are starting to settle? We’re beset with takeover rumours due to the share price, and because the media think I’m at death’s door.”

  “Well, hopefully, that’s soon sorted?” John said.

  “We’re working on it,” said Neil, rising to his feet and signalling the meeting was at an end. John stared at him and then rose, gathering his papers.

  Jonas was staring out of the window at the unusually sunny Manchester skies when Neil returned.

  “We need to get out of the agreement. Get the legal team on it, would you?” he said.

  “Will we continue with the development in Sherton?”

  “We have to. And at the same time, recover our reputation for sustainability. When we’ve sorted it with the lawyers, we’ll need to talk to the council and redraft the plans, I think.” Jonas was grim.

  “OK. Are you talking with the press team about the media?”

  “Are you kidding? Claudia is practically organising a world tour for me over the next few weeks. I’ll be doing nothing but talking to bloody journos for the foreseeable future.”

  “Are you sure you should be doing this? You’re not signed off as healthy, yet, are you?” Neil said.

  “No. I had a right earful from Magda when I set out this morning. But I don’t have a choice, do I? If the media think the company is falling over because I’m dying, only a live appearance will do, right?”

  “Does Magda know the whole story?”

  “No, although it’s only a matter of time. I can only be grateful she doesn’t read the newspapers much. I’ve told her that there’s a rumour I’m too unwell to be at the head of the company, so I have to show myself about a bit. She’s really pissed with me, but she understands, I think.”

  “But she doesn’t know about the deal with Anglo Homes?” Jonas shook his head and Neil took a deep breath. “Right. Take it easy—as far as you can. I’ll get other members of the Board working on it too.”

  “Thanks.”

  It had been a good game, thought Magda as she and Lisbeth walked back from the tennis courts. They’d talked themselves almost hoarse at Jessop’s Field the other night. The rattling tennis game today (Magda had won) had evaporated the last of their argument.

  Things weren’t all sunny, though. Her father seemed to be back at work, to her tight-lipped disapproval. Then Lisbeth had been a bit gloomy about the planning decision on Jessop’s Fields. Turning the corner, Magda took one look at the photographer with the long lens hanging around the gates to Brook Lodge and crossed the road swiftly, to Lisbeth’s confusion.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Paps,” Magda said, swinging her tennis racquet as though she would like to take a shot at him. Lisbeth still looked confused. “Sorry—the paparazzi. We’ll go in by the back.”

  They made their way to the side gate of the garden, now cleared of the choking ivy, and ran across the lawn. Andy and Steve, working on the garden, stared at them.

  “A photographer is outside the house,” explained Magda.

  “Why?” asked Andy, leaning on his hoe.

  “Something to do with Dad’s work, probably. It normally is,” Magda said, pushing Lisbeth through the doors and grabbing the phone. “Dad, there’s a photographer camped outside the house. Anything to do with you?”

  The swearing could be heard by Lisbeth, who looked slightly shocked.

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Jonas said. “Don’t talk to them.”

  Magda bit her lip as she put down the phone.

  “What’s up?” asked Lisbeth.

  “I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound good news.”

  Half an hour later, Andy knocked at the door.

  “Right, we’re finished for the day. You haven’t forgotten that Sam’s coming tomorrow to have a look at the progress of the work before she comes back on Monday?”

  Magda stared.

  “Is she? I knew she was coming back to work on Monday but didn’t know about tomorrow. Never mind, it’ll be good to see her. Will you finish next week?”

  “Should do,” Andy nodded. Magda beamed at him.

  “Fantastic! It’s looking amazing, don’t you think?”

  “It’s one of Sam’s best designs. I think she’s hoping you’ll let her enter it into a national competition, but I imagine she’ll talk to you about it when she sees you.”

  “Awesome! Of course we will! Although I’ll probably need to talk to Dad,” Magda amended. Andy smiled and left, ignoring the photographer as instructed.

  A little later, Sam called.

  “Hi Sam! I just heard from Andy that you’re calling around tomorrow,” Magda said.

  “Actually, I wanted to know if your Dad was there?”

  Magda’s ears pricked up.

  “I’m expecting him back in a little while. Is anything wrong?”

  “I can’t make it tomorrow, I’m afraid,” Sam’s voice was brisk. “If I come now, I’ll be able to look at the garden to see what’s needed to finish it off and then see him when he gets home. Is that OK? Are you in for a while?”

  “Yes, Lisbeth’s here too. By the way—there’s a photographer hanging around the front of the house, so you might want to come in through the side gate.
I’m not quite sure what it’s all about, although Dad said that the company’s under pressure at the moment.”

  “Is it indeed?” Sam sounded a bit grim, Magda thought. “OK, thanks for the heads up.”

  The line went dead and Magda stared at the phone, a sense of unease beginning to nibble at her nerves.

  Sam felt as if she’d stumbled into a James Bond film without the script. She drove to Brook Lodge and saw the photographer outside Jonas’ gate that Magda had mentioned, and swearing, she drove past.

  She turned onto the farm lane, bumping over the rutted ground. She moved quickly to the side gate of the garden, blessing Steve’s foresight in repairing the latch on it. Slipping through it, she walked to the patio at the back of the Brook Lodge.

  Magda was standing at the window and jumped as Sam suddenly came into sight. Sam quickly waved and Magda visibly sagged with relief, and then opened the patio doors.

  “Sam! How are you feeling? You look a bit pale, still.”

  “Yes, I’m quite recovered thank you,” Sam said, ignoring the banging behind her temples.

  “Um…good. That’s good. Err... Lisbeth’s here. Would you like tea?”

  Sam forced a smile and nodded, and Magda hurried off to the kitchen. Sam followed and got a friendly hug from Lisbeth.

  After some awkward small talk, Sam put down her mug and stood up.

  “Right, I’ll need to go around the garden.”

  “Shall we come with you?” Magda asked.

  “Probably quicker if I go alone,” said Sam. Lisbeth frowned but said nothing. “When will your Dad be home, again?”

  “Any time now,” Magda said. “Is anything wrong?” she added, hesitating.

  Sam paused, and then smiled.

  “No, sweetie. All good. Now let me look at what the boys have done. Who knows what they’ll have done without me there to crack the whip!”

  Walking the garden, Sam’s eyes noted work to be done, work she was satisfied with, where plants needed moving. And all the while, half her mind was on what she would say to Jonas. Her eyes felt gritty after little sleep and a lot of tears.