by Laura Briggs
"And what of the fireworks?" I asked.
"I can't possibly see how they could cause any more concern than the noise on Guy Fawkes Day," said Lord William. "Not to mention the children with smuggled firecrackers who are particularly prone to set them off in the woods. On the other hand, I'm not quite sure how the village government will react to permitting a rather noisy fireworks display simply for a concert."
"What does the event promoter think they'll say?"
"He's rather an optimist. Or perhaps the better word is 'tenacious.' But I suppose that must have been the reason that Wendy Alistair's people hired him."
"Hmm." I imagined his disappointment if the village wasn't keen on the concert's plans. He struck me as someone who was used to arguing his way out of any difficulty, something he would find a little more challenging in a place as quiet and, well, settled as Ceffylgwyn.
More disappointments lay in store for me when I took Pippa to see the barn. Ted Russert had unlocked the door for me and given me a spare key, giving me a chance to sweep it up in advance with Kitty's help, and removed a little rubbish still cluttering the place, so it was a space filled only with potential. But Pippa seemed slightly unhappy as she stood in the middle of the room.
"What do you think?" I asked. It was a wide open, rectangular space, with high stone walls and high, old-fashioned windows that were oddly glassed, as if the barn had once been a prosperous house. Old wooden beams and rafters were above us, while the packed dirt floor had all the firmness of real boards. Its weathered doors were propped wide open, letting in a strong presence of sunlight.
"We can put carpets down on the floor," I suggested. "A long wooden table down the center of the room. Add some candles, some flowers ... it will be very romantic. And very elegant."
"I suppose," said Pippa, reluctantly. "It's just ... it isn't exactly sophisticated, is it? It's just an old barn. I used to play with my dolls here when I was a kid."
"I know," I said. "And that's what makes it special, Pippa. I'm sure that Gavin played here as a boy, too. Half the kids in the village did, I've been told." I thought of Kitty's words from before. "And it will be beautiful when we've finished cleaning it and decorating it. Use your imagination — it's a blank slate right now, but with so much potential with these stone walls and those windows."
"Maybe," said Pippa. She sighed. "I guess I'm just thinking of what my mum and dad'll say. All about how it serves me right, having a send-off in an old barn after passing on the dining room at the Fisherman's Rest."
The dining room was about as impervious to the noise of a rowdy pub crowd after a football match as if the walls were made of tissue paper — and its only decoration was a big, glossy fish on a plaque and two rusty-looking anchors on either side. A great place for a stag party or a yachting club's meeting, but with zero potential for a romantic atmosphere. I knew that Pippa, however, was imagining this place would be a dusty, musty room with flies buzzing around her wedding cake. She couldn't imagine how a few simple touches could magnify its charms.
"I need you to trust me, Pippa," I said. "It will be beautiful the day of your wedding. You won't regret this choice if you say 'yes.'"
Pippa gazed around her. The doubtful look was still on her face, even as sunlight streamed through the windows as if they were the high arched ones in an old stone chapel. "I s'pose," she said, after a moment.
"You won't regret it," I repeated.
To console Pippa, I walked with her to the village, where I bought her a pasty from Charlotte's shop and window browsed the selection of new shoes and stylish tops in the local boutique. Poster after poster for Wendy Alistair's upcoming album greeted us in the shops, revealing the newly-minted diva's flawless profile and chestnut hair, a sparkling diamond earring on display in her earlobe.
"She's so gorgeous," said Pippa. "Gavin said he'll take me to a concert if she goes on tour. I wish we could actually meet her — but that warning sheet from her manager doesn't make it sound very likely."
"No, it doesn't," I agreed. "But at least we'll probably see part of the concert before ITV's audience, right?"
"I can't wait," sighed Pippa. "It's so romantic. Lucky thing Gavin didn't propose to me last month, otherwise I'd be in Hampshire by now."
Plenty of new posters had been added since the last time I was in the village, and there was a splashy article in the local paper about the upcoming concert being recorded by ITV for broadcast. I suspected that was the work of Nathan Menton and not Lady Amanda. I made a mental note to ask her next time I saw her — which, unfortunately, would be the local municipal meeting over the habitat.
"Have we got time for a quick visit to the chemist's? Mrs. Evans promised she'd show me the pictures of the newest labels at Topshop," said Pippa. "I haven't been there in ages." She sounded more cheerful now. I was glad to hear it — and especially glad that she hadn't changed her mind and reserved that costly room at the Silver Perch.
"Let's go see them," I said. After all, I had a few hours to kill until I faced the indomitable Noreen Prowse in the battle over birds.
***
"This meeting will come to order. Mrs. Prowse, I believe you wished to address a matter of importance to the residents of Ceffylgwyn?"
The meeting hall was sparsely-populated on this evening. At the head of the room, a few bored-looking council members sat in wooden chairs, along with Lord William and a few other local landowners. A small group I ascertained must be the Cornwall Natural Habitat Preservation Society sat facing them, with Mrs. Prowse clearly representing them.
I was seated near the middle of the room, with Kitty beside me, her grimy red sneakers propped on the back of the chair in front of her. Somehow, I hadn't brought myself to go through with the plan to let Lina or Nettie take her place — not after yesterday's grand heist, anyway.
"Citizens of Ceffylgwyn. It has come to my attention that one of our beloved endangered species is at risk, due to a careless and incautious money-driven scheme tragically involving our own Cliffs House," Mrs. Prowse began. "As you all know, the planned concert for Ms. Alistair has been moved out of doors, and now involves an intrusion into our wilderness, with man-made lights, sound equipment, and plans for hundreds to pack themselves into temporary seats for two hours that will surely terrify the delicate ecosystem ...."
I squirmed in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, since Mrs. Prowse was clearly winding up for a long speech. I studied the members of the preservation society, wondering how many of them were also bird watchers.
I nudged Kitty. "Do you know any of the people with Mrs. Prowse?" I whispered. "Are they all members of the society — you know, keen on Mrs. Prowse's line?"
"The one on the left's Harry Tallack. He's a member, but he oughtn't be — he hunts for sport up at Mevagissey, and he's a bit of a poacher — though no one's supposed to know. Next to him's Julie Coad. Keeps a cat that eats birds."
I stifled a giggle. Kitty's dark humor was growing on me. "What about the others?" I asked.
"Newcomers from over Falmouth way," she answered. "I don't know about them."
I glanced around, hoping to see Matthew walking in. Instead, I saw Nathan Menton enter the hall, taking a seat on the opposite side of the room. He removed his overcoat and sat with his arms folded, listening intently to Mrs. Prowse's speech with an expression that looked ready for battle.
".... not to mention the dangers already incited by Guy Fawkes Night, particularly with the illegal bonfires and small incendiaries involving the village youth...."
Lady Amanda had slipped into a seat near the back of the room. She gave me a sympathetic smile when she spotted me.
"Is there anyone else who has something they wish to say?" Clearly, the village's official representatives were growing tired of this meeting already. I stood up.
"Actually, I do," I said. "Most of you know that I'm the event planner at Cliffs House. As you also know, Lord William has promised the habitat will not be included in any way in th
e aforementioned development of the clearing. Since humans are already routinely present in that clearing —"
"But we're speaking of the cliffs," interrupted Mrs. Prowse. "Of the harm that explosives and loud noises will cause to the natural habitats along the craggy banks of the sea —"
Nathan rose. "I have the necessary permits already to build a platform on sight," he said. "I have the permits to host an open-air concert on the property in question. What rules are we violating? If the issue of the birds was such a big deal, may I ask why those permits were ever issued?"
An offensive tact, the wrong choice for this time and place. I tried to signal him to be quiet, but Nathan clearly didn't see me. In the chair beside me, Kitty leaned back her head and rolled her eyes.
"Ms. Alderson, would you please remove your shoes from that chair?" said one of the council members. "Thank you." She looked at Nathan. "Might we ask who you are?" she said.
Hush and sit down, I thought, willing him to obey. But Nathan appeared not to notice the annoyed glances and tired attitude of the council members at this emergency meeting.
"My name is Nathan Menton, I'm an event promoter currently working in tandem with Wendy Alistair's representatives to stage an extremely important, extremely prestigious event here in Ceffylgwyn...."
"I think we've already established that Ms. Alistair is coming to the village," said one of the council members, dryly. "Might we hear something more pertinent to the issue of nature versus the concert itself?"
Lady Amanda stood up. "If I might have a quick word," she said. "We're not in any way trying to do damage to Cornish wildlife. If there are concerns about the birds, might we not have time to ascertain whether there are any birds actually at risk?"
"A very sensible suggestion," answered the council member. "Mrs. Prowse?"
"I think the estate has had a great deal of time — weeks," she answered. "And I have a signed agreement from Lord William himself regarding the acreage surrounding the clearing —"
We were losing, I felt. I cast a panicked look at Lady Amanda, whose suggestion was being steamrollered right now. Nathan looked ready to open his mouth again, which I felt would be a mistake, given he was a stranger, a foreigner, and trying to argue this like a business deal in a London boardroom.
"We've already established Lord William's role in the habitat, I believe," said the councilwoman, wearily. "I'm as fond of birds as everyone else present, but I would like this meeting to come to a point sometime tonight."
"Might I address the matter?" asked Matthew.
I turned to see him in the aisle. He caught my eye and gave me a smile and a wink — reassuring ones that made me close my eyes with relief. Matthew had kept his promise to find an answer.
"Yes, Doctor Rose," said one of the council members, eagerly. "Please, if you have something to say, we will gladly hear it."
"On the subject of the birds' safe habitat, no one could be more sympathetic than I am," said Matt. "However, as to the actual occupation of the cliffs at this time, I believe Mrs. Prowse is mistaken regarding the number and delicacy of the species present."
He passed a series of papers into the hands of the meeting's chairperson. "As you can see from these recent photographs taken by a renowned birdwatcher from Falmouth — Doctor Davies, who yearly tracks the life cycle of the birds nesting in the cliffs — the autumn migration has left the nesting sites abandoned ...."
***
"Three cheers to Matthew Rose," said Lady Amanda, lifting a pint. "For saving us all from a very long evening of tedious debate."
"I second the motion," said Lord William. We clinked our glasses together at the bar of the Fisherman's Rest. After Matthew's proof that the birds nesting in the cliffs—none of which turned out to be of the red-billed chough variety—would be safely beyond the impact of fireworks and music, the council had decided that canceling any permits was too drastic of a response to Noreen Prowse's objections. They had suggested she make a list of concessions for protecting the habitat and have these presented at a meeting as an amendment to the society's agreement with the estate. While Noreen wasn't thrilled, she had eventually accepted this proposal.
"I'm sure I'll have to make no end of concessions," said Lord William. "We'll have to put a barrier of some sort between the habitat and the clearing, possibly even the estate's fields themselves. I suppose it'll be costly, and it will have to be attractive in appearance — but perhaps it will all be worth it in the end."
"If Mr. Menton is correct, then Cliffs House will be seeing an uptick in the number of visitors and events," I said. Which means more work for me, I thought, remembering with a pang that I was supposed to be finding ways to lighten my workload.
"Nathan, please," said the event promoter, who sampled his pint with a face that suggested he wasn't a fan of the local brew. "And this isn't just about making money for Cornwall. It's about helping people realize that it's a place worth seeing. For the birds that are nesting on the cliffs — the beautiful countryside — the magnificent coast. All things that tourists miss when they only stop in England long enough to see Big Ben and Buckingham Palace."
"Have you seen them?" I asked. "They're pretty impressive."
Nathan took another sip from his pint. "You have no idea how hard I worked to get Ms. Alistair's people to even consider Cornwall," he said. "They wanted a big concert at Royal Albert Hall. It's easy to get a camera crew setup in there, it's a place everybody knows and loves. But it didn't really celebrate what made her music special. What made her story so unique in the world of classical music."
"That's a pretty passionate declaration from someone who's only supposed to arrange some P-R and set up a stage," I said.
"Yeah, well, I take my job way too seriously," said Nathan. He managed to drain his glass, although it cost him some effort — I imagined how Gemma and Pippa would feel at seeing this hint of an unattractive grimace on his handsome face. Setting the glass aside, he continued, "Not that I’m the only one who’s dedicated to their work around here."
"Who, me?" I said. "I'm not married to my work. I'm married to the very brilliant scientist who just saved the day." Beneath the bar, I linked my fingers with Matt's, feeling their tender pressure in response even as he chatted on with Lord William.
"I was thinking about your staff. They seem pretty hardworking when it comes to events like this," Nathan said. "The work you guys put into the ballroom, and into making the place look so elegant. They're a great group of people." He pushed aside his empty glass, waving off a refill with a trifle more energy than was necessary. "Although the one who works with you sometimes is a bit of a pill. How do you put up with that? She's got all the friendliness of Genghis Khan."
"Kitty's just different," I said. I glanced her direction, seeing the girl looking a little aloof at one of the nearby tables, an empty shot glass in front of her. I hadn't realized until now that she didn't join us at the bar.
"Well, better you than me," he answered. "I mean, she seems like a hard worker. And she's not completely unlikable — she was almost nice part of the time we were in the field. Almost," he emphasized. "Even though she did laugh at me when I got stuck in the mud. And didn't exactly help me out of it, either."
He sneaked a glance at Kitty at this point — just a quick one, I noticed, while making sure she didn't notice him back. Not that I blamed him for it. Despite the grungy clothes and attitude, there was something interesting, even a little magnetic about Kitty. Dangerous electricity, as my friend Aimee would put it. Maybe the event promoter sensed that part, too, since when he looked away, he ordered a second drink — but a smaller one this time.
I pictured Kitty's smirk and laughter when the mud sucked Nathan earthwards. It probably wasn't the most charming picture in the world; especially for someone like him, who probably never had girls laugh at him.
At her table, Kitty rose to leave. I glimpsed her backpack slung over her shoulder, her figure disappearing through the door of the Fisherman's Rest. I gave
Matt's fingers a quick squeeze and whispered, "Be right back," in his ear before following her outside.
I felt bad. We hadn't made her feel welcome, had we? I hadn't even thought about the fact that Kitty's aloof personality seemed to exclude her from local groups — or that her past led them to exclude her, whichever it was. Either way, I wanted her to feel that I appreciated what she had done for me the past couple of days.
"Kitty, wait!" I called. The girl was halfway down the sidewalk, but she stopped when I spoke, and turned around. I caught up with her, laying my hand on her arm. I felt it stiffen a little in return.
"What?" she said. She gazed at me, expectantly. "I'm off duty now, aren't I?"
"Of course," I said, awkwardly. Kitty had made me feel weirdly intrusive all of a sudden. "I just hated to see you leave early. You didn't even have a chance to talk to any of us. I meant to introduce you to Matt, my husband."
"Oh," said Kitty. "What would we talk about?" She sounded puzzled.
"I don't know," I said. I shrugged my shoulders, my mind a blank. "Tell me about the time you stole the bicycle," I suggested.
"What?" Kitty looked confused, and a little offended. "What bicycle?"
"The one that somebody said you stole."
"You mean the motorbike," said Kitty.
"You stole a motorbike?"
"I didn't steal it," she scoffed. "I borrowed it. Roddy Fisher was being a right sod, rubbing it in that he wouldn't give me a ride." Her face darkened for a moment. "Anyways, I wanted to know what it was like, so I fiddled with the starter's wires when he wasn't around. Took it around the block, and had a bit of an accident."
"How did it end?" I asked. I was guessing that Kitty had never ridden a motorbike before that day, much less driven one. Somehow this decision didn't surprise me.
"Oh, just a scratch. I took it back before he knew what happened. He blamed me, of course, when he saw it, but he couldn't prove it. He wrecked it himself anyways," she said. "He didn't need my help to wrap it around a village wall, riding around like a maniac."