‘It can only be bad news for us.’ Troy said. ‘Jacob can’t afford to fix it and if you don’t buy it then the Council will be slapping a compulsory purchase order on the cottage.’
‘There’s no way the Council will get it,’ Scarlett cut in. ‘Daddy’s buying it for me.’
*
Richard Mason, from the Milford Estate Agency was talking to Joe and Len Riddle in their caravan.
‘Well, the scrap yard should command a good price,’ he stated, flicking through paperwork on his clipboard. ‘You have plenty of land.’
He shuffled his legs trying to get comfortable in the wobbly old chair that was positioned by the kitchen table.
The Riddles had arranged the meeting and had made an effort to look smarter than usual. Both wore ties that didn’t match with the rest of their clothing. The collars of their shirts were frayed and grubby, their trousers were stained, and they both wore boots without laces.
Mason looked ill at ease as he faced them. He knew of their reputation and was anxious to complete business and leave.
‘So why do you want to sell the scrap yard?’ He asked Len. ‘You’ve both lived in Milford for many years.’
‘Lotsa years, Mr Mason,’ Joe took a penknife out of his pocket and began cleaning his nails. ‘We were just youngsters when we helped father in the scrap business.’
‘It’s time we retired and took a long holiday,’ Len said, scratching the scorpion tattoo on his forearm. ‘We can get twelve caravans on the cliff top and rent them out to the visiting punters.’
‘And what happens to Gull Cottage?’ Mason looked up from his paperwork.
‘We’ll knock it down to give us more space. Old man Scott will still get his money,’ Joe laughed. ‘It’ll pay for his nursing home expenses.’
‘I think I follow your thinking on this,’ Mason conceded. ‘They’ll be no compulsory purchase. If there isn’t a cliff top property, then there’s no need for the Council to get involved.’
‘You got it, my little estate agency man! Caravans are mobile so we can move ’em back if need be. All we’ll have to do is fence off the cliff edge to keep the public safe. No Gull Cottage… no problem.’
Joe Riddle’s mouth was very close to Mason’s face as he spoke the words. Mason dodged the spray of spittle as it streaked across the paperwork. Joe grabbed the clipboard and wiped his forearm across it.
‘Is this our contract to sell the yard?’ Joe asked, fumbling into his top pocket for a pair of glasses.
Mason nodded. ‘If you look at clause 6A you’ll see it’s the price we agreed.’
‘He can’t read or write,’ Len said with a chuckle. ‘That’s why we ain’t gotta bank account.’
‘We like dealing in cash,’ Joe stated.
‘You need a bank account to pay tax,’ Mason said.
‘We don’t pay no tax,’ Len put in.
‘Of course we do!’ Joe snapped, giving his brother a look that could have killed him. ‘Don’t give Mr Mason the idea that we’re tax dodgers.’
Mason was getting hot under the collar and just wanted to be out of the Riddles’ caravan.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Joe asked him, slopping whiskey into a glass.
‘No… No thank you. Mustn’t drink and drive.’ He forced a smile and looked at his watch. ‘I just need a signature on this document, and then I’ll be off.’
‘Gotta pen?’ Joe asked.
Richard Mason pulled two pens from the inside pocket of his jacket. One was a shiny gold colour and looked expensive. The other was a cheap every day item that someone would use for a shopping list.
‘Sign here, Mr Riddle,’ Mason said, pointing to a document and handing Joe the cheap pen.
Joe did a quick squiggle on the paper, and then pocketed the pen.
‘Your scrap yard is now officially up for sale,’ Mason stated. ‘Let’s hope we can sell it quickly so that you have enough money to buy Gull Cottage.’
Len was peering out of one of the caravan’s windows. There was the noise of a car engine and Joe guessed it was a customer.
‘You better get outside,’ Joe murmured. ‘We don’t wanna miss a punter… we need the money.’
‘It’s the cops,’ Len said simply, and disappeared out of the door.
Mason was even keener to leave. He gathered up his paperwork, ready to make an exit.
‘Is Braxton still poking around to buy Gull Cottage?’ Joe asked, standing up and blocking Mason.
‘Yes, he wants it for Scarlett’s 18th birthday.’
‘Who’s Scarlett?’
‘His Lordship’s lovely daughter. The name suits her because she has stunning red hair.’
‘Who cares about her hair. We were talkin’ about old man Braxton!’
Mason edged nearer the door, and continued, ‘Lord Braxton has offered the full price but he has to win over the Council with his plans. I know you’re aware that he’s arranged for a Coastal Engineer to come tomorrow and advise him on the cliff slippage problems.’
‘And if he can’t stop it from crumbling away?’
‘Then the Council will have no choice but serve a compulsory purchase order on Gull Cottage.’
‘We’ll buy it before any of that happens,’ Joe said, sounding very sure. ‘We’ve lived in Milford for years… Braxton’s an outsider, a newcomer. The Council will favour us against a rich Londoner.’
‘Lord Braxton has a lot of friends in high places,’ Mason put in.
‘Yeah, bribing councillors and fat-cat bankers,’ Joe said, curling his lip.
‘I couldn’t comment on that, Mr Riddle.’
Mason squeezed past Joe and reached the door just as Len was returning.
‘Problems?’ Mason asked Len as he watched the police car speed away.
‘Nothin’ we can’t handle,’ Len grunted.
Richard Mason was glad to be out in the fresh air. He hurried across to his parked car, relieved to hear the caravan’s front door slam shut behind him.
‘Cops have gone,’ Len muttered to Joe, taking a seat at the table.
‘What they want? Checking on our fake MOT’s?’
‘Nah… Worse… They found our red rowboat.’
Joe sat bolt upright. ‘The one tied to the navigation buoy?’
‘Yeah, only it’s not tied there anymore. Cops found it in the Marina.’
Joe slopped more whiskey into his glass, drank it, and then slammed it down hard on the table.
‘What about Braxton’s stuff?’ he rasped, his face getting redder by the second. ‘The cops must’ve found the sacks.’
‘Don’t think so. They didn’t talk about the sacks.’
‘Then they’ve been nicked!’ Joe exploded.
‘The cops wouldn’t have stolen the stuff,’ Len reasoned. ‘Most of those trophies had Braxton’s name on ’em.’
‘I know that you brainless half-wit! Somebody must’ve got to the red rowboat, found the sacks and cut ’em off.’
Len went on to explain that a police harbour patrol boat had towed the rowboat from the Marina and moored it back at Valentine Cove.
‘They knew it was ours,’ he added, ‘’cos of the outboard motor registration.’
‘How the hell did the red rowboat get loose of the buoy?’ Joe fumed. ‘I knotted the rope so tight – nothin’ could budge it.’
‘I reckon we were being watched,’ Len said.
‘And I reckon you’re right, brother. I bet that damn shark was out there spying on our movements.’
‘The Scott kids?’
‘It had to be them. They’re always poking their snotty little beaks into our business.’
Joe swallowed more whiskey and pulled off his tie. He wasn’t used to wearing one and it was too tight around his neck.
‘We need our new plan to work,
’ he gritted. ‘Old man Braxton wants Gull Cottage for his daughter’s birthday. Posh little bitch!’
Joe broke off the chat as he heard a car crunch over the gravel and draw alongside an old, half hidden caravan. Len immediately crossed to the window.
‘Part of your plan has arrived,’ he said. ‘It’s Max Twig. He’s made the journey from Devon in good time.’
‘Have you put a sleeping bag for him in the spare caravan?’ Joe asked.
‘All done. He should be comfy enough for a coupla nights.’
‘He mustn’t be seen with us,’ Joe rasped, swallowing what was left of the whiskey. ‘He’s a mate I met in prison years ago. He’s helping us out, that’s all… and then I want him gone.’
‘You paying him?’
‘Yeah, a couple of hundred. The money ain’t bad for a day’s work.’
‘Well worth it if we can stop Braxton,’ Len murmured.
‘And keep the Scott family out of our business.’
‘I hate those Scott kids… and I hate that robot shark even more.’
Joe nodded and cursed under his breath. Inwardly his brain was turning over a plan that would use Max Twig to stop Lord Braxton from buying Gull Cottage.
Chapter Eight
‘The Riddle brothers have put their scrap yard up for sale,’ Lord Braxton said. ‘I had a phone call from the Milford Estate Agency.’
The following morning saw Lord Braxton and the Scotts gathered on the beach below the crumbling cliff.
Uncle Jacob didn’t seem surprised by the news. He looked at Troy and Archie and simply shrugged.
‘Obviously they need a fair bit of money to buy Gull Cottage,’ Lord Braxton continued, ‘and with the scrap yard cleared they have a huge piece of valuable land to sell to a house building company.’
Troy was looking for a reaction from the two men he didn’t recognise. They had both shaken hands with Jacob and seemed pleasant enough people. One was a coastal engineer, who was taking photographs of the slippage problems; the other was a Council official with a clipboard stuffed with paper.
Archie was studying the name-tag clipped to the lapel of Council Official’s suit.
‘Devon County Council,’ he read aloud. ‘Sam Stark, Chief Executive.’
‘I’m surprised the Council have sent a spokesperson,’ Jacob remarked. ‘They didn’t inform me by letter.’
Sam Stark looked slightly uncomfortable by the comment. He was a tall, thin man with extremely pale features and stood very erect in a dark three-piece suit.
‘We sometimes make a hush-hush visit,’ he responded tucking his trouser legs into wellington boots. ‘You’d be surprised at how many people act illegally when the Council aren’t around.’
‘Especially the wrong Council,’ Archie butted in cheekily. ‘Milford-on-Sea is in Cornwall, not Devon.’
Stark’s eyes dropped to the badge on his lapel. He gave a shaky laugh but his eyes signalled annoyance.
‘Well spotted, young man. You’re very observant.’
‘So why would Devon Council be interested in Uncle Jacob’s cottage?’
Stark fiddled with his tie. ‘We’re short staffed, boy. Not that it’s any of your business but I’m covering Devon and Cornwall at the moment.’
‘Don’t be so nosey, Archie,’ Troy cut in. ‘You should be nice to Mr Stark, perhaps he can help Uncle Jacob.’
‘I never take sides… err…’ Stark paused, looking at Troy. ‘It’s young Mr Scott isn’t it?’
‘Jacob’s our Uncle,’ Troy said. ‘There’s Archie, Lucy and me. We’re from London.’
‘Where is Lucy?’ Jacob caught the conversation.
‘I think she’s at the Marina with Scarlett,’ Lord Braxton responded. ‘I’m expecting a delivery of a Jet Ski, and knowing how excited my daughter can get I expect she’s invited Lucy along for a ride.’
‘Wow, a Jet Ski!’ Archie whooped his delight. ‘That’s brill!’
The coastal engineer had now finished filming and was measuring the area as he chatted to Sam Stark. Lord Braxton crossed to join them with Jacob, Archie and Troy tagging behind.
‘So your advice is what?’ Stark was asking the engineer as he switched off his measuring device.
‘Well it’s a difficult decision, Mr Stark. If money is no object then an artificial defence could be used.’
‘Money isn’t important,’ Lord Braxton cut in. ‘Whatever needs to be done I’ll pay for it.’
The coastal engineer nodded. ‘Well in that case we could extend the existing shoreline position area out to sea. A barrier such as a sea wall could be built and this would prevent waves breaking against the cliff. Gull cottage would be safe.’
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Stark interrupted. ‘There will be no building here. There’s no Council permission and the Environment Agency would never agree.’
‘Have you asked them?’ Archie piped up.
‘I don’t have to, my little friend,’ Stark sniffed and shuffled his papers. ‘My previous experience tells me that due to all the noisy disruption the Council Committee would throw any plans out.’
‘So…’ Braxton began.
‘Unless Gull Cottage is pulled down, the Council will be issuing a compulsory purchase order.’
‘So we can do nothing?’
‘I’m afraid not, Lord Braxton. I’ve listened to the Coastal Engineer and I will inform the Council of my decision. I suggest you look for somewhere else to purchase.’
‘You’re not being very helpful,’ Archie pressed, scowling at Stark. ‘It won’t cost the Council any money. Lord Braxton’s offered to pay.’
‘Don’t cause any trouble, Archie,’ Jacob decided to speak up.
‘Your Uncle’s right,’ Braxton said. ‘If Mr Stark has reached a decision then we must respect it.’
‘Read my badge,’ Stark snapped, pointing to the words “Chief Executive”.
‘I know what it says,’ Archie replied, ‘but you could bend the rules just a bit for our Uncle.’
‘I never bend rules, and that’s final. Go away, boy. Haven’t you got a video game you can play on your phone or something?’
‘Don’t argue, Archie…’ Braxton began but stopped short when he heard a loud horn sound above the noise of the waves.
Everyone turned as a Jet Ski slashed past. Two girls were laughing and frantically waving. All, except Sam Stark, waved back. Nobody noticed that he was secretly looking upwards to the cliff top… and with very good reason…
Joe and Len Riddle were lying on their stomachs close to the cliff edge. Both had binoculars pressed to their eyes and were munching through sandwiches.
‘I recognise the little blonde sitting in the rear seat of that ski thing,’ Len said, his lips puffing around a sandwich. ‘It’s Lucy Scott.’
‘And the girl driving is Scarlett Braxton,’ Joe added.
‘You know her?’
‘I know she has red hair.’
Len gave Joe a blank look.
‘The bozo from the estate agency told me.’
Len adjusted his binoculars to get a close image of Scarlett.
Joe nudged him with an elbow. ‘Forget the Jet Ski,’ he grunted, ‘You’re supposed to be watching Braxton’s reactions with Max Twig.’
‘Don’t you mean our top man from the Council?’ Len nearly choked on a sandwich as he stifled a laugh.
‘Yeah, Sam Stark, Chief Executive,’ Joe couldn’t resist a small grin. ‘At least that’s what it says on his official badge.’
The brothers had spent a few hours last night in the old caravan with Max Twig. Everything had been explained in detail about Lord Braxton and the Scott family and Twig knew he had to convince them that the cliff slippage couldn’t be stopped.
The official badge was a bonus… Twig had found it many months ago in the Council’s car
park. He’d had a part-time job sweeping up and had found it by the driver’s door of an expensive looking car. The safety pin on the back of the badge had been broken, so he guessed it had been dropped and lost. Never a person to miss an opportunity Twig had pocketed it, guessing that it would come in handy at some time… and now that perfect time had arrived.
‘Max certainly looks the part in his neat black suit,’ Joe said, adjusting his binoculars.
‘He looks like a flamin’ undertaker,’ Len remarked.
‘He’s playing an acting part. He’s gone from road sweeper to head of the Council. That’s why he’s smartened himself up.’
‘Well he seems to have done a good job. The coastal engineer is packin’ up his gear, and Braxton looks ready to leave.’
‘I think you’re right, brother,’ Joe nodded, concentrating on the view through his binoculars. ‘Old man Jacob looks pretty peed-off and the two Scott kids ain’t gotta smile between them.’
‘I’d say that Max Twig has pulled it off. We won’t be hearing from Braxton again.’
The noise from the Jet Ski speared the air. The Riddles caught a glimpse of it as, having turned around; it whooshed past the cliff on its return to the Marina.
Joe shuffled back from the edge and stood up. ‘We’d better make a move, Len. They’ll be coming to get to their cars.’
Len forced the last sandwich into his mouth and watched the coastal engineer depart in a small motor boat. Len grunted loudly, and then stretched.
The Riddles headed to their van which was parked out of view. They would make their way back to the scrap yard and wait for Max Twig.
Braxton, looking disappointed by the Council decision waited for Jacob, Archie and Troy. He forced a smile before shaking hands with all, opening his car, and heading back to the Marina.
‘Can I take Kristo out when Lucy gets back?’ Archie asked Troy.
‘Any reason?’ Troy queried.
Archie told him they could do a tour of all the nearby coves and perhaps spot another cottage that was up for sale and might interest Scarlett.
‘Good thinking, Archie, you can see so much more looking inland from the sea,’ Jacob pointed out.
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