by D J O'Leary
‘Cornelis, you say? Is it dated?’
‘Yes, 1895, so getting on for a hundred and twenty-five years or so ago.’
‘And what do you propose doing with these documents?’
‘Well, they should bring to an end all this nonsense about the Buttercup Field and preventing the proposed housing development from going ahead. I shall be making a presentation to the parish council at a meeting a week next Thursday.’
‘But how do you know that the documents are genuine?’ asked Tolstoy. ‘For a start, where were they found? And by whom?’
‘My lads found them by the roadside gate into the Buttercup Field.’
‘How did they know to look there?’
‘They weren’t looking for the documents there, the post had worked loose and so I told them to reset it. When they were digging down they hit something hard, thought it was a stone, took a crowbar to it and up popped this wooden box. The crowbar had smashed the lid but, fortunately, had not damaged the contents, which meant I was able to read the declaration by Cornelis de Groot. There’ll be no need for a public inquiry. Once the council has seen this they’ll be able to give the go-ahead and building will be able to get under way within a month or six weeks. This is great news.’
Tolstoy was torn. He wanted to blurt out that his set of papers was older and was more likely to be genuine. At the same time he did not want Jack Bentley to know about what had come to light in the cellars of Stottenden Manor, not until he knew they were genuine. But he wanted to rattle the multi-millionaire “gentleman” farmer, if for no other reason than that he disliked the man and his upper class pretensions.
‘I think that you may find the authenticity of the documents being challenged,’ Tolstoy ventured. ‘I doubt if any of the protestors, or perhaps I should say protectors, of the Buttercup Field are just going to accept these documents and what they say, not after all the trouble they have gone to in order to ensure that no building is going to take place in the field.’
‘I fear you are clutching at straws,’ said Bentley, barely disguising the sneer in his voice. ‘I know you are on the protest committee. You are just a poor loser. You can’t accept irrefutable evidence that your protests are now about to be rendered meaningless. Why not come along to the meeting on Thursday week? You can even get a close-up of the documents, you and the whole of your misguided committee.’
With that Bentley got to his feet, pushed back his chair and made his way to the end of the bar furthest from Tolstoy, where he joined a conversation with two of his workers.Tolstoy realised he had not asked after Jack Bentley’s health. Still, did he really care? No, Tolstoy decided. He couldn’t give a fig. He shrugged and returned to his contemplations and plans for the cricket ground. There was something really rather pleasing and reassuring about planning the future of something as worthwhile as the cricket club and its ground. He was glad that he had decided to involve Bert in everything. The old boy was switched on and Tolstoy felt sure that it would benefit the club if Bert’s expertise were harnessed from the outset. And, although Bert might worry a little about the costs, in fact Hubert had been more than a little prudent with his spending, and Tolstoy knew there were ample funds to accomplish what he and Bert had discussed that morning. In truth, they could probably afford a new roller and a new mower or two. But Tolstoy, while wanting to get the best that could be afforded, still had a prudent streak of his own governing him, and he did enjoy coming across a second-hand bargain every now and again.
He reached for his glass, and found to his surprise that he had emptied it during his musings. He rose and went over to the bar to order another. Jo was serving at the far end, another big round being paid for by Jack Bentley, by the looks of it. Tolstoy waited, glancing around the pub, which had filled quite considerably. Just then he felt a tap on his shoulder and the voice of Kate Harborne intruded. ‘Afternoon, Tolstoy. Mine’s a dry white wine, please.’
He was smiling even as he turned to face her. ‘Kate, I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you’d be having a drink with your old colleague in Tunbridge Wells.’
‘I’ve been there and returned. Wayne had to come down a lot earlier than he had originally intended, which meant I had to meet his train three hours earlier. We had a coffee, I handed him the documents and then he went back to London. I made sure that the assistants were coping in the shop, then thought I’d drop by here to see if you were around, so that I could let you know that Wayne had the documents. And I can tell you that he had a quick glance at them and said he was sure they are the real deal, but he will conduct a number of tests, which he assures me will establish the authenticity of the documents, or not, and he is confident he can complete everything, at the latest, by a week on Wednesday.’
Tolstoy was on the point of responding to Kate’s news when Jo called to him, ‘Were you looking for a refill, Tolstoy?’ He turned, answered in the affirmative, and added Kate’s drink to complete his order. ‘Coming up,’ said Jo.
‘The timing looks perfect,’ said Tolstoy. ‘Jack Bentley had a quick chat with me a little earlier and said he would be presenting his documents to the council at their next meeting a week on Thursday, and he invited the whole of the campaign committee to sit in on the meeting, so confident is he that he has got this thing wrapped up.’
‘Did you tell him about the documents you found?’ asked Kate.
‘No. Partly because I want to surprise him with them at that meeting, and partly because I am a naturally prudent person and I wouldn’t want to tempt providence by claiming they were genuine, when they might well turn out to be forgeries themselves. Although who would have forged them, and why, and when, I have no idea. By the way, what are the arrangements between you and Wayne for the return of the documents?’
‘He’s hoping to be able to bring them down to Tunbridge Wells again, but on a very early train. He needs to be back in London by mid-morning for an important meeting.’
‘Would it be easier if I met him?’ asked Tolstoy. ‘After all, the documents are to do with me.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Tolstoy, but I know what Wayne looks like, and he me. And anyway I need to be in Tunbridge Wells on that day, to open the shop. But,’ she went on, after seeing a slight look of disappointment flit across Tolstoy’s face, ‘you could always come with me. Then you’d be able to meet Wayne, and we could have a breakfast together somewhere, either before meeting Wayne, or after.’
‘Now that sounds like a plan. OK, I’ll accompany you. Where shall we have breakfast? I don’t know any places in Tunbridge Wells, except the obvious ones, the hotels.’
‘Leave that to me,’ said Kate. ‘Obviously we’ll have to go in my car, unless you’ve passed your test and I haven’t heard about it.’
Tolstoy looked at her sheepishly. ‘Have you had any driving lessons yet?’ she asked.
‘I’ve rather let all that slide,’ he confessed. ‘But I have promised Elspeth that I will start lessons when all this Buttercup Field hoo-hah is out of the way.’
‘We’ll fix a time for me to pick you up when I know precisely the day and time of Wayne’s return. And I shall taxi you home again.’
‘Oh there’s no need for that. I can catch a train.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’
‘If he can bring his invoice I could have some ready cash to pay him. Although I’d probably need a rough idea of how much cash he needs for expenses and his fee. Or if he prefers I could make it a cheque. If he could let you know then you could tell me.’
Tolstoy glanced over Kate’s left shoulder to the corner of the bar occupied by Old Ned and Bert, as well as the two farm hands who worked for Jack Bentley. The conversation of the four men appeared to be getting heated. Abruptly the farm hands thumped their empty glasses onto the bar, turned and stalked out of the pub, leaving Old Ned and Bert chuckling.
While he had been observing the altercation, if tha
t is what it was, Kate had been talking. Tolstoy refocused on her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, could you tell me again, please?’
Kate shook her head then began again. ‘I was simply saying that breakfast the week after next will be our first date.’
Tolstoy stared open-eyed and open-mouthed at her. ‘First date?’
‘Yes. Except, of course, I know that it isn’t our first date. It isn’t really a date at all, it’s just a necessity. A means to pass time while we wait for Wayne, or a chance to sit back and digest whatever news Wayne has for us about the documents.’
Tolstoy felt, simultaneously, a pang of guilt and of fear. Now was his chance to invite her out. He was petrified, but not so much that he was struck dumb. ‘Um, what are you doing tonight?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Why? Are you thinking of asking me out? Oh, Tolstoy. I had been planning on vegging out in front of the telly. But if you’re inviting me out, then the telly can stay off, and I can put my glad rags on.’
The red-faced Tolstoy was alarmed. Kate’s voice had surely carried to the bar. He looked across, and sure enough Jo was smiling at him.
‘Um, well, not exactly. No… I mean, yes. The problem is that I can’t drive, so I was sort of thinking locally.’
‘Like here, at the Snitcher’s Head?’ asked Kate.
‘Well no. I mean I could arrange a taxi and we could go into Goudhurst, or Matfield, you know, the Vine or the Poet? They are getting praised to the heavens. We could also go to the Star and Eagle.’
‘Well if we’re going locally I could drive.’
‘No.’ Tolstoy frowned at Kate’s suggestion. ‘That would mean you couldn’t have a drink, and I don’t want to drink on my own.’
‘A couple of glasses wouldn’t hurt.’
‘They might not hurt you, but what if you had an accident? What if it was someone walking home in the dark? Or you could run into a deer, heaven knows there are plenty of those about in this area, especially at night. Then the couple of drinks might be argued to have hurt that person or that deer. No. We’ll go by taxi.’ Tolstoy surprised himself by the firm tone he had adopted, but he knew he meant it. And he really did want to share a bottle of fizz with Kate, and get gently merry with her.
Kate smiled. ‘OK. Taxi. Let’s go to the Poet in Matfield. But make sure that the taxi does not come back to the Poet to pick us up too early. I want our first date to be a memorable one, and that means it has to be a lengthy one.’
‘No problem. I shall order it for seven at the Manor and we’ll pick you up at about five past, OK?’
She nodded and smiled again. Tolstoy’s face also creased into a grin. He had done it. He had actually asked Kate out and she had accepted. Wonderful. He felt just wonderful. Liberated from some subconscious shackles that had bound themselves around him all these years.
He did wonder what Elspeth might say. And Charlie. He’d pull Tolstoy’s leg for sure when he found out. Again he glanced over to the bar and Jo was still grinning broadly. She’d obviously heard every word. Well, he thought, so what? He was looking forward to finding out about Kate over a decent meal and good bottle of wine or two this evening.
Once again Kate broke into his musings. ‘If we’re going out tonight, then I need to get a move on, I need to help the girls cash up at the shop. Thankfully we close at five-thirty so I should have plenty of time to shower and change. But I’ll have to leave now.’ Tolstoy nodded as she stood up, then he practically fell off his chair as she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He blushed furiously. Kate just grinned and said, in a loud voice, ‘See you this evening, Tolstoy,’ and with that she was gone. Thankfully only Jo seemed to have witnessed that last exchange, and she applauded him silently before moving away to serve a customer. Tolstoy decided to head home and break his news to Elspeth. He hoped she’d approve of his choice.
Ten
Tolstoy had assured Elspeth that the documents were by now safely in London, and who knew, perhaps even undergoing testing right then. This conversation naturally led onto the subject of Kate, and Tolstoy, for some reason feeling slightly apprehensive, tentatively informed her of his dinner date that evening.
‘Darling Tolstoy, that is the best news I have heard all year. It’s even better than the discovery of the documents. I am thrilled for you. She is a wonderful young woman and perfect for you, as you are, of course, perfect for her. I am truly pleased. She is precisely the sort of woman that Hubert had wanted you to meet. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I do hope things work out well tonight and all the other times you take her out on subsequent dates. Where are you taking her, again?’
Tolstoy told her, explained his promise to Kate to start driving lessons when everything was sorted about the Buttercup Field, and added that he was going to order a taxi for that evening.
‘Oh don’t be silly, Tolstoy. I’m more than happy to take you there and pick you up.’
But Tolstoy insisted that Elspeth should not find herself tied to an arrangement such as this. ‘After all, we have no idea how long we shall be there.’
‘And you would probably feel rushed whatever time I came to pick you up,’ finished Elspeth perspicaciously. ‘You’re right. But if the taxi lets you down when you are ready to leave, you can just ring me. I shan’t go to bed before you get home, I can assure you.’ Before leaving the pub earlier, Tolstoy had gone over to Bert to thank him again for his time and his thoughts, and to reassure the groundsman that money was not going to be a problem when it came to acquiring mowers and a roller. Bert nodded his gratitude for Tolstoy’s kind words and courtesy, then asked, ‘You be going to the council meeting week after next?’
At Tolstoy’s nod, he carried on, ‘I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it. It might be after Bonfire Night, but there’s going to be fireworks that night, for sure, and something very interesting that involves the cricket club, the Manor and indeed the ’ole village.’
Tolstoy thought Bert was referring to the announcement of the documentary proof held by Jack Bentley and thought that maybe Bert supported the wealthy farmer-cum-speculator. But not a bit of it. ‘You just make sure you’re there,’ said Bert. ‘You’ll regret it if you miss it.’ He touched his nose and smiled conspiratorially, before repeating, ‘Won’t say no more. Can’t say no more. But you mark my words. There’s going to be fireworks that night, that’s for sure.’
The statement had fired Tolstoy’s curiosity, but he decided there was little point in pressing Bert. Maybe he could get the old man to tell him when they met up the following Saturday to compare notes about developments for the cricket ground.He intended visiting a couple of local companies that supplied agricultural and horticultural equipment to get some idea of what there was and what would be best suited to the needs of the cricket club. One place was walkable from the Manor, the other was in Paddock Wood, so he could take a train there. That was the one to visit first, then, on returning, instead of making the walk back up the hill to the village, he could go in the opposite direction, cross the main road and head down into the small industrial estate half a mile from the station, where the other place was situated.
Over lunch with Elspeth she inquired what his movements would be that afternoon and Tolstoy explained his planned window shopping expedition.
‘But aren’t they closed on a Saturday afternoon?’ she asked.
‘No. I checked with Bert. They are just about the only two in the county who stay open until five. But they do close on a Sunday.’
‘Would you like me to drive you to them?’ Elspeth asked.
‘No, I’m looking forward to the walk and the train journey. I impose upon you too much for ferrying me around as it is. I really will organise a whole string of driving lessons very shortly, I’m just trying to get all this Buttercup Field stuff out of the way first. But I will aim to fix a date for my test as well, so that I have a deadline to meet. It is proba
bly unrealistic of me, but maybe I could set a target of passing it before Christmas.’
‘Don’t put yourself under that sort of pressure,’ said Elspeth. ‘I doubt whether you would be able to book your test date that soon. I’m sure there is quite a long waiting list. But do get on and book some lessons. Perhaps starting the day after the council meeting, when, I’m sure, everything will have finally been sorted. You could see if Ken Pitcher would be able to take you on. He’s an ex-army driving instructor and from what I’ve been told he has a very good reputation, and a record for getting many of his pupils through first time.’
Once the lunch things had been cleared away Tolstoy pulled on his quilted jacket, slung his small rucksack on one shoulder, bade Elspeth goodbye and set off for the station. It was an overcast day, but not unpleasant. No rain was forecast, and he was able to enjoy the views across the Weald. On leaving the Manor, the road on his left was flanked by the Buttercup Field, which ran for almost 150 yards, before it ended at a belt of trees. Then came a field, belonging to Jack Bentley, that generally was given over to cereal crops, and it looked as if it might have been sown with winter barley, or wheat. About halfway along this field the road began to descend. A seemingly gentle gradient, but, as Tolstoy knew, deceptively steep when approaching from the opposite direction. There was a large, rather grand-looking driveway on the left which led to the Bentley house, a modern, neo-Georgian monstrosity. A further three hundred yards below this was the entrance to Jack Bentley’s farmyard, with an oast and two barns, set well back from the road. Another, smaller field followed, then the road levelled out and shortly after that Tolstoy was turning left into the station approach. He used the ticket machine, then stood patiently, waiting for the train. Surprisingly it was on time. Tolstoy had only had to wait a couple of minutes, before it appeared around the bend, belching white steam and grey smoke. The smell was heavenly. Tolstoy got in and moved down the corridor to an empty compartment where he took a seat facing the engine. He leaned forward in his seat and, despite the time of year, lowered the window, to ensure that the wonderful train smells filled the compartment, and then settled back for the twenty-five-minute journey into Paddock Wood through some of the most charming countryside in Kent.