Nine
Later that afternoon, Clare called her travel agent to rejig her travel plans once again. It was hard to imagine that she’d ever expected to be in Rome last week, and Athens right now. Now it was unrealistic to think she would be anywhere but Brambleton before the new year – she couldn’t afford to travel until someone paid a deposit on the farm, and who would do that with Richard’s chicken factory looming over it like a storm cloud on the horizon? She couldn’t even return to her own flat; having given notice on their own accommodation, the flat sitters were both sofa surfing until Clare got up to London and cleared out that spare bedroom.
With a heavy heart she pulled up her online banking portal. Her reduced salary easily covered her mortgage, but once the new second charge loan kicked in, she would have less than two hundred pounds a month to live off. She winced, closed the screen and went upstairs to clear out some more of her mother’s clothes.
Moments later she ran back downstairs, grabbed her computer, and within thirty minutes was admiring her handiwork:
Free range eggs for sale: ￡5.00 a tray or ￡3.00 for a dozen
She downloaded a picture of some happy looking hens, then printed off the notice and took it, along with her eggs and a rinsed-out yoghurt pot to the front gate.
The first occasion Clare that laid eyes on Richard since learning of his scheme was at Thursday evening bridge club. She was with Anna. Neither had expected to see him, both calculating it was too soon after his plans became public for him to show his face. But what Clare didn’t know, and Anna had overlooked, was that most of the bridge players didn’t live in the village.
Inside the village hall were several square tables covered with felt tablecloths, each surrounded by four chairs. Red plastic ‘bidding boxes’ sat on the tables, enabling players to bid silently, avoiding any claims of cheating by subtle changes to a bidder’s tone of voice or pointed clearing of throats. There was a card marked with an ‘N’ showing the position of the north-sitting player, who was required to keep score. Typically, the pairs sitting north–south remained at the same table all evening, while after playing a few rounds of pre-dealt cards, the east–west pair moved to a different table. Every time players switched tables, the cards also moved, in a different direction, and by the end of the evening, every pair would have played the same hands. The competition would produce a winning north–south partnership as well as an east–west one.
Richard and his partner were already occupying a north–south position. Clare scowled at her friend and muttered, ‘Bang goes our relaxing evening.’
Anna gave her a small smile. ‘Come on. We’ll get through this together.’ She then whispered, ‘He’s not with his usual partner. You’ll like his stand in, Mike; he’s only been playing a couple of years, but he’s charming, has an accountancy practice in Barnstaple.’ Clare wasn’t reassured; Mike could be Prince Charming himself, but that wouldn’t make up for Richard. In a tart voice, she said, ‘If I’m forced to sit at the same table as Richard I might—’
‘If we grab another north–south position, we probably won’t meet them.’
The room filled up. The club chair, Penny, stood and spoke. ‘I’m directing, I need to be north, and with her dodgy hip, I don’t want to ask Shirley here to have to move,’ Penny said, indicating the woman sitting north at Penny’s table. ‘Please could someone else in a north–south position volunteer to switch to east-west?’
Clare stayed silent. With a feeling of dread, she saw Richard’s partner, Mike, reach around for his jacket. Clare winced as the pair walked over – Richard less enthusiastically than Mike – and swapped seats with Penny and her partner.
Concentrating on the cards, Clare soon forgot about Richard. The evening passed quickly. The powerful hands were mostly north, and as the south player, Clare ended up as dummy, laying down her cards face up and silently following Anna’s directions. As players arrived at their table, Anna introduced Clare to each new east–west partnership. Everyone was friendly; there were several retired doctors and other professionals, who seemed to divide their time among the bridge table, the golf course and lots of charity work.
The last two boards arrived and with them, Richard and Mike. Clare snatched up her cards and arranged them into suits. Mike was the dealer, and reached into his bidding box, placing down a wodge of cards and bidding two Hearts.
‘That’s weak,’ said Richard.
Clare’s hands clenched around her cards. Richard shouldn’t explain his partner’s bid unless the opposition asked for clarification.
When the bidding stopped, Richard was dummy, like Clare had been frequently that evening, and laid down his cards, a triumphant expression on his face. His hand hovered over his exposed cards.
Clare folded her own cards together, desperate to remind Richard he was supposed to be a dummy – not a coach for his partner. Mike was staring blankly at the exposed cards.
Richard picked up the Queen of Hearts.
Clare folded up her cards, slammed them on the table and jabbed her index finger at Richard. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You must keep your hands away and only select a card when instructed to do so by your partner.’ Her heart was racing. The sheer arrogance of the man. She fixed her eyes on his, and for a few moments they stared at each other like chess masters before a championship final. Then Clare raised her arm. ‘Director.’
Finally, Richard broke eye contact. ‘There’s no need to do that,’ he said. ‘It’s just a game.’
‘With rules. As dummy you must follow the declarer’s directions. Not play the hand for him.’
Mike was examining his cards, seemingly unable to meet his partner’s eyes. Anna had her own cards raised, covering her face like a fan. Clare wasn’t backing down. Penny came to the table, and doing her best to keep an even tone, Clare explained events, all the while aware of the tension hanging over the table like a rain cloud threatening to burst. Why was she complaining? She wasn’t surprised to discover Richard cheated at cards. Someone who planned to devastate the village for his own selfish gain would stop at nothing to win at everything he did.
Richard ignored rules. In the planning battle, he would have an equally powerful hand to play as he had tonight. The difference was, when it came to his sheds, he would select who fought on his side with more care than he chose tonight’s stand-in bridge partner. She thought of her own team. Ivy and Fred were well meaning, but they were no match for Richard. Anna was compromised by Roger’s stance on the battle. Was Clare going to be fighting alone?
Later that evening, squeezing out a tiny blob of night cream from the travel-sized tube, Clare’s thoughts were channelled on revising her to do list. How could Hastings be defeated? Was there a local bigwig he would listen to? Should she contact the local MP? Would villagers be up for a fight, and did Richard even care what they thought about his plans if they were? She massaged the cream into her face. Was she destined to spend months on the warpath instead of on a sun lounger? She flicked off the bathroom light and trudged to her bedroom. If Brambleton stood up against Hastings, Clare would try to persuade the Council to veto the application. She reached for a pad and pencil by her bedside, scrawling down:
· Draft notice for briefing meeting
· Contact Planning Officer
· Arrange to meet them
· Reread EIA
· Get up to London
· Farmhouse repairs
Once this was over, she could put the farm on the market and finally get away.