Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘In planning terms,’ Nikolas Katsaros said, ‘this ought to be pretty straightforward. Yes, the conversions are in the curtilage of a listed building, but we’ll argue our proposals for them are sensitive and proportionate.
And yes, you’ve neglected to get listed building consent for some minor renovations to the house. ’
The architect gazed around their kitchen. ‘You’ve done a really good job, though. It’s just the kind of approach I’d have taken myself.’
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kate couldn’t help feeling pleased.
‘You’re saying we’ll win, then,’ Matt said hopefully.
Nikolas shrugged. ‘I’m saying you should win.
But it’s never that simple. So many people don’t bother applying for listed building consent for internal works that, when the council does catch someone, they like to make an example of them.
As for the issue around short-term lets .
. . It’s nonsense, but the planning committee members are elected councillors who generally want to be re-elected, so they like to be seen to be listening to their communities.
Sometimes, it’s quite literally a popularity contest.’
‘And, unfortunately, we’re the least popular people in this village,’ Kate said.
As if to underline her words, the chainsaws started up again in the woods.
Matt had snuck down at first light to see what they were up to: they seemed to be cutting some kind of path or track through the trees, he’d reported, though for what purpose was anybody’s guess.
‘It may not be quite as bad as you think,’ Nikolas said. ‘Councillors usually affiliate themselves to a political party, so decisions often split along political lines. And you can research the committee members and write to them individually, to lobby them.’
She and Matt looked at each other. It was obvious Matt wasn’t going to have time for that.
‘I can write to them,’ she said. ‘Anything’s better than just sitting here while Rosemary and Paul’s minions run rings round us.’
She started her email campaign that afternoon.
It soon became clear just how big a task it was.
The district councillors’ details were readily available online, but so was information about every decision they’d ever been involved in.
It took her two hours to research the first name on her list – Susan Green, the planning committee chair – and another hour to compose an email to her.
She was just getting a coffee when she glanced out at the garden.
They’d decided to keep Robert the gardener on for the autumn, to help them deal with the grass and the amount of fruit still falling in the orchard.
He was standing beside one of the flower beds, talking with someone she couldn’t quite see.
Then he moved, and Kate realised it was Rosemary.
She must have come through the gate in the hedge.
She was gesturing at the border, and Robert was nodding.
It looked very much like she was telling him what to do.
Kate put down her coffee and went outside. ‘Hello,’ she called firmly. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Oh, Kate.’ Rosemary turned. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you haven’t pruned these.
’ She gestured at the long hedge of lavender plants that fringed the border.
It had been in bloom when Kate came to measure for curtains, a mist of intense dark blue that had given the garden a lovely Provencal feel.
The blossoms were all dead and grey now.
‘No,’ Kate said incredulously. ‘I haven’t.’ It seemed completely bizarre that they were having this conversation, given everything else that was happening. ‘So what?’
‘Well, it needs doing, or the plants will turn into awful woody bushes. I could see from up there –’ she gestured up at The Old Tennis Court – ‘and I said to Paul, “She’ll probably get round to it soon,” but more and more time went by and in the end, I thought it would be easier if I just popped over and got it sorted.
If Robert does one side and I do the other .
. .’ She gestured again, and Kate saw there were two pairs of secateurs in her hand.
‘It would be such a shame to miss a year.’
For a moment, Kate was speechless. Then she said, ‘Rosemary, you’re in our garden.’
The other woman looked confused. ‘Yes?’
‘You can’t just walk in and start pruning.’
‘But you were clearly too busy, or you’d have done it yourself,’ Rosemary said reasonably. ‘And you did say you wanted to stay friends.’ She gazed at the lavender. ‘I planted these fifteen years ago. They’ve lasted rather well, haven’t they? But it hasn’t happened by accident.’
Robert was staring fixedly at the lavender.
News of their falling-out had probably already reached him, Kate realised.
And, although most of the local tradesmen tried to remain studiously neutral when it came to village matters, no doubt whatever she said now would be all round the area by nightfall.
She forced herself to match Rosemary’s civil tone. ‘That’s very kind of you. But Robert’s actually quite busy. Why don’t you and I tackle the lavender? I can do one side while you do the other.’
Rosemary beamed. ‘Perfect.’
‘Incidentally,’ Kate said as she took the proffered pair of secateurs, ‘you don’t happen to know what they’re doing down there, do you?’ She gestured at the woods, where the chainsaws had started shrieking again. ‘I’d go and ask, but Gordon’s put up all those Private signs.’
‘Oh . . .’ Rosemary looked vague. ‘Yes, he did mention someone had been tampering with his bangers. And he likes to give the wood a tidy-up once in a while. It’s a bit like the lavender – if you don’t, it runs away with you.’
‘It looked to me as if those woods hadn’t been touched in twenty years,’ Kate said sceptically. ‘Will’s devasted that he can’t get to his dens.’
Just for a moment, she thought she’d got through to her. Rosemary’s expression softened, and a flash of what might have been guilt crossed her face.
Then she said firmly, ‘They’re not really Will’s dens, though, are they? It was Jamie who started them. I’m sure Will’ll get over it.’