Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
After the decision, she, Matt and Nikolas quietly got to their feet and tiptoed out while the planning officer was introducing the next application. Only when the heavy door had swung shut behind them did she allow herself to let out a whoop.
‘We did it! We bloody did it!’
Matt was laughing and hugging her. ‘You did it! Where the hell did that come from? My warrior wife!’
‘I’ve no idea,’ she confessed. ‘It just sort of happened.’
‘But you had those offers with you,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘That is, they were in my folder with all the other paperwork. But it hadn’t really crossed my mind I might use them like that.’
Nikolas held out his hand. ‘Congratulations. You totally blindsided them.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, shaking it. ‘We couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘And you’ll be pleased to know,’ he added, ‘that I’ve already had an email from the conservation officer.
On the back of the planning permission, and the understanding that I’ll be supervising things from now on, she’s prepared to approve everything you’ve done so far.
But she made clear it isn’t a free pass – she’ll be scrutinising every detail in future, to make sure you’re playing by the rules. ’
Kate held up her hands. ‘I absolutely promise.’
‘We should find a pub,’ Matt said. ‘Followed by a really nice restaurant. On us, of course,’ he added to Nikolas.
The architect shook his head. ‘Thanks, but go ahead without me. I’ve got another of these with a different council tomorrow.’
They found a nice little gastropub and had an early dinner, still basking in the relief of victory. After they’d eaten, Kate made calls to the mothers of the schoolfriends Tilly and Will were with, who reported they were happy and there was no rush to pick them up.
Even so, it felt like time to head home. As they walked through Trade Cottage’s front door, Kate paused and put her palm on the wall. I did this for you.
In the kitchen, Matt had already put the kettle on. ‘Tea?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll have some juice.’ Going to the fridge, she pulled it open. Then she froze.
In the fridge door, nestled between the milk and the grapefruit juice, was a bottle of Pol Roger.
‘Did you put this here?’ she asked slowly. Matt couldn’t hear her over the noise of the kettle, and she had to repeat the question.
Alerted by her tone, he came over. ‘No,’ he said quietly.
She felt the bottle. It was cold. But that didn’t mean anything. It might have been cold when it was put there.
‘You locked the house, right?’ she asked. ‘And took the key with us?’
‘Of course.’ A lot of people round here didn’t bother, or left the key under a stone, but Matt, like her, still had the ingrained London habit of always securing their property.
‘I’ll check the windows,’ he added.
‘I’ll come with you.’ She didn’t want to be left downstairs alone.
They went round the whole house, checking the windows and doors. All were closed and secure.
Eventually, Matt said, ‘Maybe someone put it there before, and we didn’t notice—’
‘I put the milk back in the fridge when we left for the meeting. I’d have noticed a bottle of champagne.
’ She shuddered. ‘No. Someone’s been in here.
Trying to freak us out. It’s the house rule, right?
“Always have some champers in the fridge.”’ She thought, then added, ‘And, by “someone” . . . Paul couldn’t have managed it.
And it isn’t Rosemary’s style. It must be Jamie.
His way of saying, “Enjoy your moment, because it isn’t over. ”’
‘But how the hell did he get in?’ Matt said, frowning.
‘Maybe they kept a key when they moved out. Maybe he had his own copy.’
‘Shit.’ Matt took a breath. ‘I’ll get the locks changed tomorrow.’
‘You can’t,’ she pointed out. ‘That one on the front door is ancient. The back door, too. There’s no way we’ll be allowed to replace them.’
‘We’ll add bolts, then. And a deadlock.’
‘Even those will need permission, now the conservation officer’s got us in her sights. A brand-new deadlock on the front door is the first thing she’d spot.’
‘Well, I’m calling the police.’ Matt pulled out his phone and dialled 999. When it was answered, he put the phone on speaker and explained there’d been an intruder.
‘Is the person still there?’ the call handler asked.
‘We don’t believe so. But we’re pretty sure we know who it was. The son of a neighbour.’
‘Has there been a dispute?’
‘You could say that.’ Matt’s voice was grim.
‘Are there any signs of forced entry?’
‘No. But he left a bottle of champagne in the fridge.’ Briefly, Matt explained the context – the house rule, the committee meeting. Even to Kate’s ears, it sounded surreal. Crazy, perhaps.
‘So, to summarise,’ the call handler interrupted, ‘there’s no evidence of forced entry, no theft, no threats of violence, but someone’s left you a gift.’
Matt admitted that was the case.
‘You can call 101 in the morning if you want to discuss home security,’ the voice said. ‘In future, please only use this number for emergencies.’ The line went dead.
Kate went to the fridge and took out the bottle.
Matt looked surprised. ‘You’re not going to drink it?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want it in the house.’
She took it to the sink and opened it. As she did so, she remembered Rosemary’s instructions for wringing a duck’s neck: Twist and pull – firmly, like you’re pulling a cork out of a champagne bottle.
She felt faintly sick as the bronze-coloured liquid fizzed and hissed down the plughole.
Then she dropped the empty bottle into the recycling bin.
‘We still won,’ Matt said, watching her face.
‘We humiliated him,’ she said. ‘That written offer of his was stupid and entitled, and that was what undid them.’ She thought back to the look of cold fury with which Jamie had listened to his words being read out, the glance of startled dismay Paul had directed at his son before slumping down in his wheelchair.
‘It’s not just the house he’s going to want now,’ she added. ‘It’s revenge.’