Chapter 22
Coming home from Holyfield Farm one evening, I discovered Stewart outside his shop, topping up the black paint with an equally black look on his face.
‘Doing up the place already?’ I called.
‘Thanks to bloody Sienna Edge.’ He nodded to a patch of red he was giving a vicious rollering. ‘Nice of her to single me out in the paper. Some prick vandalised my shop last night.’
‘Oh my God!’ I went to join him. ‘Did you report it?’
‘Yeah, I couldn’t paint over it until the police and insurance people had taken photos. It’s been there all day for everyone to see.’ He scowled at the paint. ‘Whoever it was sloshed “Save the Barbastelles” across the shop in red paint. Probably supposed to represent the bloody murder of innocent bats by us evil capitalist tycoons.’
‘Bastards!’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he said. ‘You’re lucky they didn’t target the restaurant, too.’
‘God, yes. We’d never have sorted it in time for opening. A whole night’s takings lost.’
He snorted. ‘We can afford it, according to Sienna.’
‘So you want a hand, love?’
‘No, I’m ok. Got reinforcements on the way.’ He turned to me. ‘We need to get this bat thing sorted though, Lana. I can’t have this happen again.’
‘I know, we’re running out of time. I wrote to Harold Fitch last week making our case. I’ll do a letter to the paper correcting what Batwoman said now.’
‘You want me to do anything?’
‘If you’re offering. You can help me get a petition out supporting the viaduct plan, show the public’s on our side.’
‘How will that help with the bats though?’
I tapped the side of my head. ‘Public support equals public votes equals a sympathetic MP. Capisci?’
He grinned. ‘Pretty cynical for a youngster, aren’t you?’
‘It’s one of my more endearing qualities.’ I looked at the ugly graffiti and shook my head. ‘I’m sorry about this, Stew. It’s not fair you were singled out when it was my idea.’
‘Belongs to all of us now though, doesn’t it?’
‘S’pose it does. See you later.’
In the restaurant, I said a quick hello to Tom on the front desk and jogged upstairs.
Flash immediately bounded up and threw himself against my legs in welcome. He didn’t seem to realise he wasn’t puppy-sized any more, acting like the same tiny, fluffy rocket he’d been when we’d adopted him seven months ago. I bent down to pat him and he gave my cheek a rough lick.
‘Right, doggy features. Me and you have got work to do.’
As soon as we’d set up camp in a corner of the sofa, I grabbed my netbook to write a response to Sienna Edge.
What was it she’d said? Greed and self-interest. Yeah, that’d been bloody irritating.
I started tapping away and after ten minutes or so, I had this:
Sir. In your issue of Thursday last, you included an interview with Ms Sienna Edge regarding plans for the reopening of Egglethwaite Viaduct as a public right of way. In particular, Ms Edge raised a number of concerns relating to the colony of rare barbastelle bats resident there. As spokesperson for the campaign group seeking the reopening, I would like to state that the council have assured us the bats can be translocated with minimal loss of life, thus ensuring a future for both the colony and the viaduct.
Yep, that sounded good. What else? I thought about Dad and felt my anger rising.
Ms Edge also accuses the group of self-interest. While several of us are indeed business owners – albeit small village enterprises rather than the mega-industrialists she paints us – our primary interest is as local residents.
My late father, Filippo Donati, had a vision for the viaduct. He believed it could be opened up for the enjoyment of everyone. As a memorial to him, it is our intention to fight for this.
We have nothing but the greatest respect for Ms Edge and her colleagues, nor do we wish to act inhumanely to any wildlife resident in the viaduct. We remain open to future dialogue with the bat protection group, especially if it can help us find a mutually acceptable way forward. But we won’t stop fighting. We owe it to my dad and to local people to make the viaduct useful once again.
Faithfully,
Lana Donati
I wondered if I should mention Stewart and the graffiti too, but decided against it. It might sound defensive, and I wanted the tone to be calm and businesslike compared with the over-the-top rhetoric of Sienna’s statement.
My Adele ringtone fired up and I grabbed my phone from the table.
‘Hi, Lana. Andy Chen.’
‘Let me guess. Good news and bad news, right?’ This was the third time he’d rung me, and he always opened the conversation the same way.
‘You know me too well,’ he said, laughing. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not bad bad news. Just ringing about your grant.’
I felt a stab of panic. ‘The council didn’t reject it?’
‘No, but there’s been a hold-up processing the application while they check you definitely fit the criteria for a historic structure grant. Nothing to worry about. With an amount like that they need to be extra cautious, that’s all.’
‘So what’s the good news?’ I asked.
‘The workmen finished the safety survey today.’
‘Oh. Right.’ I frowned. ‘That’s good news?’
‘It’s not just that. Look, I shouldn’t really be telling you this before the official report, but it sounds like the 2001 survey still stands: everything structural is fine. In terms of making it safe, it’s just a case of clearing out the plant and animal life, getting the old rails up and having the thing resurfaced. No new problems.’
‘Oh my God, really?’ I almost squealed. ‘Andy, I think I love you.’
He laughed. ‘Then you’ll be naming the wedding date in a minute.’
‘What, is there more?’
‘Yep.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Lana, you have to promise this goes no further than you and me for now, ok?’
I hesitated. ‘Not even my brother?’
‘Well, you can tell your committee if you trust them to keep it in confidence. But no one else.’
‘I’ll be careful. Go on.’
‘You wrote to Harold Fitch, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t trying to go over your head or anything. I was just running out of ideas for moving things forward.’
‘It’s fine, honestly. Anyway, he contacted the council demanding to know more. Said the viaduct plan was obviously polarising his constituents and he was taking a personal interest.’ I could tell he was grinning.
‘What did you do, Andy?’ I said, smiling.
‘I convinced him to send a wildlife expert up with the survey team. I can’t announce anything yet, but… well, there’s a good chance there might not be any barbastelles. The expert thinks they might’ve died out or moved on since the 2001 survey.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Nope. He’ll have to analyse all his photos and make an official report, but it could be problem solved. Keep schtum for now though, ok? Remember, this conversation never happened.’
‘As long as my mobile isn’t going to self-destruct.’
‘I’m afraid the council don’t have the budget for that level of espionage. You’ll just have to eat it.’
I laughed. ‘Well, thanks, Andy. You know, you’re getting to be my favourite person.’
‘No problem. Oh, nice calendar shoot by the way,’ he said just before he hung up.
I winced. So our calendar had found its way to the council, had it? Another group of people I could never look in the face again without blushing.
But even that thought couldn’t bring me down. Our biggest problem, seemingly unconquerable just a few minutes ago, gone! No more Sienna Edge, no more nasty letters in the paper, no more graffiti. I felt like I’d burst if I didn’t tell someone.
I almost skipped down to the restaurant, where Jasmine was on the front desk.
‘Where’s Tom?’ I demanded.
‘Popped out. Cameron came in to say hi after work, your brother’s walking him home.’
Damn it! Who else could I tell? Andy had said only to talk to committee members I could trust. That ruled out Yolanda for a start. I wasn’t even sure about Sue. Deny it as she might, she liked a good gossip as much as the next farmer’s wife.
I thought of Stewart. Surely he deserved to know. The barbastelles had just cost him an afternoon’s work.
‘If Tom comes in, tell him I’ve just bobbed over the road,’ I said to Jasmine.
When I got to Stewart’s shop, the front door was open. I barged straight in and jogged up his stairs two at a time.
I pounded at the door of his flat. ‘Stew! Guess who’s got news?’
He answered a minute later, in his bathrobe again holding a tumbler of something that smelt sweet and alcoholic.
‘Is it… Lana Donati?’
‘Yep!’ I beamed at him. ‘I just spoke to Andy. You can’t tell anyone yet, but – ’ I stopped, detecting a distinctly feminine floral smell that couldn’t be his aftershave. ‘Oh, sorry. Did you have company?’
‘Who is it, Stewpot?’ a voice called from the living room.
‘It’s Lana,’ Stewart called back. ‘She’s got news, apparently.’
My eyes saucered as Yolanda appeared behind him, clutching another tumbler. She was in the little kimono she’d worn to the calendar shoot, her pink hair turbaned in a towel.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said with a slightly smug smile. ‘We were just having a post-shower drinky-poo. Care to join us?’
‘Erm, no,’ I mumbled, backing away. ‘Sorry, didn’t realise you were – I just came to tell Stewart something.’
‘About the viaduct?’
‘Yes. The viaduct.’
‘Then come in and tell us both,’ she said, waving her tumbler in the direction of Stewart’s living room. ‘I’m sure we can rummage out a third glass, can’t we, Stewpot?’
‘Of course.’ His eyes looked searchingly into mine. ‘If you’d like to, Lana.’
‘No, I… you’re obviously busy. Anyway, I’ve got a shift in an hour. I’d better go.’
‘But what about the news?’ Stewart said.
‘Oh. The news.’ I shot a wary look at Yolanda. ‘Actually I got a bit over-excited. It’s sort of secret at the moment, I probably shouldn’t say anything.’
‘You can’t just leave it like that, darling,’ Yolanda said, laughing. ‘The suspense might kill us.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find a way to console yourselves,’ I muttered as I headed back down the stairs.
***
In the living room, Tom was back from seeing Cameron home, snuggled up with Flash watching TV.
‘Stew ok?’ he asked, switching the telly off.
‘He’s plenty ok.’
‘I read your letter. Hope you don’t mind but you left it open. It’s good, sis. That’ll tell Sienna Edge and her gang, eh?’
‘Yeah. Tell Sienna Gang and her hedge.’
He frowned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m… fine,’ I answered absently, sitting down next to him.
He waved a hand in front of my eyes. ‘You want a cuppa then, zombieface?’
I shook my head to free it of the cloying fog. ‘Coffee. Ta.’
Tom dislodged Flash and went to make drinks, floating back what seemed like seconds later with a mug of something hot. I was still staring ahead, unblinking, as he put it in my hands and closed my fingers around it.
‘Tom?’ I said as he reclaimed his seat.
‘What?’
‘Think I just caught Stewart McLean and Yolanda Sommerville having a post-shag nightcap.’
‘What? Don’t be daft!’
I jerked my head in the direction of Stewart’s shop. ‘She’s there now. Drinking something that smells suspiciously like elderflower gin.’
‘Doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve been at it, does it?’
‘She was in her kimono. With him in his bathrobe. And unless I’m sorely mistaken, not a right lot underneath.’
Tom hesitated.
‘Ok, that does seem pretty damning,’ he said after a minute. ‘Yo-yo though! She’s twice his age. It’s not like Stew can go short of offers.’
‘But she’s very available,’ I said. ‘And much as I hate to admit it, Yo-yo’s an attractive woman. An experienced one, too. Maybe he’s got a Mrs Robinson complex.’
‘Yeah, but age gap aside, she’s so… well, full-on.’
‘Terrifying, you mean?’
‘That’s the word. She’ll eat him alive.’ Tom shook his head. ‘That elderflower gin must be stronger than I thought.’
I scowled as the anger finally clawed through my daze and bit me in the spleen. ‘Stewart bloody McLean! Just when I’d started to think he might not be so bad, just when I was actually thinking about forgiving him, he’s off shagging Yolanda!’
‘Does he know you like him?’ Tom asked.
‘I don’t like him. I hate him. I really, really hate that guy.’ I put my coffee down. ‘Right. Where’s my phone?’
‘Erm, sis. What’re you up to?’ Tom said, sounding worried. ‘You’re not ringing him, are you? At least wait till you’re calmer.’
‘Nope. I’m ringing Andy Chen. Got some revenge dating to do.’
‘Don’t, Lana. It’s not nice. You won’t enjoy it.’
‘Who says I won’t? Andy’s a lovely guy. And he’s been flirting with me, I’m sure.’
‘Yeah, but you like Stew.’
‘I don’t.’ As if to prove the point, I yanked my phone out and dialled Andy’s number.
‘Hello?’ a feminine voice said.
‘Oh. Hi. I was after Andy.’
‘He’s just in the bath. This is Melanie, his fiancée. Can I take a message?’
Well, that answered one question.
‘It’s Lana from the cycling group,’ I said. ‘I was… speaking to him about something earlier, but it’s not important. No need to ring me back.’
‘Girlfriend?’ Tom said when I’d ended the call.
‘Fiancée.’
‘Good. That’ll stop you making that daft mistake then.’
‘Hmm.’ I paused to consider an idea I’d just had. ‘Tommy, I’m about to do something you’ll find hard to understand. Just remember I’m your sister and I love you, ok?’
‘Oh God. What?’
‘Pass me Harper Brady’s business card.’