Wychetts

by William Holley

13 The Man from the Council

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!”

  Bryony sprinted down the hall, through the still door-less arched doorway, and threw herself at the person standing outside the cottage.

  “Mum!” She wrapped her arms around the visitor and squeezed with all her might. “Oh Mum! I’m so glad you… huh?”

  Bryony’s mother, or rather the person Bryony thought was her mother, gave her a long cold stare.

  “Would you mind taking your hands off me?” he pleaded in a croaky voice.

  Bryony obliged and stepped back, her curious gaze sweeping the visitor from head to foot. He was a strange looking man, with a large beak of a nose and hardly any chin at all. What remained of his hair was an unnatural jet-black colour, a few strands of which were combed across his balding crown. His eyes were a piercing silver-grey, but looked somehow too small for his head. He wore a tatty dark suit, with frayed collar and cuffs that reminded Bryony of feathers.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “And what have you done with my mum?”

  The man looked confused, and was about to reply when Bryony spotted movement over his left shoulder. She pushed him aside, and saw a slim, blonde haired woman striding towards her.

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummm!”

  Bryony launched herself at the second visitor, but the woman sidestepped her embrace, and Bryony ended up face down on the ground.

  “Oh dear,” said a soft, purring voice. “You seem to have fallen over. Let me help you.”

  A slender, brown-gloved hand hooked around Bryony’s arm. Bryony stood up and smiled her thanks at the woman, who she now realised wasn’t her mother.

  But she was just as beautiful, with high cheekbones, luscious pink lips and a delicate little nose. Her blonde hair was cut in a stylish bob, and shimmered like gold in the morning sunshine. She wore a chic creamy coat, a pair of trendy chocolate coloured boots, and a gorgeous necklace studded with diamonds, their sparkle more than matched by her luminous emerald eyes.

  “Oh dear,” said the woman, noticing Bryony’s hand. “You’ve cut yourself.”

  The scratch marks had faded, but were still very visible. “It’s nothing,” said Bryony. “Some stupid cat took a swipe at me. But I’ll get it back, don’t you worry.”

  Bryony tore her gaze from the beautiful lady and peered down the garden, but there was no sign of any further arrivals. “Where’s my mum? Inglenook said…”

  “Inglenook?” The woman frowned. “Who is Inglenook?”

  Bryony was about to explain, then thought better of it. Talking wooden faces that granted wishes sounded kind of dumb, and she didn’t want to look an idiot in front of such a cool, elegant lady.

  “What’s going on here?” Bryony’s father emerged from the cottage, wielding a hack-saw. “Oh, hello.” He smiled when he noticed the man and the woman. “Didn’t know we had visitors. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Dawes,” said the big nosed man in the tatty dark suit. “Mr Jack Dawes. And this,” he gestured to the blonde haired woman, “is my assistant, Miss Katya Pauncefoot.”

  Bryony didn’t know why, but she had a strange feeling she had met Mr Dawes and Miss Pauncefoot before.

  “I’m Mr Platt,” said Bill. “And this is my daughter Bryony.”

  “That is a pretty name,” purred Katya, her green eyes swivelling back to Bryony. “And such a pretty creature, too.”

  Bryony’s cheeks reddened. She never minded being called pretty (it didn’t happen often enough, as far as she was concerned) but to be called so by such a beautiful woman was a real compliment; even if she was a bit dubious about the ‘creature’ bit.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” said a beaming Bill. “So to what do we owe the pleasure? Only, I’m right in the middle of some complicated carpentry, and to be honest I need some practice with my new hammer here.”

  “That is a saw,” said Mr Dawes.

  “It is?” A frowning Bill examined the tool he was holding. “That’ll explain why it took so long to cut the wood with that long handled blunty thing.”

  “I can see you are busy,” said Mr Dawes. “But hopefully this will only take a few moments. We are representatives of the Local Council.”

  Bill jumped. “Council?” For some reason Bryony couldn’t fathom, her father’s face suddenly turned a funny colour.

  Mr Dawes nodded, his tiny grey eyes darting across the decrepit cottage. “It has come to our attention that you have recently purchased this property, and are considering modifications to its structure.”

  Bill nodded. “I’m going to repair it, yes. But how did you…”

  “I trust you are aware that, before any such works are undertaken, consent must be obtained from the Council Planning Department?”

  “Of course,” said Jane, appearing from the cottage behind Bill. “My husband must have submitted a planning application. Haven’t you, darling?”

  Bryony’s father coughed, and fiddled with his collar. “Er… um… well, I was thinking of getting round to it at some point, but…”

  “No matter,” said Mr Dawes. “If you would care to show me the plans you have for the intended works, I’m sure the Council will be amenable to your desired modifications.”

  “Plans?” Bill looked confused.

  “Indeed.” Mr Dawes frowned. “Surely you have prepared diagrams detailing the proposed development?”

  Bill’s confused expression hardened into one of shock. “Diagrams? Er… well. I haven’t really had time for things like that.”

  Mr Dawes didn’t seem impressed. “The Council cannot consider redevelopment proposals without plans, Mr Platt.”

  More collar fiddling from Bryony’s father. “How about if you give me a little while to get them drawn up? I think I’ve got some crayons somewhere...”

  “That isn’t possible,” croaked Mr Dawes. “Time is running out. You see the Council has received a number of complaints relating to this property.”

  “Complaints?” Bill frowned. “Who from?”

  “Neighbours,” said Mr Dawes.

  “We don’t have any neighbours.” Jane gestured around them at the empty fields. “There aren’t any houses for miles.”

  Mr Dawes ignored Jane’s observation. “The house is near derelict, and is a serious health and safety issue. Further to that, it is a blot on the landscape. It is the Council’s opinion that the cottage should be demolished.”

  “But you can’t do that,” gasped Bill. “This house is of special historic interest.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Mr Dawes.

  “The man who sold it to me.”

  “And who might that have been?”

  Bill shrugged. “Don’t know. Never got his name. Only ever spoke to him on the phone. Sounded a bit like you, actually. Sort of croaky voice…”

  “You didn’t get his name?” Now it was Jane who looked appalled. “You bought a house from someone and you didn’t take their name?”

  Bryony’s heart skipped a beat. At long last it looked like they were going to argue.

  Mr Dawes cut in before Bill could respond. “I am a busy man and will get straight to the point. The Council served a demolition notice on the previous owner of this property because he failed to maintain it to a reasonable standard. The demolition is due at midday today.”

  “Today?” Bill and Jane shrieked the word in unison.

  Mr Dawes nodded. “And because you have failed to prove to me that you will be able to repair this building to a satisfactory standard, I have no choice but to allow demolition to proceed as planned.”

  “You can’t do that,” wailed Bill. “We won’t have a home.”

  “Then you’ll just have to build a new one,” said Mr Dawes. “Not here, of course. It’s a designated area of outstanding natural beauty. But I’m sure you’ll find a convenient spot somewhere else. Subject to the usual planning consents, of course.”

  Bill shook his head. “But I don’t have enough money to
build a new house. Not here, not anywhere…”

  “Oh Bill,” cried Jane. “Why didn’t you check this out before you bought the cottage?”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Bill. “Solicitors are supposed to do that sort of thing.”

  “And did you use a solicitor?”

  “Yes, of course I did.” Then Bill thought about it for a bit. “Well, no, actually I didn’t. Thought it would be cheaper if I carried out all the legal negotiations myself.”

  “Oh Bill,” wailed Jane. “What have you done? All our money thrown away!”

  Bryony exploded with laughter. As far as she was concerned this was all fantastic news. “So we don’t have to spend another night in this grotty old tip? Cool!”

  “Mr Dawes,” said Bill, clasping his hands together in that praying gesture of his. “Forget about the plans. How about if I give you a quick tour of the house? I’ll tell you what I intend to do. I’ll convince you that Wychetts can be restored to its former glory.”

  Mr Dawes stared at Bill for several seconds, and then his tiny grey eyes flickered to his personal assistant.

  “I think that would be a very good idea,” said Miss Pauncefoot. “If you agree, Mr Dawes?”

  The man from the Council nodded. “Very well. I think it only fair to give you every possible chance, Mr Platt.”

  Bryony’s heart sank.

  “Great.” Bill grinned and clapped his hands together. “Follow me.”

  Bill dived back into the house, dragging a shocked looking Jane with him. Mr Dawes glanced at Miss Pauncefoot, and then followed. Bryony remained outside with the blonde haired woman.

  “It would be such a shame if the house was destroyed,” said Miss Pauncefoot, gazing sadly at the cottage. “Older houses have so much character. So much magic.”

  “Magic?” Suddenly Bryony had an idea. “That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

  “Think of what?” asked Miss Pauncefoot.

  But Bryony was sprinting back into the cottage...