By the time Verity had provided a bin liner for the sodden magazines and made an attempt to clean the carpet, the tea urn had been packed away. They were led through to the board room, via the refitted cutting shop with its new computerised technology, they were all beginning to appreciate where their money had been spent.
Once the formalities had been observed, and the minutes of the last meeting approved and closed, Jazz began by laying out two documents on the centre of the table. Proposal A and B were marked clearly on the front covers of each one. He outlined why it was necessary to re-finance, and expand the business, and how he proposed to turn a loss making organisation into a profitable concern, within the space of the next two years.
Gran patted her briefcase fondly. She’d amassed quite a dossier on Mr Jazz Silver, over the course of the past two weeks. She had plenty of ammunition in here, if she needed to use it. She’d stop at nothing, to prevent that land being used for development.
Jonathan took his glasses off, and blinked owlishly at the folders on the table. He removed a fine cloth from the inside pocket of his suit and proceeded to clean the lenses. First one, and then the other, studiously replacing the neatly folded cloth in his pocket once more, when the task was done.
Jeremy fished in his pocket for his mobile phone, and inspected the screen, taking care to make sure that it was set on silent.
Likewise, Mark did the same.
The vicar sat bolt upright in his seat, like a man condemned, and stared straight ahead without blinking once. He wasn’t good at confrontation, and felt distinctly uncomfortable. He hoped that this didn’t go on for too long. One of his elderly parishioners was ill in hospital and he wanted to go and pay her a visit. He wondered what words might bring her comfort, if she was pondering what might become of her, when her time on this earth was done.
The first dossier, when they did get around to inspecting the contents, included detailed proposals for using the remainder of the estate for country pursuits.
Jazz had consulted various organisations locally to find out what the land had been used for, historically speaking, and what was popular these days.
The response had been unanimous. A local shoot had been established on the property for generations, only coming to a close a matter of years ago, when the new building had been proposed and Home Farm had been tenanted out. The farm was unoccupied again now, and belonged to the estate with single bank fishing rights attached. Resurrecting country sports on the land and in the area, might prove to be profitable, and would maintain the land for future generations in a way that Crystal’s grandfather would appreciate.
The proposal certainly hit the right note, with the assembled board members. Brought up in the country and following generations of country folk before them, they knew the benefits to the local economy and wildlife that proper ‘husbandry’ of the estate might bring.
Crystal looked at the vicar, would he be in favour? She wasn’t sure if blood sports went hand-in-hand with the clergy.
Her brothers were well read people and had been brought up in an environment of lively debate. She’d heard them expounding the ways of the countryside to less enlightened members of the community, ‘townies’ and city dwellers, who admired the fields with little understanding of how the countryside worked. She thought her brothers would be in favour, especially if it stopped the developers getting their hands on the land.
She opened the impressive glossy bundle of papers, tied up with ribbon, which had been laid out beside the neat white card which bore her name at the table. As she pulled the papers out, another small neatly folded piece of paper fluttered free. It had been caught up with the other pages in the bundle and had her name neatly penned in thick dark ink, written with a bold hand, and the words ‘confidential’ in capital letters stamped imperiously across one corner.
Almost without volition, her eyes met Jazz’s steely gaze, his lip quirked and he continued his speech, without missing a beat. She glanced around the room to see what everyone else had pulled out of their folders. Just the standard papers, it seemed, with their neatly beribboned pages.
The composure of his stance, and the stillness of his frame set her radar on full alert. She peeled back the corner of the paper cautiously, keeping the details close to her chest. The fuzzy photocopy was not immediately recognisable, but she didn’t need clarification in order to recognise her own bottom.
She was off the hook now.
Why Jazz had taken this opportunity to return the evidence, she’d no idea, but she felt a lot safer with the photocopy under her own control again, that was for sure. Did this mean that he finally trusted her, at last? Or did he no longer need it, now that he had evidence of her involvement with Saskia?
She knew that if left alone, her family would never have made the connection. She’d worked with many headline stars during her time with The Business, so they had all got bored of asking who she was working with now. They rarely, if ever, recognised the up and coming young stars, that Crystal was often at pains to promote.
With effort, she snapped her attention back to the meeting in hand. Everyone else had already read the outline proposals, so Crystal stuffed the photocopy into her trouser pocket. She didn’t want that one falling into the wrong hands now.
She returned her attention to the papers in front of her, quickly scanning the figures. She cast a coy glance in Jazz’s direction.
He had been waiting for her response and he played it cool. He merely quirked one eyebrow and continued on with his sales pitch, barely missing a beat.
Crystal scanned the document which outlined the first proposal. Jazz had done his homework well. The report started with the acreage that the whole site covered, included an aerial view of the land and anticipated the number of parties that the land could sustain on a regular basis. Potential clients for the venue had been sought, and under the heading ‘staff’, the proposals outlined employment for one full time gamekeeper, several hours part time work for assistants and regular work for staff on a casual basis to run operations.
As her eyes skimmed down the page, she caught sight of the one ‘contentious’ issue.
The Folly.
Proposals were outlined to turn the existing building into a visitor centre, with full catering facilities available for year round use of the site. In summer, fishing and mountain biking would take the place of shooting and countryside awareness courses.
The big corporate companies had already been polled and a tailor-made package proposed to suit their business needs. They would start out with just four ‘premium package’ days to choose from, but more options could be added at a later date. There would be a ‘countryside awareness’ course, designed to show off the husbandry of the land, give an overview of countryside concerns and show how the land and the surrounding areas were sustained. This would be available to the wider community, including schools and young people’s organisations.
A half-day spent outside in the open air, returning back to The Folly for lunch and then a demonstration of country crafts and skills provided by local craftsmen and women. This course could be adapted to fit a variety of needs.
The other three options revolved around the various shooting packages which corporate groups offered to their clients as PR days, depending on the season. There were Bronze, Silver and Gold packages, which varied from a good old ‘fry-up’ breakfast to start and ‘pie and mash’ with a trip to the pub to finish, right through to the executive option of malt whiskies and kedgeree to start and port and steaks served by waiters ‘in the field’, from large coal fired braziers. It was an impressive proposal.
What would gran make of the use of The Folly though? Would it be enough to see it secured for future generations?
Jazz was moving on to proposal two now.
Crystal undid the band on the papers in the second business case.
A new range of tarpaulins, nothing revolutionary there, she thought. As her eyes skimmed down the page, she realised that the
se were aimed at the narrow boat market, and tied in to their current product range.
Their core business stemmed from the tent making venture that her granddad had set up in the mid-forties, when the camping leisure market had really taken off. He’d come up with a new design and pioneering methods of tent construction. When her parents had taken over, three decades later, they had expanded into awnings and more recently covered shelters for schools and commercial premises, as the market had diversified and tastes and fashions had dictated. Now Jazz had picked on the one sector of the market that had been here, under their nose for years, and they’d failed to capitalise upon. They had the Kennet and Avon canal and the River Avon meandering through their property and they’d never even thought to capture the floating market place.
Granddad’s focus had always been on the great outdoors, and mum had favoured the educational sector, so business had naturally progressed in those areas, but now, with so many competitors making cheap replicas of their designs, the traditional base was flooded and growth tight.
A boat hire business could run in tandem with the new personalised covers and designs, tailor made for each individual narrow-boat and as they floated their way up and down the waterways they would showcase the products for them. They could buy in the craft and run the operation themselves, or rent out to other operators, both proposals were outlined. Jazz had even approached established companies, to see if they could use existing markets as a starting platform and save on costs. It was all here, in the proposals.
Crystal’s head buzzed with the possibilities. Both options had so much to offer, and used the land which her gran held in such high regard. She looked around the table, at the assembled faces, and wondered who might start the discussion. Everyone was silent, taking in the enormity of the opportunities which had stood on their doorstep for generations, and which they had all so blithely overlooked. They’d hired in a high flying, corporate, London director, and he’d shown them what had been there, ready and waiting, all along.
Jazz was wrapping the meeting up now. He proposed that they take the information away with them, to peruse at their leisure, and then take a vote at the next board meeting, some two weeks hence. They needed time to gather their thoughts and establish exactly what it was, that would benefit not just the firm, but the local economy as a whole.
The vicar had come out of his trance, to take an active part in the discussion, and he was now asking remarkably astute questions regarding access to the site and congestion in the village. He surprised everyone by commenting that he’d been considered a ‘crack shot’ in his day, and wanted to know if clay pigeons could be substituted for live shooting, for the more ethical sportsman. People around here held very strong views, for and against this type of venture, he warned.
Gran removed her dossier from the shiny surface of the boardroom table, and stowed it in the large holdall at her feet. She’d save that information for later. It wasn’t needed right now. Both proposals had merit and seemed to be sympathetically prepared, with local concerns in mind. They all had a lot to think about over the next few days and weeks.
She glanced from Crystal to Jazz and then back again. Looking for clues. She’d heard the rumours too. She still didn’t trust him an inch, especially where her granddaughter was concerned.
Chapter11
A Day for Organisation
Crystal left the other board members tucking into one of Norma’s fabulous lunches, and pulled her wellies back on, over her more practical clothing. She’d changed back into her jeans and was attempting to journey over to the farm this afternoon. She must make it back before six o’clock, she decided, as she dragged open the door to the Land Rover and took the large step up to slide in behind the wheel.
She checked the back seat out of habit. Norma had loaded the rear of the vehicle with provisions, enough to feed an army. There was an enormous stack of sandwiches, all wrapped up in shiny silver foil and two large flasks of hot strong tea. A fresh clean rug and a flashlight were stacked up on the seat beside the food, just in case. The Land Rover would easily cope with worst of road conditions, but in this climate it was a good idea to be prepared. Crystal wondered if there was still a shovel in the back, from the last spell of cold weather.
She left the engine running, to warm up a bit, before she set off and reached for the door handle. She’d better get out and check properly, if she got stuck in a drift, she just might have to dig herself out. You didn’t face these kind of problems organising events in LA, she mused.
The wind blew sharply as she opened the driver’s door and the last of the snow clinging to the roof blew off and hit her in the face as she scrambled back out of the car. Ice crystals drizzled down her neck.
She dusted the worst of the snow from her face and neck and opened the back door to see what was in the back of the vehicle, on the floor. There was an ice scraper and a can of de-icer, rolling around behind the driver’s seat, and the shovel was there too. The newspapers and jumpers and things that usually resided on the back seat had all been stacked neatly behind the seat too. She smiled, good old Norma, she couldn’t stand untidiness. Knowing Jeremy the car wouldn’t stay tidy for long. The small parcel, placed prominently on the top of the pile, caught her attention. She wouldn’t usually have looked at it, it was addressed to Jeremy, but the company logo branded all across the front of the package was enough to make her heart flip.
There was only one item that would have made it through to her brother, and the writing looked remarkably like Carrie’s, she’d sent the contacts book to Jeremy using the office post. How long had the book been in the back of his car, she wondered. She scrutinised it carefully. It was postmarked last Friday, the day after she’d rung Carrie. So it had been sent out on time then, after all. She threw it back onto the seat and slammed the door decisively. Too late for that now, the ball was all organised, bar the last minute hitches.
She hoisted herself back into the driving seat, slammed the door with a hefty thud, and shoved the car into gear. She needed to get on with it. As the car reached the end of the lane, and turned left onto the high street, a silver grey Alfa pulled out of the pub car park and purred along silently in her wake.
Crystal caught sight of the vehicle in her rear view mirror. He’d be lucky to get that out of the village in one piece, she thought. Must be an out-of-towner, no local would try driving that ridiculous beast on roads like this, on a day like today. She fixed her attention on the road ahead, it was still perilously icy and she needed to concentrate on her own driving. So long as the driver didn’t expect her to rescue them when they got stuck, it wouldn’t be a problem. The hill out of town might prove a bit tricky, she didn’t expect the sports car to make it up the incline, it would give her a laugh if nothing else.
The car pulled in half way up the hill, beside a posh silver ‘airstream’ trailer. Crystal blinked twice. Old farmer Blake would have a fit if he caught them camping on his land. The caravan may be worth a fortune, but it wouldn’t impress old Billy Blake. He’d given a bunch of holiday makers a very rude awakening the other summer, when they’d mistaken the lay-by bordering his land for a camping site. He’d tethered his prize bull to the handle of the caravan door. When they’d woken up and attempted to leave the van they had come nose to nose with a bellowing beast. The big old bull had been a prize specimen in his day, but he was a bit past anything too energetic these days and relatively harmless, in all honesty. He looked impressive enough to the untrained eye, and the pesky campers didn’t know that.
Old Billy had laughed himself silly as he’d sat on his tractor in the next field and watched them trying to climb out of the tiny side window on the other side of their caravan. Apparently they’d finally made it out in one piece and had turned up at the back door to the farmhouse covered in cow dung and asking for the farmer.
His wife, Rose, had kept a straight face and told them he was busy out in the fields, somewhere. She’d suggested that they might like to feed the bull c
arrots, they would put him in a good mood and then he might lie down and go to sleep. She’d sold them a big bag for a fiver and then by the time that they’d returned to their caravan, trembling in their posh city trainers, Billy had sneaked in and led the animal safely away.
They’d disappeared off down the lane at a tremendous rate of knots and had stopped at the village post office for directions to the nearest police station to ‘report’ the dangerous beast on the loose. The village postmaster had kindly reminded them that they had in actual fact been trespassing, so perhaps they might not want to inform the local constabulary, they had strict penalties for that kind of thing in the countryside, he’d explained. By the time that the story had been re-told for the umpteenth time in the ‘Dog and Duck’, Billy had earned himself enough free pints to last him a week. So, given the opportunity, you never knew when he might decide to pull another stunt like that one.
Saskia had watched the Land Rover chug up over the hill from the tiny office in the front of the caravan and now she went to meet Phil as he pulled the Alfa in beside the trailer. Her car was much more suitable for this kind of weather, so they’d decided to pool resources. She pre-empted any kind of questions regarding Crystal by starting the conversation herself.
“My source tells me that he’s secured us tickets on the same table as Crystal and her family for tonight and he’s sure that she will be in attendance. So there’s no point in running around in the snow this afternoon trying to get hold of her. We’ll put our proposals to her at the ball. I’m sure that she has calmed down enough to be reasonable by now, and she’ll see the potential in our plan. Crystal is the one who is always going on about grasping the opportunity and living in the moment, she’ll come around, you’ll see. I’ll offer her a big fat pay rise too, that should settle the deal. I’ve taken the liberty of getting the lawyers to draw up a very lucrative new contract and they have e-mailed it over to me already. I just need to download it from my BlackBerry to a suitable printer and we can present it to her, fait accompli, tonight. I’m sure she’ll be suitably impressed and accept our offer straight away.”
The Party Girl's Invitation Page 15
