She hadn’t been caught trespassing this time. The charity’s claim to remain on Bramlington land was legitimate. They had long rented the site, albeit for what her mother had called a charitable discount, and they were not going to be ousted without a fight. Whatever Henry’s reasons, selling the land from underneath them, and without explanation, was unforgivable.
‘I’ve made it this far’ — Ava looked at the picture of her mum hanging on the wall — ‘and I am not going anywhere without a fight!’ With that, she put her hands on her hips. She felt empowered by the determination that coursed through her. Her relationship with the charity had, at times, been tumultuous, and while she was proud to keep her mother’s legacy going, she often wondered whom she was doing it for. But standing in the office of Critters’ Lodge she knew, this was her fight, and the Bramlingtons were not going to win.
Hearing a commotion outside, she rolled her eyes. Publicity for whatever tactics Mary and Gino were currently using to remove the surveyors from the land was not what she needed. She knew she would have to go outside and address the situation. Shooting the messengers, either with a tranquiliser or a hose, was not going to help their cause. She had to take control of the situation, remove the real trespassers and take on the orchestrator of their current situation. Henry. Ava looked at the door. She knew exactly what she had to do, and she knew the time was now. She just needed her legs to co-operate and movefrom where they were firmly rooted to the floor, to manoeuvre herself back out past the treatment rooms to do it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pacing the small back room of the village hall, Henry tried Ava’s phone again. He could scarcely believe the turn of events. He had left his meeting just hours before, buoyed by the fact he’d reached, at least in theory, a solution that would give the village and the estate’s dwindling funds a significant boost. It had all gone well. While nothing had been signed, he and Dixon had shaken hands on the deal. On both sides, there were checks and formalities to complete; a process that should have taken long enough for him to broach the subject with Ava and discuss the ramifications of his plans. Now it seemed she wouldn’t speak to him.
Why, in the time it had taken him to drive home — albeit via a diversion to the family churchyard to share his thoughts on the meeting with his father — Dixon had taken it upon himself to send his men to Critters’ Lodge, Henry had no idea. Ava’s mum and her charity were treasured among the people of Dapplebury. Looking like the man about to destroy all that she had worked for was a hard place to come back from. And now, news of their actions had spread. As formal notifications of the rent increases had been received, Dixon’s men had added fuel to the fire of discontent that was already simmering in the village. Despite all that was said on the day he had visited the estate’s tenants, Henry knew adoration for his father and sympathy at his passing wouldn’t be enough to ease tensions now changes were afoot.
Henry looked at himself in the mirror. He was losing the natural tan that came from living in Los Angeles. His life there seemed further removed than the reality of the time that had passed. Henry thought how different things might have been if he’d stayed in Dapplebury and shook his head.At least you’re here now. At least you’re trying to put things right.Histhoughts were small comfort when the chaos of the afternoon implied he was stuffing it up at every turn.
Six o’clock approached. The people of the village were gathering at the impromptu meeting Mrs Jenkins organised to “nip tensions in the bud” having heard the barmaid from The Brown Dog intended to call one of her own. Henry appreciated the intel and the organisational skills of the PA who’d managed to find a venue and invite the entire village in a timescale that would have fazed most mortals.
Moving into the wings of the stage, Henry could hear the chatter in the main hall and pushed his hand through his hair. Peering through a gap in the curtain, he could see familiar faces in the crowd. Not one to miss out on the opportunity to be at the centre of any business pertaining to the village, the barmaid, Pauline as Henry now knew she was called, was serving tea via a hatch at the side of the room.No doubt with a slice of her hastily formed opinion on the side!Henry searched the awaiting crowd for Ava, but couldn’t see her.
As those not yet seated began pushing their way along the rows of chairs, Henry knew the time of reckoning was near. With the stage set in the village hall, and him waiting in the wings —cast without doubt in the role of the villain —Henry realised he was about to get heckled more than the hideous am-dram society in all the years he had been made to watch their productions with his father.
‘I’ll introduce you.’ Mrs Jenkins walked past him, and Henry knew he had to stop her.
‘Wait! Don’t . . .’ He shook his head. It was too late. Mrs Jenkins was centre stage, and he wondered if anything could have possibly made him look more pretentious than having a woman who carried her handbag in the style of the Queen, introduce him.
‘People of Dapplebury.’
Oh, God!
‘I give you Henry . . .’
Oh no! Don’t—
‘William Edgar De Byron, Eighteenth Baron Bramlington.’
And she did!Henry felt his cheeks blaze red. Didn’t village halls have a trapdoor? Something, anything, to come to swallow him up into darkness, and allow him an escape. With that introduction, he might as well have instructed Mrs Jenkins to put him in the pillory and hand out the rotten fruit and veg!
The hall fell deathly silent, and Henry heard himself swallow. Clearly pleased with her efforts, Mrs Jenkins walked off stage, satisfaction in her eyes as she offered a courteous nod as she passed him. He should have known; she loved to brandish a title. Henry walked out, the sound of his footsteps too loud against the wooden stage. All eyes were upon him. He steeled himself, in readiness to speak.
But, as the door to the back of the hall swung open, everybody turned in unison. Henry looked up to see Ava, limping in, wincing with each step, her ankle bandaged. His embarrassment quickly turned to concern. If any of Dixon’s men had hurt her, he was going to kill them, and hang the consequences. The fact she was being supported by the barman from The Brown Dog, who had his arm around her waist, did nothing to ease the tension Henry could feel welling inside. The wounded look in Ava’s eyes that he was sure wasn’t as a result of her ankle, twisted his already knotted stomach.
‘Ava, you’re hurt!’
All eyes swung back to the stage.
Aware he was being scrutinised, Henry coughed and spoke again. ‘Miss Flynn.’ Jumping down from the stage he met her midway into the hall, as he continued, ‘Miss Flynn, let me help you to a seat.’ His eyes searched hers, willing her to know hemeant her and her mum’s charity no harm.Though there was bound to be short-term heartache, you knew that.
‘I’m fine. I can stand!’
‘But—’
‘She said she’s fine.’ Mary walked around from behind Gino, propping up Ava’s other side, preventing Henry from being able to help.
‘Here love, sit down.’ Flo beckoned to Ava, making everyone in her row move along to make room, before looking at Henry and tutting loudly.
Aided by her friends, Ava shuffled into the seat, while whispers of how she hurt her ankle spread around the hall. The words “his heavies” repeatedly echoing as Henry tried to regain his composure. Henry had heard enough. He wanted nothing more than for this to be over so he could speak to Ava alone. He needed to explain his actions, in as much detail as his promise to his father would allow, and he wanted to find out how her ankle had been injured. He jumped back up onto the stage, keen to stop the crowd turning into a mob; he had to allay their fears and get them to leave as soon as possible.
‘Please, if I could just have your attention.’ The acoustics in the room made his voice seem too loud; he swallowed and started again. ‘Thank you all for coming.’ All eyes were upon him as everyone sat, waiting, watching. Henry wished he had asked Mrs Jenkins to turn off the electric wall-mounted strip heaters that were throwing out an unnecessary heat adding to the intensity he could feel in the room and shining an orange glow, directly in his eye line.Honesty, go for honesty!‘I have one thing I want you to know, and that is, I have nothing, nothing, but the best interests of Dapplebury House at heart.’
‘Exactly, Dapplebury House! And sod the rest of us,’ an elderly gentleman called out from the back of the hall. ‘You heard him. It’s all about Dapplebury House.’
