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So, I try.
“My own contract with Hedge pre-dates this sale. Most of the land they bought actually belongs to me.”
George flips a couple of pages and pulls out our own contract. “Yes, I saw this. It’s signed a few weeks before, but it’s not properly witnessed.” He looks up at us. “Why didn’t you take this to the land registry?”
“That’s my fault,” says Elodie. “I was busy with the shop and—”
I don’t want her taking all the blame for this. “Webothhave been busy and assumed we had time.”
It was my fault because the biggest worry for me had been Hedge’s agreement. He seemed more likely to reject our plans on that night I met him. He sat at the dinner table and hardly looked at me. And despite Elodie’s assurance that it was just his manner, I had assumed the worst. I really doubted he’d even agree. So, when Elodie finally got him to sign the contract, it felt like the biggest hurdle was over.
A mistake I am now going to pay for.
“You can certainly try to appeal it on the grounds of prior claim,” George says. “But, I wouldn’t want to give you false hope. I am a company lawyer and have seen this kind of thing too many times. I am sorry to tell you that in court, their contract will prevail. Not only is it witnessed by two additional people, but both witnesses have signed separate statements confirming Hedge’s verbal and written agreement. I am sorry.”
“The witnesses were strangers. We checked.” I argue. “They had no way of knowing that ‘the honey shop and land’ might mean the old shop in the village.”
George nods. “There is no doubt in my mind that Hedge has been deceived. The problem is that it’s been done very cleverly, the agreement is watertight. They’ve made it very difficult to challenge on any legal grounds.”
“What about environmental grounds?” I ask, not even sparing a minute to laugh at the irony of me relying on the same argument I’d hated when Elodie used it two months ago. “There are rare plants on that hill which they should not be allowed to destroy.”
He unfolds the map over the desk. “These are the ones marked with green crosses here?” He points to the careful diagram I created on my survey app. “We can of course issue an injunction to prevent them touching these, but I’m not sure that will achieve much, look.” He points to the dotted line that marks the original boundary. “Most of the rare bushes are on your side of the hill. The LeFevre side has only four small, protected areas. They can guarantee to preserve these and fill the space around them with static caravans.”
George hates the idea, it’s obvious he does.
“Can’t you stop the sale?” I ask him.
It’s a desperate measure, but we are desperate. In my mind’s eye, I see the four emails from people asking to book the May bank-holiday week. Holidaymakers willing to pay £1000 a week for a luxury cottage in a quiet location. Next door to the honey shop, not next door to a building site. Or next door to a cheap and busy campsite.
My bank loan is no joke, either.
I had budgeted to repay ten thousand pounds a month. Without the beautiful gardens and glamping pods and with bulldozers demolishing the house next door, I’d be lucky to make five hundred a month. It doesn’t matter how beautiful the damask curtains, the turquoise silk cushions, the outside showers.
“No, I can’t,” George answers, killing all our hopes. “Believe me, I wish I could.”
“But surely as seigneur?” Elodie clasps her hands together.
“Especially as seigneur. Would you expect me to break the law? It would undermine the credibility of the entire system. How could people trust any legal agreement they make, any contract, if the local dictator,” he points to his own chest, “can just sweep it away whenever he likes?”
There is a painful pause. Then he speaks again.
“There might be” – George holds up his index finger – “one possible course you could take. Not an easy one.”
He looks directly at Elodie, and his eyes are very kind. “You could apply to the courts for a lasting power of attorney.”
Finally, a flash of hope, like distant sunlight catching a mirror. “Can it be done after the fact?” The question bursts from me even though he was talking to Elodie.
She swings her gaze between me and George, uncomprehending. Perhaps she just can’t bring herself to understand.
“It’s something I had to do myself a few years ago when…” There’s the tiniest of pauses, a mere flicker that betrays how difficult he finds this subject to discuss with strangers. “My father had a number of…shall we say, unwise relationships. It seemed likely he would blindly walk into marriages that could have lost half the island in a divorce settlement. In the end, I had to prove to a court that he’d made a number of unsound decisions. They granted me a lasting power of attorney under the mental-capacity act.”
His face is unreadable, but I’ve worked with men like him before and I see the tiny tells, the emotional cost of such an act.
He leans back in his chair and waits for Elodie to work out the next step. The silence stretches uncomfortably, and I can feel her struggling. I take her hand in mine, letting her know I’m on her side.
“You mean…” She starts, then hesitates, biting her lower lip. “I would have to tell the court I think my grandfather is mentally unfit to make decisions?”
George nods. “If you are to retroactively challenge the sale, then you would have to prove thatat the time of signing this contract, he was already compromised.”
