road would be rerouted around Exbury, with plenty of access points. The funding would be shared and Exbury’s ancient centre would benefit. Public transport? This was not a matter for the developers directly, but representations had been made to the relevant council departments with suggested routes and timetables. Wildlife? The barrister effortlessly changed gear and went over in some detail the European directives on the environment to prove how careful they had been to obey the rules and to preserve what was possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Penny edge her way into one of the few remaining seats. She had put on her best dress, which had red poppies on a black background and was far too long. Under it she wore a pair of battered sandals. As she sat down, she sent him a tiny smile.
Architecture? Yes, conceded the barrister, drawing out the word to suggest how significant had been the deliberations. His clients had been reflecting on the detail of the proposed housing, which they now saw did not quite match the local tradition and ambience, and were prepared to go back to the drawing board. Here the barrister paused to make the additional point that the government had a declared policy to provide new homes and, furthermore, the site to the east of the farm in question had already been removed from agricultural use and was used as a tip by the community.
Andrew hated the barrister’s obvious intelligence, his fluency, his being so on top of his material.
Flanked by Jed, the cameraman, and Bel in a tight pair of shorts, Agnes eventually arrived – late – in a pair of new linen trousers and a linen shirt, which exuded the sort of chic otherness of which Bel thoroughly approved.
In her seat, Penny stiffened.
It was the turn of the opposition to put their case. Their barrister was less fluent, less expensive-looking, but he knew a thing or two about building a case. Earlier in the year, he had interviewed Andrew, pressing him hard to find the areas where Arcadian Villages’ position was weak and where to whip up the widest possible support for the case against. He had advised writing to the correct councillors and alerting the press; he had shaped up Andrew’s written statement and hammered out a timetable for action if necessary. Better still, he had accepted the fight out of conviction.
The room grew very hot and the inspector asked for the windows to be opened. Immediately, a roar of traffic drowned the proceedings and they had to be closed.
The atmosphere grew stifling. Sweat trickled from numerous armpits and left high-tide marks on shirts and blouses. The acoustics made it impossible for those at the back of the hall to hear. The chairs were hard and uncomfortable. One man grew desperate, got up and reopened one window. Again the room was invaded by the smell of car fumes and noise.
Half an hour later, Andrew was invited by the inspector at the top table to submit to cross-examination. He felt in his pocket for his handkerchief (oh, God, agonized Penny, in her seat, for it was obviously not a clean one) wiped his hands and noted with satisfaction the sheen of sweat on his opponents’ faces.
‘Mr Kelsey,’ said the inspector, ‘could you please identify for us what actual harm or disadvantage this development would have on the community? I should emphasize to the listeners that these are your opinions.’
Arcadian’s barrister took over, his professional manner suggesting that he was quite used to filleting the opposition.
‘Mr Kelsey,’ he was deceptively mild, ‘am I right in thinking that if the development is accepted you will lose your farm?’
Jed raised the camera to his shoulder and Agnes instructed him in an undertone. The big round eye of the lens followed obediently.
‘Mr Stone has served me notice. Yes.’
‘Do you like your work? Love it, even?’
‘It is my life’s work.’
The tone sharpened, carrying a hint of scepticism. ‘Then it is fair to say that your opinion will not be unbiased? That you would hardly welcome having to surrender your business, and your arguments against would be motivated by a desire to preserve it?’
Agnes whispered to Jed, who padded down the side aisle. Andrew forced himself to remain calm. ‘My business contributes to the community. Even if I wish, which I do, to save my farm from the bulldozers, it does not necessarily mean that my arguments are…’ he tested the word ‘… invalid.’
‘Quite right.’ A woman at the back sprang to her feet.
Used to such interruptions, the barrister hardly paused. ‘Mr Kelsey, would it be true to say that you could, if necessary, set up the same farm operation somewhere else?’
‘Yes, I could, but it would take years to build it up again.’
He was cut short by the barrister. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the facts are here, that Exbury is overcrowded and in need of additional housing, which my clients plan to offer at some cost in order to make as sympathetic and viable a project as possible. It is not in dispute that Mr Kelsey would lose his undoubtedly useful and productive farm but he could move his operations elsewhere. The question must therefore be, which is of greater benefit to the community? The housing that is required? Or a beef farm run on traditional lines?’
This was it. Andrew found himself on his feet and addressing the audience. ‘Remember, these people have no knowledge of the land. They are imports, hired at great cost, and they have to earn their wages. They don’t care about our community. Only the profits from it.’
‘Oh, really,’ said the cool Arcadian barrister. ‘May I remind listeners that Mr Kelsey is defending what he perceives as
Andrew swung round, blue eyes blazing, and said, through gritted teeth, ‘You sanctimonious bugger.’
At five thirty, the inspector closed the inquiry and requested that all parties opposed to the development should produce a list of conditions that, in their view, should be imposed on the development, if it was allowed to proceed. In addition, there would be a site visit at ten a.m. the following day.
By the time Andrew emerged from the hall Penny had vanished, but Agnes, with a pile of gear at her feet, was waiting.
‘Hallo, Andrew.’ She shifted a file from under one arm to the other.
Tense and angry, he grasped her by the shoulders and shook her. Agnes, I lost it.’
Agnes, Bel and Jed stayed in Exbury’s best bed-and-breakfast. Agnes spent a restless night, and at nine thirty, feeling uncharacteristically out of sorts, she drove the other two over to the farm. It was a soft, beautiful day, and the cries of curlews and swallows and cattle noises batted to and fro in the warm air. The back door opened on to an empty kitchen. Agnes stuck her head through the study window. That, too, was empty.
She checked her watch and, taking turns to carry the equipment, set off for the north field. The route took them down the old drovers’ road, between hedges so high that it was impossible to see anything except the oblong of sky above.
‘Stop,’ cried Agnes. There were raised voices, a whine of machinery being driven at high speed, followed by the short, sharp scream of a woman. Agnes broke into a run and, weighed down by the camera, Jed brought up the rear.
Emerging first from the drovers’ track, Agnes came to a halt. ‘Oh, God,’ she said.
The north field had been earmarked by Arcadian Villages to fall first to the developer’s bulldozer because it had the most convenient access to the main road. Now its lush, untreated grass, strewn with stars of red poppy and blue cornflower, was a mass of flame.
Smoke wreathed in layers over the field before, marshalled by a thermal, it streamed up towards the moor and into the sky. Under the pall it cast over the field writhed red and gold tongues of fire from seven… nine… ten bonfires, constructed of stooked straw bales.
Both the women clapped their hands to their mouths and Agnes gagged.
‘Weird,’ said Bel, a grin streaking across her face.
She beckoned to Jed and pointed out the inspector and a cluster of others by the gate. Andrew was perched on the bonnet of a tractor parked dead centre in the field. It was a mad but valorous sight: the warrior-farmer defending his land against an aggressor armed with plans, statistics and lust for profit.
The first shock over, Agnes snapped to attention. ‘Get him up on the tractor, Jed. That’s the shot to finish.’
Bel muttered, ‘I thought it was Londoners who were supposed to be mad.’
On his tractor podium, Andrew cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted to the inspector and his team. ‘This is to remind you that this land does not belong to you.’
