****Another eventful couple of days in Debbie's life****

Colin made it back to the hotel in time for breakfast. He looked crap, it had to be said, or perhaps dead would have been more accurate. Actually, watching him queasily square up to a plate of scrambled eggs – a very brain-like comestible, it occurred to me – I found my thoughts drawn to images of zombies from the horror films Phil had so loved.

Admittedly, in his present state Colin would hardly have represented the more threatening variety of flesh eating undead, but you could definitely see the similarity. I almost felt sorry for him.

I, on the other hand, felt really rather well. Kath had left early, rescuing the Landrover and and heading off for a change and a shower before school. I'd had a long shower of – and, sadly, on – my own, phoned Dave (and got his voice mail, so probably on the tube) and then ate a hearty breakfast, disturbed only by the arrival of the shambling mess that used to be my architect. Ah well, I thought ... all wounds entirely self inflicted – well, more or less – so no real cause for sympathy.

In fact, part of me was aware of a nagging sense of apprehension, a sort of desire to unpick my behaviour the previous evening and obsess on the likely impact of my – umm – wanton behaviour on my local reputation and, indeed, the future development of the company. Which was interesting, a larger part of me observed, analytically, almost like watching the old Debbie – neurotic and obsessively eager to please – doing her stuff like ... like a fly trapped on a spiders web, the spiders web apparently being the new me ... or maybe the endorphic after effects of the night before. OK, I thought with a grin, the metaphor could do with some work ... but maybe not now. I had things to do.

Obviously, the first task was to find something useful for Colin to do with the day – we were paying him for all of this, after all – and the options looked fairly limited. Sadly, the previous plan – sending him back to the odious Andy to finalise arrangements for our temporary accommodation – was clearly out of the question, so I decided he could have a day with his CAD packages and begin to draft some plans and drawings and all that stuff that architects do while I ... went back to the timeshare place. Rank has its privileges and all that.

Decision made, I gave Colin his instructions – he looked relieved, though I did wonder just how steady his drawing would be with his hands shaking like that – and I went off to try phoning Dave again ... and change. The shift dress I'd thrown on to see Kath out – yes, an actual frock as Phil would have put it – would clearly not do. In fact, I was thinking more along the lines of a burka, given my previous experience, but in the end settled for jeans, an absolutely not figure hugging jumper and ... boots. Just in case kicking someone became necessary ... or desirable.

Before confronting the beast, though, I got through to Dave, catching him on his mobile just as he was picking up the mail in the office, apparently. We talked for about a quarter of an hour ... the news of Carla's difficulties was not good, really, even from the entirely selfish perspective of its likely impact on us – god alone knew what Carla and her partner must be going through – but there was something about Dave that reassured me. Previously when we'd had problems with the development I'd sensed a weakness in him, a tendency to despondency and pessimistic prognostication which was rarely helpful when decisions needed to be taken, but this time he seemed considerably more determined ... steely, even.

Better yet, we came up with a plan, of sorts, particularly after I'd reminded him – as I'd had to remind Colin – that we had legally binding contracts with quite a lot of people and that PCW would at least have a lot of paperwork to contend with if they tried to simply shut us down. Not that that would worry them if it all came to a crux, but it would give them something to think about in the meantime. After all, we agreed, we still had a business plan which fairly convincingly showed that we could make a very large amounts of money and – at present – all they had was a sort of corporate sense of unease about the way we were going about things. Admittedly, the things we'd been going about had also involved very large amounts of money, but I felt that we could stave off a crisis for a while yet. So we agreed that Dave would talk to the team and make sure they were on board, in the loop, all that sort of stuff – I knew he was good at enthusing and motivating people – while I would press ahead with things up here, putting a few more 'obstacles' in place, if you like, while also trying to get some soundings from people I knew in PCW about just what they were thinking with regard to this project.

Call finished – we'd talk again through the week, we agreed – I went back down to the hotel lobby, where Colin was draining yet another glass of orange juice, and agreed to meet him around lunch time – he might be able to organise a rescue party if I didn't make it back, I thought – before setting off over the back path to Church Gate ... and the Timeshare complex.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Which, when I arrived, was conspicuously deserted ... a couple of guests' cars in the car park – French and German plates a bit of a give away – but nothing else. Conspicuously, no sign of Andy the Arsehole's huge Chelsea Tractor ... which presumably meant he wasn't in ... or maybe had gone out specially. Either way, this was not a good sign ... god knows I'd have preferred to do business with pretty much anyone else but what was on offer here was so much better than any viable alternative – basically either staying in London for a few months more or scattering the team in a variety of holiday cottages across the length and breadth of the valley – that it would be a major piss off if the whole thing fell through. Especially, I thought, if it fell through just because the jerk had had his pride wounded by a woman in a pub. 

My musings, however – and my kicking of the occasional pebble – were interrupted by the arrival of a small Citroen van which swung in from the road and pulled up just beside me. Inside, a small red headed woman killed the engine and, freeing herself from her seatbelt, clambered out with a big smile.

"Ms Jenner?" she said. I nodded. "Sorry I'm late, Mr Lomax – Andy, the owner – has had to go into town for something urgent. He asked me to come along and meet you in his place. I'm Linda – Linda Whittaker – and I'm sort of his PA / dogsbody ... but hopefully I can help, anyway."

I was amused by the self-deprecation in the way she put that, and liked what I saw, too ... she had a refreshingly genuine smile, seemed eager to please ... well, working for Andy must be quite a challenge, I'd have thought ... especially for a woman who was both pretty and pretty young ... probably not yet twenty, at a guess. And, of course, the surname, the red hair.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Jane Whittaker, by any chance?", I asked, "Biology teacher at the college in Bowmere?"
 
"Oh yes, she's my aunt ... my dad's baby sister. She told me she thought you were really nice, by the way," she said, blushing as she realised her indiscretion.

"Yes, well, I thought she was pretty wonderful, too, so no worries. And I'm sure that we'll be able to sort out everything we need to this morning ... so shall we start with a quick look round the property?"

In fact, we got everything sorted very quickly ... they'd already ordered new furniture for the flats we'd all be living in for a few months – not ideal, perhaps, but one less thing to worry about – and redecoration / refurbishment was in hand so all we really had to do was finalise arrangements for the office space ... which it turned out would be handled by their in-house electrician so, again, not really a problem. I wondered why Colin hadn't managed to sort all this out the day before but then realised that he'd been dealing with Mr Lomax himself ... which would have complicated things.

My face must have darkened at the thought of her boss because suddenly Linda was looking worried, obviously concerned that she'd somehow done something wrong ... and probably used to being torn to shreds by the bastard for minor errors, I thought. So I gave her my best reassuring smile, told her that she'd been a pleasure to work with and thanked her sincerely for her time.
 
She blushed, again, and asked if I'd like to have a look round the rest of the complex, seeing as how we were finished early and I agreed ... mainly because I was enjoying her company. That said, though, I was reluctantly impressed with the place – there was a decent sized indoor swimming pool, a sauna, some squash courts – all of which we were free to use, apparently – and, basically, rather more, and better, facilities than I would have imagined friend Andy capable of. I said something of the sort to Linda – carefully not impugning her employer with my question – but she picked up on the inference anyway, noticeably taking a quick look around before replying with relieved honesty.

"Oh, no ... all this was put together by old Mr Lomax – Andy's father. He ran the place for years, then got himself killed in an accident up on Honcliffe Pass – car came off the road on some ice, apparently. To be honest, the place hasn't been the same since ... maintenance not being done, that sort of thing ... and ... well, I'd be quite careful about who's around before you use the swimming pool, if I were you ..." 

I nodded, understanding all too clearly what – and who – she meant, asked why on earth she was working here.

"Because its a job ... and there aren't a lot of those around here. Anyway, I'm only doing it to get some cash together before I go to university, so I just make sure not to expose too much flesh, get on with my work and ... well, grin and bear it, basically." She paused, then said with a sly smile, "Mind you, having an Aunt who's friends with Rosie in the village does help quite a lot ..."

OK, I thought, that mysterious Hold once again. I was going to ask her about it directly but realised that this was neither the time nor the place, so I asked if she had time for a coffee instead ... perhaps in the café in the village? She positively leapt at the suggestion, heading directly back to her van, driving the few hundred metres into town without further comment.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

I wasn't remotely surprised to find Rosie herself serving in the café, nor that Linda and I were her only customers ... or that Rosie brought us three cups of coffee and sat down with us, companionably. Which seemed to me about the best opportunity I was going to get to ask my question, so I asked it.

Surprisingly, I saw my two companions exchange a quick glance before Rosie nodded decisively and answered me.

"Andy the arsehole ... is an arsehole. Well, no surprises there, of course, but we happen to know he's a much deeper arsehole than you might have gathered ... courtesy of an incident a couple of years ago."

She paused and I waited patiently. In fact it was Linda who took up the story.
 
"It was while I was still at college. He started hanging around the place a lot. At first ... well, we didn't think much of it ... you'd be surprised – or maybe not – how many weird middle aged men you see loitering around schools, so we – the students – just kind of ignored him. Until it became apparent that he wasn't just hanging around ... in fact he was paying a lot of attention to one girl in particular ... who was all of thirteen. Once we'd picked up on that, we took it to my aunt Jane and she took it to Ms Braithwaite – Rosie's sister, Kath – who happened to be the kid's form tutor." She paused, and Rosie took up the tale.

"Problem was that whatever it looked like, he hadn't actually done anything, at that point, so Kath didn't really have enough to go to the parents, let alone the police. Obviously, she talked to the child and after a bit got her to tell her what had happened ... and to tell her if anything else happened subsequently." She paused. "Which, unfortunately, it did ... a couple of weeks afterwards another teacher – all the staff knew, by this point – saw a bright yellow 4*4 stop to give a lift to a youngster and recognised both parties ... Andy and the child, obviously ... so he followed, phoning Kath as he did so ... who phoned me."

She shrugged. "Cut a long story short, we found the pair of them parked up in a copse just off the valley road as the car had "broken down". Again, the problem was that we had nothing we could officially do ... there was nothing wrong with the car, obviously, but nothing actually illegal had taken place and the kid was so frightened by the situation she found herself in that she just wanted it all to go away. But we took some photos at the scene – and Kath let the child protection people know, too, of course, not that there was anything they could do – and Andy knows that we know what we know. And we keep an eye on him. That's it, really."

I looked at them both, understanding, and then asked Linda, "And, knowing all that, you still work for the wanker?"

She smiled, slightly. "Like I said, its a job. Then again, it is a family resort ... so its nice to have someone watching from inside, too."

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Lunch was an anticlimax, after that. When I got back to the hotel I found that Colin was actually on site – the lack of mobile coverage could be a real pain, I felt – and when I got back there I found him deep in conversation with a man in boots and a hi-vis vest, who turned out to be from the Environment Agency, here to talk about the flood remediation works. Which turned out to be more interesting than you might expect – even if my job was just to nod and agree to pay for most of the work – but I'd have to admit that I wasn't entirely disappointed to notice another vehicle pull into the small car park on site.

Which turned out to be a minibus, a school minibus, in fact, driven by none other than Auntie Jane the biology teacher and carrying three or four studious looking teenagers. Jane waved when she saw me, came over with a friendly smile as he students began unloading quadrats and nets, jars and folders.

"Hi," she said, "Hope you don't mind us pitching up with no warning but we got the bus at short notice, so I thought I'd bring up an advanced party, get the kids out in the fresh air and doing something useful."

"No problems. We were just discussing the flood prevention works that need to be done so I don't think you'll be in anyone's way ... we're not exactly going to be bringing in the diggers this afternoon, after all ..."

She smiled bashfully before replying, "Well ... I hope its no problem ... its just that when I was up here the other day there were some interesting looking bryophytes on some of the regularly flooded bits and it would be a shame to loose the habitat ..."

The guy from the EA looked more than slightly pissed off at this, so I guessed he was more from the engineering side of the organisation than the nature conservation one ... and probably used to jobs suddenly becoming hugely more complex when a water vole or something sauntered across the site. Luckily, Colin was on hand, and had thought about this beforehand.

"Actually," he said, "I'd like to talk to you more about that, but our current plans should actually increase the area of wetland – we're trying to manage peak flows rather than simply diverting the problem further down the valley – and we were also thinking in terms of building a new pond or two, maybe a reed-bed sanitation system – if we can guarantee the floodworks. More immediately, though, quite where we put the new sump – the water absorbing bit – is less crucial at the moment than working out size and capacity issues, so we can probably guarantee not to involve anywhere you identify as being particularly interesting. I mean, we were already intending to use most of the car park area and I doubt that the tarmac holds anything particularly noteworthy?"

Jane agreed that it probably didn't and seemed pleased by the easy acceptance of the work that he students were planning to do and the respect that their results looked like being given. She turned to go back to her workers and I followed. I more or less knew what a bryophyte was – a moss or a liverwort, basically – but I'd never seen an interesting one before.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

We had an early evening that night – Colin retired to his room pretty much as soon as we got back to the hotel, I suspect frightened that Rosie might turn up looking for a rematch – while I had a glass of wine on my own in the bar, then phoned Dave. I told him what had been happening with me – though not the Andy stuff, I'd tell him that in person – and, in return, he told me that he'd had Gareth, our lawyer-in-waiting, going through our contracts with PCW et al and coming up with optimistic but apparently vague results. I suggested that he should get Gareth to call me directly, if at all possible, which he said he'd do – at least I knew a subsection from a clause – providing G could spare the time, given that he wasn't even working for us yet. Oh, and he also mentioned that he'd been visited by some weird guy from a wind generator company who would also apparently be visiting me. I didn't really see why I needed another visitor on site until he mentioned that the man was also a friend of Rosie's, after which it began to seem more sensible. Or at least rather more inevitable.

And after that, I went to bed. Alone.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Thursday morning I spent with a considerably more compus mentis Colin, going through his preliminary ideas and agreeing the plans that he should work on – and cost – in more detail, hopefully by the end of the week. Then I left him to get on with it for the afternoon, while I went for a wander over to Church Gate, hoping to meet up with Rosie or at least see how Jane and the survey were getting on. Actually, neither were to be found – I assumed Jane was teaching and Rosie could be anywhere – but I did run into Linda ... and walked with her a few kilometres up the valley, while she told me about her hopes and dreams for the future ... and I listened.

We got the last bus back down the valley, getting back to the hotel just in time for me to invite Linda to join Colin and me for dinner ... which she accepted. Colin was clearly taken with her – well, she was bright, vivacious and attractive, so why not – but I got the impression that the feeling was far from mutual. Still, everyone stayed polite and the conversation flowed easily enough so that we ended up going through to the bar as a group ... to find Rosie and Jane sitting in the corner, apparently waiting for us.

Jane was even more exuberant than usual, positively bubbling with enthusiasm about a variety of beetles and sundry other small animals that one of her brighter proteges had spent the afternoon identifying, while Rosie sat back quietly, focusing her vulpine like gaze principally on Colin ... who just looked very nervous, poor chap. I learnt a great deal about coleoptera, to be honest ... and a bit more about Linda, whose hand had found its way onto my leg under the table. Which was ... interesting ... but short lived, as the barman called my name, told me I was wanted on the phone.

I took the call in the lobby, knowing that it would be Dave and not wanting to miss anything happening in the bar in my absence. I wasn't disappointed ... I was still bringing the boss up to speed on the entomological developments when Colin passed me at some speed, making a complicated hand gesture which I think meant that he'd discovered a sudden urge to get on with some architecture or something. The others had the good grace to wait until he was out of ear shot before they collapsed in hysterics.

Back in work mode, we quite quickly established that nothing very much had happened ... Dave told me that he'd been talking to May about 'borrowing' some admin support from CareSpan so that Naz and Seff could get over to Bremen – we'd agreed to prioritise that if only to complicate things a bit further for PCW – and I filled him on Colin's ideas and the latest on the timeshare negotiations. After which, we just ... chatted ... really, a bit like the close friends we definitely were. I ended the call be wishing him love, put the phone down ... and wondered where that had come from.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Back in the bar, I found the trio had become a foursome, not surprisingly following the arrival of Kath ... who'd been summoned to come and pick up Jane, who'd come up the valley with Rosie, hoping to get a lift back with Linda ... who'd already agreed to stay over with a friend in the village. Clearly, rural life could be more complicated than I'd previously realised.

Kath was warm and welcoming as ever, treating me as a friend rather than a guest for a gratifying change, and once again the life and soul of the party. Not that it was much of a party ... Kath and Jane had to get back early, Linda departing almost at the same time – squeezing my shoulder as she went – to catch up with an old school friend who was back in the valley for the weekend. Which left Rosie and me on our own, so we got some more drinks in and started to talk.

I wanted to clarify just what her position was viz a viz the project, given that she was apparently working for us – efficient as ever, that was me – so we got that out of the way first. I wasn't at all surprised that she'd already compiled lists of possible regional contractors for the work we were planning, nor that she had a very clear idea of potential difficulties – and opportunities – facing our developments amongst the local populace. I suggested that if she wanted to formalise this, we should probably take her on on a two day a week basis for the moment – and quite possibly full time when the building work actually got underway, if she was interested. She nodded at this, agreed that it would be a good idea and I started to talk about salaries and stuff. I couldn't help noticing that she appeared a little distracted, even when I began patiently explaining that the very minimum we could pay her, courtesy of Dave's flat salary structure, would be euro 30k – pro rata, of course – instead of the rather smaller sum she seemed to think would be reasonable.

Eventually, I called a halt, realising that we'd gone as far as we were going to get and pointedly looked at her untouched drink. I turned my eyes back to her face, gazed steadily at her for a moment, then asked her directly what was up.

"Oh," she said, "Just a bit of bad news, really ... nothing unexpected, though ... nothing that tragic, either, in the great scheme of things."

She fell silent and I waited patiently while she took a sip of her beer ... wondering if she would continue. It wasn't like Rosie to be this reticent, I knew, even if I'd only actually met her a few days ago, but at the same time I didn't want to intrude. After another sip, she looked me straight in the eye and said,

"Its Pete ... my husband. He sent me a registered letter – I had to go into Bowmere to collect the fucking thing – basically to say he wasn't coming back ... ever. Found some woman in Hong Kong, apparently – he's been working there on exploration rigs – and ... well ... that's about it."

She sat there silently for a while, looking strangely crumpled for a woman I'd always known as purposeful and decisive, then she shrugged, again. "Hell, it was hardly a standard marriage ... neither of us even pretended to be faithful, even from day one ... but, well, it was mine and I loved him in my own way. And the bastard couldn't even come back and tell me in person."

I saw a tear trickle down her cheek, moved my chair round gave her a hug as she rested her head on my shoulder and began to cry silently. For a brief moment I saw myself sitting in just the same posture with Dave's arm around me, feeling the rain begin to soak me as we sat by a canal and ...

I shook the thought off, concentrated on matters at hand. For the moment, Rosie was where I thought she wanted to be ... I don't suppose she made a habit of crying on people's shoulders, literally or metaphorically, but I guessed that's what she needed to do now. I wondered if she'd told anyone else ... even her sister ... remembered her jollity earlier on, realised that she probably hadn't. I felt oddly pleased at the thought that she's chosen me to tell first – even if it was probably more a matter of need to tell someone than a conscious choice – and hugged her a bit more tightly.

At which she pulled away, slightly, and turned to look at me, mouthing something that might have been thanks as she suddenly looked beyond me, a malicious twinkle appearing in her eye as she gave a big, friendly wave over my shoulder. I almost didn't need to check, keeping her quite firmly pinned to me as I turned to look behind me ... and saw the local vicar ... staring aghast at the two of us. I struggled to keep a straight face ... until I caught the eye of the guy behind the bar – who'd obviously seen the whole thing and winked at me – and burst into a great shuddering paroxysm of laughter ... which Rosie joined in, still holding me tightly ... so that we almost fell off our respective stools.

I'm not quite sure why laughter is so effective in such situations, but all of a sudden I had the old Rosie back, the devil-may-care impetuous Rosie, for the moment far away from her troubles and cares. Without letting go of me, she raise her glass, touched it mine and we drank together ... still giggling like schoolgirls. When next I looked round – while I was going to the bar for another couple of pints – I was a bit disappointed to see the Rev herself had not left, as I'd thought she might, but was instead sitting with her back firmly towards us ... her parishioners similarly arrayed around her. If this goes on, I thought, we'll have to build a partition down the middle of the bar.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

We did have another pint each after that one ... neither of us had to drive ... and for most of the time Rosie stayed sociable and communicative. From time to time, though, her eyes would darken and I knew she was remembering good times or bad times, so I'd simply hold her hand for a while, wait for the moment to pass. About half ten the barman – a New Zealander, he seemed to have grown used to being known simply as Kiwi – came over to the table to point out that the bar would be closing in half an hour unless I – a hotel resident – wanted to drink later with my friend. I looked at Rosie, who shook her head, probably realising that the guy would have to stay, too, and quite possibly wouldn't get paid for the effort, said that she needed to get home.

So we slowly finished our drinks, watched our fellow drinkers gradually depart in ones or twos and finally Rosie said it was time she was going, too. I asked if she'd be OK getting back to Church Gate and she looked at me with an outraged expression.

"Oh, come on ... I've only had about four pints ... I'm hardly going to throw me in the river and drown. Though I'd better borrow a torch from the hotel ... I wasn't really planning to stay this late so I didn't bring one with me."

"You don't have to," I said, "I've got one up in my room – its Dave's, he said they could be useful in this part of the world, insisted that I bring it. Hang on here for a moment and I'll get it."

I left her sitting in the bar, then, noticed her amused expression when I came back into the room wearing a down jacket and with the headtorch strapped over the hood. She grinned.

"Don't trust me with your boss's property, then?"

"Of course not. But luckily I feel like a walk, anyway ... so I'll take you home ... keep you away from the river and such like."

She raised an eyebrow at that, – pointedly not asking who would look after me on the way back – picked up her coat and put her arm through mine.

"Lead on then, oh, Lady of the Lamp..."

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Of course it was morning by the time I got back to the hotel, probably, yes, I know, looking like one of the undead ... and feeling considerably worse. Not that I planned anything of the sort, of course ... I really did feel like a walk and it was a lovely night, a light shower of snow falling from an apparently cloudless, moonless, star bright sky ... the sort of night where it makes sense to sit for a while by a waterfall, looking at the heavens and enjoying the feel of a friend in your arms, her lips on yours, her hand on ....

I had a very educational evening.

And I think I managed to take Rosie's mind off things for a while, too.

oooo ---- ++++ ---- oooo

Let me know what you think ... extrusionuk@googlemail.com