Fear on Friday Read Online Free PDF

send Enid.” She bravely downed the dark orange tea, and drove off. Sounds like we’ve got awkward sods with the Jenkinsons, she thought. Still, it would be worth keeping them sweet. They know everybody in Tresham, and everybody knows them.

S EVEN

    T HE MAN FROM THE C OUNCIL P LANNING D EPARTMENT knocked on the Forsyths’ door and waited. He quickly checked that he had all the papers concerned with the application, and put on his serious face. Almost all applications, if not turned down in this conservation village, had to be modified, and he believed in making it quite clear that whatever the applicant was planning, it was not just a case of what suited them, but how it affected others in the village, their close neighbours, and the Council’s own overall plans for the area.
    Unless, of course, it was a plan for development by the Council itself, like the school extension in Waltonby. There, in spite of strong local protests, they had cheerfully felled a perfectly healthy hundred-year-old sycamore which had sheltered generations of schoolchildren from sun and rain in the school playground. This was to make way for a couple of extra classrooms, because local elections were coming up, and money was made available suddenly for school building extension. Rebecca Rogers had watched the tree come down from her classroom window,and felt sick, as if observing a particularly brutal murder. One of her small students had tucked her hand in Rebecca’s, sensing her distress. Bill had stood at the playground railings, taking before and after photographs, and the butchered stump haunted Rebecca’s dreams for days afterwards.
    None of this had made any impression on the Council official standing at Rupert Forsyth’s door, and he had half a dozen other applications to see to in his document case. Uppermost in his mind was the worrying fact that it was his wedding anniversary and he had forgotten to buy his wife a present.
    “Good morning,” he said briskly, as Daisy Forsyth opened the door. “County Planning Office, Mr. Collins.”
    “Oh, yes,” said Daisy quickly. Rupert was upstairs in the bathroom, but she ushered Mr. Collins into the sitting room and went off to make coffee. Mr. Collins looked around, then walked over to the windows overlooking the garden. The application was for an extension—quite substantial—and he checked the intended use again. “Seating area, cloakroom and boot room.” Boot room? He hadn’t encountered this before.
    “You learn something new every day in this job, Mrs. Forsyth,” he said accusingly. “What on earth is a boot room?”
    Rupert appeared and said firmly, “Where we put our boots, Wellington and walking, muddy and wet, also umbrellas, walking-sticks, folding garden chairs, sunshades—”
    “All right, all right,” said Mr. Collins. “I get it. Now, let’s have a look at the plans.” He walked to a drop-leaf table by the wall, and Daisy rushed to open it up. The plans were spread out, and the two men pored over them.
    “Is this supposed to be a sort of conservatory seating area?” Mr. Collins asked. “And if so, why in brick and with very few windows? Why not have a perfectly good prefab, wooden framed job in a style harmonising with the house? You’re much more likely to get permission.”
    Silence. Daisy looked nervously at Rupert, praying that he wouldn’t have one of his explosions.
    “Ah,” he said calmly. “Now, Mr. Collins …” He spoke slowly, as if to a dim child. “If I had wanted an off-the-peg, gimcrack conservatory, with flimsy Victorian trimmings, I would have asked for one. This is an extension carefully thought out to meet our requirements, mine and the wife’s, and we are hoping the Planning Department will approve it as such. Of course, if there are small adjustments suggested, then we shall be only too happy to co-operate.”
    He beamed good-humouredly at Mr. Collins, who did not smile back. We’ve got a right one here, he thought to himself.