Through the applause that greeted this, Arnold Bloom was heard to ask whether the SPCS Action Committee actually had a budget. The Commodore assured him that it was all in the hands of their Treasurer. Alec Walters agreed that the budget was in his hands, but wished to point out that the SPCS Action Committee did not actually have any funds. Kent Warboys’ offer of twenty grand was very generous, but maybe they should also think of other forms of fundraising.
Quintus Braithwaite then took it upon himself to give the Treasurer and everyone else present a lesson in economics. ‘Fundraising may be necessary in time, though I doubt if it actually will. Now the major costs of running a small business like Polly’s Cake Shop is always going to be paying the staff. There are obviously other expenses like maintenance of the building, purchase of the food and drink, but those are tiny next to the staffing. And of course, the way this place is going to be run from now on, we won’t have any staffing costs!’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Wendy Roote.
‘What I’m saying is that when Polly’s is up and running as a Community Project, we won’t have any paid staff. It will all be run by volunteers!’
‘Do you mean,’ asked Jude, thinking of Sara Courtney’s job, ‘that all the existing staff are going to be sacked?’
‘That’s a harsh way of putting it, Jude. The existing staff will be given notice and, if they wish to, they will work out their notice in accordance with the existing employment laws. And after they’ve left, any of them will of course be at liberty to come back as volunteers.’
‘Unpaid?’ asked Jude.
‘That is normally what the word “volunteer” implies.’
Jude was tempted to launch into a diatribe about how such working arrangements might be fine for Phoebe and her circle of Joannas or Samanthas, whose husband’s salaries and pensions could fund whatever daytime activities they chose to indulge in. But how the situation was rather different for people like Sara. And probably for people like Binnie the waitress and Hammo the cook.
But before she could manage to introduce some social politics into the proceedings, Flora Claire raised another issue. ‘I think, like, it’s really good that Kent has, like, made this offer of twenty grand. That’s really cool, but I think we should, like, prioritize how that money’s going to be spent. You know, like, can we agree to put, say, five grand of it aside to develop the Mindfulness Centre element of Polly’s? And how are we going to fund the start-up of the Naturopathy bit of the—?’
‘Listen!’ Quintus Braithwaite roared. ‘All of these questions can and will be dealt with at a separate committee meeting … where I am sure they will be treated with the seriousness that they deserve.’ There was a distinctly sceptical sneer in the last few words. ‘The sole purpose of tonight’s EGM was for Kent to pass on to us the glad news that his company now owns Polly’s Cake Shop. Which is the first of what I’m sure will be many triumphs for the SPCS Action Committee that I set up. The fine-tuning we will sort out at a later date. The only decision we need to make tonight is about the change of name for the café.’
‘Why does it need a change of name?’ asked Jude.
Arnold Bloom agreed. ‘It’s been Polly’s Cake Shop on Fethering Parade for years. It’s a local landmark. We don’t want to change that.’
‘I think we need to,’ the Chair countered, ‘to symbolize the new direction the café will be taking.’
‘We need no such thing. What the Fethering community always wants is continuity. We find that with almost every issue that is brought up at the Fethering Village Committee. To change the name would be—’
‘I think we should put this to the vote straight away,’ said Quintus Braithwaite, keen to take advantage of the supportive mood of the committee. ‘By a show of hands. If you agree that Polly’s Cake Shop should henceforth be known as Polly’s Community Café, will you please—?’
‘You can’t do that!’ protested Arnold Bloom. ‘That word “community” is the kiss of death to any commercial enterprise.’ Jude was surprised. He was the last person she would have expected to share the views of Carole Seddon.
The Commodore continued unperturbed, ‘So those in favour of the change of name, please raise your right hand …’
He won the vote overwhelmingly, and derived great pleasure from the expression of disgruntlement on Arnold Bloom’s face.
‘So what I wish to do now is to close this meeting and to …’ he raised his voice, shouting towards the kitchen ‘… ask the lovely Phoebe to bring in the champagne with which we are going to toast Kent Warboys’ good news!’
The lovely Phoebe, who had been waiting for her cue behind the kitchen door, came hurrying in to the sitting room with trays of champagne bottles and flutes to celebrate this wonderful breakthrough.
During the impromptu party that followed, Arnold Bloom was heard to mutter that the SPCS Action Committee wasn’t Quintus Braithwaite’s own bloody project, it was a Community bloody Project for all the residents of Fethering. And he reiterated that, though he was a great supporter of the principle of ‘community’, the use of the word attached to any business project was the ‘absolute kiss of death’.
Arnold was also heard to mutter that he wasn’t ‘the kind of man to be bought off by bribes of the Braithwaites’ champagne’. That didn’t stop him from drinking quite a lot of it, though.
SEVENTEEN
It was two days later that Jude received a telephonic summons from Phoebe Braithwaite. Could she come at ten o’clock the following morning, the Thursday, for coffee at Hiawatha? Jude suggested it might be more convenient for them to meet at the Crown and Anchor or Polly’s Cake Shop, but those venues did not fit in with Phoebe’s preconceived plans. Maybe, like her husband, she liked to ensure home advantage.
Part of Jude wanted to tell Phoebe to get lost, but saying something like that was not in her nature. She was intrigued too as to what her conspiratorial hostess wanted to talk to her about. And a residual investigative instinct in connection with Amos Green’s death made her want to glean any information she could about anyone with a connection to Polly’s Cake Shop.
Jude felt her customary claustrophobia as she entered the Shorelands Estate. Though the main gates were never closed it did still have the feeling of a ‘gated community’. The list of regulations behind glass on a board nearby also seemed designed to discourage freedom. Presumably the Shorelands residents knew when they were allowed to mow their lawns and hang out their washing, so having the list as the first thing visitors saw presumably had the sole aim of making them realize just how exclusive the estate was.
The whole complex with its huge, expensive, well-spaced houses in a variety of architectural styles felt about as welcoming to Jude as Colditz.
She hadn’t known what to expect. Maybe this would be a large meeting with a lot of Joannas and Samanthas. But it was clear when she arrived and was ushered into the state-of-the-art kitchen that the occasion was just going to be a tête-à-tête for her and Phoebe Braithwaite.
While her hostess busied herself with the state-of-the-art Italian coffee machine, Jude looked out at the best view of the house. A long, over-titivated garden, all of whose plants had been dragooned into straight lines, sloped down towards a tall fence with double gates in it. Beyond that, because of the gradient, the mess of dunes, shingle and khaki sand could not be seen. Just the sparkling of the English Channel, which turned bluer the further it was away from the shore.
Against the fence at the end of the garden stood a neat hut and a blue rowing boat on a manoeuvrable two-wheeled trailer. Along the top of the fence and gates were coils of razor wire. Undesirable people would at all costs be kept out of the Shorelands Estate.