The kids' parents, of course, were a different matter. Not everyone had the same concern for the disadvantaged as Genevieve Hartley had had, or tried to do anything about it. They'd be counting on that.
And the Gunners Terrace residents, once they were made homeless, would qualify for council housing anyway. That would be their argument, so how many people would really care if a small, struggling would-be community fell by the wayside?
But Cally knew that real pride, real spirit was being engendered in this tiny part of town, where those qualities had long been absent. And that it mattered. But it would soon wane once the families were dispersed, as seemed inevitable.
They deserve to survive, she told herself with sudden angry passion. They don't need another defeat. If only—only—there was something I could do...
But there could have been—once, a sly voice in her head reminded her. If you'd chosen another kind of life. If you hadn't run away. You might have made all the difference.
For a moment she was motionless, staring into the distance with eyes that saw nothing but pain.
She said under her breath, 'But I made the right— the only possible choice. I know that.' And dropped the broken pencil into the wastepaper basket
She had no smart clothes, so she opted for another version of her working gear for their visit to the Town Hall.
The exhibition, which included a video presentation as well as a scale model of the development, was being staged in the conference hall—
which hadn't seen many conferences, but was useful for antiques fairs and craft markets. Also for the flower show in its usual inclement weather.
The Mayor and his entourage were clearly preening themselves because the place was living up to its grandiose title at last.
There were a lot of people present, most of them clustered around the tables where the scale model was set up, and the remainder hovering near the lavish buffet.
Waiters were going round with trays of champagne and heavy platters loaded with canape's, presumably all with the compliments of Eastern Crest. How to win friends and influence people, Cally thought cynically as she stood with Kit and Tracy, wondering whom they should approach.
But in the end the decision was made for them when they found themselves caught in a pincer movement by Ford on Hartley and his younger brother Neville, their faces flushed and inimical as they strode across the room.
'I wasn't aware anyone had asked you here.' Gordon addressed Kit, ignoring the two girls completely. 'I'd like you to leave—now.'#p#分页标题#e#
Kit held up three invitation cards. 'Someone clearly has a different idea,' he returned coolly. "I thought we should see what we're up against.'
'You're up against nothing,' Neville chimed in. 'You've already lost, so what's the point in coming here, making fools of yourselves? Our mother may have looked on you all as an act of charily, but we don't.'
'All the same.' Kit was undeterred. 'We'd like to have a look at the proposed development, and maybe speak to who-ever's in charge at Eastern Crest.'
Cally found herself admiring his calmness. His refusal to be rattled. He had 'We shall not be moved' written all over him, in spite of the hostility he was faced with.
Goodness, she thought, if Leila had come she'd have bitten someone in the leg by now.
'Then you're really out of luck.' Gordon was speaking again, his tone curt, pushing his weight forward threatening ly. 'Because the chairman himself is hosting tonight's presentation, and he plays in the big league. Get out now, before you become a laughing stock or he has you removed.'
The brothers' raised voices were attracting attention, Cally realised, with embarrassment. Curious glances from all over the room were coming their way, and even some of the crowd round the model were turning their heads to look
She realised that she wasn't just uncomfortable, she'd actually begun to tremble inside. Even begun to be afraid in some obscure but compelling way.
We shouldn't be here, she thought, swallowing. We may have invitations, but there'll be an official guest list some where, and we're still gatecrashers.
She touched Kit's sleeve. 'Listen,' she began, 'maybe we should...'
But the sentence was never completed. Because she was suddenly aware that a hush had fallen. That someone was making his way across the room towards them between groups of people that obediently fell back at his approach.
A tall man, she saw, with a thin tanned face under fashionably disheveled hair, dark as a raven's wing. A face marked by high cheekbones, a nose and chin almost arrogant in their strength, a mouth tough and unsmiling. And really unforgettable.
The muscularity of his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body was emphasised by the elegance of his designer suit as he strode towards them with powerful, determine d grace, purpose in his every line.