“What is it?”
“He’s made another offer.”
“Has he now?”
“Twice the size of the last one.”
“I hope you told him where to shove his offer.”
“He told me you’d say that. He also told me to tell you if you refuse, he’s going into the town instead. I saw the plans, George. Half the high street gone, all that history. Is your land worth that?”
“I have as much love for Scarton as I do for the people in it. If he thinks he can blackmail me into selling my land, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
“Have a look at the plans.” He walked over to his filing cabinet and pulled out a few papers. Passing them to me, he nodded. “Just don’t shoot the messenger.”
I looked down at the paper. It was a scale map of Scarton town centre. Or more accurately, it was several maps. One showed how it was at that moment, and one showed what was planned. I ran my eyes over the highlighted point, a building in the middle had been circled with black marker pen. “Notice something?” Bill asked.
“He’ll knock down the theatre?”
“So he says.”
“If he lays a finger on it, I’ll kill him.”
“I told him that too. He didn’t seem to believe me.”
Simon Green was going to knock down the theatre if I didn’t sell him my land. I’d never met a man like him. A fellow club member, he’d tried to persuade me to sell several times, kept telling me the land was ripe for a housing estate. Told me I’d make a fortune if I sold to him. I told him where to go.
So he’d changed tack. He’d submitted plans to redevelop the town centre, knock down the old buildings, replace them with soulless new ones. And with the council in his pocket, he’d probably got the consent already. Did he know what the theatre meant to me? That it was a memorial, that it meant everything? Did he care?
“Set up a meeting,” I said, gripping the plans tightly in my hand, turning to go.
“Your cleaning money,” Bill called after me. “Don’t forget that.”
“Have Jeremy meet me downstairs. Put it in an envelope.”
“Fourteen thousand in an envelope, he says. I don’t have an envelope big enough. What-”
I turned and scowled at him. He averted his eyes, looking down at the desk. “I’ll put it in two envelopes,” he muttered as I stormed off to the lifts, gripping the plans tighter.
Simon Green had backed me into a corner. He had no idea what he’d done. If you’re backed into a corner, there’s only one decision to make. Quit or fight.
Quitting wasn’t my style.
ELEVEN
DONNA
I didn’t feel like a cleaner as I walked up to his house. I felt like an imposter. Did he know I wanted far more than to clean for him? That I wanted to get on my knees for entirely different reasons?
Was he really going to pay me a grand a day? It felt too good to be true. Having seen the state of his house, I knew I was going to be working hard for the money. Was this a trick? I felt suddenly self conscious. I couldn’t work out how but something told me he wasn’t just doing this because he needed a cleaner. There was something more to it, something I didn’t understand yet.
I reached his house just before nine, taking a deep breath before knocking on the front door. Nothing happened for a long time and I was just beginning to think he wasn’t in when the door swung open and there he was, a grimace on his face as he looked out at me.
“Torn jeans and a white tee-shirt,” he said, running his eyes up and down me. “Interesting choice.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. For now. I will supply you with something more appropriate for tomorrow. What size are you?”
He asked me so directly, I just answered without stopping to think. “Eight, why?”
“Don’t keep asking questions. You’re here to work. Into the kitchen and get started.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, slapping a sarcastic salute to the side of my head.
He frowned at me. “You will not call me Sir. You will call me-” he paused as if thinking for a moment, “-Daddy. Understood?”
“For a grand a day, I’ll call you the grand high poobah of Ummigummiwoowah if you like?”
“Daddy will be fine. And I will call you my little princess.”
“Or Donna which is my name.”
“My little princess. Into the kitchen.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He smiled, the first smile I’d seen on his lips. What had felt strange about calling him Daddy was how natural it felt, like I really was his little princess. It was a feeling I didn’t understand but what was an eccentric playwright without some eccentricities? If he wanted me to call him that, well that was just fine with me. I could picture him as my Daddy too if I wanted. There was no harm in it, was there?