The Lost Soldier by Costeloe Diney Read Free Book Online

preservation order on them, but he also knew that to fell them, now they had been acknowledged as a war memorial, would cause outrage in the community. He had been out to look at the site again, to see if there was any possibility of looping the access road round the trees through the adjoining ground which was an extension to the churchyard. That would mean buying the strip from the Church Commissioners, and it was unlikely they would sell, but approaching them would be Mike’s job, thank God. Tim had also been into the church and found the names of all the men on a brass plaque. He was about to begin the process of tracing their descendants. Mike Bradley had some idea of individual compensation for each family… to buy them off.
    “They’ve already got a memorial in the church,” Tim pointed out, handing Mike the leaflet on the church’s history he had bought.
    “So they have,” Mike had agreed, “but we have to find the best way to resolve this mess. We need this project, Tim. It’s a bloody good deal if we can pull it off. So, sort it… and keep this Chronicle woman on our side and off our backs.”
    Now Tim looked across the desk at Rachel. She was a good-looking woman, he had to admit, even if not his usual type. Tim preferred blondes, but she had an interesting face with broad cheeks and a wide mouth. He liked the way her full lips had an almost sculptured edge to them; the glint of anger in her eyes gave them a sparkle which brightened their hazel intensity and a sharp, determined chin warned him that she was no push-over. Tight dark curls, cut short to her head, showed off its neat shape, and from what he could see whilst she was seated, her figure was as attractive as her face. She faced him squarely across his desk and he recognised at once that she was definitely not a lady to be trifled with.
    “I know,” Tim said sympathetically. “But something came up and he was called to another meeting this morning and he isn’t back yet. Rather than put you off again, he called and asked me to help you in any way I can.” He grinned ruefully, “So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
    Rachel eyed him, in no way disarmed by this act, and said, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to make do with you, then.”
    “Where would you like to start?” asked Tim, meekly.
    “Background first. Can you outline exactly what the plans for the Charlton Ambrose development are?”
    Tim picked up a glossy brochure from his desk and passed it across to her. Flipping through it she saw that it showed a plan of the site, the floor plans and artist’s impressions of the proposed houses… three different models… and of the new village hall. She opened it at the site plan and turned back to Tim.
    “I see that the proposed access is along the edge of the green as far as the churchyard wall and then across the end of the green into the allotment patch.”
    “That’s right. The idea was to use as little of the actual green itself as possible. You see there’s a footpath along that side already,” Tim pointed to the site plan, “with a small gate into the allotments. By widening that path slightly, we can bring the access road round to the end of the green and into the site.”
    “But the Ashgrove covers the width of the green at that end,” Rachel pointed out. “Some of those trees at least will have to come down.”
    “As things are at present they will,” agreed Tim. “The problem is that we had no idea of the significance of those trees. There was no preservation order on them, you know, and as far as we knew there was no reason why at least some of them should not be felled.” He gave her his sincere look and went on, “We never fell mature trees unless we absolutely have to, Miss Elliott. Mature trees make a new development. New modern houses, yes, but in a mature, well-grown setting. Gives a feeling of permanence. People don’t feel they’re moving on to a building site.”
    “Is there no other way into the