Chapter XXXVIII High Noon

 

 

There followed one quick test of my microphone by tapping it with my finger and I was ready to begin.

On seeing me, some of the crowd starting shouting “No betrayal”. There were more scattered shouts of “No Russian Fortress here.”

I began confidently. I had learned long ago how to throw my voice in a crowd even without a mike and I was confident I could be heard.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, quiet please. Quiet please! Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. I hereby open this session of the London Borough of Framden Planning Committee.” Although it was a little quieter now, the general hubbub of conversation continued in some parts of the hall and the occasional sporadic shouts still burst out like bush fires in unexpected places. I needed to calm them immediately. I could think of only one effective way to do that.

“Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin, it is my sorrowful duty to tell you that we have just received the sad news of the death of one our former mayors, Alderman Thomas Griffiths. He was Chairman of the Planning and Housing Committees in the 1960s and Mayor of this Borough in 1967. Please join me in honouring his memory and the great service he gave to the Borough of Framden, by observing with me a minute’s silence.”

The hall was totally silent now. 400 startled people stood up respectfully to honour the memory of a distinguished figure from a distant past.

After some 30 seconds of stony silence, I said “Thank you.” And 400 relieved people sat down again.

Amid the continued quiet I announced that, as this was a Planning Committee meeting, only members of the Committee and supporting officers would be able to speak. There were some hissing noises here, but easy to ignore. However, I stressed that I welcomed the fact that so many members of the public had felt sufficiently civic minded to attend this session of the Committee and assured them that their views as expressed at the two public meetings and in hundreds of individual representations were on record in the Council Committee agenda and would be considered by the Councillors. 400 people in the hall received this last announcement with silent lamb-like acquiescence.

“First, can we accept the minutes of the previous meeting as a correct record?” (Several Councillors mumbled “Agreed”) “Thank you.”

I took one more look around the room and plunged on. “I want to devote this meeting entirely to this one issue of the Pinkerton Plaza Development as I am sure that all of you will not want to sit through an interminable boring meeting dealing with garage frontages and pavement crossovers. After all, it’s bad enough that the Councillors normally have to sit through all this turgid stuff.” This raised some light laughter.

“Mr Finneston, are there any other matters that absolutely have to be dealt with tonight apart from the Pinkerton Plaza application?”

“Just a couple, Chair. First we have enforcement notices against some illegal structures built without planning permission and which would have been refused were planning permission to have been sought. Details and addresses are on the agenda.”

“Thank you. Councillors have seen this on the agenda. Any councillors in favour of illegal structures? No? Enforcement notices for dismantling within 3 months as shown on the agenda are approved. Next.”

“But Chair,” remonstrated one of the planning officers, Peter Bulmer, “the recommended notice for dismantling was supposed to be 6 months. They were not expecting 3 months.”

“Well, they better get their skates on,” I replied impatiently. This too raised a laugh.  

“Next?” I asked.

“The other matter is approval for a fete due to take place this weekend at Wilmington Common. It was a late submission.”

“Right those in favour of a fete please show.” A small number of hands went up from the Councillors. “Anyone who hopes it will get rained off?” (More laughter). “No? OK. Permission granted.”

“Now the big one!" I said, addressing my fellow councillors.

"It’s the remaining item on our agenda. An outline planning application to build a commercial/housing complex on the old Claybury Industrial Park. Committee members, you have seen reports on your agenda papers concerning the major issues and you have also had a report of the representations received from members of the public. You also attended a site visit. As you can see there have been 420 individual or commercial responses from the public which are listed here of which more than 75% are negative and ask for outright refusal.” (A cheer went up in the hall).

Now I addressed the public at large. “I am sorry but I have already said that members of the public can only participate in this meeting as witnesses of the process in which planning decisions are taken. Shouting and cheering will be interpreted as disruption and you will be asked to leave. Please remember that you have already had a chance to express your views, by letters, phone calls, a petition, and at two public meetings, one of which was organized by the Council. The points you have made are already summarized on the agenda papers, copies of which have been available on your seats. That is, if you got here early enough. (Again a little bit of laughter, a trifle forced.) So if I get any kind of disturbance or interruptions from members of the public, those people will be asked to leave the meeting immediately.”

“Now then,” I turned towards Stelios, “I understand that there is a petition concerning this development.”

Just as Stelios Karamanlis was about to get up to announce and present the petition, a voice yelled from the side-steps at the front of the stage, “I’ll do that!” All eyes turned in the direction of the voice and a tall bearded figure in a resplendent red robe and gold chain mounted the steps, his long robe swirling around him. The press will want heroes, villains or clowns. Here comes clown number one, I thought.

“Good evening, Mr Mayor.” I said to the familiar figure of Donald McClintock.

A round of hearty applause reverberated around the hall at the sight of this old municipal war-horse. You would have thought he was going to don a plumed hat and mount a horse.

He took the petition out of Stelios’ hand, glanced at it and waved the document in the air. “It is incumbent on me as the senior ward councillor to present this petition with 896 signatures from the residents of Claybury Ward to the Planning Committee. The document voices the genuine concerns of residents about this ambitious development and states its four main objection points, namely, one, this development is going to generate extra traffic and pollution especially during construction; two, it has an excessively high residential density that could bring more crime and security problems to the area; three, it could lower the water table and be a drain on the local water supply; and, finally, four, it would be an unsightly imposition on the London skyline. I share the concerns of constituents, but let me say this. I am a Councillor with over 25 years’ service on this Borough Council and I know that sometimes residents can get exceptionally emotional on issues that later, after a development is built, seem somewhat exaggerated. However, Chair, I do not think that that is the case here. I have spoken to many of these signatories, and I am sure that many of their concerns are genuinely well-founded. (Cries of “Hey, who’s side are you on?”) However, I understand the case for the development has been carefully prepared to conform to the Framden Borough Plan and that this development is likely to offer cheap homes for key workers that we need so desperately in this community (“No, we don’t!” somebody shouted), such as teachers and nursing staff. It is possible therefore that the Committee may be obliged to consider these issues and approve the application (Cries of “Shame!” Why?”, “Who is this prat?”) but, but” he repeated over the noise of the interruptions, “I hope that the Committee will consider the residents’ views and to impose conditions that would minimize the possible negative effects of this development. I think that we should be asking for an ambitious environmental programme to ensure that the public gets better access to the canal side walk and the potential community facilities on the site. I also believe that a tree planting programme should be introduced around the site and a full time Council environmental health officer be employed, at the developer’s expense, to monitor pollution levels. (His speech was increasingly being interrupted by catcalls, including cries of “Judas”) I hope also that a liaison committee is set up, under my chairmanship as mayor and local councillor,  combining the developers, representatives of the council and of local residential associations to monitor the damage and dislocation to the community caused during the construction and to run the community facilities on the new estate with the developers and the subsequent landlords.”

This was an extraordinary contribution with the old fox seeking to justify his commitment to supporting the development while still showing himself to be a man of the people, caring for the resident’s concerns in his ward. I thought the speech utterly mendacious as did the more astute residents who wolf-whistled the speech, while others, slightly more naïve, applauded. Smallbridge and his mob applauded loudest of all, although they were fully aware that the conditions he proposed would have undermined the whole basis for constructing the development in the first place, and that in practice the liaison committee would have been a complete non-starter.

“Mr Mayor?” I asked loudly but politely.

“Yes, Chair?”

“I was under the impression that you wanted to present a petition.”

“And that I have done,” he said pompously.

“Then why is it still in your hand?” The audience burst out laughing.

McClintock was about to stand up but I waved him down. “Councillor Karamanlis?” I turned to his colleague, who had been feeling considerably down staged by McClintock’s intervention.

“Yes?”

“Did you also want to say something towards this petition?”

“Yes, I do.” He stood up. “I feel that the residents of Claybury Ward have a full right to present their views and to feel that somebody is ready to represent them. I attended the PPRAC meeting last night and I confirm today what I said then. On behalf of the residents of Claybury Ward I urge the Committee to refuse this planning application altogether.” He took the petition from a startled McClintock and walked up to me to present it. Politely I stood up to receive the document formally. Then I handed it to the committee clerk. There was a loud burst of applause for Stelios.

“Thank you for that, fellow Councillors. Mr Finneston, are there any new points to be raised on this matter that are not on the agenda?” In a sense I was now giving him the final piece of rope. He could either reel himself back to safety by pointing out all the anomalies, or he could hang himself by revealing nothing and continuing his cover up.

As Chris got up, Noel Graham leaned over to me and whispered: “By the way, I never heard of this Alderman Griffiths who just died.”

“I’m not surprised,” I answered. “I made him up.”   

“What!! Why, for heaven’s sake?!”

“Because I needed to calm down the meeting and take control of it. If you are beginning to chair an angry meeting where tempers are likely to flare up, then either get a man of religion to invoke a prayer or else make them stand to honour someone who’s just died. If nobody’s died, invent somebody.”

“God, you crafty bastard!” said Noel shaking his head in astonishment.

I listened to Chris Finneston but the comments about late representations were fairly lame and nothing new and controversial was brought up. Effectively, he had now cooked his goose. I could now unpluck the feathers one by one.

I turned to my secret weapon. I nodded to Phil Marchmont, anxiously waiting at the end of the top table. Cagily he stood up. His planning colleagues looked at him in astonishment.

“Chair, if you please there are few planning matters that the Committee should know before they make their decision.”

“Very good. Let’s hear the points, Mr Marchmont.”

In a quiet but increasingly confident voice the young planning officer began to spell out the omissions from the existing report which he had discovered while, as he described it, he had been conducting an independent research into the background papers. First, he pointed out that the housing density ratio was in agreement with the Framden Borough Plan but NOT with the new figures being drawn up with the London Development Plan which the Mayor of London had commissioned. As a result this application could be called in by the Greater London Assembly and it was our duty to bring it to their attention in the first place. Secondly, he flatly contradicted the agenda report by stating that the visual impact on the London skyline from the new development would be in conflict with the London Panorama proposals from the GLA, where the view from Daffodil Hill was one of 25 sites in London to be specifically protected. Thirdly, he said that the community gain from the plan on new pedestrian crossings, new bus routes, traffic calming measures and access to the nearest underground station had not been fully negotiated and had been mysteriously omitted from the conditions for permitting development. His fourth point was even more devastating. The local water authority had sent a letter stating the plans were somewhat ambiguous as to the depths of the foundations and that in any case their calculations as to the amount of land to be paved over and the actual amount of water to be used for the uses described in the outside plan could mean a considerable drop in the water table for the area and an excessive burden on local water resources both in terms of water supply and drainage.

I felt that last point sounded too technical. In public meetings you have to keep things simple.

“Are you saying?” I interrupted Phil, “that the water authority is opposed to the current outline planning proposal?”

“In its present condition, Chair, the answer has to be yes.”

Chris Finneston had been moving restlessly in his chair and whispering to his two immediate assistants while Phil Marchmont had been speaking. He had tried to catch my eye earlier but I had ignored him, pretending to be watching Phil so intently that I could see nothing else. In fact I had also been observing the impact Phil was making on the committee members and on the audience in general. He delivered his lethal bullet points dispassionately and without panache but with a clarity of voice and an economy of words that brought total silence to the hall as all 400 plus listened to him in rapt attention. There was no clapping but with each point there was an audible intake of breath as its significance revealed itself to even the most intellectually challenged in the audience. Above all you could see and sense his attraction to the female contingent in the hall drooling over his every word. Alone of all the officers sitting on the stage he was without a tie and in an open necked shirt but wearing a stylish jacket and hipsters and he exuded a sense of easy cool that would have done justice to a film star. As far as the women were concerned, he was Brad Pitt. 

Finneston was determined to challenge this encroachment on his territory by a junior upstart from his own department. It was not very clear to me whether it was his status as Chief Planning Officer he was more worried about or the revelations which were undermining his espousal of the planning proposals. Either way he tried to intervene after the reference to the water authority.

“Chair, if I may be allowed to intervene.”

“Yes, Mr Finneston?”

“Many of the points being made by my less experienced colleague have not yet been discussed in the senior planning team and their intrinsic merit and relevance to this application could be in doubt.”

“Why, Mr Finneston!?” This could have been me interrupting him, but in fact it was the voice of Melanie Sheldrake. “Why have you and your senior planners not discussed this? Were you keeping it from us?”

“Councillor Miss Sheldrake is casting aspersions on my professional conduct. That is most unfair,” blurted Chris, bewildered by the sheer effrontery of Melanie.

“I think that Councillor Miss Sheldrake was merely asking you a question. Perhaps you read more into it than you intended?” I suggested more diplomatically. “May I suggest that we ask Mr Marchmont to finish? Any more points you wish to make, Mr Marchmont?”

“Basically one more, Chair. But it is an important one.” Phil appeared to take a deep breath here. “There is great confusion as to which are the real plans being submitted to this Committee and which are not. I keep coming across instances where plans submitted to us under various identification numbers and entered in that form into our computerized information bank are then re-submitted to a special reserve file that shows different drawings, particularly in the design of the towers and the extent of the subterranean areas of the construction. Yet they still retain the same number and date as before.” The hall had gone so quiet at this point that you could have heard a pin drop. Then there were occasional cries of “Shame.”

“What is the purpose of this special reserve file?” asked Melanie immediately. Sharp as nails our Melanie. She was not always diplomatic but she certainly asked the right questions.

“I cannot say for sure, Councillor,” Phil answered carefully as he tiptoed over the egg-shells, “but it does open the Council to the possibility that it is receiving and storing a lot of misleading information that could lead to a certain ambiguity as to what exactly it had previously approved.” (More cries of “Shame!”) Press cameras were beginning to flash.

“So that, if I understand you correctly Mr Marchmont, a dishonest developer could claim, say 6 months later, that we had approved one set of plans when we had in fact approved a completely different set,” again this was Melanie barging in. Now the hall really was in uproar.

“I protest, Chair, this is totally untrue!” Chris had obviously had enough. He leaped to his feet. “Chair, I must protest, “he repeated, “at the direction in which this meeting is going. I had had no warning from you Chair that you would have wanted these matters aired. Had you asked me to then I could have raised them in their proper context. In fact you have asked a junior planning officer to bring in spurious information and hostile interpretations of these facts. Let me assure you that there is no duplication of plans under the same identification number and no special reserve file. I want these comments withdrawn.”

“Mr Finneston, your comments and your protest are noted.” I looked to the Committee Clerk. “And please so minute it.”

“Right! Quiet, please,” I called out to the audience, but with only partial effect. “Quiet, please!”

I addressed the Committee members now. “Any comments? Any questions? Any motions?”

“Chair?” It was Noel. On cue.

“Councillor Graham,” I announced.

Noel began by saying that initially he had supported the scheme because of the opportunities it offered for filling a depressing and derelict site and because it was supposed to find affordable accommodation for students, teachers and nurses. Now these earlier promises appeared to be unfounded, especially as it was no longer certain which plans were real and which a cover for a large scale isolated development that “would be a blot on the landscape rather than a beacon”. He received thunderous applause for this statement. But Noel held up his hand for order and I also called out “Quiet, please.” in order to allow Noel to plunge on and twist the knife. As further evidence of this duplicity Noel introduced the letter to the Committee from the main architectural consultant, Sir William Tallis, which he then proceeded to read out.

The letter from Tallis was addressed to me as the Chair of the Committee and it was a real bombshell. Committee members and members of the audience listened intently as Sir William’s letter described briefly his connection with the Pinkerton Plaza project, the initial broad aims of the development and the close cooperation with Council officers to ensure that the community at large would have as much to gain from the present development as from the initial Taiwanese developers. Then with a new developer in the driving seat, the nature and purpose of the development changed drastically and new plans had to be drawn up which effectively transformed part of the development into a private fortress for a Russian-based company, including living quarters for their families, and a strange militaristic bent to the interior design as well as the introduction of enormous storage space below the development and a subterranean structure of tunnels. These plans he agreed to assist with but was concerned when he discovered that the new plans were numbered in the same way as the old ones and were presented to certain nameless Council officers to be substituted for the original plans immediately after outline planning approval had been given. A GLA official had also apparently been made aware of this substitution and when Sir William commented to development officials that this would never be accepted by the local authority, he was advised that the key officials would be “well rewarded” for agreeing to this substitution. Sir William further explained in his letter that it was now impossible for him to continue to participate in this project and that he had quietly resigned from the project on June 24th, barely 3 days after the Committee’s site visit. His resignation was kept secret by the developers and because he was fearful that the substitution plans may well go through regardless, his professional reputation required of him that he warn the Councillors directly that they were likely to be duped by the developers with the connivance of their own officers. However, because of personal threats to himself and his family he had to keep silent about the matter until now.

It was the most sensational letter that our Council would ever have received from an architect in its 200 year history. As it was being read out my eyes scanned the room watching the stunned audience from whose angry silence, the rumbling vibes of an inevitable explosion of anger could already be felt. Journalists were scribbling furiously in their notebooks and tapping on their laptops, or recording the words on tape recorders. TV cameras were rolling, pointing their lenses directly at Noel, though one enterprising cameraman was making a sweep of the audience reacting to Tallis’ letter. Then I watched a pale Grayson and a miserable Kitson shuffling in the front row while Smallbridge was half listening and half-whispering to Lamsden sitting behind him. Valentina (sorry, Lady Smallbridge) was sitting there open-mouthed, perhaps considering whether it would be conducive to her career to be the wife of an imprisoned peer. The Russian claque was sitting there in a bruised intense hush, not comprehending very much but sensing something was not quite right. However they had to wait for their paymasters to take stock of the situation sufficiently, to give them the appropriate guidelines on how to react. Finally, out of the corner of my eye I could see Chris Finneston looking intensely at Noel Graham with the look of a condemned man, while one of his assistants was sitting with his face buried in his hands. Because no names had been given in the letter there was no immediate point to jumping up and denying it because nothing could be more self-incriminating. I looked towards the audience again and noticed that there were now more than a dozen uniformed officers standing quietly at various vantage points around the assembly hall. In view of what was likely to happen at this meeting, I felt the police presence was reassuring.

As Noel finished reading the letter he explained that the police had found this letter written barely hours before Sir William’s serious car accident and that the author is recovering at present under police protection at a London hospital, whose identity he could not disclose. The predicted eruption was about to explode with early calls of “Shameful” and “dreadful”, but I called out “Please remain quiet” again to the audience to let Noel shoot his final volley.

“Chair, Ladies and Gentlemen, in view of the changed circumstances I now move that outline planning application no. 3674/24/04 be refused forthwith.”

And then the explosion came. Angry, yes, but it was also joyful. The opponents of the development in the audience, and that would have been a sizeable majority of them, sensed that their protests would actually be taken seriously now. A defeat for the hated scheme was on the cards.

On the stage I had pandemonium too, as much as in the hall. Finneston had suddenly lost his cool and was virtually screaming into the microphone: “Chair, I protest at any insinuation that anyone in the Planning Department could be falsifying our computerized records.” But amid the general hubbub he could hardly be heard at all. Sufficient that it would be recorded by the police as well as by the committee clerk as evidence that he had defended the Planning Department when Sir William had not specified from which Department or Departments the guilty officials came.

I let the noise, the protests and the clapping continue for about 30 seconds and seeing that rather than calming down, the audience was getting more and more buoyant, I shouted repeatedly into the microphone, “Order, Order, Order.”

As the noise continued unabated I turned to the Legal Officer. At every Council function of this sort, being performed in public, there is a specific Council standing order that has to be read out and authorizes a Committee Chair to clear the room of members of the public if the business of the Committee was being impeded. It is the local equivalent of reading the Riot Act before the police plunge into clearing a street of members of the public. The legal officer handed me the phrase on a piece of paper (they always keep one handy for such emergencies) and I held it in my hand, just in case.

“Ladies and gentlemen I must ask for quiet or I will have to ask all members of the audience to leave the room. This is a Committee meeting to which the public has access as long as we are allowed to proceed with our business. Quiet please.”

Slowly the noise subsided. I spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen please stay silent through these procedures as I would hate to conduct this meeting without your valued presence. Anyway,” I added, almost flippantly, “I’m sure you are all anxious to know what happens next.”  I got the required laugh. We were back on track now. Except for the front row where Smallbridge and Grayson were in intense discussion.

“Your Lordship, Councillor Grayson, please allow us to continue. What kind of example are you setting?” I asked mockingly. They sat silent with a sheepish look on their faces. Again there was an amused titter around the audience. It was a cheap shot but worth it all the same. Or so I thought.

There was no doubt as to who would speak next. Melanie charged in without being asked. “I totally support the motion put forward by Councillor Graham. We cannot possibly consider an application when we do not even know whether the plans we are supposed to be approving actually exist. I completely reject the Mayor’s suggestion of voting for the application with substantial extra conditions as we are fully aware that on its record so far those conditions will be completely ignored. I am delighted that members of the majority party are now supporting my earlier opposition to this development. We now have evidence not only of tampering with the planning documents but even with the decision-making process in our Council (“Your Council,” she added in populist style, turning briefly directly to the audience). There have been attempts to physically intimidate members of this committee. One Councillor has had threats to his child, another of attacks on her partner. A third councillor, as you are well aware, Chair, has been physically attacked in his own home, yes actually punched and attacked with a horsewhip (who used the horsewhip? I thought, you crafty lying bitch) as a reminder to vote the right way at this Committee meeting. He actually had to arrive here today under police escort in order to protect him, not from the public, but from the developer’s thugs. (Gasps of horror around the room.)

“Ladies and gentlemen,” continued Melanie, “our own democratic process is under threat (Substantial cheers and clapping). You have heard the letter from Sir William. Along with Councillor Chakravatty, I have visited this brave honourable gentleman in hospital. It appears that a few days ago his brakes were tampered with and he suffered a serious car accident. (More gasps.) While unconscious in his car, his computer and his private notes on this development were stolen. (More and more gasps.) He confirmed the existence of this letter, was very pleased that the police were able to recover it and that it would be read out here. Ladies and gentlemen, fellow members of the Committee, it is our solemn duty to refuse this application from a developer who would have instituted a regime of intimidation and corruption into the everyday public life of this Borough. Then I move a second motion, namely that we hold an inquiry into how the planning department conducts its business and just what was promised by who to what institution. We cannot continue another meeting until we have identified and dismissed the officers involved. Otherwise we and the public, when they submit their little private planning applications for house extensions and dormer windows and pavement crossovers, will no longer know who we are to trust, who is on the take, who is being intimidated. I so move.”

Ever conscious of how the public would be reacting to a speech, whether it was mine or anybody else’s I noted that the audience reception to this blatant piece of populism was ecstatic. However I could now see that the Russian contingent was busy talking to each other and I had a growing fear that they may try to break up this meeting, now that it was no longer going their way. I decided to push the meeting into “fast forward”.

“I think we all agree that such an inquiry should be held and I see that the Council Leader, Councillor Grayson, and the Mayor are both present at this meeting and both are nodding agreement that this inquiry should be held soon.” Actually neither of them was doing anything of the sort, but I was determined to compromise them. Big mistake.

“Nevertheless I think that we have heard sufficient details to know that we must make an immediate decision on this outline planning application. I propose therefore that we put the joint motion of Councillor Graham and Councillor Miss Sheldrake to refuse this application to a vote and I suggest that, with your agreement, we do not do this by a mere show of hands. Later somebody may seek to challenge such a vote on the grounds that the voting was miscalculated or that he or she voted differently from what they actually did. I move therefore each Councillor should state for the record his vote for or against the motion to refuse, after their name is called.”

“No!” The strong voice of protest came from the hall. I looked in astonishment at this loud interruption from the audience and I was on the point of having this dissident voice expelled. However, the miscreant stepped forward of his own accord and began to mount the sidesteps at the front of the stage, the same ones previously used by the Mayor. It was the small sturdy figure of the Poisoned Dwarf, but officially known as Councillor Ted Grayson, Leader of the Council.

Here comes the second clown, I thought to myself.

“Chair, this is the wrong procedure,” he said as he stepped forward.

“Councillor Grayson,” I began, “we are very honoured by your presence, but formally you are not a member of the Planning Committee and have no proper authority to speak here.”

“Formally I am not a member of the Committee, but as Leader of this Council I have authority over most of the activities in this council.”

“What about the corruption then?” somebody shouted from the audience, but he ignored that.

“Please remember, Chair, that you yourself mentioned my name just now from the platform. Because of that you automatically bring me into participation in this meeting.”

I felt like kicking myself. By trying to be clever and scoring a cheap shot at his expense, I had actually opened the genie from the bottle, simply by invoking his name. Momentarily I had lost control of the meeting. I let him have the floor.

“Fellow Councillors, let us not throw out the baby with the bathwater. This was a substantial development proposal whose advantages to the Borough many of you were praising until recently. It brought us investment; it brought us commerce; it brought us a mixed housing programme, both at the luxury end of the market and also for the crucial key workers that my colleagues, Councillor Graham and the Mayor, had both referred to earlier; it brings us more children for our two underutilized local schools; it brings us crucial upgrading of our canal-side leisure facilities, with more chances for walks with our children and recreation areas for our teenagers; it brings us more sports facilities; it brings us another community centre; it brings us facilities for the elderly; it brings us new bus routes and bus stop facilities; it brings more access to the London underground for residents adjoining this site; it brings this Borough some spectacular architecture. In fact, it brings us more of virtually everything that we could have wished.” (“Yeah, more bribes,” a voice from the audience shouted to general laughter.) 

Ted changed his tone now. “Now it appears that there may be technical problems with actual identity of the plans involved and also some unfortunate pressures put on members of this Committee. I do not challenge that could be the case. And I bitterly regret it. I hope the perpetrators of such acts will be brought to justice. There has after all been intimidation on both sides of this issue. (Unacknowledged cries of “Where? Rubbish?”). But surely those members of the Committee who have been subjected to any kind of violence or intimidation should not use that as an excuse to destroy the dreams and intentions of those many residents of the Borough counting on the construction of this development. We must not forget our nurses, our social workers, our teachers all desperate for affordable living accommodation in this borough. And we have no alternative to this proposal; there is no other potential developer come forward.”

“Sir,” interrupted Phil Marchmont, “there are other proposals for this site.”

“What? From who?”

“Well, Tesco wants to discuss a combined commercial and housing development with the Council,” answered Phil.

“Well, that is still all airy-fairy; a bird in the bush,” snorted Grayson, “this project is a bird in the hand. So let us resolve these matters by postponing the decision for a couple of weeks until the technical problems mentioned in that letter from Sir William Tallis have been resolved. Then we can all benefit from this development while removing the doubts that currently surround it, all of which can be quickly resolved. Just remember, Committee members,” he added almost menacingly, “you may feel you can vote here with impunity, but you get home and you have to answer to those to whom you made your promise. And by that of course I mean the community from which you spring and your authority springs. Thank you, Chair, for letting me speak.”

I was amazed at my own stupidity. By allowing Grayson to speak, I had lost the momentum. He had thrown in the option of postponing the vote, and under cover of a community-orientated appeal he had reminded those Councillors who had been bribed or intimidated that they still have to answer to those commitments and threats. However, Melanie came in to the rescue. Not for the first time, she was saving me from my own stupidity.

“Chair, the choice is no longer whether we refuse or approve the planning application. Nobody surely, not even Councillor Grayson, could vote to approve it now. The choice is between postponing our vote or refusing it now. And I still stand by my joint motion with Councillor Graham, that this planning application be refused, and that means refused NOW.”

“I agree,” said Noel.

Thankfully, Melanie and Noel had brought the cavalry back with their horses at full gallop. I was now leaping on to my horse at the front and urging the other committee members to follow suit. We were back in the saddle.  

“The motion is that this Committee refuses permission NOW for outline planning application 3674/24/04. Those voting against this motion will be those who wish to POSTPONE the decision. Is that clear?”

I repeated my instructions again. 

“Miss Williams,” I turned to the Committee Clerk, busily scribbling away all this time. “Please read out the names of the Committee members in alphabetical order and record their vote. Councillors, please remember. This is a vote for or against immediate refusal.”

A hush descended on the hall again. This was now the final battle.

“Councillor Axtell.”

“For!”

A great cheer erupted from the audience. Prolonged applause suggested that the opponents of the scheme were sensing final victory. But the Russian claque was getting desperate. There was no time to lose.

“SILENCE!!” I roared. “I can brook no interruption while a vote is being taken. One more outburst like that and the hall will be cleared. That is your final warning.”

And silence reigned. The combined expectant silence of 400 plus. Such a silence had not been heard in the hall since they had paid their respects to the fictitious former Mayor at the beginning of the meeting.

“Councillor Craven”

“For.” That was a courageous step for Angela. Well done.

“Councillor Egerton.” Opposition councillor. A decent old cove.

“For.”

 “Councillor Graham”

“For.”

Four “fors” right at the start. A good beginning! 

“Councillor Kausar”

“Against.” I had expected that one.

“Councillor Khan”

“I am sorry but I am still considering my position. Can I vote a little later please, Chair.”

“A little later? What does that mean? Do you still intend to vote this side of Christmas?” (Laughter in the hall.)

“Yes, Chair, of course. I just need a minute or so to collect my thoughts.”

“Miss Williams, please go on to the next person.”

“Councillor King”

“For.” That guy, I knew, had been cajoled back into line by Melanie.

Present position - five votes to one. Surely it was in the bag now.

“Councillor Perera”

“I think the needs of the poorer people of the Borough should not be rejected at this stage. I am for postponement. So I vote against.” Blast!

“Councillor Potts”

“Against”.

Oh dear. Fireman Fred had always been a bit unpredictable. He had been against the development all along but Smallbridge said that he had been waiting for a bigger bribe. He implied that his vote could be influenced by other means. Also Andy was going to speak to him. I felt that I had temporarily let my eye off the ball with Fred Potts and now he had let us down. This was ridiculous.

“Councillor Richards”

“Against.” Melanie told me once that he had certain business interests in Russia and she was never going to be sure of his vote. It was her intention to remove him from this Committee at the next cycle. Too late to save us now. This was going worse than I feared.

“Councillor Miss Sheldrake”

“For!” That was clear sabre blow from our galloping lady hussar. It raised a cheer in the audience, whose darling she was. I decided not to punish the audience for its loyalty.

“Chair?”

“Councillor Khan?”

“I am ready to vote now.”

“Good. Please give the citizens of this Borough the benefit of your wisdom.”

“I wish to vote against.” I was beginning to feel sick in the pit of my stomach again. This man, from the smaller minority party, had always been an abstainer and a fence-sitter extraordinaire. I remember his earlier fumbling when we spoke in the restaurant a few days before. On only one thing he was clear. He would oppose whatever Melanie Sheldrake would vote for. By letting him procrastinate and then vote against Melanie I had allowed him to do just that. I’m losing my grip, I thought.

Not only that. It looked like I could now theoretically lose my vote, if I was not careful. It was six “for” and five “against”. There were two more votes to come.

“Councillor Trosser.”

Come on, Andy, I thought. You promised you would no longer vote for this development after we revealed the insidious background.

“No vote.”

“Pardon?” said Miss Williams, on behalf of us all.

“No vote.” He repeated adamantly. Bastard! An abstention.

That deadly hush had descended on the room again. It was still six to five.

“Councillor Mrs Wallace.”

Now where would her romance with the developer’s architect lead silly old Patricia Wallace? What other pressures had been working on her? Apart from Melanie, of course. Her affair could have been embarrassing to her and her family. She could be being blackmailed.

Patricia Wallace was deep in thought.

“Councillor Mrs Wallace?” repeated the Committee Clerk.

“Against”.

There was a gasp of horror around the hall. It was six votes to six. “We’ve lost!” I heard Noel say. I had expected that this could have been the outcome, but I was ready. I stood up.

“The vote was a draw, six against six. As Chair of this Committee I use my casting vote in favour of the motion and hereby declare that, by a vote of seven to six, permission for outline planning application 3674/24/04 has been refused.”

And then there was pandemonium. A volcanic eruption of noise consisting mainly of cheering and applause was superseded by shouts and curses as a group of thugs attacked some of the audience. They began pushing and shoving the more vocal residents, who in turn resisted and tried to push back the troublemakers. I could see the Smallbridges making their way to the main door unnoticed by the crowd and accompanied only by one minder. As the police moved into action in the hall, Nikolai suddenly appeared on the stage from the wings waving his black bat and followed by two policemen. He looked wildly around the stage and then threw himself at me. I managed to move my head away from the swinging bat but it landed a glancing blow on my shoulders that made me cry out in pain and then lose my balance and fall over. Seconds later the policemen had jumped on top of him. He still managed temporarily to shake them off, but as he struggled with them with his head down, Melanie stepped forward with her metal chair raised high up over her head and brought it crashing down on Nikolai’s head. More policemen rushed on stage.

My head was spinning. I was feeling quite sick. I managed to pick myself up and take the microphone. Amid the melee and shouting and cursing and crashing furniture my voice could still be heard: “Ladies and gentlemen, members of the Committee, I declare the meeting over. Thank you for coming and I wish you a safe journey home.” 

Then a thrown chair landed on my head and I lost consciousness.