There was a murmur of assent. Bronwyn looked murderous, but having protested loud and long for democracy, she could hardly snatch the microphone back. Maddy nodded ruefully. Peter was eloquent and charming. It all sounded so plausible. He spoke again and this time his voice was caressing and persuasive.

‘I am going to be living in the Manor. In the heart of Milton St John. I, as much as any of you, love the beauty and tranquillity of this village. I, like you, would do nothing to destroy it. The golf course will be an enhancer, not a desecrator. It will give work in an area which has a lot of unemployment, and bring visitors to our village. Visitors who will spend money at the shop, at the pub.’

‘What about cars, though?’ Barty Small piped up from the front. ‘We don’t want a lot of imbeciles tearing through the village, scaring the horses and causing mayhem, do we?’

The villagers shook their heads. Peter smiled at Jeff Henley and the James-Jordans and Maddy’s heart sank. She knew that smile. Peter played poker like a demon.

‘If you – especially Mrs Pugh – had troubled to check the plans, which are available at the council offices, you will see that there is to be no access to the course in Milton St John.’

Bronwyn was almost puce at this oversight. Maddy wanted to put her arms around her to protect her, because, knowing Peter as she did, there would be a next bit. There always was.

Peter ladled on the charm. ‘It is part of the planning permission proviso that we build the access road to the golf course directly from the motorway slip road, on the other side of the gallops. Four miles away from the village, and nowhere near any houses or stables. There will be no golf course traffic anywhere near the village.’

There was a stunned silence.

‘But the trees.’ Kimberley had her hand in the air. ‘You’re still going to bulldoze all these wonderful trees.’

‘Not at all.’ Peter was oozing syrup now. ‘Yes, of course there will be some uprooting needed, but I have taken conservation advice. Each tree removed will have a sapling planted in its place. And there will be no trees – none at all – taken from the first half mile of the village boundary. We intend to keep the spinney and the orchard as a backdrop to the course. It will look no different from Milton St John. You won’t even know it’s there.’

The stunned silence gave way to murmurs which ballooned into a roar. Sandra and Barry, Nicky, Joe, and Peanut were glaring at Bronwyn. They had been badly misinformed.