She was surprised by the number of cars parked in the street. She knew the controversy of the new houses had stirred up feelings in Brinkbonnie, but she had not expected people from the outlying farms to be so concerned. As she walked up the road she saw a few other latecomers enter the hall, but when she reached it the door was shut again. She stood outside for a moment to catch her breath and looked in through the smeared glass pane in the door. The hall was packed with people sitting on uncomfortable wooden chairs. Behind a table on the stage sat Fred Elliot, postmaster and chairman of the parish council.

As she watched he stood up and began to speak. Even from outside she could sense his nervousness. He was used to meetings but would never have spoken in front of so many people before. Mrs. Parry felt awkward now about pushing open the door into the hall in case the interruption should put him off his stride. Before she could decide whether to go in and listen or go away, the door was suddenly opened from inside and she stumbled into the room. There was the sudden smell of damp, the gas fires they used to try to dry the place, and mice.

“What’s this then?” said the big man who had opened the door. It was Charlie Elliot, the mechanic from Tom Kerr’s garage, Fred Elliot’s son. “ It’s a spy from the opposition.”

There was a little embarrassed laughter and, encouraged, he went on.

“Come to gloat, have you, Mrs. Parry? Come to see how much money you’re going to make?”

He looked round for admiration, like a child showing off.

Everyone in the hall was staring at her. She felt hot and angry.

“No,” she said. “Not at all. I wanted to explain. I’m on your side.”

But he would not listen.

“A development in the heart of the village, home for a couple of dozen yuppies. I suppose you think that’s just fine.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m on your side.”

He seemed to hear her for the first time.

“How’s that then, Mrs. Parry?” he said, still playing to the audience. “ You’re the one that sold the field behind the Tower to Henshaw. He couldn’t build all those fancy houses on it without you.”

“Away man, Charlie!” Fred Elliot called from the stage. “ This is no way to run a meeting. Give Mrs. Parry a chance.”

“Go on then,” Charlie said sulkily, nodding towards the stage. “You wanted to explain. Go up there and tell us all about it.”