‘ThisSaturday?’ she said.
‘Yes, darling. You’ll do it, won’t you? I think I have long covid—’
Issy suppressed a snort. Long covid was Heather’s most recent explanation for the depression she’d been pretending not to havesince Issy was born.
‘I just can’t seem to get myself into the zone for it. I might still attend, depending on how I feel on Saturday, but I can’t face the hosting role. I’ve lost my dazzle just now.’
Issy swallowed. ‘I can’t, Mum. I already have plans.’
‘Plans? You mean you’re going out for dinner or something?’ Heather replied, disdainfully. ‘Isobel, think of the sick children. Honestly, it’s the least you could do!’
No, Issy thought,the least I could do is go out with Hugh for the degustation meal I literally just booked.
She sighed. There was no point arguing with her mother. It never ended well. ‘Okay.’
‘Wonderful! I think you’ll really enjoy it, darling. It’s a lovely feeling, giving back.’
Issy bristled. How did her mother make it seem as though she was the one doing Issy the favour?
‘So do you think you’ll come down?’ Issy asked.
‘Down? To Hartwell? I’m already here. I’ve been here since yesterday.’
‘Oh.’ Issy frowned. ‘Nice of you to let me know.’
‘Don’t be silly, Isobel. You’re far too busy to have your mother getting in your way.’
‘I suppose so,’ Issy said, wondering what she would wear to the fundraiser. She’d have to get her stylist to courier her some evening options.
Chapter 23
It was late morning when Meg arrived at Hartwell Gaol and slipped behind the temporary fence that blocked access to the site. She glanced around, surprised by the lack of activity. It looked so different to the chaos that had greeted her on Monday. The rumbling, beeping thrum of heavy machinery was all but gone. She could see now what the finished space would look like, with a stage at the far end and restaurants opening onto the large, rectangular space where she stood. The old exercise yard, she supposed. She imagined it full of people dining al fresco, live music in the night air. Above the original building, a stationary crane loomed over the unfinished modern addition.
She walked towards the site office, which reminded her of the demountable classrooms of primary school, and stuck her head in the open door. Cool air blew from an air conditioner mounted on the wall above a man sitting with his back to her, browsing second-hand motorbikes on Gumtree. She watched him scroll down the listings, then click on one he must have liked the look of.
‘Hello?’
He spun around, startled. It was the man who’d mistaken her for a protester a few days before.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
‘No worries.’ He swivelled in his chair to face her, frowning. ‘What can I do you for?’
‘My name’s Meg … Megan Hunter … Bainbridge,’ she said slowly, realising mid-sentence that she hadn’t thought of an alternative name. She cleared her throat. ‘Megan Hunter-Bainbridge,’ she said again, more confidently. Short e, like the duchess. Bainbridge was the name of a precocious intern she’d supervised atThe Times. ‘I’m doing a PhD on historic jail sites and I wondered if you had time for a quick chat. The redevelopment you’re doing here is really amazing.’
‘Ah, right. I’m just in the middle of something …’
‘Oh.’ Meg glanced at the bright green motorbike on his monitor. He followed her gaze, then clicked the browser window shut.
‘Even just five minutes?’ She gave him a pleading smile.
He held her gaze, as though he was sizing her up. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘My work is on the privatisation and redevelopment of historic sites. From what I can see, this development is the gold standard for preserving the integrity of the building and its historical significance, while repurposing it for future generations to enjoy.’ Inwardly she cringed, feeling like it was too much.
‘Yeah, yeah, I agree,’ he said tentatively.
‘My thesis is essentially that privatising buildings like this and reinventing the spaces is the key to preserving them. There’s always a lot of controversy around this sort of thing, but ultimately it’s in the best interest of the local community. I mean, what’s the point of having a magnificent building like this sitting here empty, becoming more rundown year after year?’
