The Laburnham Grove Preservation Committee, the LGPC as they soon referred to themselves, set-up a protest campaign. Over two thousand Hamsworth residents, many with no interest in Laburnham Grove, other than that their employers lived there, signed a petition objecting to the development. The Planning Application was turned down.
‘It will never happen in my time,’ said Mr Tutt, the Chief Planning Officer for the District Council, at a private meeting with the LGPC – but it did! Mervyn Turner acquired his planning consent on appeal. An appeals officer, coincidentally with the same surname, travelled halfway across the country from Norwich to over rule local planning guidelines. The LGPC were furious; and more so when Mr Tutt was obliged to point out that with permission granted on appeal, the local planners had forfeited any say on detailed planning. Consequently, Laburnham Court became a five storey block of luxury apartments, instead of what could have been restricted to three, or perhaps, even two. In a space where there had been one dwelling, there were now seventeen and mutterings over loss of privacy and the negative effect on property equity rumbled on. However, to an impartial observer, Laburnham Court had all the appearance of a development which had occupied the site for many years. Mature shrubs and trees transplanted into the landscaped frontage by the developer together with pale green cladding on the face of the building, helped it blend in with the genteel surroundings.
The ProClean van outside Laburnham Court looked conspicuously out of place against the glistening array of Mercedes, BMW’s, and Jaguars precisely positioned in their allotted parking spaces. Julie always dropped Lucy back after they finished cleaning the Travel Plan offices, then the van was hers to do with as she wished. Not that she had a need to do any other cleaning, her share of the Travel Plan money plus her hourly rate, far exceeded what she had previously been earning. She had dropped all her old customers apart from Lucy and Mrs Davidson. She couldn’t let Mrs Davidson down; she was her first customer and now in her eighties. Julie did for her on Tuesday and Friday mornings and for Lucy on Monday and Thursday afternoons. She rarely saw Lucy in the penthouse; she was out looking after her many other business interests. Julie was amazed at the way she had carried on cleaning at Travel Plan when there were so many other things she needed to do. She was a good worker, but perhaps most surprising of all, for one who was obviously well bred and used to wearing the very best of clothes, she was quite happy to let neighbours see her coming and going in van and wearing a cleaning overall.
Lucy touched her lightly on the wrist. ‘I know it’s not your day to clean for me Julie, but could you pop over this afternoon, say about three? Or will that be too late for you?’
‘No problem. Pete’s on mornings this week. He should be around when Becky comes home from work.’
‘When’s she off to university?’
‘Next Tuesday. This is her last week at the supermarket. I don’t think she’s enjoyed stacking shelves very much, but she needs the money.’
‘Don’t we all.’
Julie though that a bit rich coming from someone who seemed to have everything she could possibly desire. She bit her lip and asked if she would like her to clean today instead of tomorrow. Lucy smiled.
‘No, this afternoon is business. We need to discuss what we’re going to do with ProClean. I have plans and I very much want you to be part of them.’ She squeezed Julie’s hand and leant towards her. Julie felt her moist lips brush lightly across her cheeks to plant a soft kiss, on the side of her mouth. She automatically turned her face and Lucy repeated the kiss, full on her lips. She looked into Julie’s eyes as she pulled away and introduced a light laugh into her voice. ‘So I don’t expect to see you wearing your cleaning overall. Come in something casual and we’ll chat things through over a cup of tea, or perhaps a glass of vino?
‘Whatever suits you,’ whispered Julie. Lucy opened the door and with a smile and a brief wave, walked briskly towards the grand entrance of the apartments. Julie watched as Charlie donned his royal blue, gold trimmed cap and came out from behind his desk to walk in measured strides across the hall. He repeated this routine every morning without fail, timing his arrival to perfection and opening the door as she set foot on the top step. He smiled and saluted. It seemed strange for someone so impeccably turned out to salute a cleaning lady, but Charlie Bell knew which side his bread was buttered. The penthouse covered the whole of the fifth floor, an area four times the size of any of the other sixteen apartments in his care, if you included the roof garden which went with the penthouse. Through the service charge, Lucinda Lovebrace was responsible for one fifth of his wages.
Julie checked her face in the mirror. Had she blushed when Lucy kissed her? There was no noticeable evidence but the pleasant tingling sensation she had felt between her thighs lingered on. Lucy could not be interested in her in that sort of way, could she? Julie remembered sleeping with Rosemary, a cousin, when she was barely thirteen and Rosemary a few months older. It was the accepted practice for them to share the same bed whenever the families got together, but they were blossoming into young woman and very much aware of the changes taking place in their bodies. Before putting on their pyjamas they had compared breasts and innocently kissed and touched each other. Julie had felt that same warm, prickly sensation then and although nothing else had happened, she dreaded that she could be gay and never shared a bed with Rosemary again.
Rosemary, lost her virginity when she was fifteen and judging by the number of boyfriends she subsequently enjoyed, was definitely straight. Julie, on the other hand, was not interested in boys, convincing herself that she was waiting for the right man to come along. As if to prove the point, she gravitated towards social functions at the Rugby Club. She was a radiant, rather than pretty young woman and when she married Peter Bunford, considered by all the girls who were chasing him, to be the most handsome hunk at the Rugby Club, everyone said they made a wonderful couple. She even believed it herself. She loved his masculinity, and that she had snatched him away from so many others. Of course, she had led him on to believe she would be hot stuff in bed. But, to be fair to herself, she really had no idea she would hate sex. For the sake of their marriage and because she wanted a child, she carried through with the pretence and counted herself very fortunate to get pregnant so quickly. Almost too quickly! Her competitors were counting the months hoping for proof of a shotgun wedding. She never had achieved an orgasm; she was simply not a sexual person and accepted that. Being married, having a child and being seen to be normal was all that really mattered. Yet, now she was having her doubts. She had become very attached to Lucy who she admired tremendously. Lucy was a successful, beautiful woman who obviously loved men and enjoyed sex. From what she had seen of her goings on, she could even be a nymphomaniac. Julie sighed, the kiss happened by chance. Lucy was all woman and she certainly would not think of her in a sexual way.
The van grumbled along in first gear as she drove out through the stone pillared exit and turned right onto Laburnham Grove. She waved to the paper girl she saw every weekday morning, rain or shine. Her heavily laden bike wobbled as she waved back. She was an attractive girl with long brown hair and very good legs. Julie looked in the rear view mirror to watch as she stopped by a mail delivery box and push her left foot against the wall to hold the bike upright. Her skirt rode up her thigh as she struggled to ram the newspaper into the box. The van juddered; she had unconsciously lifted her foot off the accelerator as she watched the girl. She changed gear, pressed down on the accelerator and the van progressed smoothly. When she glanced in the rear view mirror again, the girl was over two hundred yards away, peddling furiously towards her next delivery. A Pretty girl; a young woman really. Julie always looked at young women but convinced herself it was from an aesthetic point of view. There was nothing sexual in that was there?