Free Golden Hour by William Nicholson Page B

batch of new plans for the alterations to F-Wing at the prison. Four household extension applications. Two conversions of outbuildings. Phone calls havebeen logged over the weekend from neighbors reporting suspicious work on nearby properties.
    â€œHave you checked the addresses, Sam?”
    â€œNo, not yet.”
    â€œSo what have you been doing?”
    â€œDrinking my coffee. Tending to my boss’s needs. Anyway, I only just got in.”
    You can never tell what time anyone’s got in now that they all work flexitime. But she knows Sam’s not a slacker. He’s already pulled over the list and opened up Map Explorer to check if any of the reported addresses require planning permission or listed building consent.
    John Randall looks in from the Development Control Office outside. He’s holding a stapled batch of papers.
    â€œPPS5,” he says. “You need to run your eye over this.”
    â€œI thought I had,” says Maggie. “What’s the problem?”
    â€œPolicy HE1.3 is pretty racy stuff.” Randall lifts his eyebrows as he speaks. He’s a humorist. “Heritage assets and climate change.”
    Maggie takes the papers and reads the policy clause.
    Where conflict between climate change objectives and the conservation of heritage assets is unavoidable, the public benefit of mitigating the effects of climate change should be weighed against any harm to the significance of heritage assets in accordance with the development management principles in this PPS and national policy on climate change.
    â€œTerrific,” she says wearily. “So that’s a big help.”
    â€œIf you ask me, I’d stay with PPG15.”
    â€œI love PPG15. But that’s not much use either.”
    â€œThe department’s had a letter from the agent for the Harvey’ssite development. The one you warned off making direct contact with the AAP. He’s threatening legal action.”
    â€œThere’s a surprise. Funny how it’s always the crooks who send in the lawyers.”
    â€œYou are covered, Maggie?”
    â€œIt’s all in the email record.”
    Randall leaves. Maggie checks her diary. She’s due to make her first site visit at 10 a.m., a house on Chapel Hill. She settles down to work through her in-tray.
    Jo rings, responding to Maggie’s missed call. Maggie takes her phone out into the little meeting room they call the Goldfish Bowl. Jo’s just about the only person in the world she can tell.
    â€œI’ve been going insane, Jo. Tell me I’m not crazy. I think maybe I am crazy. You know Andrew’s got this new job? He starts next Monday. The idea was he was to move in with me. I mean, why wouldn’t he move in? It makes all the sense in the world. Except yesterday I panicked. Now I come out in a sweat every time I think about it.”
    Jo as always says the obvious thing.
    â€œDo you love him enough to marry him?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Maggie wails. “And anyway, it’s not just that. It’s what if I don’t find anyone better? If I don’t find anyone better then I’ll settle for Andrew.”
    â€œYou know what it says in the paper today?” says Jo. “It says women are at their most beautiful at thirty-one. You’re at your peak.”
    â€œOh, Jo. I do love talking to you. Are you free at lunchtime?”
    Not the kind of conversation you can squeeze into a few minutes. It turns out Jo is out all day at some rehearsal and won’t be home till late tonight, so they fix to meet for lunch tomorrow.
    Back in the office Sam asks to come with Maggie on the sitevisit, but she says no. She needs him to stay and keep on top of the phones and emails. Work is piling up.
    â€œI don’t know what happened to this recession,” she says.
    â€œYou could look in on South Street while you’re out,” says Sam. “Some kind of unauthorized work at Dean