‘It’s amazing. Do the cows come into the parlour of their own accord?’ Rosie asked, delighted she had been able to come and that Sam seemed pleased to explain everything.
‘Most of them come forward once they’ve been through a couple of times. Some of the heifers can be difficult at first. They all stand at an angle with their rumps against the zigzag bar next to the pit. That’s why this one is called a herringbone parlour. Each one has a feed trough. That encourages them to come in and stand still while they eat their cake. Not all parlours have troughs. This was Mr Turner’s choice and I think he was right.’
‘Does the milk come down into these jars?’ Rosie asked, touching several as she walked along counting eight on either side.
‘Yes. We can see how much milk each cow has given, and the milk recorder can take a sample from the jar when she comes to record the yields and quality. When the cow finishes milking we release the milk and it flows to the refrigerated tank in the dairy.’
‘No wonder you find it faster and easier than milking in the byre,’ Rosie said. ‘There’s no big buckets of milk to carry to the dairy as your mother used to do. But you don’t get to know the cows.’
‘You learn to recognize them all as individuals in time. I always walk round them in the cubicles before I go to bed, especially if I suspect one may be on heat or if one seems unwell.’
‘So you still need to be an observant stockman, and keep your eyes open for anything unusual, as your father used to keep telling us when we were children.’
‘You remember all that, then, Rosie?’ Sam asked with amusement. ‘My father always said you were the best little farmer of the lot of us.’
‘I loved being in the byre with him,’ Rosie said. ‘He was always patient at explaining things. I knew the names of all the cows at Bengairney,’ she said.
‘If you come often you will soon know the names of these cows too,’ Sam said.
‘I’ll come if you want me to,’ Rosie said, ‘at least when I’m not too busy with the gardens.’
‘Of course I want you to come, Rosie. Mr Turner modernized the parlour while Alex was working here as a student. It was a big upheaval, but I’m glad Mr Turner did it then. We could never have afforded to update it ourselves.’ He sighed. ‘There’ll be no spare cash for anything for years.’
‘It will be worth it, Sam,’ Rosie said. ‘Your family will own Martinwold and that’s what Mr Turner wanted. You and Alex will be proud of yourselves one day.’
‘I hope so,’ Sam said, looking her in the eye, ‘but we may have to make some sacrifices in the meantime – even in our personal lives.’
‘Happiness doesn’t depend on money, Sam,’ Rosie said, surprising him by stepping up close to the rails to put one of the milk units on the cow next to him. She knew how to put the milking machines on the udders but instead of bending low as they did in the byre she had to struggle to reach high enough now.
‘I’d forgotten how small you are,’ Sam said with a smile. ‘I’d need to stand you on a duckboard if you were here every day.’ He reached round about her to nudge a cow a little closer and make things a bit easier. Rosie was conscious of his breath against her cheek and the hardness of his body against her back, but Sam was concentrating on the cows and she thought he was oblivious to their closeness until he said, ‘Your hand is trembling, Rosemary Lavender. You were never nervous with the cows before.’
‘I’m not nervous with them now,’ she said.
‘No?’ he gave her a sideways look and cocked one dark brow at her. ‘Then why…? You can’t possibly be nervous with me. I’d never hurt you, Rosie.’ His voice was deep and husky.
‘I know.’ The air was charged with tension as they stared at each other. Rosie was almost glad when a cow kicked off the milking unit and Sam had to hurry to grab it and put it back on. They both relaxed and Sam teased her about her five foot three inches to his five foot eleven. She was holding the sprayer which they used to wash the cows’ teats before putting on the milking units and she raised it and aimed it at Sam’s face. He gasped in surprise, then chuckled, remembering how often they had played tricks on each other when they were young. But they were not children now.
‘Just you wait until I’m finished and you’ll pay for that!’ he threatened with a grin. Rosie’s heart warmed, knowing he was enjoying their old teasing camaraderie as much as she was, but she saw there was more than childish mischief in Sam’s green eyes and her heartbeat quickened.
Rosie and Paul were meticulous about cleaning and washing out the greenhouses and preparing tools and pots for the spring, turning over compost and digging in manure to enrich the soil for spring planting. They had cultivated another acre and a half of grass paddock and hoped the winter frost would help break down the clods to a finer tilth by the time spring arrived, but shorter days meant Rosie had more time for leisure.
Sam had left her in no doubt that he enjoyed her company since she had gone with him to the milking at Martinwold so she often went down to join him when she was free and every Saturday evening he collected her to go to a dance or a film. His visits soon increased to mid week as well. Sam was honest and sincere. It did not occur to him to visit in secret or to hide his car from view so Catherine noticed his frequent visits and their deepening friendship. She expressed her disapproval to Rosie, and then her anger.
‘You’ve always disapproved of me spending time with the Carafords, Mother,’ Rosie reasoned, after a longer harangue than usual. ‘I enjoy seeing the farm and the animals at Martinwold, just as I did at Bengairney.’
‘Things are different now,’ Catherine snapped. ‘You’re a young woman with independent means.’ Rosie choked on a laugh. Is that what owning a few acres of land and her cottage made her?
‘Then treat me like a woman,’ she said, still smothering a grin.
Catherine was determined to prevent any developments between Rosie and Sam. She invited Sir Henry Braebourne and his sons to lunch with increasing regularity. Rosemary grew exasperated. Catherine issued veiled threats; Rosie ignored them. She didn’t want to hurt her mother but when she was with Sam she was happier than she had dreamed possible after the shock of losing her father. They were back into their old easy camaraderie, able to tease and laugh together, as well as discussing the serious world of business which affected them both. They were never bored with each other as Rosie was in the company of her mother’s guests. She avoided them whenever possible but Catherine claimed they were old friends of her father and it was her duty to help her entertain them.
The more Rosie endured her mother’s dinner parties the more she appreciated Sam’s company but she craved more than friendship. She often sensed he was holding back too when he kissed her goodnight. Did he want a more passionate relationship? Rosie trembled at the thought. How should she let him know it was what she wanted too? She could never throw herself at him, as Lidia had done. Rosie had never had a serious relationship so she felt naïve and inexperienced, but she knew her feelings for Sam ran deep and true. Alone in bed at night she wondered whether she would be able to control her own emotions if Sam wanted more. Could she resist if he wanted to make love to her as Struan and Tania had done? It was different for them; they were engaged and Struan could afford to get married. Tania admitted he was becoming impatient to make her his wife; his mother’s attitude and hypochondria were driving him to consider desperate measures.
‘All we want is a cottage to call our own,’ Tania said, ‘but it would have to be within reasonable distance of the farm.’ Rosie sympathized, but she reasoned with Tania too.
‘It sounds as though Struan’s mother only considers herself,’ she agreed, ‘but your parents would be hurt if you present them with a fait accompli. You’re their only daughter, Tania. Surely they will want to see you married in church with your friends around?’
‘I suppose so,’ Tania agreed. ‘But Struan and I love each other so much. We want to be together all the time. His father wants to move out of the farm an
d let Struan take the responsibility. Why can’t his mother see that and be happy for us?’
‘Maybe she’s ill in her mind.’
Rosie attended many of her mother’s lunch and dinner parties but she refused to give up her Saturday evenings. Catherine knew she was being unreasonable but she believed Rosie lacked ambition and needed her guidance. Neither appeals nor threats had any effect. Rosie was independent and enjoyed earning her own living.
‘I want to prove I can make a success of the gardens,’ she told the solicitor when he called her in to discuss changes he had made to her small portfolio of stocks and shares. ‘Daddy had faith in me. He knew I could do it. Meanwhile I want the income to be reinvested. One day I may need the capital.’ She had not expected to inherit anything more than the gardens and she would far rather have had her father’s company, his quiet humour and his wisdom.
The solicitor respected her wishes and told Catherine she should be proud of her daughter but Catherine was dismayed and angry. Rosie had not even consulted her. She had no influence over her any more, and even less over the company she chose.
Catherine felt she was making sacrifices by forcing herself to entertain some of the local families with eligible sons. She had always felt inferior in the company of some of the county’s more exalted families with their long pedigrees and deep roots. Her ambition was that Rosemary Lavender should become one of them. Her daughter must do better than marry a working farmer.
‘For goodness’ sake, Mother, I’m a working girl myself,’ Rosie said in exasperation after one of her mother’s lectures. ‘I get my hands dirty too. I would never be considered wealthy in comparison to the families you invite to dinner. Their sons and daughters only get dirty when they go hunting in the rain.’
‘Well you’re far too good for Sam Caraford and his ilk,’ Catherine snapped. ‘Some day you will own all of this,’ she spread her arms wide, indicating the hotel. ‘The antique furniture alone is worth a small fortune.’
‘Oh Mother! Don’t talk like that. Isn’t it bad enough losing Daddy? Anyway I don’t want to inherit the hotel.’
‘Perhaps you don’t but other people will. I have seen the admiration in the eyes of several of the young men who have been to dinner with us. You’re very pretty when you make an effort with your appearance.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish.’ Rosie laughed at the idea. She paid scant attention to her appearance, apart from keeping up a six-weekly hair appointment with Tania’s friend, Betty. Catherine’s irritation increased when John Oliphant became ill. Rosemary insisted on seeing him two or three times a day. He had developed a chesty cough and Rosie made a point of taking him soup and eating her own lunch with him. His condition had grown worse when Rosie arrived at Honeysuckle Cottage on Thursday morning. She didn’t want to leave him alone. Catherine had seen her drive off in the van but when she had not returned by late afternoon she walked through the gardens to ask Paul Keir where she was.
‘Rosie is worried about Mr Oliphant,’ Paul told her. ‘She went down to his cottage. She said he was very short of breath yesterday.’
‘It is not her business to care for Mr Oliphant,’ Catherine snapped. ‘I wish to see her when she returns.’
‘Er – yes, but we shall be leaving soon. Perhaps you could telephone her at Honeysuckle Cottage if you need her?’ Catherine scowled. She didn’t need Rosie; she resented her lavishing so much time on an old man. She had arranged a Friday luncheon party for the Braebournes and she intended to make sure Rosie would be there. Catherine was so used to organizing it didn’t occur to her to consult Rosemary beforehand. Twice she had refused to change her schedule to attend, but still Catherine steamed ahead, determined to get her daughter attached to one or other of the local gentry, ignoring her lack of respect for most of them.
Rosemary persuaded John Oliphant to go to bed when he could barely manage a few sips of soup. His breathing was laboured so she had propped him up with a mound of pillows. While he dozed she telephoned Megan at Bengairney. There was no reply. Megan was boiling kettles to help Alex thaw out frozen pipes in one of the sheds so that the young cattle could get water.
‘I’m worried,’ Rosie said with relief when Megan answered her third call, still catching her breath after running in from the yard. ‘I wanted to phone for the doctor but he forbade me.’
‘I’ll come and see him,’ Megan said at once. ‘I do appreciate everything you do for him, Rosie. He can be stubborn and independent but you handle him so well.’
‘He has gone to bed without any argument. I’m sure he needs the doctor.’
Megan agreed as soon as she saw her father. She telephoned the surgery without his permission. Doctor Burns was out on a call but said he would visit as soon as he could. Rosie and Megan waited together but it was late afternoon before the doctor came.
‘He is adamant he does not want to go to hospital,’ he said when he returned to the living room. ‘I think he is afraid, but we may have to override his wishes if he gets worse. He ought not to be left alone. I will call in again after evening surgery. Meanwhile could one of you ladies collect this prescription for him?’
‘I’ll go,’ Rosie offered when the doctor had gone. ‘Sam said his father was selling bullocks at the market today. Does that mean you are needed at the milking?’
‘I said I would start the milking with Alex. We’ve been thawing out pipes most of the day.’ Megan stifled a yawn and Rosie thought how tired she looked. ‘My father is more important.’
‘I could stay with him after I’ve been for this prescription?’ Rosie offered.
‘I’d be truly grateful, Rosie. I’ll come back as soon as Steven gets home.’
They persuaded John to take the medicine but he seemed to have difficulty getting enough breath to swallow and there was an alarming rattle in his chest.
‘He’s getting worse,’ Megan said. ‘Are you sure you feel able to stay, Rosemary dear?’
‘Yes. I’ll telephone if – if he deteriorates. Unless the medicine can work magic I think we shall need to get Dr Burns back sooner, though.’
‘I agree.’ Megan was reluctant to leave but she knew Rosemary was sensible and reliable. Rosie loved John Oliphant as though he had been her own grandfather and she was glad Megan trusted her, but her heart was heavy. Every instinct told her he was getting worse.
When she returned Megan agreed at once. Doctor Burns came before he started his surgery. John was too weak to argue when the doctor phoned for an ambulance.
‘Ye’ll look after ma cat, lassie?’ he gasped, ‘and see the pipes dinna freeze?’
‘Of course I will,’ Rosemary said pressing his fingers, struggling to hold back her tears. He seemed small and frail, a shadow of the man she had known all her life. Megan went with him in the ambulance.
‘Will you explain to Tania, please, Rosie? I’ll telephone when I’m ready to leave the hospital.’
It was late by the time Rosie had fed and comforted Papa Oliphant’s old grey cat, Jen. I’ll come back and feed you in the morning, she promised, stroking the thick fur. She stoked up the living room fire. It controlled the central heating. John and Chrissie Oliphant had enjoyed an open fire but at times like this there was a danger the pipes would freeze if the fire was out for long periods.
It was touch and go for two days and nights but John Oliphant had a strong constitution and he had never been a smoker. He began to improve but the illness had shaken him. He looked all of his seventy-five years when Rosie and Tania visited him in hospital together.
‘I’m worried about ma hoose,’ he fretted. ‘It needs the fire to heat the pipes.’
‘Rosie is lighting it every day and looking after things, Grandfather,’ Tania said trying to reassure him.
‘Thank ye, lassie,’ he rasped, dredging up a smile. He closed his eyes, gathering strength. He seemed to reach a decision. ‘It would be less bother for Rosie if ye’d move in for a while, Tania? Keep Jen happy. Ye’d be nearer your work. And Struan,’ he add
ed.
‘I can do that, Grandpie, if it’s what you want?’ Tania said.
‘It is.’ He closed his eyes. ‘It’ll be yours one day.’ Both girls thought he was confusing Tania with her mother. They waited until he was sleeping then crept away together.
‘I’m happy to stay at Honeysuckle Cottage,’ Tania said, ‘but I’m glad Grandfather suggested it himself. Mother is making plans for him to stay at Bengairney when he gets out of hospital.’
‘Yes. He looks so ill. Paul and I will miss him if he stays at Bengairney.’
Catherine had always liked John Oliphant and she’d had good reason to be grateful to him and Chrissie when she and Douglas first began reclaiming Langton Tower but she was annoyed with Rosie for getting involved, especially when she absented herself from two luncheon parties but still had time for Samuel Caraford. This was the crux of the matter. Catherine had introduced her to young men who were far more eligible. The Braebourne brothers regarded her with open admiration. Harry Braebourne showed an interest in her work and asked if she would show him round the gardens, telling her they needed her advice to improve the gardens belonging to the family estate. Rosie agreed, but without enthusiasm.
It was the last straw for Catherine when she saw Sam’s car parked for the whole of a Saturday evening. It was bad enough when he took Rosemary to the dances but it was worse to imagine them spending hours alone together. She knew Rosie had been helping Tania move into Honeysuckle Cottage most of the day but she refused to believe she was too tired to go dancing. Sam’s car was still parked when Catherine peered out before going to bed at midnight. She fumed silently, longing to go to the cottage and tell Sam he was compromising her daughter’s reputation, but she knew Rosemary would never forgive such humiliation. She resolved to tackle Sam on his own instead.
Rosemary’s future had become an obsession with Catherine since Douglas’s death, even though the solicitor respected her as a capable and independent young business woman. Rosemary Lavender was not twenty-one until May. She decided to visit Sam at Martinwold and appeal to his conscience. Douglas had admired the Carafords for bringing up their children to be kind and considerate but Catherine had always felt Megan Caraford made her feel inadequate as a mother, however unintentionally.
Another Home, Another Love Page 16