by Katie Fforde
‘I’d wait until you’re sure you’re staying put, but I understand what you mean,’ said Issi, looking around her. ‘It’s not exactly shabby chic, but I do like it. This room could actually have been two or maybe even three rooms.’ She looked up at the ceiling, which had large beams at intervals.
‘It’s “old-lady chic”, that what it is,’ Fran decided. ‘And I like it too. Although I wish I could investigate the fireplace. I bet there’s something amazing behind all this thirties stuff.’
‘You said yourself, you’re here to farm not to cook,’ said Issi. ‘If you thought you were going to miss cheffing, you should have stayed in London, cooking for the pub.’
‘No,’ said Fran determinedly. ‘This time I’m going to work for myself and make my own decisions. But I suppose you’re right, I can’t knock the house around, not if I haven’t actually inherited it yet.’
‘So tomorrow you’re seeing your aunt – cousin – what is she?’
‘I can’t remember exactly how we’re related but it’s by marriage and through my real dad. I’m Amy’s – I suppose I’d call her Aunt Amy – I’m the only relation of her husband’s she could trace. She’s been running Hill Top on her own since her husband died. Now she’s had to go into a care home she thought she should try and leave it to one of his relations.’
‘Complicated,’ said Issi, which Fran knew meant that she found it boring. ‘Shall we investigate the bedrooms? They may be damp and we’ve got to sleep in a couple of them tonight.’
‘Thank you so much for coming with me,’ said Fran as they made their way up the stairs. ‘This would all be a bit daunting on my own.’
‘I’m just sorry I can’t stay longer than four days. It’s such an adventure!’ Issi paused. ‘Would you have preferred Alex to come with you?’
Fran shook her head. ‘No way. One of the reasons we broke up was that he wasn’t up for adventure. He seems very happy being an intern for his uncle in New York … Although going on the fact there are supposedly very few straight men in NYC I suspect he has another motive.’ She sighed. ‘No, I really don’t miss him, apart from as a friend, sort of.’
Was she over Alex? Fran knew that Issi was still concerned about this, but she definitely was. He was a kind and lovely man but, when it came down to it, too safe and a bit dull. They’d broken up a few weeks ago after a couple of years together.
Fran realised they’d been going through the motions for a while but the catalyst had been this opportunity – challenge, even. If Alex could have hacked the countryside (unlikely) he couldn’t cope with the uncertainty. A straightforward inheritance might have been different – but probably not. Fran, on the other hand, although terrified, was very excited at her new adventure.
A few minutes later, Fran and Issi were making up beds, helping themselves to soft, old flannel sheets they found in the airing cupboard. Then they found hot-water bottles and filled them, although they agreed they didn’t think the house was damp. Then it was time for supper.
‘So,’ said Issi when they’d eaten most of the moussaka that Fran had made and brought with her, and heated up in the electric oven. ‘You’re seeing Amy tomorrow?’
‘Yup. After my meeting with the lawyer. He said in his letter he’s arranged for me to have a bit of money to run things with but I don’t expect it’s very much.’ She sighed. ‘It is quite daunting when I think about it. I know nothing about farming – and yet here I am. I could have said no when I first heard from Amy’s solicitor but …’ She paused. ‘I wanted to challenge myself.’
‘See if you can run the farm for a year and make it pay?’
Fran nodded. ‘Of course I don’t have to look after the cows myself. There’s a herdsman. Amy would never let her precious cows be looked after by an ignoramus, which is what I am as far as farming is concerned.’
‘And cows are quite big, aren’t they?’ said Issi.
‘Are you afraid of cows?’
‘More to the point, are you?’
Fran swallowed. ‘I really hope not but actually – I think I am!’
Issi laughed. ‘Let’s finish the wine and then get an early night. You have to be up with the lark tomorrow. Better set your alarm for six. Get used to your new life.’
Although Fran knew Issi was joking, she also knew what she said was true. As for being afraid of cows, she’d just have to find out when she met them.
The next morning they were standing around in the kitchen, shrouded in layers of woollen jumpers and clutching steaming mugs of tea.
‘It’s the lawyer first? Then your Aunt Amy.’
Fran nodded. ‘I’m not sure how long it will all take. Will you be OK here on your own?’
Issi nodded. ‘I’m going to sort out the pot plants, and maybe do a bit of exploring. I might even move the furniture around a bit and clear out the odd cupboard. Would you mind?’
‘Not at all. I’m so grateful you’re here. I wouldn’t grudge you a bit of entertainment. In fact I think you’re going to have a better time than I am.’
‘Shall we refer to your father’s cousin’s wife as Mrs Flowers for ease?’ Mr Addison, the solicitor, a kind, tired man in his fifties, had attempted to explain Fran’s relationship to Aunt Amy but it had become complicated.
‘What do you think I should call her when we meet?’ asked Fran, who was getting nervous at the thought of meeting a woman, who, although very elderly now, had apparently been formidable in her time.
‘She’ll let you know, don’t you worry about that,’ said Mr Addison. ‘Now let’s go through the finances a bit. Mrs Flowers has arranged six months of care in her home. She has set up an account with a thousand pounds in it for your use. There is a bit more money but I’d honestly prefer you didn’t encroach on it. Although Mrs Flowers is very well looked after, she is frail and may need more than six months’ care, which is going to be expensive.’
‘But in an emergency?’
‘You can apply to me.’
‘And what about wages for the herdsman, and other people who work for her?’
‘All arranged for six months.’
‘But she wants me to stay for a year? What happens after the first six months? In July?’
He shrugged. ‘I think she hopes the farm will be earning money by then.’
Fran noted his careful choice of words. ‘You mean, it’s not making money at the moment?’
Mr Addison sighed. ‘Mrs Flowers has been slowing down for a while. Things have been let slip.’
‘So I’m not taking on a going concern. Things are in a bad way?’
‘I wouldn’t say a bad way; just not a desperately profitable way.’
When she’d first heard about it Fran had thought it was a romantic, dramatic idea to have been brought in to look after the family farm, but she was no longer quite so sure.
‘Is that you being tactful?’ said Fran. ‘You would tell me the truth, wouldn’t you?’
Mr Addison’s expression closed down. ‘I have to act in my client’s best interest. I’m sure you’re going to do a good job.’ He stood up. Fran realised he’d explained everything to the best of his ability but he obviously felt he could do no more.
‘What happens if it turns out I’m afraid of cows?’
He shook his head and smiled. He obviously thought Fran was making a joke. ‘I’m sure we don’t need to worry about that.’
When Fran arrived at the care home, she’d anticipated it taking her a while to explain who she was. But no, everyone knew exactly who she was. And for the first time that day she wondered if she was dressed right. When she’d got up, after a night disturbed by an uncomfy mattress and strange noises, she’d just put on the clothes she’d worn the previous day, more concerned with getting down the drive, finding the solicitor and then the care home than how she looked. Now she wondered if leggings, boots and a tunic that revealed quite a lot of leg were acceptable.
Still, it was too late to worry about it now. She was following a care worker d
own a carpeted corridor, her boots scuffing against the pile.
The nurse stopped and opened a door. ‘Mrs Flowers? It’s your young relative.’
The room wasn’t huge but it was bright and sunny. There were pictures on the walls and the furniture would have fitted into the décor of the farmhouse. Fran went into the room, not sure what to say.
‘Hello – Aunt – Cousin – Mrs Flowers …’ She paused. The old lady was sitting on a chair, looking very neat and upright.
‘Better make it Amy, dear,’ she said crisply. ‘Otherwise I might die before you decide what my name is. And sit down, do.’
Fran sat and inspected her companion. Her eyes were bright and blue and shone out from a pink, slightly weathered complexion. Her thin grey hair was twisted into a knot on top of her head. She wore a long tweed skirt and a neatly ironed white blouse with a lace collar. She seemed bright, cheerful and well cared for. She had obviously chosen her care home well.
‘Hello, Amy, it’s lovely to meet you finally,’ Fran said, sensing it was important that she appeared confident, even if she was anything but. The meeting with the solicitor had turned a year learning about farming and a bit of an adventure into a huge undertaking loaded with responsibility and concern.
Amy nodded, possibly with approval. ‘Well, dear, I’m very glad you came. I didn’t want my farm to go to rack and ruin while I’m in here.’
‘But you realise I don’t know very much about farming, don’t you?’ Amy obviously wasn’t the sort of person who appreciated ‘how are you’ conversations, so Fran got on with what was on her mind.
‘Yes, and – please don’t take offence – believe me, if there’d been anyone else I would never have got in touch with you. But you’re related to my late husband. It was his farm. I was eighteen when I married him.’
‘Goodness.’
‘The farm had been in his family for three generations. We never had children and it was a great sadness to us both to think it would all end with us. My husband died twenty years ago and I’ve been on my own since then. I’ve been worrying about who to pass it on to all that time.’
Fran was touched. ‘I can understand that.’
‘It’s the herd, you see. They’re Dairy Shorthorns and quite rare. I’ve known all those cows personally for years. Cows can live to be quite old, you know, if they’re looked after. If I don’t leave the farm to someone who’ll carry on with it, it’ll be sold. The herd will go, the land will be built on or ploughed up or something, and that would be a tragedy. It’s for the cows, the farm, that I tracked you down and now here you are.’ Amy smiled as if this was a satisfactory conclusion.
‘I do hope I don’t let you down.’
Amy shook her head. ‘You won’t. I remember you as a little girl. You liked the cows. You liked their red and white colouring.’ This had obviously stuck in her memory. ‘It’s the herd that’s important,’ she repeated. ‘The bloodlines. It must be kept going.’
Amy obviously felt extremely strongly about her cows, even given old people’s tendency to repeat themselves.
‘I see.’ Fran offered a little prayer that she still liked cows herself.
‘And you have Tig, my herdsman. I would never have left you my herd without someone to look after them. But you have to look after everything else, so he can look after the cows. I’ve paid him six months in advance so he won’t leave.’
Fran wanted to ask why Amy hadn’t just left all of her farm to Tig, but realised this too was to do with bloodlines. Tig was not related to Amy’s late husband, and she was.
‘And there’s a bit of money to keep you going, but you have to run the farm for a year and then I’ll decide whether you should inherit.’ Amy’s expression emphasised what a massive reward she thought this was. ‘So you will try, won’t you, Francesca?’
No one ever called Fran ‘Francesca’, not even her mother when she was cross. She realised she liked it. ‘About the house—’
Amy interrupted her. ‘I really don’t care about the house. Do what you like with it. But don’t let anything happen to the herd.’
Fran nodded, instantly thinking about the fireplace she could now investigate.
‘Oh, and don’t let that scoundrel who lives next door have anything to do with you. He’s always wanted my farm and it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t get it! Vineyards, indeed!’
‘Tell me—’ Fran began.
But Amy had closed her eyes and had apparently gone to sleep.
‘She does that,’ explained the nurse who appeared in the doorway at that moment. ‘Bright as a button one minute, fast asleep the next.’
‘When is she likely to wake up again?’ asked Fran, who felt she really should find out about the scoundrel-neighbour as soon as possible.
The nurse shook her head. ‘Not for a while. You’d do better to come back tomorrow, or as soon as it’s convenient.’
‘OK,’ said Fran. She got up from her seat. ‘I’ll come back. I haven’t learnt nearly enough about things.’ She went to the door, stopped and addressed the nurse. ‘But – are you allowed to tell me? She’s generally well, isn’t she?’
‘Oh yes. She’s very good for her age. I suppose she’s always led a healthy outdoor life. Never smoked, never drank alcohol.’
‘And nothing’s likely to happen to her within the next six months?’
‘I can’t see into the future, but she seems well enough at the moment – although with the elderly you can never really be sure.’
‘That’s good enough for me.’ Fran smiled. ‘Thank you so much for looking after her. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.’
The nurse returned the smile. ‘She’s a great favourite with us all here.’
By the time Fran got back to Hill Top Farm it was early evening and nearly dark, she was freezing cold and wanting to open the wine even though it was really only teatime. After her visits, she’d spent a little time investigating the town, then she had got lost trying to get home and so most of the day had melted away. She pulled up in front of the house and saw lights peeping out from behind the curtains, which made the house seem welcoming. As she collected her handbag from the back seat of the car she realised how bright the stars were here, miles away from any light pollution.
Minutes later, Fran was in the sitting room, looking around it. The room, which had been cluttered and a bit claustrophobic, was now far more sparsely furnished. And every suitable surface supported a teacup with a flickering candle in it. It was welcoming and restful, just what Fran needed after her day.
‘Wow! You’ve done some good stuff here – and lit the fire. And candles!’
‘Tea lights,’ corrected Issi. ‘Knowing what a fussy-knickers you are about lighting, I put some in my bag. When I found all the teacups in a cupboard, I put them together. Good day?’
‘It’s gorgeous! So cosy and pretty. Daunting day – got lost coming home but I’ll tell you later. But I can knock the fireplace out! Although not now, obviously.’
‘You asked Aunt Amy?’ Issi was surprised.
‘Not specifically but she said I could do anything to the house as long as I looked after her cows.’ Fran collapsed in one of the armchairs drawn up next to the fire and started tugging at the heel of a boot. ‘I am so tired. I think it was meeting people and having so much information fired at me.’ She looked around. ‘It looks far better in here now. Thank you so much!’
‘Well, I needed something to do and you gave me permission to play.’ Issi paused. ‘Although the changes haven’t been approved by everyone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fran pulled off the other boot. ‘Who else has seen them?’
‘You’ve had a caller. Mrs Brown. She’s coming back tomorrow. She used to look after Aunt Amy a bit. She looked at everything I’d done and tutted. I reassured her that everything is still safe. I haven’t burnt the nests of tables and whatnots and all the other clutter, but she was still a bit put out.’
‘Where have you pu
t it all?’
‘There’s a little room at the end of the house. It had quite a lot of things in it already so I just stacked more bits on top. I don’t think you’ll need that room. It’s quite a big house, really.’
‘Amazing. Is there wine?’ The extent of her potential inheritance wasn’t a top priority just at that moment.
Issi nodded, very pleased with herself. ‘There’s wine and there’s dinner. I asked your visitor how to light the range and she showed me. Then I put in the lasagne you brought.’
‘Sorry,’ said Fran. ‘Lasagne is a bit like moussaka but I wanted to bring food that was easy to heat up and didn’t need saucepans and things.’
‘I can’t believe you haven’t brought your pans and things.’
‘I brought my knives but I didn’t want to bring everything I owned. I’ve left a lot of stuff in my parents’ garage.’ Fran closed her eyes. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you but not until I’ve had something strong to drink.’
‘It’s still teatime really,’ Issi objected.
Fran shook her head. ‘No. It’s dark. Winetime. At least, today it is.’
‘I’ll get it. Do you want your dinner early, too?’
‘Yes please, Mummy …’
Fran felt revived when she had eaten and was ready to elaborate on how she had got on. ‘I feel a bit in the dark still. Both the solicitor, and Amy – she told me to call her that – told me a lot but left out a lot. The solicitor said there’s a thousand pounds for me to use and although there is more money, it has to be kept for Amy’s care.’
‘I know care homes can be expensive,’ said Issi.
‘But I don’t need to worry about that for six months because Amy’s paid for that much care. She’s thought it all out. And there’s the herdsman, who looks after the scary cows. She’s paid him, too.’
‘And if they’re not scary?’
‘It should all be fine!’
But Fran knew their cheerfulness was a little false. She might not be able to do this at all.