The difficulty was keeping the dog still enough to be able to complete the task without hurting her further. It was an agonising process. When she was finally done, she picked her up and ran with her to the McCormacks’ cottage.
She pounded on the door. It felt like hours before the door opened, revealing an irritated Ian.
“I need a vet,” Joey blurted out.
“Jesus Christ,” Ian said.
“I didn’t know there was barbed wire in the woods!” Joey was nearing tears.
“There shouldn’t be,” Ian replied calmly. He came in closer and put his hand on the back of Tink’s head. “Some fence builders must have left it there.”
“What do I do? I don’t have a car.”
“You don’t need a car. But you do need to calm down.”
Lily appeared behind her father. “Oh, no!” she said, coming forward.
“Put some water on to boil, love,” Ian said gently. “And bring me some towels.”
“What are you going to do?” Joey asked.
“I’m going to bathe the wounds. Get the dirt out. Check whether she needs stitches. I’ll need your help.”
“Do you know how? Do you know what you’re doing?” Joey immediately regretted her words.
Ian appeared to take a deep breath, and to struggle for control.
“Yes, Miss Rubin,” he finally said. “I know how.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ian pronounced the job done. There was a nasty cut below Tink’s left eye, but he didn’t think she required stitches. Lily put down a deep bowl of water, which Tink emptied.
In her relief at realising her dog was going to be fine, Joey embarrassed herself by bursting into tears.
Ian responded by silently crossing the room to the sideboard, pouring her three fingers of whisky and quietly handing it to her. She didn’t know how she could thank him. He had been so kind, so gentle with Tink and yet able to ignore her whining so as to focus on the task at hand. The dog would be fine by morning, he said.
“Thank you so much,” Joey blubbed, wiping away her tears.
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know what I would have done – I – I –”
“Drink your whisky,” Ian said.
Joey did as she was told. Lily was sitting by the fire, stroking Tink, who was clearly exhausted.
“Leave her here overnight,” Ian said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“That’s okay. You’ve done enough.”
“Leave her here,” he said firmly. Joey looked over at Lily, who nodded.
“Okay,” she said, taking another deep sip of her drink.
There was a note taped to Ian’s door when Joey went over in the morning.
“In the back barn. Dog fine.”
Joey tried the handle and found the door open.
“Hello?” she called. The only response she got was Tink trotting happily toward her, tail wagging.
“Baby!” Joey cooed, kneeling down and smothering her with kisses. “Poor baby!”
Tink seemed fine. Joey noted that there was half a bowl of water and an empty bowl of – something that had been completely devoured – beside the stove. She scooped Tink up in her arms, resolving to get to town later in the day to buy Ian a nice bottle of – something. She crossed to the sideboard and looked at the bottles. She rarely drank hard liquor herself – until she had come here, anyway – but he seemed to favour Scotches. She would ask at the off licence for a really nice bottle.
An hour later, with Tink sprawled at her feet, Joey was able to get down to work. The first part of the challenge involved hanging out in each of the rooms of Stanway House and thinking about renovations in a very general way. The grander spaces would be left almost as they were. They were sumptuous, atmospheric and irreplaceable: the chapel, the entrance hall, the ancient refectory where the monks had dined. The wiring in these soaring spaces would have to be updated, the mahogany panelling refinished, the floors re-glazed, but Joey wanted to change as little as possible.
That left the rest of the house: sixteen bedrooms, twelve baths, a library, six semi-private sitting rooms, a breakfast room, a very large kitchen, a laundry and a dozen or so more chambers that had served various purposes down through the centuries. The outbuildings would be dealt with later in the process. There was a Tithe Barn, a stone edifice traditionally used to store the tenth of the produce produced by the estate’s farm, donated annually to the Church. There were several “guest cottages” in dire need of repair, having sheltered no guests for at least a hundred years.
There was also a long, plain stone dormitory where the monks of Tewkesbury Abbey had slept. Self-contained and overlooking a small, private pond, this could be an amazing retreat. The Tithe Barn could also work for small private parties or intimate weddings, and the guest cottages could be repurposed as self-contained rental properties. All were close enough to be serviced by the kitchen at Stanway House.
But in her excitement, Joey was getting ahead of herself. She had to figure out a plan and to work through the spaces methodically over the next couple of weeks. An hour later, she had divided the spaces into eight groups, one of which she would tackle each day. That would leave some time at the end of her trip to organise her findings and proposals and to make preliminary inquiries about construction permits and building supplies. Joey then decided that she would work from the largest spaces to the smallest. She loved decorating more than anything, but that was the fun and easy part. The harder tasks she would tackle first.
She worked steadily through the afternoon, breaking only once to take Tink out. By five o’clock, she had completed a thorough inspection of the kitchen facilities and had formulated her ideas into a rough proposal. Over the decades, the kitchen had been carved up and adapted to suit the purposes of several generations of Tracys. Originally designed to turn out hundreds of meals a day, it was now an intimate and idiosyncratic kitchen, one that had served the personal needs of a large extended family.
Everything would have to go, with the possible exception of the glass-fronted cabinets that stretched from floor to ceiling in an ample adjacent pantry. In the main body of the kitchen, they’d have to take it back to the studs. They would bring in an industrial kitchen designer, but in all likelihood, except for modern appliances and ventilation and safety equipment, the finished room would look much as it had done a hundred and fifty years ago: plenty of work space, traditional materials on the surfaces lining the extended walls, a long central refectory table for bread and pastry making, and for the plating of large numbers of dinners.
Joey glanced at her watch. It was five twenty. She had finished the work she’d carved out for the day. She wished she’d thought about dinner earlier, when she’d stopped at the shop to grab a sandwich after her swim. If she could make it back there before it closed, she could get an order of basics – and then perhaps take a cab home. She didn’t need enough food for the next couple of weeks, but she needed her toast and coffee in the morning.
The smell reached her as she was locking the front door. It was a strange, earthy odour, not one she recognised. There was obviously some kind of meat being cooked in the gatehouse but what was it? Not beef, she thought, but not pork or chicken, either. She crunched across the gravel, running through the possibilities in her mind. Lamb? Turkey? Something very English, like – goose? Or pheasant?
“Joey!”
Joey turned to see Lily in her doorway.
“Hi!”
“Where are you going?” Lily asked.
“Out to get some groceries.”
“Now?” Lily asked, incredulous.
Joey nodded. “I should have thought of it earlier.”
“I’m sure the shop won’t be open now,” Lily said, looking back to get her father’s eye.
“If it’s supper you need, Uncle Angus is coming over, and Dad’s cooking his speciality…” Lily half-turned and called into the house. “Dad?”
Ian appeared at the door.
&nb
sp; “I can’t thank you enough – everything you did for Tink,” Joey said.
Ian waved her thanks away. “How’s she doing?”
“She seems fine. She’s conked.”
Ian nodded. “I’m glad.”
“You sure knew what you were doing.”
Ian shrugged.
“Joey’s staying for dinner,” Lily announced.
“Is she now?”
“She has nothing to eat, Dad!” Lily whined with exasperation. “The shop’s closed!”
“I’m aware of that, Lily,” Ian said evenly.
“I’m fine, really, I certainly didn’t come round to invite…” Joey insisted.
“Dad!” Lily wailed, as though Ian had uttered a syllable. “What do you expect her to do, starve?”
Ian looked at Lily as though she were a raving lunatic. But it seemed to have been decided. Joey was joining them for dinner. And now she was walking through their door, wondering if this was really a good idea. The episode at the pond swam hauntingly to mind. There was no point her denying it to herself. She definitely found Ian attractive, and Lily was a real live wire. But judging from Lilia’s extreme reaction to the mere suggestion that Ian might be – available – the situation was complicated. She had better proceed with caution.
Joey stepped inside. “Nothing like an unexpected guest…”
“We’re already having Angus for dinner. We’ll put you to work,” Ian said, throwing a white apron her way. “Treat your guests like family and your family like guests. That’s what my mum used to say.”
He reached for a tumbler and poured Joey some wine. “Sit yourself down there.”
Joey obeyed, glancing around. This was clearly the space in which Lily and Ian spent most of their time. Two overstuffed chairs were pulled up to a woodstove and open shelves displayed a motley assortment of mismatched china and mugs. A lumpy sofa piled with cushions and draped with knitted throws dominated the far wall.
“What are you making?” Joey asked. “It smells great.”
“Haggis.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t know what haggis is?” Lily cried. “You’re kidding.”
Joey shook her head. “I’ve led a sheltered life.”
“Right. In New York,” Ian said wryly.
“I’m not much of a cook,” Joey admitted. “I like to, I just – never learned.”
“No time like the present,” Ian said, with a wry smile. He handed Joey the cookbook that had been open on the table. “It’s the Scottish national dish. Give that a gander.”
Joey set down her glass and perused the recipe to which Ian had pointed. She read the first few ingredients listed:
1 sheep stomach
1 sheep liver
1 sheep heart
1 sheep tongue
1/2 pound suet
Joey looked up. Surely he was joking. Wasn’t suet pig fat? Ian, preoccupied with chopping herbs, didn’t return her gaze. She read on:
3 medium onions, minced
1/2 pound dry oats, toasted
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
minced fresh herbs, to taste
Joey began to feel vaguely nauseous as she quickly skimmed the steps of the recipe. Soak the sheep’s stomach bag overnight. Mince the heart, tongue and liver and mix it with the suet. Add oats and a little water and stuff the stomach with the meat/oat mixture. Sew the stomach closed.
Joey looked up and took a deep breath. Sew the stomach closed?
Horrified, she continued to read. Boil the stomach for three hours and, if the boiling stomach bag looks as though it’s about to burst, pierce it with a needle.
Joey fought another wave of nausea. She gently slid the cookbook onto the table. “Wow,” she said weakly. “That’s what you’re making?”
“It’s all made,” Ian said. “Just got to throw together a salad.” He turned to Joey with a smile: “Don’t worry, this isn’t something we make regularly. A special treat once a year.”
They were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.
“Uncle Angus!” Lily said, hopping up. She was back in a minute, followed by a roly-poly, redheaded man with a bushy ponytail and beard, and thick arms that reminded Joey of Popeye.
“Glad to meet ya,” Angus bellowed, extending his hand, and shaking hers so long and hard that Joey thought it would fall off.
“Joey Rubin. Nice to meet Lily’s uncle.”
“Ah, he’s just a bum I keep fed so he doesn’t starve to death,” said Ian.
Angus grabbed Ian in a bear hug and proceeded to lift his six-foot-four-inch friend clear off the ground.
“Ian, my man!” said Angus, full of affection. He walked over to the stove, smelled the haggis, and looked nearly faint with happiness.
“Joey,” he said, “this guy over here, he sure knows how to treat a friend right…”
Lily explained that Ian and Angus had met as school-boys in Scotland. And Angus had then followed Ian to the Cotswolds some twenty years ago. “Mum and Dad had to make him my godfather, to make it official,” exclaimed Lily.
So, Angus and Ian were lifelong friends. Joey wondered what Angus might make of a new woman in Ian’s life.
Angus grabbed a beer from the fridge and guzzled it down in what seemed like seconds. As he reached for another, Lily sidled up to him.
“Uncle Angus, can I…?” She nodded playfully at the bottle in his hand.
“What?” Ian bellowed. “Absolutely not!”
“Dad, come on! I have to learn to drink sometime, don’t I?”
“Nice try,” Ian replied coolly.
“That’s how they do it in France. They let the kids have a little at meals, so it’s no big deal when they’re old enough to drink on their own.”
“She’s right about that,” Angus put in.
“See?” Lily said.
“How about a small glass, Ian?” Angus suggested. “A third of my beer. Give us a cup there. It won’t do her any harm.”
Ian rolled his eyes and shook his head, then reached into a cabinet and pulled out an egg cup. He handed it over with a grin.
“Daddy!” Lily protested.
Ian then handed Angus a porcelain teacup, which Angus proceeded to fill. “That’s better,” Lily said, accepting the cup with a broad grin.
Angus sat down in the chair by the stove and Lily followed him, depositing herself down on the floor beside him. They clinked their glasses.
“So, Joey, what do you think of our little village?” Angus asked. “Ian tells me you come from New York City. A bit different here, no?”
Joey was surprised but definitely pleased that Ian had mentioned her to his friend.
“I love it. It’s so beautiful… and quiet… And no traffic noise, ever. Do you live nearby too?” inquired Joey, wanting to make small talk but also wanting to find out more about Angus and Ian. Know a man’s best friend, know a man.
“I am over in Snowshill, about ten miles from here. I run the stables over there. Taught Lily how to ride when she was five years old,” said Angus. “You ride?”
“I’ve been there, at the stables! I watched a competition of young riders, children of my friend,” Joey said excitedly.
“Hey, dinner is almost ready,” Ian called to everyone, “Come on.”
Joey’s spirits sank at the mention of dinner. Maybe she could just eat the salad. She honestly doubted that she would be able to swallow a mouthful of that vile mixture of organs, pig fat and oats. She would gag!
She busied herself helping Lily to set the table, averting her eyes as Ian fished the revolting balloon of sheep’s stomach out of its boiling bath. She had to admit, though, it smelled – okay.
Ian prepared the plates on the sideboard, and when he set them on the table, Joey was surprised to see no evidence at all of the sheep’s vile stomach. A loose, aromatic mound of what looked like soft meatloaf shared the plate with a fresh green salad and slim, roasted carrots.
“It looks – great,” Joey said, hoping she sounded genuinely enthusiastic.
Ian handed her a basket of warm rolls. Where had they come from? It was looking more and more as though she could get through this meal without giving away the fact that she was utterly revolted by the thought of the main dish. She could hide what she didn’t eat under the salad. She could conceal a bite she couldn’t swallow in a roll.
Angus filled their wine glasses as Lily set out a slab of fresh butter. As Lily leaned over to set the plate down on the dining table, Joey noticed a long, jagged scar running the length of her upper arm. Had Lily also been in the car accident that killed her mother? Joey suddenly wondered. It was terrible to think of a young child enduring such a trauma, and Joey felt a sudden wave of affection for the girl. She was so spirited and lively, so full of curiosity and excitement about the future. If she had been in the accident, this certainly hadn’t destroyed her zest for life.
They pulled out their chairs, sat down and shook out their napkins.
Angus raised his glass. “Slàinte mhòr agad!” he said.
“Slàinte mhòr agad!” Lily and Ian replied.
Joey smiled and clinked glasses with the others.
“It means ‘good health to you’,” Ian explained.
“Oh! Well, good health to you!” Joey said.
They all tucked into their dinners.
“Good God,” Angus burst out, after tasting his first bite of the evening’s speciality. “It’s brilliant, man! Brings tears to my eyes!”
And to mine, Joey thought dismally. But she had to have a bite. It would be really bad form not even to try something made with such love and care.
Ian glanced over as she put a bit of haggis on her fork and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth and tasted it and – it was phenomenal! It was fantastic! “Oh my God!” she said. “I’ve never tasted anything like this!”
Truer words were never spoken.
“I love it.” she said, having another bite. “It’s amazing! You’re an amazing cook!”
The J M Barrie Ladies' Swimming Society Page 12