A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  ‘But in an emergency?’

  ‘You can apply to me.’

  ‘And what about wages for the herdsman, and other people who work for her?’

  ‘There are a couple of relief milkers employed as and when they’re needed, and their wages are all arranged too. 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 why she had come. 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 was acceptable.

  Still, it was too late to worry about it now. She was following a care worker down 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 we are related. I’d have preferred one of my husband’s relations – it was his farm – but although I tracked one down, they never replied to my letter. So you’re all I could find.’ She paused. ‘I was eighteen when I married and I lived on the farm ever since, until I came here.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Amy seemed to need to tell her story and Fran hoped she’d sounded encouraging.

  Amy nodded and carried on. ‘The farm had been in his family for many 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. The cows on the farm now – and I’ve known them all personally – are related to the original herd. That’s very unusual.’ She gave a little smile. ‘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 and all that unbroken pedigree will be lost. That would be a tragedy. So 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 bloodline. 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 – the office work, feed ordering, looking after the buildings: things like that – 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, 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?�
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  ‘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.’ She frowned slightly. ‘She has got a weak heart but she’s managing fine at the moment.’

  ‘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.’ Then she frowned. ‘Oh, why did you keep that dreadful painting up?’

  ‘Because it hides a patch of wall that really needs redecorating and if you do one bit you’d have to do the whole lot.’

  Fran nodded. ‘Fair enough. Apart from that, you’ve made it looked great.’

  ‘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 morning. She used to look after Aunt Amy a bit before she had to go into the home. She seems to know everything about the farm. She looked around with one eyebrow raised, obviously disapproving like mad. 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 seemed a bit put out.’

  ‘Where have you put all the stuff?’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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 confused. Both the solicitor, and Amy – she asked me to call her that – told me a lot but left out a lot too. 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 long. She’s thought it all out. And there’s the herdsman, who looks after the scary cows. She’s paid him, too – and his relief milkers.’

  ‘And if they’re not scary?’

  ‘It should all be fine!’

  But Fran knew their cheerfulness was a little false. She may not be able to do this at all.

  ‘I really want this to work,’ she said. ‘I’ve left my job and packed up my life to come here, and although I could go back I’d always wonder if I could have made a go of it. Very few people get chances like this. I can’t waste the opportunity. It’s my chance to make something of my life.’

  Chapter Two

  Fran awoke early, aware that it was raining. Not a good beginning for her first proper day as a farmer but then she remembered that Mrs Brown was due to call, giving Fran the perfect excuse not to go out and meet the cows. She had to bake if she had a visitor.

  ‘So no cows this morning, Is,’ said Fran, crunching toast. ‘I’ll have to bake instead. Do you think Mrs Brown likes flapjack?’

  ‘How would I be able to tell?’ asked Issi, amused.

  ‘I’ll do flapjack and shortbread,’ Fran decided. ‘Then there’s a choice. And I’m sure the herdsman would appreciate whichever one Mrs Brown refuses.’

  Issi had gone for a walk, in spite of the rain, but promised to make sure she was back to help Fran entertain Mrs Brown, leaving Fran to prepare for their guest. As Fran mixed butter into flour and sugar she looked out of the kitchen window to the farmyard beyond.

  It had a cobbled courtyard and was surrounded by outbuildings, but not, she realised as she peered through the gloom, the one that housed the cows. These buildings were too small for that, although she knew the herd was not large. None of these buildings seemed to be in use so the cows must be somewhere else. This was a bit disappointing. Fran had hoped she could observe them from the safety of the kitchen.

  However, it was potentially a pretty yard, and she could picture it with stone sinks filled with flowers, hanging baskets and possibly some charming though defunct farm implements decorating the walls.

  Then she laughed at herself – and made Issi laugh when she appeared sometime later and Fran told her of her mad plans to civilise the yard. ‘Like it’s ever going to be pretty! When am I going to have time to put in bedding plants and find old ploughs to hang on the walls?’

  ‘Well, you’re probably not going to have time for ages but you might do one day. But I saw your cows while I was walking. They’re all in a fairly new building. I saw the cowherd feeding them.’

  ‘Oh? What’s he like?’

  Issi frowned. ‘I couldn’t really tell but he’s not chatty, that’s for sure.

  Fran’s heart sank a bit. ‘He’s going to resent me terribly for not being Amy. I just know it.’

  ‘Give him a chance!’ said Issi. ‘He was a bit younger than I’d imagined. I could just about see him under his hat.’

  Mrs Brown, although not old, seemed suspicious as she came in through the back door and into the kitchen. She was wearing a drover’s coat, a brimmed hat pulled well down and big wellington boots. It was an outfit Fran instantly envied for its protective qualities.

&nbs
p; Mrs Brown took off her boots immediately, and was wearing thick grey socks underneath. She appeared to be a woman who didn’t give anything away until she wanted to and although she’d divested herself of her boots right away, she was a bit reluctant to give Fran her dripping coat and hat.

  ‘Really,’ Fran insisted. ‘They’re soaking. It is such terrible weather today. Let me hang these over the range so they can dry off a bit.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mrs Brown and unbuttoned her coat and handed Fran her hat.

  ‘Now let’s go through to the sitting room,’ said Fran, trying to behave as a hostess, as if she hadn’t arrived just two days before.

  Fran suspected Mrs Brown considered it too early in the day for a fire. Fran personally thought it added brightness to the January morning.

  ‘Sit where it’s warm,’ said Fran, ‘and would you like tea or coffee?’

  Once it was established that tea was the preferred beverage, Fran left Issi to make polite conversation while she made it. Issi did offer but the thought of Issi doing it made Fran feel a bit awkward, as if Issi were a servant, not a friend.

  At last, tea was poured and shortbread handed round.

  ‘Oh, this is very nice!’ said Mrs Brown, surprised.

  ‘I was a chef in London,’ explained Fran, ‘and although many chefs don’t bake, I started baking with my mother at home and I still enjoy it.’

  ‘So not really a suitable person to take on a farm, then?’ said Mrs Brown.

  ‘Not at all suitable,’ Fran agreed – it couldn’t be denied. ‘But as I expect you know, I was the only blood relation of Amy who could be traced and I did come here as a little girl. Amy told me I liked the cows.’ She put the rose-patterned cup back in its saucer. ‘I am determined to make a go of it. Especially now I know how important it is that the farm carries on after Amy dies.’ She frowned. ‘Although I’m sure that won’t happen for years and years.’ Fran couldn’t help wondering how on earth the care home could be paid for without the farm being sold.

  Mrs Brown seemed to read her mind. ‘And that care home won’t be cheap.’