by Katie Fforde
‘Right,’ said Mr Addison. ‘First of all, may I say what a very successful and appropriate funeral that was, Miss Duke. And a charming eulogy. I felt Mrs Flowers was truly represented by your words.’
‘Thank you,’ muttered Fran, embarrassed.
‘As you all know, Mrs Flowers had her little eccentricities and left very detailed instructions in her will. I am one of the executors and Mrs Jenkins, as manager of the care home, is the other.’ He smiled at his co-executor reassuringly. She seemed a bit nervous. ‘So, shall we begin?’ he asked.
‘No one’s stopping you,’ said Roy.
Silently, Fran echoed his words. She wanted to know what was going to happen to the farm.
Mr Addison looked at the sheets of paper in front of him. ‘Mrs Flowers has put a long list of beneficiaries, charities and small bequests first, but I won’t read them all out. The first bequest of any significance is for Christopher Brown.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Roy. ‘And why does he get to get anything?’
‘That’s me,’ said Tig. Fran could see his jaw was clenched and a vein pulsed in his neck. He was obviously extremely tense.
‘To Mr Christopher Brown I leave the cottage he currently lives in, the bull and five heifers of his choice. I also leave him the field at the bottom of the farm, by the gate, to start him off.’ Mr Addison frowned. ‘She goes on to say, I know this isn’t enough land really, but he should be able to rent some more locally.’
Tig gulped. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said quickly, obviously too overcome to say more.
‘That’s amazing,’ said Issi. ‘We don’t have to leave the cottage!’ She flung her arms round Tig’s neck and kissed him.
‘Hang on!’ said Roy. ‘Is she allowed to break up the property like that? I want to contest the will!’
‘Mrs Flowers can do exactly what she likes with her property,’ said Mr Addison sternly. ‘There are no grounds for contesting her will. Now shall I go on?’
‘Be my guest,’ said Roy, looking mutinous.
‘Right! Now. To my husband’s distant cousin from Australia, Roy Jones—’ The telephone started ringing. ‘I am so sorry, I will have to take this.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Roy.
Fran was sympathetic and she also wanted to giggle. It was nerves, she knew, but she also knew she mustn’t give in to them.
It was hard to tell what Mr Addison’s conversation was about, as only one side of it was audible and he was monosyllabic. It seemed ages before he ended the call.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘It’s unprofessional to take personal calls in the middle of a business meeting,’ said Roy.
‘Indeed,’ Mr Addison agreed, ‘but that was about some test results for a family member. It was personal, but important.’
‘Not acceptable!’ said Roy. ‘You’re holding things up here.’
‘Actually, so are you, Roy,’ said Fran. She smiled at Mr Addison, who did seem a bit embarrassed, but also pleased. ‘I hope the results were good?’ she added.
‘They were perfect, thank you,’ he said. ‘Now, getting back to the matter in hand. To my husband’s distant cousin from Australia, Roy Jones, because he’s always expressed such a deep love for the farm, I leave—’
Fran clenched everything, including Antony’s hand, which she found in hers although she didn’t remember holding it.
‘—the picture of the farm that hangs over the fireplace.’
Everyone exhaled at the same time. Of course it didn’t mean Roy hadn’t got the farm, it just meant Amy was keeping everyone on tenterhooks a little longer.
‘I don’t want a crappy painting!’ said Roy disgustedly.
‘We all know what you want,’ said Tig. ‘If you keep quiet you may find out if you’re going to get it.’
Mr Addison cleared his throat. ‘I’m reading Amy’s words now:
‘I had a very hard job deciding who to leave the farm to. It’s been in my husband’s family for many generations, going from father to son or in some instances to a nephew. It’s never been left to a woman, although I myself ran it for many years. It has not been easy to decide who should have it now.’
‘Couldn’t you cut to the chase?’ Roy spat out the words. ‘I have an important meeting to go to directly after this.’
‘You’re all right, Roy,’ said Tig, the only one who knew his fate. ‘The pubs will stay open for hours longer.’
‘Please, Roy! Stop interrupting!’ said Fran.
‘Maybe I should point out that the bulk of this was written shortly after Roy came to England,’ said Mr Addison. ‘Mrs Flowers made several amendments to her will quite recently.’
‘She liked to change her will,’ said Mrs Jenkins. ‘She called it fine-tuning. Mr Addison was always in and out.’
Fran bit her lip. This probably meant that Roy was definitely going to inherit.
‘Perhaps we could press on?’ suggested Antony, sounding polite and businesslike in contrast to Roy’s impatience.
‘You’re mentioned, Mr Arlingham,’ said Mrs Jenkins, blushing slightly as she addressed Antony.
‘Really?’ Antony expressed everyone else’s amazement. ‘But Mrs Flowers had no time for my family. You could even say she hated us.’
‘She changed her mind,’ said Mrs Jenkins. ‘Mr Addison? Why not read out the bit referring to Mr Arlingham?’
Roy was visibly biting his tongue. Fran was less desperate. She felt fairly certain that Roy was going to get the farm and while she wanted to know for sure, she could wait. She was so delighted about Tig’s inheritance that her own had become less important to her. At least Tig having the bull and some heifers meant the bloodline of the herd would survive and he and Issi could plan for the future.
‘She says …’ Mr Addison referred to his papers, obviously looking for the place. ‘I have changed my long-held opinion of Mr Arlingham and no longer have any objection if he wishes to marry Francesca.’
Fran looked at the table and Antony held her hand tightly. ‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?’ he said.
As Antony and she hadn’t discussed marriage, per se, Fran felt desperately embarrassed. But also extremely happy.
‘I am trying to be patient,’ said Roy, perspiring with the effort of keeping his temper, ‘but could we please get on?’
‘Maybe we should put the poor man out of his misery,’ said Mrs Jenkins.
Something in the way she looked at Roy gave Fran a flicker of hope.
‘Very well,’ said Mr Addison, ‘but I do have to read everything she said. Mrs Flowers was very insistent that I do so.’
Roy made a sound that was a combination of a groan and a sigh.
Mr Addison obviously felt that Roy had suffered enough:
‘Over the past weeks I’ve had an opportunity to get to know the two young relatives I wrote to last year, looking for the right heir to Hill Top Farm. The decision I have made will be considered controversial by many but in order to help me decide which of them should take on the responsibility of my land and my precious herd, I set a little test.’
Everyone sat up and paid even more attention. Fran’s heart was beginning to race.
Mr Addison went on. ‘I decided that the relative most dedicated to the farm and most interested in its survival would find the quarry in which cheese was traditionally ripened. Sadly, neither one has found this special spot.’
‘But you did!’ Issi broke in urgently. ‘Fran found the quarry, everyone.’
‘Sadly, not before this was written,’ said Mr Addison, looking sympathetic and a little sad.
‘Please go on,’ whispered Fran.
‘Very well,’ said Mr Addison. ‘Therefore I have had to make my decision based on other things. I wish to leave the farm, the remains of the herd and all my effects not previously left to others, to Francesca—’
Fran didn’t hear the rest of the minor details. She felt hot, then cold and then slightly sick.
‘I
do not believe this!’ shouted Roy. ‘Give me the will!’ He snatched it and frantically scanned the lines of type. Then he threw the will on to the table with an expletive. He strode out of the room, knocking into chairs and the end of the table before he pulled open the door and slammed it hard after he left.
There was a relieved silence and then Issi jumped up from her seat and went round to Fran. ‘Well done! This is amazing. I’m so thrilled for you!’
The others joined in the congratulations but Fran just felt numb. This was all she’d been hoping for, ever since Amy had died. She’d been desperate to keep the farm away from Roy, who’d threatened it in every way, from trying to sell the cows to wanting to sell off the land for building. But now she knew it was hers she couldn’t feel anything except a vast weight of responsibility.
‘Well,’ she said eventually, when she realised everyone was looking at her oddly, ‘it means I can turn my Cheddar in the quarry every day for a while!’
Everyone laughed and hugged and patted her and said well done. Then it was time to go.
When all the goodbyes and thank yous had been said, Mrs Jenkins put her hand on her arm. ‘Amy was very fond of you, you know. She didn’t always show her feelings but she trusted you. Even if you hadn’t found the quarry, she knew you wanted the best for the farm, and the herd. She knew you wouldn’t let her down.’
Fran bit her lip to keep back the tears. ‘Thank you,’ she croaked. ‘Thank you for telling me.’
Fran felt obliged to go back to Amy’s wake, which was still going strong in the village hall. Partly because there were people she hadn’t had a chance to talk to – or rather who hadn’t had a chance to talk to her – and partly because she knew everyone was desperate to know what had happened to the farm.
Issi had offered to go with her but Fran knew she and Tig wanted to be on their own. Now, Tig would have his own cows, and with Fran as the owner of Hill Top he would still look after the remaining cows. He and Issi were safe and Fran knew they wanted to go back to their little cottage – properly theirs now – and celebrate.
Antony went back with Fran though. He seemed very pleased with himself too and although there hadn’t been a chance to ask him about it, Fran wondered if knowing that Amy no longer disapproved of him had pleased him and that the old enmity between the two farms was finally over.
The hall was still buzzing with conversation. Fran had provided sherry, wine and beer and tongues were loosened; everyone was really enjoying themselves.
‘My goodness, there’s a lot of food still,’ said Fran to Mary, who came up the moment she appeared. ‘Have you heard from Tig?’
‘Yes! He phoned as soon as he was out of the solicitor’s office. Such a relief! But I knew Mrs Flowers would see him right and it was kind of her to give him some land as well.’ Mary paused. ‘You don’t mind about that? It’s not a big farm.’
‘Not at all. The farm depends on Tig. I’d rather lose all the land than lose Tig.’
Mary laughed, delighted. ‘And that friend of yours? Issi? She’s a lovely girl, just right for my Tig.’ She put a hand on Fran’s arm. ‘You brought good things to the farm when you came down here.’
Fran was moved. ‘Oh, thank you so much. I’m so pleased you feel like that.’
Mary nodded. ‘Now, come and eat something. I reckon everyone who came brought a cake with them and only ate one slice, or a plate of sandwiches and only ate a couple.’
‘What will happen to all this food?’ Fran suddenly felt responsible for this minor food mountain as well as the farm.
‘Oh, don’t you go worrying about the leftovers. We can see to them,’ said Mary. ‘So? Are you pleased? About the farm coming to you?’
‘I’m delighted – so relieved!’ said Fran. ‘But I am very surprised.’
Mary shook her head. ‘It was just as Amy’s old friends expected, dear. She was no fool. She knew who had the interests of the farm at heart. That awful man! Always at the pub! She knew everything. She’d enough visitors to tell her what she couldn’t see with her own eyes. Now, shall I make up a nice little picnic for you and Mr Arlingham?’
‘Er – that would be very kind.’
‘It would indeed, Mrs Brown,’ said Antony. ‘And as you do seem very well informed you probably know that the bad feeling between Hill Top Farm and Park House Farm is now officially over?’
‘I did know that, yes. She told me how kind you’d been to her, taking her all over the farm in one of those fancy motorbikes with four wheels?’
‘A quad bike?’ said Antony.
‘That’s it. She loved that, she did, seeing her farm for the last time. Not that she knew it was the last time, of course.’
‘I was worried about her seeing what we’d done to the house,’ said Fran. ‘She had told me she didn’t mind but people can feel differently when they actually see it.’
‘She didn’t have time to fuss about her house,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘She spent all her energy on the farm. That’s what she cared about. And that’s why she left it to you, and not Roy. She trusted you and my Tig to look after it for the future.’
When Fran and Antony left a little while later, laden with ice-cream containers full of sandwiches, sausage rolls and slices of cake, Fran said, ‘It’s a lot of responsibility, isn’t it? The farm, I mean. When I came here I was to look after it for a year and make it profitable. I haven’t been here more than five minutes really, but even if my hard cheese turns out to be amazing, can cheese on its own keep a farm going these days?’
Antony shifted the bags of food he was carrying so he could take her arm. ‘Don’t worry. It’s been a very long and emotional day. You have the farm and you have me – both with Amy’s blessing. Let’s go home. To our home!’
Fran smiled up at him, awash with love and relief. ‘Such simple words that mean so much.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Issi came up the next morning for coffee and found Fran outside, staring at the view in the sunshine.
‘It is amazingly beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Fran. While she was truly appreciating the perfection of the morning, gazing out over the valleys, a trail of mist adding an extra layer of beauty and mystery, she was missing Antony terribly. He had left her early and although she was used to him having to go away she wished this morning he could have stayed a bit longer.
‘It is beautiful. And now it’s all yours!’ said Issi.
Fran laughed. ‘Well, not quite all. But at least it won’t be covered in houses now.’
‘I wonder if it would have got planning permission? I mean, if Amy managed to stop it being ploughed up in the war, surely it’s too steep for houses?’
Fran shrugged. ‘I’m sure we could find out if we had a mind to but maybe it’s better not to know?’
Possibly sensing Fran’s melancholy, Issi tried to brighten the mood. ‘Did Roy come back for his things last night?’
Fran shrugged. ‘I don’t think so, but it’s possible.’ She blushed a little.
‘You mean you and Antony were having a special cuddle?’
This coy expression made Fran smile and she pushed her friend quite hard.
Issi pushed Fran back. ‘Come on, let’s make coffee and check on Roy’s room. Oh, and I brought the post up. There’s masses.’
As they walked through the house to the kitchen, Fran said, ‘I expect you and Tig were celebrating, too?’
‘Planning, more.’ Issi paused. ‘He asked me to marry him.’
‘Oh, Is! That’s amazing, congratulations!’
‘Well, when I say he asked me to marry him, what he actually said was: “I suppose we’d better make it official between us, if you’re up for it.”’
Fran laughed. It was such a Tig way of putting it. ‘And did you say you were up for it?’
Issi shrugged. ‘Eventually. I made him say it a bit more clearly first though. We haven’t told anyone yet. He’s going to tell Mary at lunchtime. I’ll give my mother a call in a minute. She’s going to be so thr
illed. The prospect of grandchildren at last.’
‘Oh, planning a family already?’
Issi blushed. ‘Maybe. I mean, eventually, yes, but not this instant. I’d like to get my PhD first. Now, I’ll put the kettle on. Have you had breakfast?’
‘I had a bit of toast with Antony but that was hours ago.’ Fran leafed through the pile of post, most of which seemed to be letters of condolence.
‘I’ll make some more toast then. I could do with a second breakfast.’
‘Oh, I wonder why!’ said Fran, keeping up her teasing for a second before going back to sorting letters. ‘Hey! Here’s an official-looking one for Roy.’
‘Open it then,’ said Issi.
‘Should I? It’s not addressed to me.’
‘Did he leave a forwarding address? Or just his dirty washing?’ Issi was dismissive of Fran’s qualms.
‘I don’t know.’
Issi sighed impatiently. ‘Let’s go and see if he’s left any sort of forwarding details. If he has, we don’t open it, but if he’s just scarpered, we do, OK?’
‘Why exactly are you so keen to see that letter?’
‘Because it’s from the planning office! Didn’t you see the envelope? You’re not really on it this morning, Fran. Although I suppose you’ve been busy.’ She smiled at her vast understatement.
‘Let’s check Roy’s room and then I promise I’ll tamper with the post.’
His room looked like a student had got up late for a lecture and just run. The bed was unmade and there were dirty clothes on the floor and on the chair. The wardrobe was empty – possibly he’d never really unpacked.
‘If you’d been renting him a room you could have refused to give him his deposit back,’ said Issi.
‘You’re right. I will open the letter. After all, it’s the planning office so it must be about my farm.’ She gave a little squeak of pleasure. ‘My farm. Think of that!’