Appleby Farm (27 page)

I smiled and took a deep breath. ‘Now unfortunately, I think we’d better brave the weather and make our way back to the house or Auntie Sue won’t be telling either of us that she loves us.’

Back out in the field, the rain had died off but the grass was wet and slippery underfoot. We were both wet too and I was worried that Uncle Arthur would catch a chill if I didn’t get him home soon. I tucked his arm through mine and forced myself to slow down to his pace.

‘Look at that,’ he tutted, pointing down to Bottom Field. ‘Part of that barley crop is as flat as a pancake. The rain must have really given it a battering. That won’t please Eddy.’ He chuckled. ‘He’s been boasting that this will be the best yield yet out of that field.’

‘Won’t it spring back up when it dries?’

He shook his head. ‘No, it’ll stay like that. So we’ll get a lower yield. Oh, well. Not a lot we can do about it.’

‘Is that Eddy, there?’

Coming towards us, rolling across the grassland was the Land Rover.

It stopped beside us. Harry was in the passenger seat and Eddy was at the wheel. Harry waved at me.

‘You’re soaked.’ He grinned. ‘Get in. I’ve brought you a dry towel.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, with a shiver. The cold had seeped through my clothes and I was covered in goose pimples.

Eddy wound the window down as I opened the door. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked even more dour than usual. ‘The barley in Bottom Field is buggered. It’s always the best crops that g’down,’ he grumbled.

And he glared at us when Uncle Arthur and I bent double laughing.

We climbed into the back and Eddy drove the Land Rover towards Oak Field. Harry produced a bar of chocolate from his pocket and offered us all a piece.

I broke off a square and let it melt on my tongue, starving all of a sudden as well as freezing.

‘Harry’s asked for a look at Dexter,’ said Eddy.

‘I’ve been thinking about pedigree cattle, Arthur,’ Harry said, turning round to face us. ‘Perhaps rather than buy calves, I could buy your Hereford bull from you once the movement ban has been lifted in November. Start my own herd?’

Uncle Arthur beamed. ‘I’d like to think that there’d still be Herefords in Lovedale from my herd. And I’m sure we could do you a good deal on price, eh, Eddy?’

Harry gave him a stern look. ‘Market value, Arthur, or no deal.’

Uncle Arthur chuckled. ‘You’ll do for me, son.’

I caught Harry’s eye and he winked at me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I got the feeling he was doing this to help us out, just as he’d promised. I felt a warm rush of affection and smiled my thanks back at him.

What a difference from Julian’s way of doing business.

Eddy slowed the vehicle down and pulled alongside the cows.

‘Not that I can see too much when they’re all lying down, but they’re looking healthy to me. What do you reckon, Eddy?’ asked Uncle Arthur, winding his window down and leaning out.

Without exception all the remaining cows were pregnant. Everyone was holding their breath that the next TB test in July would prove negative so that no more of these lovely animals would have to be destroyed.

‘One’s got a touch of mastitis and the daft ’un who made it as far as the petrol station got a sore foot for her trouble. Apart from that they’re fine,’ Eddy agreed.

‘And Dexter looks a very fine chap,’ added Harry.

Uncle Arthur sat back, drew a deep breath and reached for my hand.

‘This is what Appleby Farm is all about, lass. A Lakeland farm – the land, the animals, even the flat barley.’

I heard Eddy harrumphing at that.

‘And I’d give my right arm for it to stay just the way it is,’ he continued. ‘Not with some bloody hotel on it, or a holiday village or the other thing.’

‘Country retreat.’

‘That’s the one.’ He shot me an anxious look. ‘Your posh camping stuff is all right, though.’

‘Posh camping?’ Harry raised an eyebrow.

‘Our Freya reckons people will pay to sleep in our field in the shepherd’s huts,’ Uncle Arthur explained.

‘I do,’ I said, ignoring Eddy’s snort of mirth.

‘Interesting.’ Harry nodded thoughtfully, furrowing his dark eyebrows.

‘I think so, too,’ said Uncle Arthur.

‘Thanks.’ I squeezed his hand and met his eyes. Just for a second. And then I looked away and made a silent promise that if I, Freya Moorcroft, had anything to do with it, Appleby Farm would stay exactly as Uncle Arthur wanted it to.

Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur lifted their breakfast mugs in unison. ‘Happy birthday, love!’

A whole thirteen days had whizzed by since Charlie and I split up, and a showery June had given way to a warm and sticky July. This morning was no different, except it was my birthday and despite my protestations that I was too busy to be doing with birthday bother, nobody had listened.

‘Thank you, both.’ I scooped up a mouthful of pancakes (served American-style with crispy bacon and maple syrup – Auntie Sue had insisted on something special and even Uncle Arthur was excused his muesli for the day) and turned my attention to the stack of birthday cards.

There were several with a Kingsfield postmark on them and I opened them carefully, flattered that Tilly, Gemma and Shirley, who hadn’t even known me this time last year, had remembered my birthday. Anna’s card was a rude one, which made me snort, but I passed it round the table anyway. Uncle Arthur choked on his bacon and Auntie Sue asked what funbags were.

‘This is from us,’ said Auntie Sue, pulling out a large parcel from one of the kitchen cupboards.

I tore through the flowery wrapping paper to reveal a pile of folded thick fabrics and oilcloths.

‘I know it’s not very birthday-like,’ she said, chewing on her bottom lip.

‘They are perfect,’ I squealed, lifting an apron from the top of the pile and holding it against me.

If someone had told me that I’d be so excited about getting aprons for my twenty-eighth birthday, I wouldn’t have believed them. But these were in pale-blue oilcloth with our new Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms logo (my birthday present from Anna) across them and they were impossibly beautiful.

‘That’s good, then.’ Her voice was casual, but her face was beaming with pride.

‘Aprons and matching tea towels,’ I said, kissing my aunt and uncle warmly. ‘We’re all going to look fantastic.’ I’d picked out some features in the barn in duck-egg blue paint and the contrast with the oak, the exposed brick and the white tables and chairs was stunning.

It made it all seem so real. Which was just as well because we opened in less than a month. Eek!

There was a knock at the door and in trooped Lizzie, a delivery man, Eddy and Harry, chorusing ‘Happy Birthday’. Correction: Lizzie and Harry were singing; the other two shuffled in a bit awkwardly.

Eddy shoved a posy of roses at me. ‘Many happy returns. From the garden, like.’

I inhaled them. ‘Oh, they’re heavenly. Thank you, Eddy.’ I grabbed him for a kiss and just managed to graze my lips against his cheek, which smelled of disinfectant, before he escaped.

‘Sign here, please,’ said the delivery man, sliding a large wooden crate on to the table and holding out an electronic signing gadget whilst endeavouring to shake Madge off his leg.

‘It’s from Paris!’ I cooed and Lizzie gasped.

The delivery man departed, looking relieved. Eddy and Uncle Arthur disappeared off to the office and Harry, who had been loitering by the door, stepped forward and kissed my cheek.

‘Hello, birthday girl,’ he said, pulling a slightly creased card from his back pocket. He looked smarter than usual: jeans that seemed too nice for the farm and a bright white T-shirt that set off his tan.

‘Hello.’ I flushed. The last time I’d had a card from him was for my eighteenth birthday. He’d kissed my cheek then, too, and at the time it had seemed like a massive turning point in our friendship. From children to young adults in one swift kiss …

‘Come on, hurry up and open this parcel,’ Lizzie demanded, bouncing on her toes.

‘All right, all right,’ I tutted.

The four of us gathered around the table and I levered open the crate with a knife.

Inside was another box and lying on top of it was a birthday card from my parents. Tucked inside that was a handwritten note from my mum.

I thought you might like these for the tea rooms – just bits and bobs I’ve collected from all the countries I’ve been to. It’s a bit of a passion of mine. I hope they give you as much pleasure as they’ve given me.

Love, Mum xxx

‘Sounds very intriguing. Thanks, Mum,’ I said aloud, tearing open the box.

‘Flippin’ eck!’ I gasped. We all hung our heads over the crate, even Harry.

Inside, carefully cocooned in bubble wrap, were forty or fifty pieces of delicate china: cups, saucers, milk jugs, sugar bowls and I even spotted the spout of a couple of teapots. They were all different colours and patterns, from pinks and reds, to silvers and golds, yellows and greens, blues and blacks. My eyes filled up for the second time.

‘Wow,’ breathed Lizzie, ‘these are too good for the tea rooms! What if they get broken?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe in keeping things for best. These are too beautiful not to show off.’

‘Agreed,’ said Auntie Sue firmly. ‘My mother left me her Wedgwood dinner service when she died. A wedding present. She’d never used it once. What a waste,’ she tutted sadly.

‘My present next,’ declared Lizzie, adding, ‘although it’s not new or a surprise.’

She handed me a soft parcel, delicately wrapped in tissue paper and tied with ribbon. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t bear to tear into it. Lizzie was chomping at the bit by the time I’d removed the ribbon and curled it into a ball on the table.

Inside was the pretty tea dress that she’d lent me to wear to my planning meeting in May.

‘It looks better on you than me.’ She shrugged as I gave her a big thank-you hug. ‘There’s the tiniest tear in the hem at the back. Don’t know how that happened, but I’m sure you could mend it.’

I heard a snort from Harry and didn’t dare meet his eye.

‘Oh, I’m sure I can,’ I said breezily, ‘and it’s a lovely dress. Aww, thanks, everyone, for your presents and cards. I feel like a princess.’

‘Hey, you haven’t had my present yet!’ Harry arched his eyebrow mysteriously. ‘And before you ask, no, it’s not a fawn.’

Our eyes met and we both burst out laughing. Lizzie and Auntie Sue looked bemused, or possibly confused.

‘I can’t believe you’re still going on about that!’ I said, wiping a tear from my eye. ‘You have the best memory of everyone I know.’

‘Oh, come on, who could forget that?’ He laughed. ‘There was a TV programme on one Christmas about reindeer,’ Harry explained to the other two. ‘Having her own fawn was all Freya could talk about for the next week.’

I’d forgotten how much I used to share with him when we were growing up. I’d confided all my dreams and he, as good as gold, would listen and tell me how great my ideas were.

‘I remember!’ exclaimed Auntie Sue. ‘Didn’t you ask for one for your birthday the following summer?’

‘She did. She was going to open her own reindeer farm,’ Harry added.

‘Sanctuary,’ I corrected, still giggling, ‘not farm. I wouldn’t have wanted to eat them.’

‘You are so cute.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘But back to the present. Come on, Harry.’

‘OK. Strictly speaking it’s more of an experience than an actual gift.’

‘Oh,’ was all I could manage. No idea why, but I was suddenly overcome with embarrassment, like an ‘experience’ with Harry was something rude. The nudging and winking going on between Lizzie and Auntie Sue didn’t help either.

‘And, er,’ he looked at his watch, ‘we should get going.’

‘Now?’ I gulped.

Everyone nodded. All with huge grins on their faces.

‘But I’ve got work today.’

Lizzie rolled her eyes. ‘Always working, Freya! Put some fun back into your life.’

‘Right,’ I mumbled.

‘And wear the dress,’ added Auntie Sue, hitching up her bosom and winking at me.

‘Definitely,’ said Lizzie, giving a pointed look at my old shorts and T-shirt combo.

‘Yes,’ agreed Harry, ‘wear the dress. It’s too beautiful not to show off.’

An hour later and we were scooting along country lanes towards Hawkshead, having left Lovedale and a long to-do list behind. Any guilt about not getting on with my jobs had completely evaporated in the sunshine somewhere by Lake Windermere.

‘So this is all very mysterious.’ I glanced at his smiling profile as we turned into a narrow tree-lined lane sign-posted Rigg Farm Café, Campsite and Sculpture Garden.

‘I thought you’d be interested to see how another farm has moved with the times,’ said Harry, displaying his dimple as he grinned at me.

‘Oh, so it
is
work. At least I don’t have to feel so guilty about taking the morning off.’

‘I suppose not. But there will be birthday cake involved. I know how much you girls like cake.’

‘Huh! That’s a very sexist attitude. I think you’ll find … what?’ I said all huffily. He was laughing at me.

‘Sorry, couldn’t resist it; you always were easy to wind up.’

I folded my arms and pretended to look offended. Thank goodness I hadn’t insisted on staying at home to work. This was way more fun.

Harry pulled into the car park and we drove round looking for a space long enough to take his pick-up truck.

‘Rigg Farm belongs to the family of an old friend of mine. His parents are sheep farmers, but he and his two sisters wanted to get involved with the business in some way, so they each started their own venture on the farm. Here we go; I’ll park on this end.’ He grabbed the back of my seat while he reversed into the space. ‘Alice is an artist and she’s added a garden, which has won some award or other, and she holds sculpture exhibitions here all year round. My mate Tom is a chef – and coincidentally the lead singer in The Almanacs. He runs the café and oversees the farm shop where they sell their own lamb. And the other sister Tessa, the youngest, has just started a yurt campsite business.’

I stared at him. ‘Oh, really? Just like my glamping idea!’