Appleby Farm (17 page)

She pulled away after a few moments, clasped her hands in her lap and slipped her diamond ring on and off her finger.

‘If I’d been a better person, I could have kept you with me and made sure my influence was the strongest one in your life. But I was caught up with the luxury of the ex-pat lifestyle. I liked having maids and dressing up and going to parties. I’ve led a very shallow life and I apologize for that. And I’ve paid the price: your father and I have made friends all over the world but my own children are virtually strangers to me. You don’t know how lonely that makes me feel.’

My heart ached with sadness for her as she lowered her head so that I couldn’t see her eyes.

‘Don’t cry, Mum, please. I’m glad I know the truth and, for what it’s worth, I think you probably did the right thing. Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur looked after me as if I was their own. And …’ I hesitated and took a deep breath. ‘I love you.’

‘Oh, Freya. You don’t know what it means to hear that. Can we start again? Can I be a part of your life?’

I couldn’t speak so I nodded instead.

‘And if I ever get the chance, I promise I’ll make a better job of being a grandmother than I made of being a mother.’ We hugged again for ages until the French waiter cleared his throat and collected our empty cups noisily. We pulled apart and smiled at each other shyly. We still had a lot of catching up to do and we would have to work at getting to know each other again. But it felt like we’d recaptured something special today.

I rummaged in my bag for the euros I’d managed to scrape together last night and dropped them on the table.

‘Come on, Mum.’ I grinned, pulling her to her feet. ‘I’ve still got a few hours until my flight. By the time I leave Paris, you’ll know every last detail about me. Promise.’

As I headed back to the airport to catch my evening flight I could not wipe the big daft grin off my face. The day had been a huge success. OK, I didn’t get the money I needed, but I had something better: I had my mum.

My boomerang brain kept me awake with its constant to-ing and fro-ing from scheme to scheme for the whole flight home from Paris, which was amazingly short, and even the train journey up to the Lake District, which was tediously long. Just as well because while I was availing of the train’s free WiFi to google ‘making money from farms’, an email from Dad popped up.

‘What have I done this time, Dad?’ I muttered, steeling myself for another dressing-down as I clicked ‘open message’.

I scanned the email and whilst I only had a vague idea about part of it and one word seemed a bit rude, I got the gist of it and the gist was abso-bloody-lutely marvellous.

Dear Freya,

After you left – rather abruptly, if I might add – I did a bit of digging into that investment of yours. An ROI of 25 per cent in today’s flaccid market isn’t remarkable [
thanks, Dad
] but it’s not to be sneezed at, either. Therefore I’ve decided to loan you the full amount that you need for a fixed term to be agreed. Please note, Freya, that this is a loan and I expect it to be repaid. Your mother assures me that you will do so and I hope she’s right. Good luck.

Best

Dad

PS I’m charging you interest at half a per cent over base, which I’m sure you’ll agree is more than generous.

If you say so, Dad, whatever ‘base’ is.

Sometimes I found it next to impossible to put Uncle Arthur and my dad together as siblings. Were there any two men in the universe less alike? Anyway, putting family differences aside for a second … HURRAH!

I was so amazed and delighted that I squealed and drummed my feet on the floor, waking up the only other occupant of the carriage: a rumpled-looking vicar who’d been dribbling in his sleep all the way from Manchester.

‘Sorry!’ I trilled to the startled clergyman, holding up my phone. ‘Good news!’

‘I thought it was a fire alarm,’ he stuttered. He looked a bit odd now he was awake – his chin had been digging into his dog collar during his nap and it had left him with a sad-looking crease under his mouth. ‘Thank you, anyway. I think this is my stop.’

I was still full of the joys of Parisian spring when Ross collected me from the station. His car was much nicer than Eddy’s skanky old van and had the added benefit of no Buddy, the black terrier with halitosis. It was, however, one of those souped-up hatchbacks with an exhaust that sounded like it had whooping cough and such low-profile tyres that when we went over a humpback bridge I feared mightily for the skin on my backside.

‘I’m not much of a one for words,’ Ross shouted over the hum of his turbo-diesel engine. I sneaked a peek at his fine-featured profile – amazing eyelashes. ‘But thanks for fixing me up with work at the farm. I’ve learned more in the last couple of weeks than in two years at uni.’

‘Ha,’ I yelled back. ‘You’re a godsend: free labour and Eddy hasn’t got a bad word to say about you. I should be thanking you.’

Ross went pink and stared out of the windscreen.

‘How much do you think it’ll cost to get a subcontractor in to do the grassland for the summer?’ I asked.

He sucked in air thoughtfully. ‘A hundred-odd acres of grassland … now then, um …’

I waited patiently.

‘Mow, forage and transport by trailer to the clamp?’

I nodded, pleased that I understood all the jargon. Foraging meant chopping the grass up into tiny bits. Thank you, Google.

‘Well …’ He scratched his head and gave me an apologetic grin. ‘No idea, sorry. Fancy a drink at the White Lion before I drop you back at the farm?’

I rolled my eyes and giggled. I suppose it was a bit too much to expect from a student farmer. And actually a quick drink at the pub and a chat with Lizzie would be nice. But before I had a chance to answer, my mobile rang.

‘Hello, Auntie Sue!’

‘Uncle Arthur is definitely coming home tomorrow, love!’ cried Auntie Sue. ‘Isn’t that great?’

‘That’s fantastic,’ I agreed. ‘Just popping to the pub before I come home. That OK?’

‘Of course, you enjoy yourself. I’ll put your dinner in the Aga to keep warm.’

‘Oh yum, thank you. Oh – Auntie Sue? I’ve had the best day ever at Mum and Dad’s, and everything is going to be fine. Really.’

We said our goodbyes and I sat back in my seat, gripping the door handle as we raced towards Lovedale, with a massive smile on my face and a fizzy feeling in my stomach. The future of Appleby Farm felt like it was back on track and I had never been so excited in my life.

The White Lion was its usual busy Sunday-night self. Consequently, Ross and I didn’t spot Lizzie straight away as we made our way to the bar and elbowed our way in between a group of hikers, who were hogging most of the bar even though they’d all been served. But then I heard her shouting ‘excuse me’ on the far side of the pub as she collected empty glasses rather bravely, I thought, in the direct path of the darts board.

She looked across, spotted us and marched in our direction. Her thunderous expression startled me; she was flouncing, flaring her nostrils and tossing her hair vigorously. I’d never seen this side to Lizzie and judging by the way Ross tucked himself behind me, neither had he. She had eight empty beer glasses pinched between her fingers and if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was spoiling for a fight.

‘She doesn’t look very pleased to see us, does she?’ muttered Ross.

‘What’s up, matey?’ I joked, in an attempt to raise a smile.

She came to halt in front of us and dumped the glasses down on the bar forcefully. Her pretty face was all screwed up and there was a peachy-pink flush to her cheeks.

‘Ross kept his hands on the steering wheel at all times. Scouts’ honour,’ I said, doing a three-fingered salute.

Lizzie’s face sagged. ‘Oh, I know, sorry.’ She tilted up her face to Ross and I turned away discreetly while the pair of them smooched their hellos.

‘I’ve missed you,’ murmured Lizzie, curling her arm round his neck.

Ross went red. ‘I’m nipping to the Gents,’ he said, sliding out of her grasp and disappearing round the bar towards the loos.

‘You look stressed, Lizzie,’ I said, giving her a quick hug.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘I know I should ask about Paris, Freya. But seriously. What a chuffin’ day. You’ll never guess …’

She glanced over my shoulder to the other side of the bar, watching Ross, I guessed, and then huffed. ‘Look at her! What the bobbins is she up to now?’

I followed her glare to where a petite twenty-something with dark hair, fake eyelashes and far too much lipstick for a country pub was picking bits of fluff of Ross’s jumper.

‘That’s it,’ Lizzie muttered grimly, picking up a bar towel and wrapping it round her hand like a boxing glove. ‘I’m going to lamp her. Ross hasn’t been here five minutes and she’s moving in on him already.’

The penny dropped, as did my jaw. ‘Is that—’ I gasped.

‘Victoria, yes.’

Luckily, just as Lizzie looked like she was about to float like a butterfly and quite possibly sting like a bee in her sister’s direction, Ross managed to dislodge Victoria and flee to the Gents.

‘Where’s she staying, when did she arrive and what else has she done to get you so riled up?’ I asked, unable to drag my eyes away from the creature who seemed capable of pushing all of Lizzie’s buttons at once.

‘With me, here, temporarily. She arrived today, even though she wasn’t due for another week. And you name it … shoving her new job presenting the lunchtime slot on Radio Lakeland up my nose every two seconds, sneering at my career choice and generally behaving like a diva.’

At that moment, Victoria took a sip from her cup, held the liquid in her mouth, swallowed and then made a great show of pulling a face as if she’d swallowed sour milk.

‘This tea is rank! When was it brewed, Christmas?’ she shrieked in disgust. ‘Where do I have to go to get a decent cup of tea around here?’ I had to admit, Victoria did have a point, even if she had put it across a bit crudely. The tea at the White Lion was foul. The coffee was just as bad. Nothing like the frothy delights I used to concoct at the Shenton Road Café …

‘Bloody hell, Lizzie,’ I hissed.

‘Told you!’ She shook her head, her full lips pressed into an unusually thin line. ‘She thinks she’s better than everyone, she—’

‘She’s a genius!’ I gasped. My pulse started to race, adrenalin pumping through me like I’d been mainlining caffeine. ‘That’s it! That’s actually it!’

I emitted a peculiar laugh-cum-gasp, gave the astonished Lizzie a smacker of a kiss, yelled goodbye and ran from the pub all the way back to Appleby Farm.

I stuck my head in through the farmhouse door, shouted hello to Auntie Sue, grabbed a torch and then dashed back down the path and along the yard to the empty barn. The evening light had faded but the moon had crowned all the old stone farm buildings with a glorious silvery halo.

Sometimes the beauty of this place makes me want to cry
, I thought, pushing open the barn doors.

Once inside, I paused to catch my breath and turned in a slow circle, casting the beam of the torch around me. The oak, the stone, the potential of this building filled my heart with joy. Could it work? Could I turn this barn into Appleby Farm Tea Rooms? I wandered round the space, picturing it: the kitchen at that end, tables and chairs along one side, maybe an ice-cream counter too … We’d have to extend the water and power supplies from the house but … it had potential.

I’d worked in pubs, cafés and hotels but I’d never set one up from scratch before and I’d certainly never managed one. On the other hand, Shirley was always telling me I should run my own business. Could I do it? Could I turn the barn into the only place around here to get a decent cup of tea?

I shrugged my shoulders and took one last look around before heading back to the farmhouse.

This was either the most brilliant or the most ridiculous idea I’d ever had.

After catching up with each other’s news over a late supper of cockle-warming chicken casserole, Auntie Sue took herself up to bed, while I settled myself in the office to use the phone. Björn jumped up on to my lap as soon as I sat down and I smoothed my palm along the length of his silky spine.

‘Oh, thank you for joining me,’ I murmured as I dialled the first Kingsfield number. ‘I might need a bit of moral support.’

‘Shirley? It’s Freya. Do you mind if I pick your brains about something …?’

When I came off the phone ten minutes later, my ‘flabber’ was well and truly ‘gasted’.

Shirley Maxwell had completely bowled me over with her enthusiasm for the tea rooms idea and had even suggested adding ‘vintage’ into the mix. Genius!

She’d informed me in no uncertain terms that if I
didn’t
give the tea rooms a go she would never forgive me. Not only that, but she’d almost made me cry by extoling virtues that I didn’t even know I had – tenacity, determination and charm, to name but three. She’d ended by saying that she was one hundred per cent behind me, that she’d send me a list of suppliers to get me started and promised that even though I wouldn’t need it, I could have my old job back whenever I wanted.

One down, one to go. I was too young for hot flushes, surely, I wittered, fanning my face with one hand and looking up Charlie’s number on my mobile with the other.

The thing is, Charlie, I’m going to set up a business at the farm, working all hours, and I might not come back to Kingsfield for weeks, months even.

That’s fine, Freya, take as long as you need …

Yeah, right.

I was mid-gulp when he answered the call.

‘Freya! I’ve been thinking about you all day! It’s very lonely in my bed tonight without you in it.’ He chuckled.

It was a deep, sexy laugh and my body pinged like a tight bra strap as I recalled last night in his flat. It felt as if it had been years ago already, so much had happened since I left Kingsfield this morning.

‘Glad to hear it,’ I laughed softly, cradling the phone to my face and wishing it was his hand on my skin.

‘Early shift tomorrow. Ha, a fire-fighter’s day is as unsociable as a farmer’s, isn’t it, getting up early to milk the cows and plough the fields?’