Seb was there. ‘Now, what would you like?’ he asked. ‘Brandy?’
‘We haven’t got any.’
‘Seb never travels without a flask,’ said Antony, laughing.
‘That’s you, actually, mate,’ said Seb, ‘but I do happen to have a little drop of cognac that doesn’t taste half bad.’
Having been poured a large amount, Fran took a sip and then closed her eyes. It had been quite an evening.
ChapterEleven
It was March and Fran gazed around happily. The room next to the old dairy had been made into a cheese room and the room next to it an equally hygienic store. It had been an amazing transformation made by a couple of builders well known to Antony and the rooms were both gleaming and sterile.
Now, all the walls were lined with wipeable surfaces. Wash-hand basins and sinks were installed in the dairy. Both floors had been resurfaced and there was a selection of new white wellies and Crocs that had to be worn if anyone entered. Inside was all other equipment a cheesemaker could desire. There were buckets, a cheese mill, cutters, moulds, a pile of vivid blue cloths for wrapping hard cheeses. It all looked amazing.
It had also been passed fit for purpose by the health and hygiene officer. Fran had been halfdelightedand half appalled to realise he had been at the supper club. As a trained chef with the right certificates she knew about hygiene and how important it was, but it was a bit embarrassing to think she’d been feeding this man unawares. Supposing a stray hair had crept in somewhere and ended up on his plate?
But he was youngish, kind and very interested in cheese, and had declared the cheese room perfect. All Fran needed to do now was work out how to sell the cheese and start paying Antony back – it must have cost him a fortune. And also, she realised less cheerfully, start wearing away at the farm’s overdraft, which she had discovered was substantial.
But she was feeling very upbeat and positive about life when she set off on her regular afternoon walk. She told herself the same as she’d told Issi, that she was eager to see if the primroses, replanted after the supper club, had taken. Really she was looking for the quarry. She knew it was on the land, but no one would give her directions to it, or give her a hint where she should look. Maybe only Amy knew? And she wasn’t telling. Perhaps it was a test, something she had to find before Amy would really trust her with her beloved farm.
She was on her way back, having failed yet again, but feeling better for the exercise anyway. She had decided to invite Antony for dinner, to thank himforhis kindness, with Issi and Tig for support, when she turned the corner and saw a man peering into the sitting-room windows.
Fran bit back a scream of shock, suddenly yearning for a dog who would alert Issi and Tig that there was a stranger about. Who on earth was he and what the hell was he doing?
‘Excuse me!’ she said loudly, sounding braver than she felt. ‘Can I help you?’
The man turned as she arrived by the front door. He was tall and suntanned with a narrow face that just missed being good-looking. ‘Are you Fran Duke?’
‘Sorry, who are you?’ asked Fran.
‘I’m Roy Jones. If you’re Fran, I’m your long-lost cousin from Australia.’
It took Fran a moment or two to take this in, but then she realised he must be the other distant relation that Amy had tried to contact and who hadn’t replied to her letter. It took her aback.
‘Oh! Why are you here?’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Why do you think? I’ve come to have a look at the place. I’m going to inherit it, after all.’
Fran didn’t know what to say. She never assumed she would inherit although other people seemed to, but for this man to take it all away from her was an outrage. She coughed.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ said Roy.
Franmanaged a smile. ‘We’ll go round the back. No one uses the front door in the country.’ As they walked round the house to the back door, which she had left unlocked and now felt terrible about, she asked, ‘Where’s your car? I assume you must have hired one?’
‘I left it at the bottom. I didn’t know what the track was like. Didn’t want to get stuck.’
As the track now looked and was in perfectly good order, Fran didn’t quite buy this. He’d left his car at the bottom because he wanted to sneak up and look at the farm without anyone knowing. If she hadn’t arrived back when she did, he’d have found the back door unlocked and walked straight in. She shuddered.
She opened the door and ushered him into the kitchen. She put the kettle on the range. ‘How long are you planning on staying in the area?’
‘Well, that rather depends,’ he said, looking at her oddly.
‘On what?’ Fran felt cornered. Was she expected to offer him a bed for the night?
‘On how long the old lady takes to die.’
This came like a blow. Surely Roy didn’t mean that? It was outrageous! ‘You mean, you want to get to know her before she dies?’
