‘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 andsugarshe 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’sheart 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.
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.
‘Sitwhere 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.’
‘Amyhas paid upfront for six months,’ said Fran, hoping this information wasn’t secret. ‘So with luck I’ll have got a grip on things by then.’
Mrs Brown looked doubtful. ‘It’ll take more than luck and it won’t be easy for you, you being a townie. But you’ve got a very good herdsman.’
‘Oh? What do you know about him?’
‘Quite a lot. He’s my son.’
‘Goodness me!’ said Fran, thinking that Mrs Brown really was a woman who kept things close to her chest.
