‘Amy thinks the world of him,’ the herdsman’s mother went on.
Fran took a sip of tea. ‘I don’t know her well but I’m willing to bet she’s a very good judge of character.’
Mrs Brown relaxed just a little. ‘She is.’
‘And you’ll be around? I can ask your advice?’ Fran’s life experience told her that people were more likely to be kind if you asked their advice. People liked that.
‘Not as much as I used to be for Amy. I made a point of it for her or she wouldn’t have managed at all. But I’ve got my sister to think of and she’s not local.’
‘Oh. Maybe I’d better ask you everything I need to know now!’ Fran sounded and felt a bit desperate.
‘Go on then.’
AlthoughMrs Brown’s expression was not encouraging Fran felt fairly sure she’d know the answer to the question uppermost in her mind. ‘Can you tell me about my neighbour? What is so wrong with him? Amy was just about to tell me when she fell asleep.’
Issi refilled Mrs Brown’s cup and Fran proffered the shortbread. Mrs Brown took a sip, a bite and then a breath. ‘Well … it all goes back to his father. No, his grandfather.’
There was a frisson of excitement at the knowledge that good gossip was going to be shared.
‘Amy’s never told me in so many words but I got the strong impression – when she was talking about him – that there was an understanding between her and old Mr Arlingham.’ Seeing Fran and Issi looking confused she explained: ‘You know, romantically?’
‘Ah!’ said Fran, in the picture now.
‘Anyway, it came to nothing.’ She paused for dramatic effect, possibly enjoying the rapt attention of the two younger women. ‘Now, I don’t know what happened but it was something to do with the land. Maybe she suspected that old Mr Arlingham only wanted her so he could get his hands on the farm. I don’t know if you’ve seen it on a map but Hill Top Farm cuts into the Park House Farm land – that’s owned by the Arlinghams – like a thumbnail. I reckon it’s always irked the Arlinghams that they don’t own all this bit of the valley.’
Franrefilled Mrs Brown’s teacup, anxious lest this outpouring of very useful information should dry up.
Mrs Brown accepted another bit of shortbread and carried on.
‘I do know that young Mr Arlingham – Antony – came to see Amy a couple of years ago. I happened to be here working in the kitchen. She let him in with a welcome but he went out again looking like thunder. She had her feathers ruffled too. She didn’t go into details but I gather he wanted to buy the farm.’
Fran bit her lip for a second before speaking. ‘But really, she had no one to leave the farm to. Why didn’t she want to sell it? She may need the money, after all, to keep her in her care home.’
‘It’s what he wanted to do with the land that so upset her,’ Mrs Brown explained.
‘And what was that?’ said Issi.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Could have been factory farming, or raising birds for a shoot, or maybe a place to ride motorbikes. Amy would never see her precious cows sold to make way for motorbikes.’
‘No, that would be awful,’ said Fran, although she wasn’t quite as horrified as she thought she ought to be. ‘Amy mentioned vineyards.’
‘Whatever the thing is,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘this land has never been ploughed, not during the war, not ever. That makes it very special.’
‘Ohmy goodness!’ said Issi. ‘That is incredibly rare. No wonder Amy doesn’t want it used for anything else. That’s an outrageous idea!’ She paused and then obviously felt obliged to explain her passion. ‘I’m doing a PhD on land conservation. There’s less than two per cent of this sort of land left in the country. It must be preserved at all costs.’
‘But I thought everyone had to “Dig for victory” in the war,’ said Fran.
‘These fields are too small to plough and too steep,’ said Mrs Brown proudly. ‘That’s what makes this farm unique. So don’t you go having anything to do with Mr Antony Arlingham, not on any account!’
‘I won’t,’ said Fran, feeling much more in the picture.
‘Anyone who’d even consider – even for a moment – ploughing up fields that have never been ploughed to turn them into a motorbike track is beyond the pale!’ said Issi passionately. ‘It would be a desecration.’
‘That’s the word,’ said Mrs Brown, satisfied. ‘Desecration.’ Then she got up. ‘I’ll leave my number in case you need any more information about things but I expect you’ll manage just fine.’
‘I hope so,’ said Fran, not convinced.
‘That was very nice shortbread, I must say,’ said Mrs Brown.
