Tig shook his head. ‘If I did, I’d have told Fran straight away. Amy was always very secretive about it. I think she used to hide food up there during the war or something.’
‘Well, that makes me feel better about not discovering it until now,’ said Fran. ‘But it’s only important if you make cheese,’ she said to Roy.
‘There won’t be any of that making-cheese malarkey if I get the farm,’ he said. ‘No money in it.’
‘There is! I sell my soft cheese direct to retailers!’ Fran had had too much gin to be tactful.
‘Still not enough!’ Roy went on. ‘You can’t always sell roof tiles to pay off the bank. You’ll have to start taking them off the farmhouse, soon.’
Fran swallowed. She’d hoped Roy hadn’t noticed what she’d done with that pile of tiles and hadn’t realised he knew about the bank loan. And he was right; she couldn’t go on selling off the farm’s assets. She’d have to find another way.
‘So what’s your grand plan, Roy?’ said Antony.
Roy’s gaze flicked around the room as if he was debating whether to reveal his plan or not. ‘There’s always money in land,’ he said slowly. ‘They’re not making any more of it. Makes it very valuable.’
‘So you’ll sell it off, in dribs and drabs?’ asked Issi. Gin was inclined to make her argumentative.
Roynodded slowly. ‘There’s a bit down the bottom near the road that could be sold off without it affecting the main plot.’
Fran was surprised he knew so much about the farm when he’d appeared to show so little interest in it. And she didn’t like the way he said ‘plot’.
‘So would you keep a bit for yourself, to live on?’ asked Antony.
‘Ah no. I’d sell the whole lot off. It’s how I’d sell it would be the thing. To one big developer, or in bits and pieces.’
Now Fran wanted to cry, but she wasn’t going to, not in front of that heartless monster. She yawned instead.
Antony got up. ‘You’re tired. You need to get to bed. There’ll be a lot of things to sort out in the morning.’
Fran got up too, and staggered a little. ‘I’ll see you out.’
She longed to go home with him, to spend the night in his arms, to let passion sweep away grief and shock and worry. But she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t let Roy have any excuse or opportunity to lay claim to the farm.
Antony knew it too. She didn’t have to explain. He’d been a calm, strong presence this evening and having him in her life made everything seem a lot better.
They hugged in the dark of the passage before comfort turned to passion. But after kissing for sometimeFran pulled away. ‘It will be all right, won’t it? If Amy leaves the farm to Roy, he can sell it to you?’
Antony didn’t say anything for a few moments and then he spoke into her hair. ‘Darling, I’d buy it in a heartbeat and it could be yours to do what you like with. But – I hate to tell you this, especially now – going on what Roy’s just been saying tonight, and other sources of information I have, Roy’s been in meetings with Noblesse Homes.’
‘What does that mean?’ Fran asked.
He sighed. ‘It means he may have got planning permission for the land already. If it goes up for sale as housing land I’d never be able to afford it, even if I sold everything. I’ve worked it out.’
‘Oh God!’ Now she wanted to cry, but from fear not from sadness. ‘But surely you can’t apply for planning permission on land you don’t own?’
‘Yes you can, I’m afraid. But the land is very steep and there’s no infrastructure so a big housing estate would be very expensive to build. But a few executive homes could be possible.’
‘I can’t believe they’d even consider putting houses on land that managed to get through the war without being ploughed up.’ She paused. ‘And it’s not just me, is it? It’s Tig and Issi. They’re more bound up in the farm than I am, really. I could make cheese somewhere else, or even open a restaurant. They’ve only got the farm and the herdisso important to Tig. The cows – they’re …’ She struggled to find the word. ‘They’re almost like his relations!’
He laughed gently at her exaggeration. ‘Come on, I’m going to put you to bed. You’re tired beyond reason and any minute now you’re going to be really upset. Bed is the best place for that.’
It was almost funny, Fran thought. She and Antony should have been together, ripping each other’s clothes off, falling on to the bed, or the floor, or whatever was nearest, but in fact he shook out her duvet while she got into her pyjamas and brushed her teeth. She felt strangely embarrassed appearing in her flowery brushed-cotton nightwear, which she realised Amy would have called ‘winceyette’, although he’d seen her in far less.
He treated her with the same matter-of-fact practicality that he had treated the puppies they had helped hand-rear. Somehow his restraint made him even more sexy.
‘Come on, tuck up,’ he said. He had a book in his hand. ‘I found this. It must be one of Amy’s.’
‘What is it?’
