‘We’ve both said it a few times and we’re right,’ Fran agreed. ‘It is beautiful. And the thought that someone is thinking of spoiling it, turning it into a scrambling course for trail bikes or something, is terrible.’ A movement by the farmhouse caught her eye. ‘Look! I think that must be Tig. Let’s go back down and say hello.’
As they walked down the muddy track to the house and round the back to where the cows were kept, Fran felt nervous. It was terribly important that she got on with Tig. If he despised her for being a townie (and Fran felt it was inevitable that he would) this farming thing would never work. She was dependent on him, just as Amy had been. Although at least Amy had knowledge and experience; she, Fran, had nothing. If this farm fell apart he could always get another job.
‘Hello!’ said Fran, hoping fervently that she didn’t sound like an overenthusiastic Labrador greeting a friend. ‘I’m Fran, Amy’s – Mrs Flowers’ – um – relation.’
Tig nodded. He was younger that she’d imagined him, well dressed up against the weather. He wore a hat the same as his mother, with a wide brim. Acrackedold Barbour jacket was done up closely and his waterproof-trouser-covered legs ended in muddy boots. He looked the part.
‘I’ve just met your mother, and I’m really pleased to meet you.’ She offered her hand. ‘This is my friend Issi who’s staying for a couple of days to help me settle in.’ Now she was near she noticed that he had very bright blue eyes as if he spent a long time looking at the sky.
Tig nodded again.
‘I’d love you to tell me all about the cows,’ said Fran. ‘They’re so – so pretty.’ She knew this wasn’t the word she was looking for but desperately wanted Tig to like her. No – sheneededhim to, but, although she had plenty of charm and confidence with people, he wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before.
Unexpectedly, she saw the weather-beaten face move and the blue eyes crinkle at the corners and she realised he was smiling. He nodded. ‘They are pretty. So, what do you want to know about them?’
Issi shivered beside her; they were both freezing to death in their townie clothes and Fran wished she knew the right questions. She smiled.
‘What do you think is the most important thing about them?’
Tig inclined his head. ‘This herd goes back a long way, longer than most herds. That’s important. They give good rich milk and they’re good mothers.’
Hewent on to tell her about milk yields, how much they ate and the different temperaments of individuals.
As Fran stood there listening, her feet turning to ice, she realised he loved his cows, the herd, with a passion. He didn’t actually say as much but it was obvious in the way he looked at them, told them the names and personal characteristics, described how they were related and who their mothers and grandmothers were. None of them would suffer as much as an insect bite without Tig noticing, and doing something about it.
Fran asked a question she hoped was intelligent. ‘Do you – we – they have large vet’s bills?’
Tig shook his head. ‘Not if I can help it.’
Which didn’t really answer Fran’s question.
‘I must go in now,’ she said. ‘I need to make a phone call. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Tig nodded and turned back to his cows.
It was hard saying goodbye to Issi at the station the next day. She was going back to London to continue her studies. It was raining and quite cold and it made the parting seem more poignant, somehow.
Although they’d had a very positive conversation on the drive, Issi saying that with Tig Fran could learn about it all slowly, get to know what he did and why. Fran realised this was true, and that Amy would never have left the farm in her hands if shefeltFran’s ignorance was in any way a problem. But having Issi there had made it an adventure. Knowing she was going to be alone in the farm, with no internet, and only a landline as a method of communication, was a bit daunting. Still, she’d found a whole bookcase full of old novels, and Fran knew, if things got too tough, a book was a wonderful place to escape to.
‘And of course I’ll be down as often as I can,’ insisted Issi, having given Fran an enormous hug. ‘I love it down here. And now I know how unique the pasture is, I could even call it work! I won’t be the only one of your friends who comes either. You’ll be the weekend spot of choice.’
‘Hmm, not sure I want a lot of townies coming down here expecting me to cook for them while they lie about looking at the view. I’m a working farmer, you know.’
Issi laughed. ‘You’re also a chef, and quite sociable. You’ll need to get friendly with the locals or get your mates down here.’
Fran imagined her London friends in this rural, old-fashioned setting and decided she’d invite them later, when she’d brought the farmhouse up-to-date.
‘I think I’ll do a supper club,’ she said as if that was a plan and not an idea that had suddenly popped into her head. ‘I bet people would be curious to see Amy’s house.’
‘Ifthey can get up the lane, that is,’ said Issi. ‘But I suppose the locals all drive farm vehicles that can go anywhere.’
‘And there’s somewhere to park halfway up. I’m getting quite keen on the idea now.’
After another long hug, Fran left Issi, got into her car and set off home. As she drove she tried to think of the important questions to ask Amy when she next saw her. She wanted to make some notes before she went again, so if Amy was awake, she could get some information. Did the farm actually make money seemed the most important one. And by the time Tig had had wages and the cattle had been fed, was there any left over?
Preoccupied, Fran missed the turning to the farm and found herself driving up the hill and along a road that took her quite a way from Hill Top Farm. Confident that she’d be able to find her way back as long as she got home before dark, she allowed herself to carry on driving. She fancied a little local exploration, in spite of the rain. And she might find a bit of coverage for her phone.
The high hedges suddenly turned into beautiful stone walls and Fran realised she was driving past a very valuable property. Although it was raining harder now, she was curious and wanted to see if a mansion would suddenly reveal itself. It didn’t, but a gateway with a large pair of electric gates did. The name of the property, Park House Farm, wasetchedon to a piece of stone. It all looked new and prosperous.
