‘I’m a lawyer.’
Jason’s eyes widened with comical instant horror. ‘The law.’ He shuddered, making Hannah laugh.
‘Don’t worry. These days I don’t do criminal law.’
‘You mean you don’t do the police station jobs then.’
‘I did once. Not anymore.’ He nodded and turned around as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.
The challenge in the afternoon was puff pastry, which turned out to be a right old faff. Each time it came to turning it to fold it again, Hannah couldn’t remember if she’d turned it the right way.
‘The other way,’ whispered Bronagh at her elbow. The girl was assisting her and Fliss, buzzing between them as she removed dirty dishes, brought over more supplies, and wiped up spillages.
‘Whoops, thanks.’ After the shrinking pastry of the morning, she’d resolved to do better and had been more focused, following Adrienne’s instructions more carefully, running her hands under cold water, taking care when she rubbed the butter into the pastry, taking her time with each step. But once again, her mind had drifted. It was a puzzle. Why had the man with the shotgun been so irate? And while she’d been working the pastry, something else had also come to mind. Conor had said something about a rickety old fence. The fence she’d climbed had been brand new. It had that freshly sawn wood smell. That blond colour. She might not be a country mouse, but she knew unweathered wood when she saw it.
‘Hannah.’ Bronagh nudged her.
Oops. This time she focused on her pastry and when it came to the final stage, she even used a ruler to score the pastry in neat lines, rather than attempt it by freehand in the confident way Alan and Meredith were doing. When she came to lay out her rectangular tart cases with their neatly pricked bottoms, she was pleased to see that they looked quite acceptable, and by the end of the day she felt she’d achieved something, even if her finished raspberry tarts didn’t look as professional as Jason’s. For her they were actually quite good.
‘Better, Hannah,’ said Adrienne as she did her rounds.
‘Thank you.’ She beamed with satisfaction.
‘Just imagine how good they could be, if you put some love in.’
Chapter Nine
The rest of the week fell into an easy pattern. Hannah quickly grew to love the chickens and their individual personalities, and each night she collapsed into bed with aching feet and her brain whirling with all that she was learning. By Friday night she was more than ready for the trip to the pub proposed by Jason, who was living up to her suspicion that he was a born ringleader of trouble.
At his first suggestion, Fliss had been the only one who’d seemed reluctant but Jason’s teasing, ‘Too posh for you,’ had clearly needled her into responding.
It was arranged that they’d meet outside Larkspur Cottage, but fifteen minutes after the appointed time they were still waiting for Fliss.
‘Where is the daft cow?’ muttered Jason, pacing up and down. ‘We’re missing drinking time.’
He paced another length of the cobbled courtyard before saying. ‘Let’s just go without her.’
‘She’ll be here soon,’ said Meredith, who’d already carved out her role as the placating mother hen.
‘At last. What kept you? Didn’t have enough Polyfilla?’ asked Jason, grinning at Fliss, who looked immaculate with freshly blow-dried hair and perfect makeup that highlighted her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes.
‘Very funny, but don’t give up the day job. I don’t think stand-up is for you.’
They moved off with Jason leading the way.
‘Honestly, those two are like brother and sister, bickering all the time.’ Meredith pursed her lips.
‘From opposite sides of the tracks,’ observed Alan. ‘They don’t come much posher than Fliss, and young Jason has a rough side to him – although I think under the bravado he’s a nice kid.’
‘They seem to enjoy rubbing each other up the wrong way, that’s for sure. But hopefully they’ll enjoy a change of scenery and the pub sounds just the thing.’
Jason, with that unerring ability young men had when it came to beer, had sussed out the most direct route to the pub via a footpath from the back of the farmhouse that led up over the hill and down to the pub. Hannah followed, enjoying not being in charge or having to make any decisions. Following the herd, every now and then, was rather relaxing, especially on a warm summer’s evening, crossing the green hillside with a view of the sea and the mountains away over on the horizon. Birds chattered in warning from the trees as they set across the field to reach the path, down which they walked in twos alongside one of the dry-stone walls.
‘Oh fuck me! What is that smell?’ asked Jason, suddenly halting and putting an arm out to pull Alan up short.
‘That’s awful,’ wailed Fliss, pulling the scarf around her neck up over her nose.
The stench was so strong that Hannah’s eyes watered.
