by Kate Ryder
‘Did you know that alpacas hate foxes?’ Charles chatted on amiably. ‘They make excellent guardians for other livestock. Those chickens have nothing to fear from Charlie Fox!’
‘Maybe every farmer should have an alpaca or two,’ I suggested.
I took photos and tried not to be too distracted by the two youngsters. I had to dodge out of the way of Boris because, having had its game with the camera strap thwarted, it now tried to eat my hair.
‘These are third-year offspring,’ Charles continued. ‘I decided to breed them having first started with just a pair of wethers to make the place look pretty.’
‘Wethers?’
‘Castrated males,’ he explained. ‘Then I discovered how easy they were to look after and became hooked. I bought a couple of breeding females and it went from there. I hope we’ll have three, if not four, crias this year.’
He looked over at me as I scribbled the information in my notebook.
‘That’s babies to the uninitiated,’ he said, before I could ask.
We crossed the paddock under the watchful gaze of the rest of the herd towards a series of poly tunnels situated on the far side of the fence. The two young alpacas still frolicked around us.
‘Do you sell the offspring or just keep them for your own interest?’ I asked, trying to keep pace with Charles.
‘I sell them from time to time. A good quality male has a very high breeding potential and can be worth many thousands of pounds. There’s also the opportunity of high income from stud services and females can be worth anything from a few thousand to ten thousand pounds or more. But I really do it for fun. The law practice can be stressful and this is my release.’
We reached the far gate and, ever the gentleman, Charles held it open for me. I slipped through. The young alpacas watched as we moved into the next paddock and a soft humming emanated from the smaller of the two.
‘Oh, that’s so charming!’ I exclaimed.
Charles smiled. ‘Yes, they’re very gentle animals and highly intelligent, though spitting is perhaps their least endearing feature!’
‘Why do they do that?’
‘It’s one of the few defence mechanisms an alpaca has and I can tell you it is quite an effective deterrent. It’s rare for them to spit at people, though. Normally it’s used to sort out the pecking order with other herd members.’
We stood at the fence watching Boris and his friend now scampering around the paddock together.
‘Once I happened to step between two squabbling youngsters and received a faceful,’ Charles continued. ‘I was throwing a dinner party at the time and the old DJ did not come off too well.’
I laughed.
As we walked towards the first large poly tunnel we passed another paddock with a dozen or so Gloucester Old Spots and Tamworth pigs rooting amongst the grass and lying outside their pig arcs. Charles called out, and one of the spotted pigs approached with a grunt.
‘Very intelligent these pigs, and kind too,’ he said, scratching behind its ear. ‘Great pets, though we do rear them for meat. The Gloucesters produce particularly fine bacon and I supply a couple of the local farm shops.’
I tried very hard to ignore the wise look in the eyes of that pig.
As we entered the first poly tunnel, Charles explained it was used as a tree nursery. Through the open rear entrance, I saw a distant paddock planted out with a large crop of maturing Christmas trees.
‘You’d be surprised how many people demand organic Christmas trees these days,’ he said, following my gaze. ‘In the run-up, I make the smallholding available to customers. They can either buy direct from me here or I have a couple of lads who sell them for me at the markets in Dorchester and Bridport. People seem to like buying their Christmas tree from the local solicitor!’
The next couple of poly tunnels were used for growing organic vegetables with the last two filled with soft fruit bushes. Charles introduced me to a young couple working in the furthest poly tunnel.
‘Luke and Kerry came here one summer not long after leaving university and, basically, never left. How many years have you worked here now?’
‘Coming up four,’ replied the young man.
‘My helpers are very much a part of the whole process and we have regular meetings to make sure we’re all singing from the same hymn sheet,’ Charles advised. ‘I’m open to new ideas and suggestions, and all contribute. Everyone has a voice.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed the girl. ‘We’ve worked on a couple of smallholdings since uni and this place is like our own. Mr B never plays the big boss.’ She gave him a smile.
We chatted a while longer before leaving them to their work. I followed Charles out of the poly tunnel. Once we were some distance away, he turned to me.
‘I don’t like playing the “big boss”. I get enough of that through my legal work. As long as everyone here knows what everyone else is doing, I leave my workers alone.’
Presently, we reached the woodland area at the furthest point on his land. Winding its way out of Puddletown Forest, a crystal-clear, babbling brook fed a lake where a number of wildfowl dabbled in the shallows amongst the reeds.
‘Water rates are minimal as this spring feeds a borehole and, as previously mentioned, there’s also mains water if necessary,’ Charles explained. ‘My woodland supplies all the fuel we need for the woodchip boiler and for every tree we fell, we plant two.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, that’s about it and it’s nearing dinner time. You will grace me with your company a little longer?’
Again it was a question, but not.
‘I’d be delighted to have dinner with you.’
As we walked back to the house, I jotted down an opening paragraph for the article.
Pine Lodge is a twenty-acre, organically certified, biodynamic, eco-powered smallholding situated in secluded woodland with its own stream and spring water source. The property borders Puddletown Forest and enjoys complete seclusion and privacy where the unique, natural diversity of a practical and replicable lifestyle conserves, recycles and enriches.
I followed Charles into an impressively large, bespoke kitchen with a central island. He asked if I’d like to freshen up and showed me to a downstairs cloakroom. He was obviously wealthy and the house reflected this, but it was more homely than ostentatious. On my way back to the kitchen, I stopped to admire the gallery of framed photographs adorning the walls in the hallway. There was one of Charles with a teenage boy and girl; the girl with various ponies and dogs; the boy and Charles skiing and scuba diving; and pictures of a younger Charles with a blonde, aristocratic-looking lady of similar age.
‘The family,’ he announced from the kitchen doorway.
‘Oh, I wasn’t prying,’ I said, overcome with embarrassment.
‘Didn’t think you were,’ he replied easily. He joined me and pointed to the children. ‘My finest achievements. That’s Celeste, and this young ruffian’s Oliver. And the woman is my wife… ex-wife,’ he corrected. ‘Deborah.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ I said.
‘Don’t be. We tried marriage but it just wasn’t for us. She’s living in St Lucia now with her wealthy toy-boy hotelier boyfriend, and good luck to her.’ He said it without a hint of bitterness.
‘Where are your children?’ I asked.
‘Both at university. Oliver’s at Oxford and Celeste, she’s at Edinburgh. They come and visit their old man in the holidays when they’re not gadding around the world.’ He picked up a set of car keys from the hallstand. ‘Ready?’
I followed him out of the front door and around the side of the house to a large, stone-built, detached garage. In it sat a gleaming, midnight blue Audi TT and I waited as he reversed the car out onto the drive. Leaning over, he opened the passenger door and I climbed in beside him.
Cheekily I asked, ‘And where does this fit with your lesser carbon footprint?’
Intelligent eyes observed me.
‘Good question, Madeleine O’Brien!’ His eyes dan
ced with mischief as he put the car into first gear. ‘You see, I like the finer things in life and until “they” manage to make petrol out of thin air I will continue to enjoy the fruits of my labours, even if it means putting fuel in its tank.’
I smiled, sat back and enjoyed the ride into Dorchester as Charles expertly navigated the country lanes. His energy was infectious and I couldn’t help but like the man.
The restaurant was a charming French bistro in the centre of the market town and Charles informed me that as it wasn’t far from the practice, he and Peter often wined and dined clients there. As Charles held open the door for me, the Maître d’ hurried towards us.
‘Monsieur Bosworth. Good evening.’
‘Bonsoir, Jean-Pierre. How is everything this evening?’
‘Being a Sunday, not so busy, sir.’
I looked around in surprise. Despite his remark, the restaurant appeared full.
‘A table for two?’
‘Thank you, J-P. Perhaps the gallery?’ Again it was a question, but not.
Jean-Pierre immediately found the exact table Charles requested. I was quickly learning this was how life treated Charles; a charmed existence indeed. The Maître d’ took our jackets and then led us upstairs to a galleried area overlooking the main restaurant. As we reached the upper floor I glanced across the room to a table at the back and my heart leapt straight into my mouth. There sat Nick and Sarah. Of all the nights and all the restaurants… Charles pulled out a chair and I quickly sat down, accepting the menu Jean-Pierre handed to me. My mind went into overdrive and my heart raced. How was I going to handle the situation? Damn Nick! How did he get under my skin so deeply?
Charles took his seat opposite me and ordered a bottle of champagne. As he opened the menu, he casually glanced around the restaurant and his eyes alighted on the far table.
‘Nick, my man. How are you?’ he asked in an enthusiastic voice.
I made eye contact with Nick and smiled sadly before looking away.
‘Good, Charlie. And you?’
‘Excellent. And Sarah, my dear, as lovely as ever.’
I glanced at Nick’s girlfriend. She was smiling flirtatiously at Charles without a care in the world. Lucky girl. Aware that Nick still watched me, I couldn’t help but look at him again before dragging my eyes back to the menu.
Charles was in ebullient mood. ‘Nick, you never warned me how ravishing Maddie is!’ He winked at me.
I coloured with embarrassment, but it was hard to be cross with someone who embraced life so fully. Shyly, I glanced at Nick. He wasn’t smiling.
‘Thought I’d let it be a surprise,’ he said evenly.
‘It certainly is and such a pleasant one at that.’ Charles smiled broadly at me before turning his attention back to the far table. ‘You must come over for dinner when Peter and Helen return from their travels.’
‘Oh yes,’ exclaimed Sarah, ‘and go in your hot tub again, pleeease!’
So, they had been to one of his outrageous dinner parties...
‘Only if you promise to wear that teeny-weeny blue bikini,’ Charles teased.
Sarah said she would do just that as she still had the remnants of her Australian tan. Nick said nothing.
‘Well, then, I’d better organise a party before it disappears,’ Charles said in an amused voice. Turning his attention to me once more, he asked, ‘Have you decided what you’d like, Maddie? I can highly recommend the moules.’
We placed our orders and the champagne arrived soon after. It would have been a great evening had I not been so aware of Nick sitting on the opposite side of the room. He and Sarah had obviously arrived just before us and our food arrived almost simultaneously. Charles was the perfect host, toasting me with champagne, his eyes dancing wickedly all the while. His conversation was amusing and accomplished and he was interesting company. If it hadn’t been for Nick, I could have fooled myself into thinking I was on a date and relaxed into the evening.
At one point during the evening Charles kissed my hand, his brown eyes looking deep into mine. Flustered, I immediately – and guiltily – glanced across at Nick who sat at his table straight-faced. When my gaze returned to Charles, he looked inquisitively from me to Nick. Smiling warmly, he squeezed my hand and let it go.
‘Tell me, Maddie. Is there a man in your life?’ He was not prying. He seemed genuinely interested.
I shook my head. ‘It’s a bit messy.’
‘What’s a great-looking girl like you doing on your own? How come you’ve slipped the net?’
I took a deep breath and looked straight into those deep brown eyes. There wasn’t a hint of duplicity in the gaze that met mine.
‘I guess I’ve never met the right man,’ I replied, my heart breaking.
‘Well, I’ve never met the right woman but, despite that, I’ve managed to beget a son and daughter!’
I smiled. ‘I guess I could ask you the same question,’ I countered. ‘Why is a good-looking guy like you on your own?’
‘Twelve years with Deborah taught me it’s not everything to end up with the prerequisite wife, two children and a couple of Labradors, now deceased… the dogs, that is. But it hasn’t stopped me from appreciating the opposite sex.’ He looked long and hard at me. ‘Oh well, Madeleine O’Brien. There’s plenty of time for all that messy business to sort itself out.’
He polished off his glass of champagne with a flourish, topped up my glass and poured himself another. ‘Plenty of fish in the sea and, personally, I like fishing.’
I laughed. You couldn’t be sad around Charles for long.
Twenty minutes later, Nick and Sarah settled their bill and prepared to leave. On the way to the stairs they stopped at our table. Charles immediately leapt to his feet and started flirting with Sarah.
‘You OK, Maddie?’ Nick asked softly.
‘Yes.’
‘No more happenings?’
‘Plenty,’ I replied quietly. The concerned look on his face tore my heart apart.
Laughing at something Charles had said, Sarah glanced over at us and a small frown settled on her forehead. Not a solicitor for nothing, Charles noticed everything and quickly smoothed over the situation, engaging us all in conversation.
‘Well this has been fun,’ he said, ‘even if I have been forced into organising another hot-tub party.’ He winked at Sarah who giggled in response.
We said our goodbyes and I watched as they walked down the stairs, collected their coats and disappeared through the main entrance. It seemed that I was destined forever to watch Nick walk away from me. The champagne must have gone to my head as, to my consternation, a tear slid down my face. Angrily, I brushed it away. Glancing across the table, I caught Charles observing me thoughtfully.
‘Madeleine O’Brien, may I say something?’
Again, it was a question, but not.
Despite my fragile state, I recognised this man would be a force to reckon with in any courtroom.
‘You’re a lovely lady and I’ve had a thoroughly enjoyable time. I’d like to think we can repeat it sometime, no strings attached.’ He raised a questioning, yet confident, eyebrow.
I nodded. After all, life had to go on and he was good company.
‘However, if, in the meantime, you and Nick get it together, well, I will understand.’
I opened my eyes wide. He laughed.
‘It’s not really obvious,’ he said, in an amused voice. ‘Poor bugger.’
‘Who me?’
‘No, not you. Nick! There he is, good man that he is. Been with Sarah donkey’s years and doing the right thing sticking with her… and then you come along to upset the apple cart.’
Once again, tears welled up and threatened to spill over.
‘It’s enough to turn any man’s head.’
It was the first time anyone had so openly acknowledged our situation. As he handed me a serviette I had the distinct impression he was well versed in coping with women’s emotions. I dabbed at my eyes, thankful that I’
d worn waterproof mascara.
‘Listen, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it but if you do, my door is always open,’ he said generously. ‘And, Maddie, if there’s a bit of advice I can offer, have a little faith.’
I looked at him askance. ‘That’s what my sister says!’
‘Your sister’s right and if she’s anything like you – and single – I’d like to meet her too.’ He laughed, and even his laugh was as smooth as chocolate. ‘In fact, she has an invite to the hot-tub party as well…’
23
The next morning, with the map open on the passenger seat, I drove to Shipton Gorge. It was a dreary and damp morning, and it suited my mood. Although I’d enjoyed my meal with Charles the previous evening, seeing Nick and Sarah so unexpectedly had made me realise how desperate my situation was becoming. I wanted to live in Dorset, at The Olde Smithy, and I had moved here in the belief that a new life awaited me, but I was beginning to feel downhearted about my circumstances.
My father’s words rang soundly in my ears: ‘Enjoy the adventure, Madeleine, but don’t stay in the wilderness too long’.
As I drove along the country lanes I considered my options. I didn’t particularly want to return to London. With Caro and John’s imminent move to Newcastle and Dan now heavily involved with Lucy once more, there wasn’t much to tempt me back. And, besides, I sternly reminded myself, I didn’t believe in going back.
Reaching the inn at Shipton Gorge, I followed the road around to the left and past St Martin’s Church. As in my dream, the road led down into the valley beyond. I followed the country lane, keeping an eye out for a road leading off to the right, but a couple of miles further on I arrived at the A35. This was wrong. I pulled over and studied the map. It was a general one without any great detail and I cursed at not having an Ordnance Survey. Putting the car into first gear, I turned the car around and drove back towards Shipton Gorge, looking for any lanes leading off.
After a mile or so, I came across a dirt track to the left. This was certainly no roadway leading to a significant house but there were no other turnings. A car appeared in the rear-view mirror. As I indicated left I saw an old wooden sign, half-hidden in the hedge, announcing Hammiton Farm. At least the name was correct. With an increasing sense of excitement I navigated the track, skirting woodland on the left, and half a mile further on a ramshackle collection of farm buildings came into view. The lane seemed to lead directly into the farmyard.
