by Jenny Harper
Only the lack of human presence made the room feel different. No dogs, no Geordie – no Jean, for that matter. Where was she?
He was just about to head out to the farm to look for her when the handle of the back door turned, the door gave its familiar creak, and Jean appeared, pushing her grey hair back from her face distractedly.
‘I saw your car outside. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. A fox had got one of the ducks and I wanted to give it a decent burial.’ When she smiled, as she did now, he could glimpse the old Jean. ‘There wasn’t enough left to eat.’
She shoved the door closed and turned her face up to Adam’s for a kiss. ‘You haven’t put the kettle on?’
‘I’m just in. Here.’ Adam pulled a chair out from under the table and helped her to sit. ‘I’ll do it, you take a rest.’
‘I’m not completely incapable, you know,’ Jean grumbled, but an appreciative sigh escaped as she settled herself.
Adam filled the kettle and lifted the lid of the hotplate. Water hissed out from under the kettle as it made contact with the heat. Familiar, comforting sounds. He leant back against the Aga and crossed his arms. Jean was looking tired. Geordie’s death had diminished her, although she still had grit. Look at how she was sitting – bolt upright, her back ramrod straight, her hands on her knees.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked.
‘I’ll wait till you’ve made the coffee. The cake’s in the usual place.’
He found the old cream and green cake tin and lifted plates out from the cupboard and knives from the drawer.
‘There are paper napkins in the other one,’ she said, watching him.
Adam smiled. She might be aging, but everything still had to be done correctly.
He found the napkins and pulled two out, folded them neatly into triangles and laid them on the plates under the knives, just as she liked them.
‘The cake looks superb, Jean, you’re such a great baker.’
‘Just a small piece for me, dear. Half that. Now,’ she said, the cake untouched on her plate, ‘here’s what I wanted to say, and please don’t interrupt until I’ve finished. This place is too much for me. The house is demanding enough, but running the farm as well – I know we’ve got – I’ve got – good people helping, but honestly? It’s the responsibility. And the never-endingness of it all. I’ve had enough, Adam.’
Adam opened his mouth but she held up a warning hand. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since Geordie died. In fact, Geordie and I discussed this, but I haven’t talked about it till now because I wanted to be sure.’
She’s going to sell it, thought Adam. She’s going to sell Forgie End Farm and another precious part of my childhood will have gone for ever.
‘If you’d talked about this before Blair King folded, I’d have been able to take care of everything for you, Auntie. But right at the moment – I’m sorry, but I can’t handle the sale. It’s a shame, because it’ll add quite a lot to the costs of—’
‘Didn’t I ask you not to interrupt?’ Jean’s smile held a hint of exasperation.
‘Sorry.’
‘There will be legal work involved, but it’s probably right and proper you don’t do it anyway. Not when it involves you.’
‘Sorry?’ he said again, the inflection quite different.
Jean lifted her hands from her knees and placed them flat on the table. ‘Here’s what I’d like to propose. I want you to manage the farm. I’ll move out of here so that you can have the house to yourself, and I’ll move to the cottage near the south perimeter gate. I’d like to fence off half an acre or so around it – I couldn’t give up my hens and I’d like to grow flowers. I’ve had enough of crops to last me a lifetime, but I really fancy surrounding myself with colour and beauty.’
Astonishment silenced him.
‘Well? It seems to me to be a good solution. After all, as I understand it, you haven’t got a job and you haven’t got anywhere to live now that your folks have sold up and moved to their house in Umbria. Your mother told me you gave all your money to Molly,’ she leaned towards him, ‘which I thoroughly approve of, by the way.’
‘You’d like me to manage the farm? But I’ve got no experience at all.’
‘I’ll teach you. You’ve got a good head and there’s men to help on the land.’
‘It’d be such a change.’
‘You don’t want it.’ Jean slumped back in her chair. ‘I was afraid of that. You’re a lawyer. I told Geordie that but he was quite sure you had farmer somewhere deep in your core, and I thought that now life has changed for you—’
That clock had always had a loud tick. It seemed to be exactly half the speed of his heart.
‘Of course, it’s not the best place for a single man. We thought – we could see Molly – it seemed to us she’d fit right in here.’
‘We’re getting divorced. She’s signed the papers.’
‘Oh dear. Well, I suppose that might make a difference to what you want to do.’
Jean looked around at the faded walls. ‘It needs freshening up. I’ve been too busy, and anyway, when you live in a place you don’t notice. But I do look at those telly programmes sometimes and someone with a bit of an eye for these things could make this place look pretty. I believe Belfast sinks and flagstone floors are quite the thing at the moment.’
‘How would you see the arrangement working?’
‘The farm is a business. You’d get a salary as the manager, and the tenancy of the house would be part of the salary. If it works out, we might look at making you a director in a year or two.’
Adam’s brain was whirling with the unexpectedness of it.
‘I’ve spoken to your father about it.’ She smiled at Adam. ‘Your father’s all in favour.’
‘Really? But he always wanted me to be a lawyer. He was so angry when Geordie walked out of the family firm.’
‘The old feud? He’s got over it. They made it up. Your father may be wiser than you think, Adam. Maybe he never wanted to recognise it, but he knows your heart wasn’t in lawyering.’
James hadn’t forced Adam to study law. The assumption that was what he wanted had been Adam’s.
‘Well, there it is. It’s an offer. If you don’t want to take it up, I’ll advertise for a manager. I don’t want to talk you into something else your heart’s not in – farming’s a hard life, I can’t pretend it’s not. You’ve got to have a love for the life. You can’t pick it up and put it down. You’re out there all weathers, and it can be chancy. However hard you work, there are always risks – blight, infestations, the weather. And the paperwork gets worse and worse—’
‘You’re not doing a good job of selling it.’
Adam stood up and walked across to the window. It looked out over the backyard. However tired she might be feeling, Jean still kept it tidy. A tractor parked in the far corner was the only sign that the place was still a working farm. It was surprisingly pretty. Across the yard, the wall of one of the double-storey stone outbuildings was pierced by two large arches, leading into the space where carts would once have been housed. The coachman would have lived in the flat above. There were other outbuildings too, all empty. Geordie had long since erected modern barns further down the paddock, out of sight of the house and much more functional than these cramped old spaces.
They were ripe for conversion.
‘If we could find some money to invest, those buildings would make fantastic holiday lets, you know,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Or you could let some of them to businesses. Building the new barns was very farsighted of Geordie. There’s a lot of potential at Forgie End other than just farming the land.’
He turned. Jean was smiling.
‘I’m thinking,’ she said, ‘that maybe that’s a yes.’
Chapter Eight
‘We got through! We’ve made it to the next stage!’ Barnaby was more excited than Molly had ever seen him.
Molly looked up from her screen, trying to switch her f
ocus from the running order for the new whisky launch at the Gherkin she was in the middle of organising to tune in to whatever was prompting Barnaby’s excited outburst.
‘Great! What are you talking about, by the way?’
‘Only the public health campaign.’ Barnaby looked smug.
Around her, people started to clap and chatter.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Fantastic!’
‘Thank God for that, after all the work we all put in.’
Molly stood up and flung her arms around Barnaby. ‘That’s brilliant,’ she said, rather more quietly, ‘and you really deserve it. Now all we have to do is go in there and wow them.’
‘We’ll need to start rehearsing.’
‘Who did we decide was going in?’
‘Just you, me and Ken. Me as principal, you on the event-management side of it, and Ken on the digital and social media elements.’
‘Yes, that sounds right. When’s the pitch?’
‘Next Tuesday, at their offices. There’ll be—’ he scanned his notes, ‘—six of them. A bit intimidating, but we’ll keep our team really tight. If there are too many people we’ll lose control.’
‘Next Tuesday?’ Molly picked up her diary. ‘Oh God, no. I can’t do it, Barnaby.’
Barnaby looked startled. ‘Can’t do it? What do you mean?’
‘That’s the day of the christening. Lexie and Patrick’s baby, Keira. I’m godmother. Remember, I told you? I’ve got the air ticket already.’
‘Can’t be helped.’
‘What do you mean?’
Heads were swivelling in their direction. A public row was unthinkable. Molly put her diary down and nodded in the direction of Barnaby’s glass-walled office. In the open plan space, he was the only one to have any kind of privacy.
‘I can’t do it,’ she hissed as soon as the door had swung shut.
He crossed his arms. ‘There isn’t a choice, Molly. This isn’t some game, this is business. Our business, let me remind you.’
‘I’ve made a commitment. It’s the first time I’ve asked for even a single day off, Barnaby.’
‘You’re committed to Fletcher Keir Mason. Don’t think I’m unsympathetic, but it’s impossible.’
‘Can’t you take someone else in with you?’
‘No.’ He uncrossed his arms and looked at her more compassionately. ‘I really am sorry, Molly, but it won’t do. It has to be the three directors for this one.’
‘Can’t we change the date?’
‘You know that’s not on. We have to go in, every inch eagerness; we can’t mess them around before we’ve even got the contract.’
Molly could feel tears pricking and made a ferocious attempt to blink them away. She’d have to let Lexie and Patrick down – how awful was that? They probably wouldn’t even want her to be Keira’s godmother if she couldn’t make the effort to get to the christening, and she didn’t blame them in the least.
‘This is what you wanted, Molly,’ Barnaby said, his voice gentle. ‘This is the life you’ve chosen. You’re doing a terrific job. Things are just beginning to work. Your friends will understand.’
‘I expect they will.’ Molly made a big effort and pulled herself together. She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. ‘We’d just better get the damn contract, that’s all.’
‘Good girl. Want me to call Lexie and explain?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Right then.’
‘Right.’
She tested the water with her father first, choosing the words of her confession with care as she strode out for a sandwich. The day had turned blustery and damp and she hadn’t come prepared. She could feel drizzly drops of rain on her face as she walked. Too bad.
‘I can’t do it. You do see that, Dad, don’t you?’ she said into her mobile, dodging out of the way of first one car and then a bike as she tried, ill advisedly, to cross the road against the flow of traffic. ‘I feel caught in a trap, but I don’t see what else I can do. The business has to come first because there are many other people involved. People whose mortgages are depending on us winning new business.’
‘It can’t be helped, love. Lexie will understand.’
‘Do you think so? Maybe she will, but I’m hating the thought of having to tell her. You know I can’t stand letting people down.’
‘I’m sure she’ll find a way round it. She knows how important the new business is to you.’
‘It shouldn’t make me break promises to my friends.’
‘These things happen. In the scale of things—’
He went quiet and Molly knew instantly what he was thinking of.
‘I’m guessing there’s still no news of Logan,’ she said, without any hope.
‘Not yet, love, no.’
Molly had arrived at the sandwich shop. Rain had started to trickle down her neck. She shrank into her jacket. It didn’t help.
‘You would tell me,’ she said, ‘if there was? Even if it was bad?’
‘Course I would.’
Three people pushed past her, then a fourth. She didn’t feel like standing here and she couldn’t go inside and keep talking on the phone, not about things like this. She turned and carried on walking. A few yards further on, she stepped under an archway. There were still many passers-by, but no eavesdroppers.
‘I don’t like not being up there with you,’ she said.
‘I’m fine. Adrienne went away again yesterday, so the boys are playing up a bit, but they’re fine too.’
Molly sighed. She’d never thought that following her dream would be so difficult.
‘Stick with it, darling,’ Billy said, some intuition leading him to her innermost thoughts. ‘It’ll work out.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘I won’t keep you, love. You must have a million things to do. Call me tomorrow?’
‘I will. Love you, Dad.’
‘And you.’
She called Lexie at once, before she had time to think too much more about it. There was no choice, she’d accepted that, but she hated doing this.
Lexie was surprisingly philosophical. ‘Ah well. I should have guessed there’d be something.’
‘Lexie! I hope you don’t think so badly of me.’
‘It’s just that you’re always so busy. I know what your life’s like. It’s always been like that, and I’m guessing it’s even worse now you’re in London.’
‘I don’t let my friends down. At least, I try not to. You know I’d move heaven and earth to get there if I could.’
‘I know. Don’t upset yourself, Molly, it’s not the end of the world.’
‘It is to me!’
Lexie would have made the christening a priority. Lexie had always put her family first, even sacrificing her career to be with her parents after Jamie died. Molly, fiercely loyal though she was, found such choices more difficult.
‘Keira’s crying, I’ll have to go.’
‘Lexie – I guess you won’t want me as a godparent now?’ Molly held back tears.
‘Of course I want you, honey, but I’ll have to check if the godparents have to be present. I think they do.’
‘Ohhh—’
‘I’ll get back to you. Don’t beat yourself up, there’ll be more.’
‘More what?’
‘Children. At least, I hope there will be.’ The whimpering in the background became a wail. ‘Got to go. Speak soon. Love you, bye!’
Molly stared at the phone. Why was it that everyone she knew was surrounded by family and she was on her own?
Don’t be childish, she reproached herself, you’ve made your choices, just get on with it. By the time she’d queued for a sandwich and started marching back to the office, the rain had stopped and a watery sun was fighting its way through the clouds.
She didn’t expect to hear from her father again so soon, but he called her at four. He never called her during working hours. Mostly he waited for her to call him. She snatched her mobile u
p from her desk and answered it at once.
‘Hello, Dad? Is something up?’
‘Logan’s been found.’
‘Logan!’
She bounced off her seat and ran out of the office.
‘Logan’s back? Tell me what happened. Where is he? Is he all right? What’s happening? Do you need me?’
‘Shhh, let me talk.’
‘Sorry, Dad. Sorry. Tell me.’
She was breathless with nerves.
‘I’ve just had a call from Adam—’
Of course Adam would know before she did. He’d be the first the police would tell. All the same, Molly couldn’t help feeling cross. After all, Logan was her brother.
‘—because his parents have just phoned him.’
‘You’re not making sense, Dad.’
‘Give me a chance, will you? The Blairs have a place in Italy. They’ve moved out there permanently, and they came across Logan yesterday in their local bar.’
Umbria. The house on the hill. Molly pictured it instantly – she’d been there with Adam half a dozen times. It wasn’t big, or pretentious, but it was very pretty, a rose-brick building in a quiet street in the village. It had breathtaking views across a valley full of olive trees. The bar was less than ten minutes away by foot. It was a small place, one room only, with tables that spilled out across the pavement and, in high summer, onto the street itself. Bar Tosca. She could even see the neon sign above the door, a modern addition the locals liked to scoff at, although the owner, Gianni Lazzaro, was stupidly proud of it.
Logan and Adrienne had been there once. They’d dropped in for lunch when Adam and Molly had been visiting. She remembered a searingly hot summer’s day. The boys had been tiny, Alastair grizzly and out of sorts in the oppressive heat, and they’d all wandered down to the bar and sat in the shade and fed the boys messily with pasta and ice cream.
