Right now my job was to help Ross position the new signs outside. We had already sorted the ones for the car park (previously known as Clover Field), we’d carried a seven-foot oak post, a bag of ready-mixed concrete, a shovel and the sign itself down the farm track to Lovedale Lane and Ross was digging a hole for the post.
‘I reckon that’s deep enough,’ said Ross, wiping his forehead on his arm and ramming the shovel into the ground like a spear.
I peered down the hole. ‘Agreed. Shall I hold the post while you pour the concrete?’
Ross nodded. We positioned the post and I held it firm while he tipped the concrete from the bag. ‘You’re a real inspiration to Lizzie and me, you know, Freya,’ he said, concentrating on his work and avoiding my eye.
My heart squeezed at his ‘Lizzie and me’ – they were such a cute couple and I’d loved seeing them grow close since I’d been at the farm. ‘Oh, Ross, aim higher than me to be inspired!’ I laughed, flattered none the less.
‘No, seriously.’ He raised his face to mine and stared at me earnestly. ‘Breathing new life into a Lakeland farm is exactly what I want to do when I have my own place.’
‘Hey, Ross!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t I think of this before? You should make an offer on Appleby Farm. You could use your inheritance! You could take over, build the herd back up and run it as it is. Then Eddy could stay too.’ I gave him my best eager smile.
I’d been worrying a lot about Eddy recently. He was nearly sixty and he’d worked here all his life. I couldn’t see him being happy working anywhere else.
‘Nice idea, Freya.’ Ross grinned shyly. He picked up a splint and nailed it to the bottom of the post to support it while it dried. ‘But the money I inherited from my mum won’t buy a farm this big. Anyway, I want to finish uni first and then get a bit more experience working with someone else before I invest in somewhere of my own.’
‘Fair enough, it was just a thought.’ I sighed. ‘Right. The moment of glory.’
I picked up the wooden sign and unwrapped it from its protective plastic covering. It was a thing of beauty: duck-egg-blue painted wood, with our lovely logo picked out in black. I handed it to Ross.
‘What if you get a customer today before you’re ready?’ he asked, stretching up to reach the hook on the post.
I laughed. ‘That’s a nice problem to have! Um … I suppose I’ll give them a cup of tea on the house and invite them to our opening tomorrow.’
‘Good answer.’ He grinned. ‘OK. Done.’
We both stood back to admire the new sign: Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms.
Just looking at it made my stomach flip with pride. It dawned on me all of a sudden how far I’d come since my waitressing days in Kingsfield. I had my own business!
But for how long?
Julian had taken to phoning Uncle Arthur every week to ask if he’d reached to a decision about selling the farm. So far Uncle Arthur had refused to give him a definite answer, but how long would it be before he caved in? I’d worked so hard to get to launch day, I couldn’t bear to let Julian come along and ruin it now.
My shoulders sagged and I couldn’t help a little sigh escaping.
‘Fantastic,’ said Ross, mistaking my sigh for a happy one. ‘What a team.’ He put his arm round my shoulders and squeezed.
‘Tha— Arrrgh!’ My thanks morphed into a scream as a car came to a sudden stop behind us and tooted its horn.
Ross and I turned as one to see Victoria in a little red open-top sports car, grinning at us wickedly at the roadside.
‘Now, now, you two.’ She tutted slyly, pushed her sunglasses on to the top of her head and wagged a finger. ‘I’m not sure Lizzie would entirely approve of that sort of conduct in public.’
‘What do you think of our new sign?’ I said, ignoring the jibe.
Victoria squinted as if she couldn’t read it clearly. ‘Very rustic. Now, where should I park?’
Er?
I looked at Ross, who just shrugged.
I must have looked blank because Victoria rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Lizzie did tell you I was going to feature you on my radio show, didn’t she?’
I swallowed. A mention, I thought, just a mention. Nobody said anything about a visit. ‘Yes, but …’
‘Oh, car park!’ She pointed at the newly nailed-up sign. ‘I’ll park up, grab my stuff and see you in a mo.’
And with that she accelerated up the farm track in a haze of dust.
‘EEK!’ I squealed. ‘What are we going to do? We haven’t even got any cake ready to offer her!’
‘Er …’ Ross frowned.
This was our one chance to be on the radio. I could not afford to cock it up. Think, Freya, think.
‘Gimme your two-way radio,’ I demanded.
Ross handed it over and I started to run up the farm track back towards the barn, speaking into the radio as I went.
‘Eddy, is Auntie Sue there?’
‘She is.’
‘Tell her to drop everything and get over to the house and bake some scones. Small ones so they cook quicker. Victoria Moon is on her way. Repeat, Victoria Moon is at the farm. Ooh, and tell the builders to hide when we come in.’
My pulse was racing but I had a plan. And far from being nervous, I felt excited and elated. I loved this sort of challenge. I would give Victoria a tour, take her round the whole farm, hand her the press pack I’d prepared for the local paper, which I hoped would be coming tomorrow, show her some of my ‘before and after’ photos of the barn and just generally fob her off until Auntie Sue’s scones were out of the oven.
Sorted.
By the time I reached the car park I was ready to meet my first guest and conduct my first ever radio interview.
‘I’m massively grateful to you for this, Victoria,’ I said, rushing in case she needed help with the big recording pack thing that I’d seen her with at Rigg Farm. But she only had a small handbag with her. Odd. ‘It will give us such a boost on opening day.’
‘So you should be,’ she murmured, sliding her oversized sunglasses back in place. ‘You’ll be the first in my series of “Victoria’s Secret Cafés”.’
‘That’s great!’ I said, taking deliberately slow steps to make the journey from the car park to the farmyard as long as possible. ‘How did the “Victoria’s Secret Gardens” feature go?’
She waved a hand. ‘I canned it. Well, as I said to the head gardener at Highfield Hall, once you’ve seen one garden you’ve seen them all.’
I knotted my eyebrows, doing my utmost not to laugh. ‘Highfield Hall? Haven’t they just won an award from Cumbria Tourism for their sunken gardens?’
‘Really?’ She paused to stare at me. ‘That’s odd because they’ve just pulled all their advertising from the radio station. If they had half a brain they’d ramp it up now that they’re award-winning to bring in the punters. Fools. Look, I haven’t got all day. Can we get on with it?’
‘Sure!’ I beamed. ‘I’ll give you the tour.’
It was my finest hour. There was not a single detail of Appleby Farm that I missed out.
I took her into the orchard and pointed out the organic fruit that went into our apple juice and apple tarts. We leaned over the wall into Calf’s Close where the Jersey cows were grazing, and then I showed her the dairy where Auntie Sue made all our own butter and ice cream using their milk. I took her through Auntie Sue’s veggie patch and explained about our strawberry and raspberry homemade jam. We sat on a bench in the orchard and she had a cursory flick through the press pack and my photographs. I told her all about my love of vintage tea sets as we walked through the yard towards the barn.
Behind me in the distance I could hear Goat barking orders to his team. I spotted that the barn doors had been fitted and I saw Tilly creep past, bent double with handfuls of sweet peas, but so far there was no sign of Auntie Sue and her scones.
And I’d run out of things to show Victoria. I ran a finger around the neck of my T-shirt nervously, before
having a brainwave.
‘Shall we do the interview now? I could tell you about—’
Victoria put up her hand. ‘Pur-lease, Freya. No more. I’m barely awake here. Now can we see inside the tea rooms? And I presume you’ll offer me a cup of tea? I’m gasping!’
My eyebrows shot up but, to my credit, the rest of me remained calm.
‘Of course.’ I laughed a little too loudly. ‘Follow me.’
Right on cue, Auntie Sue appeared on the kitchen doorstep bearing a tray covered with a gingham cloth. She bustled across the yard and darted into the barn just in time.
My heart was beating like a drum as I ushered Victoria inside ahead of me and I had to stop myself from gasping aloud at the sight.
I’d only been away from it for a little over an hour and I had lived and breathed the place for the last few weeks, but now it was as if I was seeing it through someone else’s eyes. The barn in my absence had truly been transformed into the Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms.
My eyes filled with tears as they moved from the English-rose wallpaper, which Tilly had framed and mounted, to the polka-dot bunting strung around the walls. The scrubbed-pine tables were adorned with fresh flowers in their pretty little bottles, and the air was filled with the scent of summer. Lizzie stood in front of the shelves, which groaned under the weight of the exquisite cups and saucers, adding a bright pop of colour to the otherwise pastel palette of the room. Auntie Sue, slightly pink from baking, stood behind her ice-cream counter, and Tilly, with twinkling eyes and a wide smile, pulled back a chair and gestured for Victoria to sit. I couldn’t see or hear the builders, so they’d obviously obeyed orders to make themselves scarce, bless them. The whole effect was magical.
It was too, too perfect. And for a moment, I didn’t trust myself to speak.
I glanced at Victoria. She too was silent, her eyebrows raised and her mouth turned down at the corners in what I read as a ‘grudgingly impressed’ face.
‘Tea?’ I managed in a strangled voice.
‘And scones?’ added Tilly, racing back to the counter.
Victoria made a show of looking at her watch as she took a seat. ‘No carbs after one o’clock for me,’ she announced primly. She cast her eye disapprovingly over the rest of us, adding, ‘I prefer the lean look.’
‘For the love of Pete!’ muttered Auntie Sue, jabbing her hands on to her hips.
‘No carbs after one?’ scoffed Lizzie. ‘Since when?’
‘Choose your brew,’ I boomed, shoving the tea guide into Victoria’s face to distract her from her critics. ‘We’re aiming to offer the widest range of teas in the Lake District.’
‘Oh, anything,’ said Victoria, looking bored, or annoyed – it was hard to tell with those sunglasses on. She waved the leaflet away. ‘I’m not fussy when it comes to tea.’
Hold on a minute! I felt a knot of tension twist my insides. It was Victoria who’d given me the idea for the tea rooms in the first place, after complaining about the tea in the White Lion. But I bit back a retort and smiled sweetly as Lizzie brought over a pot of English Breakfast tea.
‘Thanks, Lizzie.’ I smiled as we exchanged knowing glances.
‘Here you are, madam,’ said Lizzie. ‘A pot of unfussy tea.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Victoria spluttered, crashing her tea cup down into its saucer. ‘What on earth is that?’
I followed her stare upwards to where Goat had installed a glass panel high up in the barn wall from the spinning gallery. Four builders’ bums were squashed up against the glass, as the men bent forward to lean on the wooden balustrade.
So that was where they were. Gulp.
It was enough to put you off your Belgian buns.
‘So,’ I said brightly, resisting the urge to snap my fingers in her face to drag her attention back to me, ‘what do you think?’
‘Nice.’ She nodded distractedly.
Nice? Surely she could do better than that. Nice? My hackles were well and truly up. And to think I used to come to her defence when Lizzie moaned about her.
Think of the publicity, Freya. That’s all that matters. Grin and bear it.
‘Thank you for those kind words,’ I said gaily. ‘Now do you think you have everything you need for your feature? I notice you haven’t written anything down?’
‘No need,’ she said, getting to her feet. She tapped her temple. ‘I have amazing recall for detail; it’s all stored up here.’
I stood too. It looked like she was leaving, thank goodness. ‘Right. Good. I’ll show you to your car.’
‘I thought I might see Harry today, working on the farm. Sad face,’ said Victoria, with a little pout when we reached the door.
I shook my head. ‘His work is finished here for the moment. He won’t need to come back until mid-August for the next mow.’
‘Oh, silly me,’ she trilled, rolling her eyes, ‘he did mention that last night at the restaurant. It must have slipped my mind.’
She shot me a sideways look and I mustered up a smile in return. If she was trying to make me jealous, it didn’t work. I was intrigued, that’s all, and maybe a little disappointed. I thought Harry would go for someone less shallow, someone more deep. Deeper, I mean. Anyway. I sniffed mentally. His choice. None of my business. Whatsoever. Although I’m sure I remembered him saying that she’d eat him alive …
‘Freya? Wakey wakey.’ Victoria snapped her fingers. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
She marched off into the yard and I let out a sigh of relief. She turned and did a little wave.
‘And be sure to tune in tomorrow, won’t you?’
‘Will do!’ I called, raising my hand in goodbye.
‘Well done, you!’ said Tilly, wrapping an arm round my waist. ‘Although I must say, she seemed a bit passive-aggressive.’
‘Huh, welcome to Family Moon!’ grunted Lizzie, joining us. ‘You’re a threat to her, I’m afraid, Freya.’
‘But why?’ I frowned.
Lizzie and Tilly exchanged looks. ‘Harry,’ they said in unison.
‘It’s obvious. Even to me and I barely know him,’ said Tilly.
‘Harry and I are just old friends,’ I said, reddening under their scrutiny.
‘Anyone for freshly baked scones?’ called Auntie Sue, plonking the makings of afternoon tea for an army on a table in the middle of the room. ‘I don’t want them to go to waste after all that palaver.’
‘Yes, please!’ I answered with relief. ‘And I’ll shout the builders down to join us. That’s assuming they’ll eat carbs after one o’clock,’ I sniggered.
We finished the lot. No surprises there.
Chapter 28
Extra-wide ribbon to tie across doors – check.
Big fancy gold scissors from Auntie Sue’s sewing box – check.
‘Wish you were here at Appleby Farm’ postcards to hand out to visitors – check.
My old Freya keyring in my pocket for good luck – check.
I had done everything I could; I’d thought of everything, or at least tried to. I crept out of the tea rooms and closed the door as quietly as possible. I was quivering with nervous energy and didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I inhaled the dewy air deeply and closed my eyes, letting my ribcage rise and fall as I gradually found peace.
The farmyard was silent: the hens were still cooped up in their house, the calves asleep in their pens; there were a few soft snorts coming from the field beyond the orchard where Skye was standing up, probably still asleep, and I felt like the morning belonged only to me.
I consulted my watch: five a.m.
I really should go back to bed …
By nine o’clock I had showered and dressed in our agreed uniform of jeans and a white vest top under my special polka-dot apron, and I’d eaten a banana for breakfast. I stood in the kitchen armed with a battle plan for our grand opening.
‘Right, everyone, listen up.’
I looked around at my team of Lizzie, Tilly, Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur, and felt my
throat constrict with love. Everyone was at the kitchen table except Uncle Arthur, who was buried under the newspaper in his armchair.
They were all so kind, hard-working and supportive. I couldn’t have done any of it without them and I really, really wanted to tell them, but my emotions were so close to the surface right now that if someone as much as touched me, let alone said something kind, I would dissolve like a sugar lump before their very eyes.
And I couldn’t afford for that to happen.
I exhaled sharply, blinked and cleared my throat. Keep it together, Freya.
Tilly, Lizzie and Auntie Sue would be helping in the tea rooms all day. Uncle Arthur, once he’d cut the ribbon, would retreat to the house and man the phone in case we had any press enquiries. The Gazette was invited, as was the local TV station (well, why not – if you don’t ask you don’t get!) and our glossy monthly magazine Cumbrian Homes had hinted that they might come, too. Besides which, Uncle Arthur had been doing a bit too much recently and the community nurse who’d popped round had told him off. A day sitting in the office would do him good.
I began to run through the arrangements for the day but before I’d got past the ribbon-cutting ceremony, Madge jumped to her feet and started barking. There was a knock at the door and I opened it to see the wiry little man from Lakeland Flowers who’d delivered a bouquet to me back in the spring. At least I think it was the same man; the bouquet of exotic blooms was so huge I could only see the top of his head.
‘Miss Moorcroft?’
‘That’s me!’ I beamed. ‘Who would be sending me flowers?’
‘Charlie?’ suggested Lizzie, clutching her hands to chest.
‘Or Harry?’ Tilly speculated breathily.
‘Read the card!’ cried Auntie Sue, getting into the swing of it.
Tilly, Lizzie and Auntie Sue stuck their faces into the flowers while I signed for them.
‘There’s no card,’ said Auntie Sue, disappointed.
‘Isn’t there?’ The little man frowned. ‘Wait a tick, I’ll check the van.’
Appleby Farm Page 24
