Springtime at Wildacre: the gorgeously uplifting, feel-good romance (Animal Ark Revisited Book 3)

by Lucy Daniels

  Mandy could tell from Dorothy Hope’s face that this wasn’t a good thing. She sighed before replying. ‘Lots of people think I’m meddling,’ she admitted. ‘There was a whole crowd of them outside the Fox and Goose a few days ago, telling me I should stop.’

  Her grandfather sent her a sympathetic smile. ‘We did hear,’ he admitted.

  ‘Did Oliver Chadwick tell you?’ Mandy asked. ‘He came to my rescue. I was very grateful.’ She looked down at Jasper, who had finished his milk and seemed to have fallen asleep in her arms. How sweet he was with his fluffy little face. It looked like he was going to be long-haired.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom Hope nodded. Myler had finished too. Now he had clawed his way up and was exploring her grandfather’s shoulders. ‘Oliver told us you were getting a lot of flak,’ Grandad went on. ‘He said you were standing up for the squirrels.’ Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he twisted round and grabbed Myler, who was teetering on the edge of the chairback. He turned to Mandy with a grin. ‘He seemed impressed by your moral fibre.’

  Mandy couldn’t help but feel pleased with Mr Chadwick’s assessment. ‘I was glad he came,’ she said. ‘Everyone else seemed to think I should stop.’ She looked over at Gran. Button had finally finished her milk. Mandy stood up and Gran and Grandad did the same, following her into the cat room. They put the kittens back in with Mumma, then stood and watched as the mother cat began to lick them clean.

  ‘We don’t think you should stop,’ Gran said, returning to the topic of the squirrels. ‘Endangered animals need someone on their side. People do need jobs, but there are lots of other places they could build.’

  ‘I went to the council offices in York,’ Mandy told them. ‘It’s so difficult to find anything out. The man in the department was trying to help, but he couldn’t find any information about surveys. You’d think the public would be able to find out what’s going on in their area.’ She sighed. What should happen and what did happen were often a long way apart.

  ‘Maybe you could contact Natural England,’ Tom Hope suggested.

  Mandy stood very still for a moment. She’d been so caught up with Mum and Jimmy, Abi and Max that she hadn’t even thought to do that. Natural England was the government authority that oversaw protection of endangered species. If anyone could help, it would be them.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ she said, then glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. ‘I could call them now. Are you okay here?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. We can get on and take Tablet and Hattie out, then the other three,’ Grandad told her.

  ‘Great, thanks. Leave Brutus for now, I’ll take him out to work with Sky later,’ said Mandy as she went through to reception.

  ‘Christine Harford, Natural England, how can I help you?’ The voice on the other end of the line sounded friendly. Mandy found herself pouring out everything about the squirrels and Westbow and her frustration that she couldn’t find the information she needed.

  ‘You were quite right to call,’ Christine assured her when she had finished. ‘There are too many of these companies taking shortcuts. The legislation’s in place for a reason. So many people seem to think it’s optional.’

  She sounds even more cross than me!

  Mandy warmed to Ms Harford instantly and was delighted when she said, ‘I’m just going to access the planning records. We have the authority to do that. It’s ridiculous they didn’t give you the information in York.’

  Mandy thought back to Devan and his abortive attempt to find the information. It hadn’t been for want of trying.

  ‘Okay, I have the names here,’ Christine Harford interrupted her musing. ‘Westbow has two listed owners, Mrs Marissa Bowie and Mr Sam Western. Does that help?’

  Mandy all but gasped when she heard Sam Western’s name. Was it possible he was behind all this? He had mentioned it, she realised, thinking back to the day she had seen Harley. He’d told her he had a land sale meeting, but she had assumed he was buying some new land. He’d done enough of that before. He owned several of the farms adjacent to the original Welford Hall land.

  Marissa Bowie? Mandy trawled through her memory, but the name meant nothing to her. ‘I know Mr Western,’ she said slowly, ‘but not Mrs Bowie.’

  ‘Well, that might help. If you know Mr Western.’ Christine sounded positive, but Mandy wasn’t so sure. Since her return, she had begun to think she’d misunderstood Sam Western. She had a certain respect for the positive impact his business had on Welford and the farmers who lived nearby. And sure enough, this factory itself was no bad thing, it would bring jobs to the area …

  But something told her that if anything small, red and fluffy threatened his business plan, he wouldn’t let it go without a fight.

  Ms Harford was speaking again. ‘We’ll see what we can do about finding the survey documents,’ she said. ‘We should be able to access them one way or another. In the meantime, if you know Mr Western, perhaps you could approach him directly? He’ll likely have all the documentation to hand.’

  Mandy was standing in front of the huge glass window in the Hope Meadows reception. Outside the window the sky was threatening rain, but still sheep grazed peacefully on the fellside. What if she drove to Upper Welford Hall and just asked?

  That Mandy Hope, prying into my business yet again, she could imagine him thinking.

  No, Sam wasn’t likely to give her the information. He hadn’t put his name on the planning permission notice and he must have heard about Mandy’s notice in the post office; gossip spread fast in Welford. ‘I’m not sure Sam Western will want to help,’ she said, ‘but if I see him, I can ask.’ What harm would it do? she thought, stifling a sigh. She ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had done everything by the book. She probably wouldn’t run into him anyway. Hopefully it wouldn’t take Natural England too long to get the information.

  ‘Don’t ask him if you feel you’d put yourself at risk.’ Had the woman picked up the uneasiness in her voice? Mandy wondered. Not that she was at risk from Sam Western. Not any physical risk anyway, though as a client of Animal Ark, he could probably cause some trouble. ‘If we need to, we can ask the National Wildlife Crime Unit to get involved,’ Christine went on. Mandy made a mental note to Google the crime unit.

  ‘Thank you so much for your help,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you back if I find out anything more.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Christine replied. ‘We’ll find out what we can and get back to you.’

  Mandy hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

  After the call, Mandy had checked out the National Wildlife Crime Unit, and she’d also Googled Marissa Bowie. She hadn’t been able to find a phone number or e-mail address – the best she could do was a Twitter account that hadn’t been updated in a few weeks and a Facebook page that was locked down except for a few photos – Ms Bowie seemed to be a middle-aged lady with iron grey hair. Mandy didn’t recognise her face.

  As she drove round on her calls, Mandy thought about Sam Western. When she was younger, she had never hesitated in going up against him when an animal needed help. She wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but the situation was more complicated now. She was his vet. She wanted to believe everything was above board, but her instincts had kicked in. He must know she had been asking around about the development. If he’d nothing to hide, wouldn’t he have come forward?

  Should she go to Upper Welford Hall and bang on his door? She had been debating the point all day in her head. She had no idea when building would start, but if permission had already been granted, as Devan had said, there was nothing to stop them starting right now. As she drove back through the village on her way home for dinner, she saw Sam Western’s Jaguar parked outside the Fox and Goose.

  That has to be a sign …

  Pulling in behind it, she sat for a moment, staring at the spotless emerald green paint on the immaculate bonnet. Then taking a deep breath, she opened the door of her SUV and walked into the bar.

  It too
k her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, but when she could see again, there he was, sitting alone at the bar with a pint of ale. The deep cleft in his craggy forehead deepened as she walked towards him, but other than that, his expression didn’t change.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ His tone was conversational. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  Mandy couldn’t help but be taken aback. She had been prepared for him to jump in about her notice in the post office. Was it really possible he hadn’t seen it?

  ‘No thanks.’ Her words were automatic, though she regretted them almost immediately. Would it have been more civilised to accept? The bar was a business, not a public meeting room. She saw Bev Parsons, co-owner of the Fox and Goose glance at her, then her eyes slid away. Mandy wondered whether she was listening as she stood there, refilling snack jars.

  Mandy set her feet more firmly on the floor. ‘I came in to ask you about Westbow Holdings,’ she said.

  If she had hoped for a reaction, she didn’t get one.

  Sam Western merely raised one eyebrow and murmured, ‘Oh yes?’ as he lifted his pint and took a sip. Mandy’s mouth felt dry. She wished again she hadn’t turned down the offer of a drink.

  ‘I understand you’re co-owner of Westbow,’ she said, ‘and that you’re thinking of building a factory.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He seemed perfectly at ease still. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink?’

  Mandy shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’ve been trying to get in touch,’ she said. She glanced again at Bev who was still polishing the glass with a studied air. There was no way to stop her hearing. Turning back to Sam, she launched in. ‘I have reason to believe there are red squirrels living on that land,’ she said. ‘Red squirrels are endangered. If I’m right, then it would be illegal to build there.’

  ‘What makes you think there are red squirrels on that land?’ His gravelly voice was still steady and he was smiling, though Mandy thought she caught a flicker of anger, deep within his eyes.

  ‘Some friends of mine found a young squirrel by the footpath that runs through it,’ Mandy said. ‘That could mean they’re not only living there, but they’re breeding as well.’

  ‘I’ve done everything by the book.’ Sam’s eyes flickered. ‘You and I haven’t always seen eye to eye about wildlife, but there are only grey squirrels living on that site. Are you sure your friend wasn’t mistaken?’ Before she could reply, he went on, ‘I know you’re doing good work with your rescue centre. If your work with Harley is anything to go by, the animals in your care are very lucky. How would it be if I made a donation?’ To Mandy’s amazement, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a chequebook, laid it down on the bar, opened it and started searching for a pen.

  Mandy’s jaw dropped. Was he trying to bribe her?

  ‘I don’t want your money.’ She could feel her face reddening, the anger rising.

  Actually, she thought, I really do. But if he thought giving it to her would make her forget that the habitat of a protected species was in danger, he could think again. Was that how he’d got his way around the council as well? She thought back to Devan and the difficulty he’d had opening the file. Were people at the council in Sam Western’s pocket? ‘When you say everything’s been done by the book,’ she forced herself to speak as calmly as Sam Western had, though it was an effort, ‘did you do a wildlife survey?’ Devan had specifically looked for one. He hadn’t found it.

  And now, for the first time, Sam’s anger was beginning to break through his carefully constructed façade. ‘You should be ashamed to ask me that,’ he said. His voice was louder and for the first time, several of the customers in the bar looked up. ‘I said I’ve done everything by the book and I have. This is an important project for the village. People here need jobs. Why are you getting in the way of what people need?’

  Mandy concentrated on him, trying to ignore the stir of interest that was running through the bar. Her hand was trembling. She closed her fingers to form a fist. ‘The only thing I want is to protect an endangered species. If you really are working within the law, then will you please show a copy of the survey either to me or to Natural England.’

  ‘What have Natural England got to do with anything?’ Sam demanded, his eyes flashing. He seemed to have forgotten all about the other customers.

  ‘Is this to do with your notice in the post office?’ Mandy looked round in surprise. It was Bev who had spoken. She had moved over and was looking at them with her hand on one of the beer taps.

  ‘Yes,’ Mandy replied. She had begun to feel as if she was in some kind of pantomime. ‘I’m pretty sure there are red squirrels on the land where Mr Western here is going to build his factory. They’re endangered. I’m just trying to find out whether the land has been checked properly. It’s a legal requirement.’

  ‘I take it that the wildlife camera I found belongs to you?’ Sam Western’s voice had dropped to a dangerous murmur. ‘If it is, you were trespassing. It was off the public right of way. Have you been trespassing on my land? If I find you have, I’ll call the police.’

  For a moment, Mandy felt sick. Would he call the police? If she tried to go down the legal route, would he retaliate? He had the money to fight any case he chose to begin.

  Another voice came from behind her. ‘Why would you interfere in the new factory?’ Mandy turned and recognised one of her small-animal clients, Danny Tickner, whose daughter, Ashley, was school leaving age. ‘Mr Western employs a lot of people round here. If he says he’s done everything by the book, why wouldn’t you believe him?’

  ‘My brother sells wooden toys from one of the shops at Upper Welford. Lots of people work for him. Leave him alone.’ That was Ian Cooper, another client. Would they all desert Animal Ark if she pushed her case through? Would Sam withdraw his custom? What would Mum and Dad say? She felt sicker than ever. ‘I’m sure Mandy doesn’t want to stop the building.’ Gary Parsons came up beside Bev and put an arm round her. He looked at Mandy with concerned eyes. Mandy sent him a grateful look, but nobody else seemed to be listening.

  ‘I’m going to go now.’ She held up her hands. ‘I’m sorry I came in. Sorry.’ The last word was directed to Gary and Bev. Neither of them looked angry, to Mandy’s relief, but Sam Western was glaring daggers into his pint. She was breathing fast. Her intervention had done no good at all and now Sam knew that she had involved Natural England. What would he do now? She couldn’t help feeling that she had just kicked over a hornet’s nest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Saturday dawned bright and clear. Today was the day of the Spring Show in Welford. Mandy had visited almost every year as a child, but this year would be the first time she attended the show to vet the entrants. She’d been looking forward to it for months, but now it was here, with all her worries weighing down on her, Mandy just felt flat. Instead of a day of excitement, it felt like a whole day away from all the urgent things she had to do, and also a whole day amongst potentially hostile villagers.

  What fun …

  She could have happily burrowed under her duvet and stayed there with Sky all day, but Mandy forced herself to get up and dress. She rushed through the Hope Meadows morning routine alone: she’d given Nicole the morning off, since she was taking her horse, Braveheart, to compete in the dressage class at the show.

  A little while later, Mandy pulled her SUV into the parking space that was reserved for the official veterinary surgeon. The village green was already swarming with activity. Cheerfully decorated stalls had been put up the night before and a maypole had been erected close to the war memorial. For now, its brightly coloured ribbons were fluttering in the breeze, but later the dancers would weave them into patterns as they danced.

  Mandy made her way over to the animal lines, which were in a field beside the churchyard. Many of the farm stock had arrived already. Graham, the dairyman from Upper Welford Hall was washing a long-legged Holstein heifer. Bert Burnley from Riverside was combing the tail of a muscular Charola
is bull. Sweet scents of grass and hay mingled with the aroma of sheep and goats. There were all kinds of animals: sheep and cattle were ranged beside llamas and woolly Mangalitza pigs. Mandy had always been amazed by the enthusiasm the show generated. Greetings rang out as the farmers called to one another over the clamour of bleating lambs and rumbling ewes. On the far side of the field, a number of horse-boxes were arriving and parking in the shade of the tall trees that lined the meadow. Behind all the activity, the fellside was bathed in early morning sunshine. Later, runners would scale the heights of Black Tor, then make their way over to the Beacon with its ancient Celtic cross, but for now, there were only sheep dotting the hillside. To her relief, the farmers hailed her with friendly greetings, rather than the hostility she had been fearing.

  Mandy worked her way through the lines. It was important to check that the animals were healthy. She was pleased to see Mr Thomas from Ainthrop with two of his ewes.

  ‘Hello.’ She smiled at him and was amused when he politely doffed the drop brim tweed hat he was wearing. Despite looking about a hundred years old, Mr Thomas always seemed to dress like an immaculate 1940s gentleman.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Hope.’ The voice and mannerisms matched the image too. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’ He gestured at the pen beside him.

  Mandy looked down at the two woolly Portland sheep he had brought. The pair gazed back at her, their yellow eyes alight with wary interest. They looked clean and healthy in the deep straw. Mandy turned back and smiled at Mr Thomas. ‘Daffodil not here today?’ she asked. She had visited Daffodil back in the late autumn when the ewe had been lame.

  ‘Not today.’ Mr Thomas had a twinkle in his eye. ‘She’s at home being looked after. She’s expecting.’ Mandy raised her eyebrows. Lambing was pretty much over for this year. Mr Thomas seemed to read her mind. ‘Portlands were the first breed in Britain that could have lambs at any time of year,’ he explained.

  ‘How lovely!’ she exclaimed. Mr Thomas looked so pleased with his news. ‘Do keep me posted on how she gets on,’ she said.