A New Beginning

by A New Beginning (retail) (epub)

  When Owen called and came inside, Ryan was surprised at how cold he looked. ‘You look as though you walked back but I heard the car. Drove with the windows open, did you?’

  ‘I’ve been standing watching the badgers in the wood.’ Owen said.

  His immaculate, mud-free shoes were noted but Ryan said nothing. Like most farmers, Owen would have had wellingtons in the boot of the car.

  Supper would have been a silent meal if it hadn’t been for Brian, who entertained them with stories about his attempts to survive on a tiny plot of land and handouts from his loving family. ‘I knew the size of plot would make it impossible to make a good living, but it’s taught me that growing things and building up a herd of cattle is what I want to do.’

  Owen sat in the big kitchen and listened to Brian and Gareth talking about their plans to Tommy and Rachel. There was an edginess about the group, and he felt that it was only the presence of the stranger that stopped them erupting into a row. He listened and waited for an opportunity to break into the discussion. When Brian mentioned the cost of resurrecting the abandoned farm he and Gareth wanted to buy, he said quietly, ‘You aren’t trying to persuade Uncle Tommy to sell, are you, Gareth? He’s got many years of satisfaction ahead of him yet.’

  ‘Don’t talk rot.’ Tommy shifted position and turned to glare at Rachel. ‘Where’s my cup of tea then? It’s time we were all in bed.’

  ‘You would let me know if you do plan to sell, won’t you? I need notice if I’m to find a new place, remember. I’m not family, am I?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Rachel said soothingly. ‘And if we make any momentous decisions like that we’ll tell you straight away.’

  ‘Thank you, Auntie Rachel.’ Again the sarcasm went unnoticed.

  It was clear that things were coming to a head and he had to speed up his plans. It would be interesting to see what would be discussed at tomorrow’s meeting when he would be allowed to attend. Nothing of great importance, he guessed.

  *

  Tommy went to see Daphne early the following morning. The side door of the Ship and Compass was open and there, to his embarrassment, was Owen’s estranged wife, washing the floor. She had a scarf over curlers in her hair and a thick sacking apron covered her clothes.

  ‘Morning, Sarah,’ he said, stepping over the damp patch she had just wiped. ‘Bertie all right?’

  ‘Hello. Yes, he’s fine,’ was her automatic reply. ‘As if you care,’ she mouthed silently.

  Daphne was in the cellar, counting bottles and making out an order for the wholesaler. Invited by Betty to go down, he descended the stone steps and walked over to where Daphne was crouched, trying to read labels on some old stock.

  ‘D’you know, Betty, I think some of these might be valuable, shall I make enquiries?’ She looked up and saw Tommy. ‘Oh, sorry, Mr Treweather, I didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘I want to know why you were told not to come to the farm again. Did Owen give a reason?’

  ‘Not really. He just said I wouldn’t be needed any more. Rachel – I mean, Mrs Treweather – is able to cope now, and it was only a temporary arrangement, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but the decisions are mine and Rachel’s to make, not Owen’s.’

  ‘I thought that as he runs the farm and is a cousin he has as much say in what goes on as the rest of you.’

  ‘Like arranging a survey, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but I did think it a bit strange, such a thorough investigation, and done while you were all away. But it’s none of my business and I’ve enough to do here with Betty.’

  ‘Rachel and I would like you to come and meet Gareth’s friend, Brian Powell. They are planning to farm in France. Daft idea if you ask me, and probably nothing more than a whim, but you might find it interesting. And we’d like to thank you for your help. Bring Sophie, too, if she’ll come.’

  ‘She was told not to go to the farm, too, but I imagine it’s because of Bertie. I think it must be hard for Owen to see the boy.’

  ‘Sophie too,’ Tommy said firmly. ‘Sunday do you?’

  ‘The best day for us both.’

  *

  Sophie was walking through the wood later that morning, gathering small pieces of wood for kindling. She enjoyed the luxury of the fire in the evenings, even though the days were still warm. Badgers Brook was a house that attracted visitors and it was rare for an evening to pass without one or other of her friends calling and being persuaded to stay for a cup of tea and a cake. With her basket almost full, and carrying a useful branch under her arm, she almost bumped into Gareth.

  ‘Hello, Gareth, nice to see you. How long are you staying this time?’

  Gareth grinned. ‘Caught you! I’m Ryan,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘You can’t catch me.’

  ‘Couldn’t resist trying.’

  ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Still enjoying your travels?’

  ‘Not any more. I want to settle down and build a place of my own.’

  ‘You’re coming home? Your parents will be so pleased.’

  ‘Not this home. I’m arranging to buy a place in France with a friend of mine.’ Cupping his hands, he called, ‘Brian, come and meet the girl of my dreams.’

  She turned to smile a welcome. The stranger came along the path and approached them. Gareth put an arm on Sophie’s shoulder and asked, ‘Gareth not with you?’

  ‘Oh, you’re Ryan. Sorry, Gareth must have gone another way,’ the man stuttered, staring into the face of his friend.

  ‘Stop teasing the man,’ Sophie said, laughing at the man’s puzzled expression.

  Introductions completed Sophie walked with the two friends, listening to their plans for the place they were about to buy. They gathered more logs as they strolled through the trees then went with her back to Badgers Brook to put them on the log pile.

  ‘You’ll hear all about our plans on Sunday,’ Gareth said as they parted.

  ‘Sunday?’

  ‘You and Daphne are invited to tea.’

  ‘Does Owen know?’

  ‘What has it to do with him?’

  ‘Nothing I suppose,’ she said doubtfully.

  *

  As it was Saturday, Sophie was looking after Bertie, but, as he had been invited to stay with a friend from school the night before, it was almost twelve o’clock by the time she went to collect him. She had cooked some potatoes and they were slowly warming in the oven with a thin drizzle of oil over them. With a slice of cheese melted over leeks, it was a meal Bertie always enjoyed. She had made a golden syrup cake for pudding, another of his favourites.

  He came running out of the house as soon as she touched the front gate. ‘Starving I am, miss. Got anything nice for dinner?’

  ‘Ground up coal and sour milk,’ she said.

  ‘Miss, I think I could even eat that, I’m so hungry.’

  He walked beside her, chatting about the games he had played with his new friend. She was thankful that at last he was beginning to enjoy school and was making friends. His mother’s increased interest in him was reaping wonderful harvests, she thought poetically. Owen drove past them in the muddy van but didn’t acknowledge them. Bertie pulled an impressively ugly face.

  *

  Owen had been to see the solicitor. Progress was being made, he was told, and the money should be in his account within the month. Time was running out, but if he could stall Tommy and the others for just six or eight weeks before they began preparations to sell up, he would be in the clear and away from here. Whatever else happened, they mustn’t try to sell the farm. Not yet.

  *

  Both Sophie and Daphne dressed with care to go to tea with the Treweathers. Sophie was dressing to please Ryan, and Daphne wanted to give Owen a chance to explain his hurtful dismissal of her. Well-chosen clothes would give them extra confidence; something they both needed.

  As they approached, Ryan came to meet them.

  ‘This is Mum’s way of saying than
k you to you both for your help when she needed it so badly. Today you are guests and here to be spoiled.’

  Gareth and Brian both stood to greet them. Tommy nodded and looked away, staring out of the window at the yard and distant fields. There was no sign of Owen.

  When Rachel came in with the large teapot, the teatime spread was complete and they all found their seats. Tommy forced his gaze away from his land and tried to be sociable.

  ‘We’re thinking of selling up,’ Rachel said, glancing at Tommy. ‘We have to face facts, and the truth is neither of the boys wants to continue. So we’re seeing next year out and then we’ll retire.’

  Not quite knowing what to say, whether sympathy or congratulations were in order, Sophie said, ‘I hope your last year here will be a very happy one for you all.’

  They ate from the generously covered table but it was clear that no one was really enjoying the occasion.

  ‘Tommy looks as though he’s had a death sentence,’ Sophie whispered to Daphne when they were alone.

  ‘And Rachel is about to burst into tears. How soon can we make our escape, d’you think?’

  ‘No sign of Owen, so we might as well go,’ Sophie replied. ‘Ryan and I are meeting later, so I don’t mind if we leave early.’ She looked at the leftover food and added, ‘Pity young Bertie isn’t here. He’d have cleared the rest of this, wouldn’t he?’

  Rachel re-entered the room, having taken out the dirty plates. ‘Take something for Bertie if you wish. Boys of that age are constantly hungry. I’ll pack him a bit of everything, shall I?’

  ‘Thank you, he’ll love it.’

  Daphne and Sophie refused a lift and walked back through the field and the wood, carrying a selection of sandwiches and cake wrapped in a tea towel. ‘Pity it’s for Bertie,’ Daphne said. ‘I could eat the lot now we’re out of that room. It was more like a house of mourning than a family gathering, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Tommy and Rachel are in mourning. Selling the farm is the death of a dream. They imagined growing old there and watching sons and grandsons following in their footsteps.’

  ‘I was beginning to believe I’d be the one looking after them,’ Daphne added. ‘Owen and me. I wonder why they don’t accept that Owen is their continuity? He seems more than willing and he is a Treweather, Tommy’s brother’s son, but they treat him like an unskilled labourer.’

  ‘And he’s clearly resenting it. Do you have the feeling that something is about to burst?’

  Ten

  Elsie looked around the house that had been her home for all the years of her marriage to George Clements and ten years of widowhood. Marrying Ed had been a desperate attempt to stay there for the rest of her life, but cheating hadn’t been the way to achieve that goal. Ed was sitting opposite her as they waited for the matron of a nursing home to arrive. Today she was being assessed to decide on the level of care she would need, and then she would leave this place and never return.

  ‘Would things have been different if I’d been honest with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought you really cared for me, that’s the hurt. You used me, saw me for a mug and decided to flatter me, tell me a lot of lies and make me think you wanted to marry me and share my life.’

  ‘The daftest thing is that I am fond of you. I think we’re too old for passion, but I’ve never found another man I’d be prepared to open my house and heart to.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘I was wrong about not telling you, but I’m not lying about that.’

  He looked at her and she stared him out, willing him to believe her. It was true in a way. Perhaps she wouldn’t have allowed things to go this far if she hadn’t been ill, hadn’t needed him, but she was fond of him and they worked so well together that she was trying desperately to convince herself, and him, that they would have married anyway.

  ‘There’ll be many months, perhaps years, before I’m really helpless, Eddie. Can’t we at least enjoy the best of the time together? We could employ someone to do most of the work, and we’ll be here to feed our guests and enjoy the company. I’ve always enjoyed the company.’

  ‘You hurt me, Elsie, and I can’t forgive you. This is the only solution, me working to keep you in a place where you’ll have the best attention.’ How could he admit that he was unable to cope with her illness, face years of increasingly difficult care, watch her as her health deteriorated. He was a coward, afraid of taking on something he couldn’t manage. How could he tell her that?

  Elsie guessed that the shock had been devastating, that he had looked forward to a few more years running the guesthouse then a happy retirement. She also knew that they would have needed some good years behind them before she could have expected him to take on the care of an increasingly helpless invalid, but she hadn’t been given that time. If only they had married years ago, before the diagnosis had changed everything, then he’d have been a part of it, would have stayed, bound by love, and shared the grief.

  *

  Tommy waited until Owen came in for breakfast after the early morning chores. Ryan had stayed on and he and Gareth were sitting at the table as Rachel handed out the plates of food. Brian had eaten a slice of toast and gone for a walk, knowing the family had something private to discuss.

  ‘Why were there men walking around my farm with maps and clipboards, Owen?’ Tommy asked, almost conversationally.

  ‘Oh, something to do with a national survey. They are doing a country-wide assessment of the acreage of woodland and arable land, and the quality of the farm buildings.’ There had been some mention of such a thing and he found the lies coming easy.

  ‘And when were you going to tell me?’

  ‘At the meeting to which I wasn’t invited. Remember? You sent me off to the pub.’

  ‘When did you know about this? Before you sent us away to Tenby?’

  ‘It slipped my mind, it wasn’t important to us, just a general gathering of information.’

  ‘You have some names? Phone numbers? Somewhere I can check to find out what’s going on?’

  ‘There’s nothing going on, Uncle. They came and they went and we can forget it.’

  He stood up, pushing aside the half-eaten omelette. ‘I’d better get on, there’s a delivery of feed tomorrow and I want to get the barn cleared and cleaned up. We’ll have to get the rat catcher here again, too. There’s an infestation of the damned things. Would you like me to phone him in the morning, Uncle Tommy?’

  ‘Thank you, yes, if you will.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it first thing.’

  ‘What d’you think?’ Tommy asked his sons when Owen had gone. ‘Is he hiding something, or just determined to keep certain things to himself, be indispensable?’

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ Gareth said.

  ‘I think you should make sure you see everything that comes by post and insist either you or Mam answers every phone call,’ was Ryan’s opinion. ‘He’s changed. He’s full of resentment, which he tries to hide with a subservient smile.’

  ‘This is nonsense,’ Rachel said. ‘Owen has lived here with us since he was five. I’ve brought the boy up, and he isn’t the type to do anything devious. He’s glad to have a home here and he’d be a fool to risk that, lose his job and his home. I think we’re making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘Unless he thinks he’s owed more than we give him,’ Gareth said with a glance at his brother. ‘I think I’ll stay around for a while, just to see what’s going on.’

  ‘Your mother and I would be happy if you’d stay, and it wouldn’t do any harm. Your friend Brian, too, if he’d like to.’

  ‘He has to get back to his wife. Dad, is there any chance you and Mam can help me, financially, to buy the farm we want in France? I’d appreciate it if you’d come over, give the place the benefit of your experienced eye, tell us what we should be doing there, you know the sort of thing, and you know how easily a project like this can go dreadfully wrong. We’d really appreciate it. Why don’t you both come for a week? We’l
l arrange accommodation, make it a working holiday.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to be away from here at present. But I’ll go and talk to the accountant tomorrow.’ Tommy said. ‘The money is yours as soon as we sell. We plan to arrange for you and Ryan to have a lump sum. There’s no point in keeping it for some time in the future when it’s now you need it. Your mother and I agree about that.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, and you, Mam. Just so that you know, though, Owen told me there’s some kind of problem with the accountant – he said he was going to prepare some figures to show us.’

  *

  The accountant was surprised and not very pleased to see Tommy on Monday morning. ‘I don’t know why you’re here, Mr Treweather. Your nephew made it clear that you were dissatisfied and I sent all your papers back to him. Who is dealing with your affairs now I have no idea.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I. But your accounts are no longer in my hands.’

  ‘But you must know who is dealing with them?’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t help you.’

  As he left, Tommy turned and said, ‘David, what the hell’s going on?’

  The man shrugged and picked up a sheet of paper and became engrossed.

  *

  Owen was in the milking parlour, washing down and disinfecting the implements they used.

  ‘Sorry I’m late with this, Uncle, but one of the men I employed didn’t turn up and I’m a bit behind.’

  ‘Why have you changed accountants without my say-so?’ Tommy demanded, marching in and shutting off the tap to the hosepipe.

  Owen carefully removed his rubber boots and gestured towards the house. ‘Go into the office and I’ll explain.’

  The paper he showed his uncle was a comparative list of charges, one headed Treweathers and two others bearing the names of other local farms. ‘As you see, we’re paying a lot more for roughly the same amount of work. I though we’d do better to change.’