by Katie Fforde
‘There’s more stuff in the old dairy. That’s off the farmyard too. You take a look and tell me what you want sterilizing and I’ll do it for you.’
‘That would be very kind!’
Tig shrugged off the word. ‘Farm’s in a bad way, miss. If you can do something to help keep the herd going, that would be good.’
Just for a moment Fran considered asking Tig if he knew any details about loans, or how Amy had got the money to pay her care home, but realised it wouldn’t be fair. It was her job to look after the money and it was his to look after the cows.
‘You don’t have to call me miss,’ she said instead. ‘Just call me Fran.’
He gave the briefest shake of his head. ‘Wouldn’t be right, miss. Seeing as you’re my boss, like.’ But his eyes twinkled.
Fran half laughed. ‘Tig! I’m not your boss. I know nothing about cows or anything. We’re in this together.’
This time his head movement was more positive. ‘True enough.’
‘But I really don’t mind what you call me,’ she said, ‘as long as it’s not rude.’ She smiled at him to make sure he knew she was teasing. ‘Now I’d better get to the old dairy. We really need to do something with this milk.’
‘If we still had pigs it’d be easier.’
‘Pigs? Did we have pigs?’
Tig nodded. ‘The old lady gave them up though, but they were useful. Mixed the whey from the cheese with their food, they fattened up well.’
A thought occurred to Fran. ‘If you’d like to keep pigs up here they could still have the whey, or any surplus milk. But I don’t think the farm could buy them, just yet.
Tig thought about it. ‘I’d be happy to buy a couple of pigs, if I could keep them here.’
‘Of course you could! You’d have to look after them but you’d do that anyway.’
‘I’ll see to it then.’ He paused for a few seconds and then smiled. ‘I’ll get back to work then.’
Fran smiled back. ‘Thanks, Tig. Having you here is a huge help. I couldn’t manage any of it without you, even things that don’t involve cows.’
It was hard to tell because Tig was so weather-beaten, but Fran rather thought he blushed.
The dairy was a treasure trove. Although it had obviously been used to dump unused equipment in recent years, the building itself was in good condition. It had whitewashed walls and a level concrete floor.
Everything was dusty, but there were some wonderful old stone crocks, probably used for setting cream, piled up in a corner, a butter churn, and a whole stack of steel buckets that had signs of something purple clinging to them. It could have been blackcurrants or blackberries. Amy had obviously made wine or jam. Fran thought it was probably jam. She’d come across a few jars in the pantry with handwritten labels and had failed to find a corkscrew.
For the first time that day, Fran felt faintly optimistic. If there was cooking involved in this farming lark, here was a contribution she could make.
She gathered together the items she thought would need sterilising and left them for Tig. The stoneware dishes she took into the house, one by one. Then she filled the ancient sink in the scullery with water and started scrubbing.
Later that afternoon Fran had several buckets full of milk. She had also filled a couple of the huge shallow stoneware bowls, hoping to get some cream. She’d spent time on the internet and discovered there was quite a lot she could do with milk without special ingredients and cream was only one of them. While she was longing to start making cheese, common sense told her she should wait until the following day, when the cream would have risen to the top. So she covered all the bowls and buckets with clean tea towels (Amy had an amazing supply of them) and then took her laptop into the sitting room. When she’d lit the fire and settled herself comfortably, she emailed Issi with an update on how things were doing down on the farm, aware she was sounding, and indeed felt, a lot more cheerful than she had the previous evening. Hurray!
Chapter Five
‘Hey! You look great!’ Antony said when she opened the door to him the following Friday.
Fran hadn’t wanted to look too much like a city girl at the dinner party he was taking her to. It was one thing being the object of curiosity, but she didn’t want fellow guests saying, the moment she was out of earshot, that she wouldn’t last five minutes in the country, especially in the winter. She was wearing her newest jeans, a V-necked sweater that was cut low enough to look like evening wear and a pretty scarf. She was aiming for casual, practical and a bit sexy.
She was depending on Antony to know if it was still the custom to bring bottles of wine but she was fairly confident she should bring something. In preparation she had asked him, via email, if he had a cool box.
‘Thank you,’ she said briskly. ‘Now, did you bring the cool box?’
‘Yup. What do you want it for?’
‘I have some presents for my hostess.’
‘What?’
‘Cheese. That I’ve made myself.’
‘Oh!’ He was satisfyingly surprised.
‘Well, I wanted to bring something home-made as a present. People get fed up with biscuits. I thought I’d bring cheese.’ She smiled at him, hoping he wouldn’t realise why she had a surplus of milk. She didn’t want him to know it was because her track was too bad to be got up by the milk tanker and if she didn’t make cheese she’d have to throw away the milk.
The house where the dinner party was to be held wasn’t too far away and Fran hoped she’d like the hostess. With Issi in London she was beginning to feel a bit lonely. Although the past few days had been so busy with her cheesemaking project, she needed some local friends.
As they set off up the drive to the house (remarkably smooth, she noted) she said, ‘What are Caroline and Julian like? Will I get on with them?’
‘I hardly know you well enough to be able to tell but they are fairly relaxed. And it’s only going to be a very small dinner. Eight at the most,’ Antony said.
‘Quite a lot of cars, for eight people,’ said Fran as they arrived.
‘Hm,’ said Antony, finding possibly the last space. ‘I didn’t think we were late, either. We must be the last to arrive.’
The door was opened by a woman wearing a flour-covered apron and a brave smile. She did not look relaxed at all. Her husband appeared seconds later.
‘Hi, Antony,’ said the woman, who Fran assumed was Caroline. ‘And you must be Fran. Do come in! Let me take your coats. You’re safe to take them off – we’ve had the wood burner going all day.’ She embraced them both.
‘It’s very kind of you to invite me,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve brought a little gift – it’s in this cool box.’
‘It can’t be that little then,’ said Julian. ‘That’s a big box.’
‘But it’s a small present,’ said Fran firmly, ‘and please don’t look at it now. Put it in the kitchen for later. It’s edible.’
‘Fran was a chef in her previous life,’ explained Antony.
‘I’m a farmer now,’ she said, giving him a dark look.
‘Well, come in and have a drink before you die of thirst,’ said Julian. ‘Here, just sling your coats with the others on that sofa.’
The pile of coats represented far more that eight guests, Fran couldn’t help thinking, even if Caroline and Julian kept their coats there too.
They were ushered into a room full of people. Fran’s heart sank slightly. Obviously all the locals had persuaded Caroline and Julian to let them have a look at the girl from London who was taking over old Amy Flowers’ farm.
‘Oh God, Julian, can you do the introductions?’ said Caroline, sounding harassed. ‘I’ll forget everyone’s names and I’m needed in the kitchen.’
Fran would have loved to be able to follow Caroline; in the kitchen she could be useful. Here she was just going to be stared at.
Julian did well with the introductions, not forgetting anyone’s name, and then said, ‘More important than this lot – what would you
like to drink?’
‘Julian makes a fabulous gin and tonic if you’re not driving,’ suggested one woman who Fran remembered was called Poppy.
‘I’m not driving,’ Fran said. ‘A G and T would be lovely.’
When she’d been given her drink, which, the first sip told her, was indeed fabulous, and pretty strong, Poppy led the way to a group of women.
‘You must think we’re all complete ghouls,’ said Poppy, ‘all desperate to get a look at you, but we’re so intrigued to meet you.’
‘We don’t get much entertainment in the country,’ said a woman who was a bit older than Poppy, possibly in her forties. ‘I’m Erica, in case you’ve forgotten. I would have. I think people should wear name badges on all occasions.’
Fran laughed and felt less anxious. ‘That would make life easier, but at least the gin is helping.’
‘A bit of alcohol does make it all seem less daunting,’ agreed Erica. ‘I don’t think Caroline has let herself have more than a sip of wine though. She’s not used to catering for so many. She should have said no to us, when we all begged to be invited to meet the new girl.’
‘I feel I should go and help,’ said Fran. ‘At least I know how to cook, even if I’m very new to farming. I might be quite useful.’
Poppy shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t want a trained professional seeing the state her kitchen is in. She’s not a tidy cook.’
‘I completely understand,’ said Fran.
‘And not only are you an object of interest because you’ve come from London to live on a derelict farm,’ said one woman, a bit younger and noticeably more fashionably dressed than the others, ‘but because you’ve come with Antony, our only Mr Darcy-alike!’
‘But, Megan, you are the only one who’s single,’ said Erica. She sounded a bit irritated. ‘So there’s not massive competition for him.’
‘Unless we’ve all been misinformed, Fran is single too,’ said Megan.
‘But Antony only invited me to come with him because I didn’t know anyone locally,’ said Fran. ‘It’s not a date or anything.’ She was aware of Antony listening to the conversation and saw his wry smile. She took another sip of her drink.
‘Well,’ said Megan, ‘how do you like country life so far? You haven’t had the best weather. I must say I would never have moved away from the city if I’d had the choice.’
‘But you did have the choice,’ said Erica, ‘you just didn’t want to leave the house and the lifestyle behind.’
Megan shrugged. ‘Did you leave a gorgeous flat in the best part of town?’ she asked Fran, having a good look at her.
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘I was living above the pub where I worked. Although it was in a good part of town. Quite near Covent Garden.’
‘Oh, OK,’ said Megan. ‘So bit of a step change, coming down here?’
‘Well, yes, obviously, but I like a challenge,’ said Fran, feeling she was being interviewed and that any moment someone would say, ‘Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’ She really hoped they wouldn’t ask that, because she had no idea.
‘And inheriting a rather gorgeous farmhouse would be an incentive,’ said Megan.
‘I really can’t believe you all know about that,’ said Fran.
Megan raised her eyebrows. ‘But of course! This is the country; everyone knows everything. You stick it out for a year, you get to inherit. Well worth a year of mud, I’d have thought.’
‘Actually it’s not quite like that—’ Fran began as Antony came over.
‘I think the Geneva Convention requires that the interrogation stops now,’ he said with a worryingly charming smile. ‘Why don’t you tell Fran all the best places to go around here? Like the best pubs, restaurants, or maybe even places to get a haircut.’
‘Actually I’m more into knowing about the restaurants and foodie pubs,’ said Fran.
‘There are some lovely pubs,’ said Erica, ‘but no restaurants.’
‘So where do you go if you want a romantic night out?’ Fran asked.
‘To someone else’s house where there’s an attractive man to flirt with,’ said Megan.
Fran laughed, not because she was amused particularly, but she wanted to divert attention away from herself. ‘Like here, you mean?’
Megan nodded. ‘If you like retro food.’
Caroline came back into the sitting room. ‘OK, come and eat everyone. Julian? I’m relying on you for the “placement”.’
Fran made sure she finished her drink before she followed the others into the dining room. She was not enjoying herself. Although the evening had been informative in some ways – she knew to avoid Megan if she possibly could – she wasn’t feeling at ease, in spite of the enormous gin.
Fran found herself at her host’s right hand, which was nice, because Julian was easy to talk to. She noted that Megan was sitting next to Antony and that Megan had her arm on the table so no one else could get to him.
Fran also noted that none of Caroline’s friends had offered to help her. There were a lot of people for one person to deal with and although the menu was simple (seventies inspired, possibly – kipper pâté with Melba toast, fish pie) it was only Caroline and Julian who ferried plates.
Thus, when the fish pie had been cleared away, Fran excused herself and followed her hostess. The conversation had drifted towards local schools and how to deal with head lice anyway, so Fran was happy to hunt out Caroline in the kitchen.
‘Hi! I really don’t want to get in your way,’ she said to Caroline, taking in the evidence of an over-faced cook with insufficient worktop space for such a big dinner party. ‘But I wanted to explain the cheese. You don’t have to feel obliged to serve it if you weren’t going to have cheese. Or even then.’ She smiled. ‘It’s various soft cheeses that I made myself.’
‘Oh God, who knew you could even do that?’ Although Caroline was polite, Fran could see she was very distracted.
‘Do let me help!’ Fran couldn’t help feeling dreadfully sorry for her. ‘It was so kind of you to invite me and I gather you wouldn’t have had so many people if they didn’t all want a look at me!’
‘To be honest, I’m past praying for. I’ve kept it all really simple to make life easier for myself and I’ve still rotted it up!’
Fran sensed that if Caroline had known her better, she would have used a stronger expression than ‘rotted up’. ‘Really? How?’
‘We’re having plum sponge – nursery food, plums out of the freezer – it should be easy-peasy. Only I’d forgotten I’d frozen them with their stones in so it took ages to take them all out – and now I’ve gone and over-whipped the cream. I’ve only got children’s ice cream to serve with it now.’
‘No you haven’t!’ Fran said. ‘I mean – I put some cream in the cool box along with the cheese. If it’s not enough, there’s mascarpone and ricotta too.’
‘You’re an angel sent from heaven!’ said Caroline after a few stunned seconds. ‘Let me see what you’ve got. Megan brought chocolates that someone gave to her first – you can tell by the overdue sell-by date.’
‘First rule of regifting chocolates,’ said Fran solemnly. ‘Check the sell-by date.’
Caroline laughed.
‘So why did you make all this, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Caroline said a little later, after various containers had been inspected. ‘There’s masses!’
Fran shrugged. ‘I had all this milk. The track to Hill Top Farm is so bad the tanker couldn’t fetch it. It was all going to be thrown away so I went on to YouTube and saw what I could make with it.’ Somehow Fran felt OK about confessing all this to Caroline. It was because her kitchen was messy and she had a kind heart; she wasn’t a critical yummy mummy like most of the others seemed to be.
‘You are clever!’ Caroline was clearly impressed. ‘I would have made a lot of custard and maybe frozen some milk but I never would have thought of making cheese.’
‘I had to use it up somehow. There was gallons of the stuff.’
Fran was glad to talk to someone about her milk surplus and equally glad that Antony wasn’t in earshot.
‘You need a market for this,’ said Caroline, digging a spoon into the mascarpone, rich and thick. ‘How did you make it?’
‘Mascarpone is the easiest: it didn’t need anything except milk, cream and some lemon juice. I’ve sent away for what they call grains, so I can make kefir, which I expect you know is fermented milk. Fermented foods are very popular. I bought rennet for some of the other cheese off the internet and luckily it arrived the next day – in time for tonight.’
‘But how are you going to sell your cheese? I’d suggest you tried for a stall at the farmers’ market but you’d have to wait ages for a space and there are regulations. Mind you, you’d probably qualify if a space came up.’
Fran had spent a lot of time thinking about this. ‘I think I might have to take it to London. I’ve got contacts there – I used to work in quite a few places.’
‘As a local girl, that seems a shame,’ said Caroline. ‘Now, I’d better put this on the table. Would you mind taking the sponge in? I’ll take the tray with the cream and stuff.’
Fran didn’t have time to ask Caroline to keep quiet about why she’d made cheese. She sighed again. She was used to solving problems, making decisions and forward plans, but she wasn’t used to doing them without someone else to discuss them with. So far the only person who would have done that for her was Antony, but while she liked him, he was still classed as the enemy in her heart.
‘Hey!’ said Caroline, setting down the tray that now carried pretty bowls full of Fran’s various products. ‘Fran has made all this stuff from Amy’s milk. Isn’t she clever?’
‘Very clever,’ said one of the men. ‘Are you planning to sell it?’
Clearly she was going to be asked this often. ‘I think I’ll take it to London. I have contacts there.’
