A Country Escape

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Yes,’ said Fran, crossing her fingers under the table.

  ‘How does your farm make money, Miss Duke?’

  ‘It’s a small dairy farm,’ she said. ‘I make cheese with the milk.’

  ‘And how do you sell it? Do you have a shop?’

  ‘I share a friend’s farmers’ market stall.’ She still had her fingers crossed as this hadn’t happened yet. ‘I have very low overheads.’ She didn’t know what the overheads were but they would have to be lower than a shop.

  ‘So it’s mostly profit?’ Mr Partland seemed a little encouraged.

  ‘I don’t charge for my time, so yes.’

  Antony made a noise that made Fran look at him. She knew he was saying she should charge for her time, but how could she?

  Fran felt she was the British underdog in a tennis final at Wimbledon. Mr Partland would serve what might be an ace and she would have to run desperately to think of an answer to his question. Somehow she managed to do it every time. And while she wasn’t panting hard, a trickle of sweat had run down her spine and she was concentrating on looking relaxed and confident.

  Antony gave a very small, slow nod, to indicate he thought she’d done it. If it had actually been tennis he’d have been on his feet waving and cheering. At least, Fran hoped so. You could never quite tell with Antony.

  ‘Right, Miss Duke, you seem to know what to do but of course you’ll need to produce a proper business plan.’

  ‘I can help with that,’ Antony murmured.

  ‘As well as the payment that is currently due …’ Fran stifled a small scream. ‘And then we can think about renegotiating the terms.’

  Fran got some moisture back into her mouth so she could speak. ‘So, when do you want all this by?’

  ‘The payment in a week, say, as it’s already overdue, and then we can make another appointment for when I’m next back in branch.’

  ‘OK,’ said Fran and wished she’d sounded more confident.

  ‘So? How do you propose to make the payment? I’m assuming you don’t have a separate account with the money in it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what will you do? Sell a cow?’

  ‘That would be a ridiculous thing to do,’ said Fran, suddenly angry. ‘The cows are irreplaceable and how I make money!’

  Mr Partland shrugged and got up. The meeting was over and he probably had a few more to do while he was ‘in branch’. ‘Well, as long as you make the payment next week I really don’t mind how you do it.’

  Fran wasn’t quite sure how she got out of the bank but she found herself blinking in the sunshine as if she’d been in a very dark place for some time.

  ‘I’ve got time for another coffee if you have,’ said Antony, ‘unless you need a stiff drink.’

  ‘I definitely need a stiff drink but I can’t have one. I’m seeing Amy soon and I’m driving.’

  ‘Double espresso and a chocolate brownie, then?’

  Fran smiled. ‘Actually I think a sparkling water would do it. I feel like I’ve run a marathon – well, a half marathon anyway.’

  ‘Let’s go to the pub. We’re rather on public view in the café.’

  ‘Why is that a problem?’ Her nerves were already rattled by the in branch meeting, so this made Fran jump.

  ‘We don’t want to be seen together again by someone who’ll rush in to tell Amy we’re in cahoots. Come.’

  He took her arm and led her through streets Fran hadn’t discovered yet to a lovely old-fashioned pub. ‘No one who knows Amy will see us in here.’

  While he ordered the drinks Fran sat at a table, wondering how on earth she was going to find eight hundred pounds in only a week. She had her own dwindling savings but she’d been living on them. Her mind kept going back to the roof tiles Roy had mentioned.

  ‘Well,’ said Antony, coming back to the table with her water and a cup of coffee for him. ‘At least he didn’t ask what you’d do when the cows went dry.’

  Fran found herself laughing. ‘I don’t think he knew much about cows. Only a bit less than I do, obviously.’

  ‘With Tig you don’t need to know much though, do you?’

  ‘I must learn. Tig might not stay on the farm forever.’ She suddenly felt a pang of sadness. ‘I might not either if Roy gets it. In fact I definitely won’t.’

  ‘Come on! It’s not like you to be pessimistic. There’s a way of paying the instalment if you only think.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Of course—’

  ‘No. Thank you. It’s very kind of you, but you’ve already done so much for me, with the track and the cheese room and stuff.’

  He smiled again and Fran’s stomach did a little flip. She wished it wouldn’t do that. She had enough to think about without falling in love. She needed all her wits to look after the farm.

  ‘Only looking after my own interests,’ he said casually.

  ‘You don’t want a cheese room! And I am going to pay you back. I just need to sort the bank out first.’

  ‘You seem a bit more positive than a second or two ago. Did the water revive you?’

  Fran managed a small chuckle. ‘It did. I think I have an idea of how I might be able to find eight hundred pounds, but I’m cross because it was Roy who put the notion into my head and sad because it’s selling off a bit of the farm.’

  ‘Not land?’

  Although his expression didn’t really alter she could tell he was horrified. She shook her head. ‘Not that bad.’ She went on to tell him about the little shelter Roy had spotted, all fallen down, and the stone tiles that had been its roof.

  ‘Well, if you don’t think I’m butting in, I have a mate in the reclamation business.’

  ‘Really? That would be amazing. If I tried to arrange it myself I’d be sure to get ripped off.’ She sighed, suddenly exhausted from all her responsibilities. ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

  ‘There’ll be a way,’ said Antony, quiet but firm.

  ‘Although I’m not—’

  ‘Selling me the farm? I think I’ve got that now. I promise I won’t force you to should the time come.’

  ‘Thank you for that too. Now I must go or Amy will be asleep when I get there. She takes a lot of naps,’ she added. ‘Email me the name of your contact, will you? I’ll have to try and do it when Roy’s not there.’

  ‘Is he out often?’

  ‘He goes to the pub a lot. Apparently to watch sport.’

  Antony laughed. ‘The way you said that it could have been pornography.’

  Fran smiled back at him. ‘It’s not that. I’m just not sure he does go to the pub to watch sport. He might be doing anything and I wouldn’t trust him—’

  ‘As far as you could throw him?’

  Fran nodded. ‘I banished that thought when I realised that throwing him would involve actual physical contact. Now I’m off.’ She paused, half out of her chair. ‘You promise you’ll tell me if there’s anything I can do for you?’

  ‘I promise,’ he said solemnly.

  But as she left the pub Fran knew there wouldn’t be anything she could do for Antony. How could she, penniless, pay back someone who appeared to be so well off?

  She was nearly at her car when she saw Erica, waving wildly. ‘Fran! So glad I caught you. Farmers’ market this Saturday? I’ve sorted the formalities; you’re fine to have cheese on my stall. So good you’re a chef.’

  ‘Why? Are we doing a food demo?’

  ‘No, but it’s a good idea for another time. I’m thrilled because all your certificates are up to date and you’re safe to sell cheese.’

  ‘When I’ve seen Amy, I’ll go home and make some more,’ said Fran, trying to match Erica’s enthusiasm. She would have been excited if she hadn’t had to worry about selling antique roof tiles to raise a quick eight hundred quid.

  Seeing Amy wasn’t very cheerful, either.

  Amy was tired and grumpy and spent most of the minutes before she fell asleep saying how wonderful Roy was. To add to Fran’s discomfor
t, she nearly ran into Amy’s solicitor on her way out.

  ‘Hello, Mr Addison. Why are you here?’ she asked.

  He smiled back. ‘Sorry, can’t say. Client confidentiality.’

  ‘Of course. How silly of me,’ said Fran. ‘Anyway, hope you’re well.’

  She wanted to add that Amy was asleep and he wouldn’t get anything useful out of her, if it was indeed her he was hoping to visit.

  But as she walked away she couldn’t help wondering if Amy had summoned him so she could alter her will in favour of Roy. She knew she was being neurotic – it was a care home, after all. Any one of the clients could have asked him to call. It was only too easy to think the worst, however.

  When Fran was finally home, after the stressful visit to the bank and the dispiriting time with Amy, she found it was wonderful to take herself off, alone, to her cheese room and concentrate on producing items for Erica’s stall. She put the radio on and heated, stirred, cut, flavoured and let stand several gallons of the very best milk there was. She realised this was not an unbiased opinion, but when, a few hours later, she tasted the mascarpone – which needed no flavouring to make it heavenly – she felt it was not unjustified.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Saturday morning, the day of the farmers’ market, Fran got up horrifically early. She loaded her car and set off down the track.

  She was a little worried about what Roy might get up to while she was out all day but decided there couldn’t be too much. Antony’s friend had come out and valued the tiles, which turned out to be reassuringly valuable. His visit had coincided with one of Roy’s frequent trips to the pub and that had been very convenient. She and Issi had decided that as she had practically sold the tiles already, if Roy tried to sell them too, behind her back, it would be too late. And, Issi had pointed out, only a very neurotic person (she nodded at Fran) would worry about such things.

  As Fran turned into Erica’s drive so they could put all the cheese into her refrigerated van, she decided that today was going to be fun, and she’d put all her concerns behind her and focus on the cheese.

  Even though it was too early for it to be full of busy shoppers, the sight of the market was very cheering. There were stalls with piles of vegetables smelling of newly turned earth and freshness. Every size and shape of bread you could imagine – from spelt loaves studded with pumpkin seeds and glazed with honey, to rustic rounds of rye, nobbly and appealing, and everything in between – took over two stalls. Honey, beeswax polish and candles gave off the scent of wax and turpentine. There were buckets of cut flowers, including foliage gleaned from the hedgerows, and a stall selling products from goats milk including soap and cosmetics. A local pottery had a table full of bowls, plates, mugs and jugs, all in the most beautiful blue. The bright awnings, the cornucopia of produce (all local and high quality) coupled with the banter of the other stallholders lifted her spirits. That, and the wonderful waft of coffee that floated towards her from the café, already serving bacon baps and toast to the stallholders. Fran smiled.

  ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe this cheese!’ said a woman, tasting some of Fran’s garlic- and nettle-flavoured cream cheese a couple of hours later. The nettle was more for the look than the taste, but Fran was very pleased with the effect.

  Thanks to Erica’s imaginative signs advertising Fran’s guest appearance, the stall was attracting a lot of attention. A few supper club people came, most of them buying something from both Fran and Erica. Megan was the exception. She was wearing cigarette pants, a shearling body warmer with high-heeled boots and an Hermès scarf. She looked as if she belonged in Sloane Square, not a country market.

  ‘Tastes of compost heaps, if you don’t mind me saying,’ Megan announced.

  ‘How do you know what compost heaps taste of?’ asked Erica.

  ‘You know what I mean!’ said Megan, rolling her eyes and flinging her hands about in an artistic way.

  ‘Actually I do know what you mean,’ said Fran. ‘I don’t agree that my cheese tastes like that, but you can imagine what a compost heap tastes like.’

  Megan’s expression softened a little. ‘So how are you getting on with Roy? He’s such fun, isn’t he?’

  Fran smiled and nodded. ‘Barrel of laughs.’

  ‘And he’s so caring of Amy, isn’t he? I think he must see her almost every day,’ Megan went on, managing to make Fran feel she neglected her.

  ‘I hope he doesn’t overtire her,’ said Fran.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. He’s very considerate of her age, he told me. But she likes to know everything that goes on on the farm.’

  ‘She might get a little bored with being told about it,’ said Fran. ‘I keep her pretty well up to speed.’

  ‘Yes, but do you tell her everything?’ asked Megan. ‘I mean, Roy said there was a reclamation man visiting the other day. Did you tell her about that?’

  Wondering how on earth Roy knew, Fran said, ‘Well, no, I didn’t tell her about that. I thought it would worry her.’

  ‘Very considerate of you, but Roy feels that because she’s still got all her marbles, she has a right to be kept informed.’

  ‘Well, Roy obviously keeps you well informed, Megan,’ said Fran.

  ‘It goes both ways.’ Megan shrugged as if she was doing everyone favours. ‘I was able to tell him that I’d spotted you and Antony having coffee together the other day. Amy was very interested to hear that, I assure you!’

  ‘She didn’t say anything to me about it,’ said Fran, truthfully. ‘I tell her about the farm and anything I think she would be interested in, but not my every move.’

  ‘You know how she feels about you spending time with Antony—’

  ‘’Scuse me, you two,’ said Erica. ‘But there are customers waiting. I’ll catch up with you soon, Megan. We’ll do lunch.’

  This made Megan move away but without noticing that there weren’t customers waiting at all.

  ‘Thank you so much for getting rid of her,’ Fran said. ‘She’s got it in for me.’

  ‘And we all know why,’ said Erica.

  Erica had restocked the stall from her van but they were getting low on cheese when Fran looked up to see a familiar face coming towards her.

  ‘Hell! It’s Fran!’ said a large man with a lot of curly hair.

  Fran came out from behind the stall so she could hug him. ‘Roger! It’s you! What are you doing here?’

  ‘What are you doing here is the question. You should be in my restaurant kitchen!’

  ‘You would never have offered me a job in your kitchen, you’re far too snooty,’ said Fran, so thrilled to see her old friend and former boss she could hardly contain herself.

  ‘Not as a chef, obviously, but as a KP …’

  Fran punched him in the arm. ‘My kitchen porter days are over,’ she said. ‘I am now a cheesemonger and maker.’

  ‘Really? Let me taste some.’

  Fran loaded up a cracker with her special cream cheese.

  ‘Oh my sweet Lord. I’ve died and gone to heaven!’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Roger,’ said Fran, who was used to his hyperbole.

  ‘I am not exaggerating. For once, I’m not. Let me taste everything! If I like it, I’ll sell as much of it as you can provide.’

  In the end they had to stop him not only tasting, but buying everything. Erica said she had regular customers who had to have their orders but he bought almost every scrap of cheese on the stall.

  Exhausted, and pleased they could pack up early, Erica said, ‘Well, who was he, then?’

  ‘Shall we pack the van and go for a coffee? I’ll tell you everything I know about him.’

  Fran told Erica exactly what she used to do for Roger when she worked for him, and also what a lunatic he was.

  ‘Let’s google him!’ said Fran, wiping butter off her fingers, having eaten a toasted teacake in record time.

  ‘Good plan,’ said Erica. ‘Here, use my phone.’

  ‘My goodness,�
� said Fran a little later. ‘He’s gone up in the world. Look! He’s going to have a TV programme and he’s involved with a new deli opening in London.’

  ‘Not just London, Belgravia,’ said Erica, impressed.

  ‘So it is. I call myself a Londoner but that bit of London is not on my radar.’

  ‘Well, maybe it should be!’ said Erica, delighted. ‘It would be so brilliant if you could get your cheese in there.’

  ‘He certainly seemed to like it.’ Fran bit her lip. ‘This could be a really good opportunity, couldn’t it?’

  ‘It could put you on the map as a cheesemaker and it could get me some very valuable extra sales.’ Erica paused. ‘More teacakes all round, I say!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fran drove back to the farm full of optimism. She could make a living out of cheese – if she sold it to the highest-end shop there was. If Roger could persuade his customers to like it, it could really put her on the Posh People’s Foodie Map.

  She arrived in the kitchen with a load of empty containers to discover Issi, just as upbeat.

  ‘Hey!’ said Issi, clicking on the kettle. ‘Good day?’

  ‘Amazing, actually. We sold everything and an old chef friend from London was there. Sold most of it to him, actually. But you’re looking pretty happy yourself.’

  ‘I am! Guess why?’

  ‘Too tired for guessing. Give me a cup of tea and tell me. Please?’

  Issi relented and also handed over a piece of cake. ‘Present from Tig’s mum – who’s told us we have to call her Mary by the way. And the news is …’ She waited.

  ‘Ta da?’ suggested Fran feebly.

  ‘Roy’s gone!’

  Fran’s mouth fell open. ‘Gone? What do you mean, gone? Forever?’

  ‘No, sadly,’ said Issi. ‘But for a while.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Fran, unable to enjoy the cake until she knew more.

  ‘Because he was bored. He actually said that Amy was taking too long to die and so he’s gone off with his mates from the pub – some sort of sporting tour, I think – to pass the time.’