A Question of Love

by Gwen Kirkwood

  They enjoyed a hearty breakfast and Euan helped clear the dishes.

  `I didn’t have you down for the domesticated type,’ she told him frankly.

  `We have a lot to learn about each other, I guess. I don’t get much opportunity to be domesticated. I do a lot of travelling. I’ve built up a company and a good team but there’s a price to pay for success. Before Uncle Simon telephoned to say he was going to Australia to visit my mother I had been toying with going back there and staying in one place for a while. When I knew Mother would have company I thought it would make a change to spend some of the time in Scotland instead. A man can get tired of living in hotels however comfortable they may be. This…’ he allowed his gaze to roam around the large sunny kitchen,’ this is more like home. Sometimes I’d sell my soul for a plate of creamy scrambled eggs, or homemade strawberry jam with newly baked bread. You don’t get that sort of choice when you’re continually moving around.’

  `No, I suppose not.’ He was standing close beside her and he had changed into slim fitting jeans and a white open necked shirt which showed off the tanned column of his throat down to the first fuzz of dark hairs on his chest. She glanced up and blushed when she found his eyes on her and an amused smile curving the corners of his mouth. He quirked an eyebrow.

  `Takes some getting used to.’

  `Wh-what does?’

  `Seeing the efficient and immaculate Miss Kershaw as a blushing maiden in skin tight jeans and…’

  `They’re not skin tight! They’re…’

  `Oh I’m not complaining,’ he grinned, `I just can’t take my eyes off them, especially the worn patches on your thighs and around here.’ He patted her derrière, then jumped out of reach, grinning as she swiped out with the dishcloth.

  `You’d better watch your step or I shall be taking the next train back,’ she warned, but her eyes were sparkling. He had no need to talk about her jeans being tight when his own left so little room for expansion.

  They spent a companionable morning looking round the animals, particularly Mr K’s specials which were either rare or more uncommon breeds.

  `This is almost like a farmstead on its own,’ Euan reflected as they entered a square shaped yard with stone buildings all the way round.

  `It was the old original farmstead. The two areas can be separated for working with the beef cattle by the long iron gates at the top side of the house. They’re not so docile as the dairy cows. The stables and the big cubicle shed where the cows sleep, the dairy and milking parlour were all built shortly before your uncle bought Ashburn. That’s a long time ago now and the parlour was never meant for milking a hundred and twenty Jersey cows.’ She turned to look at him and her eyes were thoughtful.

  `Come on Roseanne, out with it. Were you going to tell me my uncle has not moved with the times? I’ve already guessed that as far as the factory is concerned.’

  `I was not going to criticise. The farm still makes a profit, but it could make more. I was thinking about the workers. Jock is well over sixty and Mr Lennox is heading that way so there will be changes whether we like it or not. There are so many modern aids now in farming as well as in other industries, but most of them need people who understand them, as well as being good stockmen. Did you know there are robots to do the milking now? The cows come to the stalls when they want to be fed their cake and get milked. Each one has a number so it gets the correct allocation of cake controlled by a computer which can be set according to the yield of milk the cow gives.’

  `Are you pulling my leg?’ He stopped walking and took hold of her shoulders, frowning at her upturned face.

  `Of course not! I’m serious. Honestly. Robots aren’t common yet but you ought to know about such things. I thought they were more in your line of work when they’re operated by computers. You have to train the cows to come in to them of course but I'm told they learn very quickly.’

  He looked at her, still sceptical. `For a start I should think it's impossible to train cows like that to come and get themselves milked.’

  `Of course it isn’t,’ Roseanne argued. `When the cows were milked in byres they all had their own stalls and they never forgot which was theirs. If you watch the herd now you will see there’s always a leader cow and an order of precedence amongst them, and most of them have a preference for which side they like to stand in the milking parlour to have the milking machine put on.’

  `Honestly?’ He looked at her suspiciously. `You’re not – you’re not trying to “roast” me, are you? Because if you are, Roseanne Fairfax I shall…’

  `Truthfully,’ Roseanne said hurriedly. `I’m telling you the facts. This is too important to me to risk sending you up a gum tree.’

  `So you admit you might tease me about something of less importance?’

  `I might.’ She chuckled and her green eyes danced. She sobered. `Robots are still very expensive. I haven’t mentioned them to your uncle, nor discussed modernising the existing parlour but we shall have to consider changes before long. Younger workers want modern working conditions. It is proving difficult enough persuading him we ought to mechanise the labelling and packaging lines at Kershaw & Co, but that is a priority now we’re producing larger quantities and there are so many regulations about listing ingredients. I think he is coming round to the idea.’

  `So was it your idea to send for me?’

  `No, I didn’t know anything about you until Mr K mentioned he had a nephew who was supposed to be a whiz with computers.’

  `Supposed to be eh?’ Euan scowled. `Is that what he said? Still, he hasn’t seen me since I was a toddler and Mother doesn’t really understand much about my work.’

  `Well,’ Roseanne shrugged. `Let’s hope Mr K will listen to your advice for the factory.’

  `I’ll try to persuade him, but tell me more about the use of computers on the farm?’

  `I’d like to see some of the robots working myself before planning any changes. They require a lot of capital so we can’t afford to make mistakes. We already have computers for feeding the cows as they come into the milking parlour. Ours have collars which identify them as they pass so they get the right amount of cake according to the quantity of milk they’re producing. Eventually they will probably have a chip inserted under the skin to identify them. I haven’t shown you the farm office yet but we have a computer in there too. All the milk yields are recorded in the parlour and transferred back to it.’

  `That’s interesting. I shall look forward to seeing the milking parlour in operation.’

  `Mr Lennox is a working manager so he keeps a record of all the births, or any deaths, for all the cattle, not just the dairy herd. They all have a passport you see.’

  `A passport?’ he echoed incredulously. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  `It’s true, I’m not teasing you. When I come down at weekends I register each new born calf and the information goes to a central government computer in England. It’s the law. They issue a passport with our herd number and a unique number for each bovine animal. It looks like a cheque book. If an animal is sold the correct paper work must go with it and the central computer has to be notified. Once it’s registered a calf can’t even die without the relevant papers. It’s called traceability. We get regular checks from officials. It must cost a fortune to pay all the civil servants. I have to be here when they come. Neither Mr Lennox nor Jock understand the computer records but I’m hoping to teach William. The British government keeps more tabs on the identity of cattle than on human beings,’ she said wryly.

  `I’d no idea. Is Mr Lennox the husband of Mrs Lennox the housekeeper?’

  `Yes. They don’t go away often. I don’t know what we shall do when they retire, or how we shall replace Jock either, unless we modernise a bit.’

  `Mmm, I see what you mean about it taking quite a lot of capital.’

  `Yes. We shall need to take it one step at a time. Modernising the processing plants must have first priority.’

  `So Mr and Mrs Lennox don’t liv
e in the farmhouse?’

  `No. Their house is on the road side. We passed it as we turned into the farm yard.’

  `Good, I’m relieved to hear that.’

  `Mrs Lennox cooks for your uncle if I’m not here. She does his washing and keeps the freezer stocked for us. She’ll probably do the same for you if you come again when she’s at home.’

  `I certainly hope to come again.’

  `I didn’t have you down as a country person, but I don’t see why it matters to you whether Mr and Mrs Lennox live in the farmhouse or not for all the time you’re likely to be here?’

  `Don’t you?’

  `No.’

  `I think it might one of these days – or nights. I don’t relish having a chaperone.’ He chuckled when he saw her blush. `Though I suppose your Rob would prefer you to have a chaperone.’ He was watching her face carefully and he could have sworn she’d forgotten all about her erstwhile boyfriend.

  `R-Rob…? A-a chaperone will not make the slightest difference to me,’ Roseanne insisted.

  `If you say so.’ His eyes glinted merrily. `But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I prove you wrong.’

  `I wouldn’t count on that,` she retorted with more assurance than she felt, considering how readily she had responded to his kiss. She couldn’t understand herself acting so out of character.

  Five

  `You'll need to explain about these other animals,’ Euan said when they reached the stone built pens in the original old farm yard. `Some of them look…well different.’

  `These are the Gloucester Old Spot pigs.’ They leaned over the door of the piggery and watched nine piglets all suckling their mother while she grunted contentedly. Euan was standing close, his arm brushing against hers and he was tempted to put it round her shoulders and draw her closer but for the first time in his experience he was unsure how this particular woman would react. Most of the girls he had known had welcomed a kiss and a cuddle, and often more but he sensed he must proceed more cautiously than he would like with Roseanne.

  `The young pigs next door are ready for weaning, and the two further on will farrow soon,’ Roseanne said. `These ginger hairy ones are Tamworths.’

  `They’re the same colour as you,’ Euan teased. `Shall I call you Tammy in future?’

  `No you will not! Anyway I’m not as ginger as that.’

  `Maybe not quite.’ There was laughter in his eyes. `You have beautiful hair with all those golden lights in it and it looks like spun silk, but I’ll wager you have a more fiery temper than the ginger pigs.’

  `It’s the animals you’re supposed to be learning about, not me,’ Roseanne reminded him. `The ones at the end are Welsh Saddlebacks.’ Your uncle prefers to keep them all pure. We label the products accordingly. We’re very proud of the natural flavour we achieve and we never bulk up any of our products by adding water or salt. The gammon steaks are delicious. You should bring one with you next week if you come down on your own.’ Roseanne knew she was chattering. Was it because he was so close that she felt like an inexperienced teenager?

  `It will not be nearly so interesting without you.’

  `Your uncle knows I enjoy being here on any pretext but I still can’t understand why he sent that email asking me to accompany you. Maybe he was afraid you’d ruffle Jock McIntyre’s feathers.’

  Euan ignored her speculation. He wondered how she would react if she discovered he had tricked her into spending this weekend with him. More to the point what would the boyfriend Rob have to say, considering there was only the two of them alone in the house, even if it was a large one? He walked beside her as they crossed to the other side of the yard.

  `This looks as though it has been a house,’ he remarked.

  `It was the original farm house long before our time – a single storey cottage. Your uncle converted it into two hen houses with fenced runs at the back so they stay separate. These reddish ones are Marans. They lay lovely brown eggs. The others are Light Sussex. Most of the eggs are sold locally from the village shop. We could sell more but we use a lot at the processing plant. There’s a burn at the back of the buildings. Your uncle damned it to create a small pond so he could keep some Muscovy ducks and I’m not sure what the brown ones are.’ She shook her head and smiled ruefully `They’re not at all commercial but he gets a lot of pleasure out of them and his enthusiasm is infectious. When we have so many breeds of animal we could make more money if we made it an open farm and charged the public an entrance fee to look around, but then we’d need extra staff and a big public liability insurance, plus more attractions for children. One of us would need to live here to oversee everything.’ She sighed. `I could make it a good wee business in its own right. The beef cattle and sheep are in the fields at this side of the old steading. If the winter is very severe they can get into these open fold-yards for shelter with hay or silage to supplement the grass.’

  `I can see the farm does mean a lot to you, Roseanne, and you understand everything about it.’ There was respect in Euan’s voice.

  `I ought to do. I’ve been coming down here since before I could walk. Grandfather used to perch me on his shoulders to take me to look at his animals. He was disappointed when my father didn’t follow in his footsteps. After he bought Ashburn your uncle often joined us in the evenings when Granny was alive. She kept open house. After she died your uncle still came most evenings until he started the meat processing. Grandfather appreciated his company.’

  `I imagine it was mutual. My mother told me your grandfather taught Uncle Simon everything he knows about farming.’

  `I don’t know about that but he’s an expert at buying top quality animals for Kershaw & Co, whether at the markets or privately. He has placed orders with several of the farmers to keep us supplied while he is away. That was the only thing which worried me about him being away so long. He left me the names of two men he feels I could trust to augment our supplies if I think we might run short.’

  `You have more responsibility than I realised.’

  `I expect I’ll cope,’ she shrugged. She felt less comfortable discussing the processing business. If his uncle had wanted him to know she owned almost half the company he would have told Euan himself. Although he was Simon Kershaw’s nephew they were almost strangers and in any case they had had so little time to discuss anything. She didn’t like the idea that Euan could check all the transactions through the central computer though. Surely his uncle had never anticipated that. There were one or two personal items which went through the firm’s accounts.

  `Something troubling you Roseanne?’ Euan asked.

  `No, no of course not. We’ll walk beside the burn, shall we? It goes along three sides of the paddocks where we rear the beef and lamb. It floods sometimes so we never plough Burnside Meadow. See the big yellow flowers? I often got wet feet trying to pick them when I was small. Granny always gave me a scolding. They’re called kingcups. The little ones are buttercups, and of course you’ll recognise the daisies.’

  `And the dainty lavender coloured flowers, what are they?’

  `They’re milkmaids – or at least that’s what I’ve always called them.’

  `You really do love the countryside, don’t you, Roseanne?’

  `Yes, I dream of living down here someday. After lunch we’ll walk round the boundaries if you’re not too stiff after your morning ride? I’ll show you where my grandparents lived.’

  `I’d like that. What are those hairy looking cattle which look as though they’re wearing a white saddle?’

  `They’re Belted Galloways. The smaller black ones are Aberdeen Angus – excellent meat but not so hardy. You’ll recognise the Highland cattle with their huge horns of course.`

  `Yes, they look lethal.’

  `They’re usually fairly quiet unless they have a new calf. The red and white cattle in the far field are Herefords. We keep more of them. Your uncle believes they make the tastiest beef but they have been replaced by imported breeds like the Belgian Blues, Simmentals and B
ritish Blonds. They seem to have pushed many of our traditional British breeds aside. Oh look there’s William…’ She waved towards the young man who had been inspecting the sheep in the fields further away. He came towards them with a collie dog at his heels. They met him at the gate.

  `William this is Euan Kennedy. He’s a nephew of Mr K. He’s a computer expert so he may be able to advise you about your laptop.’ She grinned mischievously up at Euan. `We may as well make good use of your expertise while you’re here. This is Jock’s grandson, William Macintyre. Are you looking over the stock while Mr Lennox and his wife are on holiday?’

  `Yes. I volunteered to count them. Mr Lennox gave me a note of the numbers in each of the paddocks. They’re all there and okay.’

  `Is there any reason why they shouldn’t be?’ Euan asked puzzled, thinking how seldom the huge flocks of Australian sheep could be counted when they were spread over vast areas.

  `We always count and check them every day but there’s been some cattle rustling in the area,’ William explained. `Or rather sheep stealing is the most recent.’

  `And you never know with animals. One could get caught in a fence or take ill and die if they’re not checked regularly,’ Roseanne added.

  `I’ve decided what I’m going to do when I finish school, Roseanne,’ William said. `I’ll be leaving in another four weeks. I’ve had interviews with the careers advisor and he’s got me in for a place at agricultural college to do a Higher Diploma. He reckons I can go on to university and upgrade to a degree if I decide I want that.’

  `You’re sticking with agriculture rather than computers or accountancy then?’ Roseanne asked with a smile.

  `Yes. I know I’ll never be able to have a farm of my own but this is what I love.’ He waved an arm, encompassing the fields and animals.

  `You’re a wise young fellow to follow your heart,’ Euan said with feeling.

  `Is that what you did?’ Roseanne asked curiously.

  `I haven’t followed my heart yet,’ he said gravely, `but I’m hoping it’s not too late. The truth is, William, you’re lucky. You know what you want to do. I didn’t have a clue. I was good at maths and science. I considered engineering but I drifted into computer programming. I spent a frustrating two years in a firm where other guys used my ideas and took the credit. I had no ties so I decided to set up on my own. Mother was worried sick but at twenty two I suppose I was rash and conceited. I’d nothing to lose and I was prepared to work hard. I’ve been lucky. Things took off. I’m thirty now and I could almost afford to retire if I sold my company, but I’ve never had time to relax. I could never idle my time away doing nothing but I feel I’m missing out on some of the more important aspects of life. During the next three months I shall take stock and see which way the future beckons.’