Authors: Cathy Bramley
‘It’s a kind offer,’ began Uncle Arthur tentatively, ‘but we weren’t planning on going just yet, were we, Sue?’
‘Artie, we need to be realistic. Chances like this don’t come along every day,’ she said quietly, taking his hand.
Thank goodness for that
, I thought. I couldn’t stand the stress if it did.
‘Right, well, let me know within the month,’ said Julian, standing up, as if the deal was as good as clinched.
‘A month!’ I yelped at the same time as Auntie Sue said, ‘Well, that sounds reasonable.’
I gave Uncle Arthur a pleading look. He stood up, too, and a little wave of love came over me when I noticed how much shorter than Julian he was. He’d shrunk since Easter, I was sure of it.
‘I’m not committing myself to a time limit, son. This farm has been in the Moorcroft family for over a hundred years. Me and your auntie need to talk about it. Think things through.’
‘He won’t hang around, I’m warning you.’ Julian sighed, shaking his head. ‘People like him never do.’
Uncle Arthur eyeballed his nephew. ‘And I won’t be rushed.’
Go, Uncle Arthur! I just about managed not to punch the air.
‘So be it.’ Julian frowned and fiddled with his phone again.
There was something dodgy going on here; I just couldn’t put my finger on it.
‘Julian,’ I said sharply. He lifted his eyes reluctantly from the screen of his phone. ‘I’m confused. I only spoke to Dad last night about Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur’s plans to retire. And in the last twelve hours you’ve managed to find someone who wants to buy a farm.
In the Lake District.
All while you were at a conference.
In Edinburgh
. It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?’
‘Indeed!’ Julian laughed and put a snake-like arm around Auntie Sue’s shoulders. ‘It’s obviously meant to be.’
‘But how—’ I huffed.
My brother spoke over me. ‘Any chance of a quick tour of the farmyard before I go? I’ll take a few pictures to show my contact. He’s going to love the place as much as you do, I know he will.’
‘Sure, sure,’ said Uncle Arthur, making his way to the door hastily.
‘I’m about to milk the cows, Julian, you can come and watch,’ smiled Auntie Sue.
‘Great,’ said Julian, not entirely convincingly.
‘I’m going to get dressed,’ I announced. ‘Then I’ll do the hens, shall I?’
But no one heard. They were all fussing round, finding wellingtons to fit Julian so as not to ruin his poncy shoes, so I sloped off to my room feeling all crotchety.
Half an hour later I was back down in the kitchen, showered and altogether in a better frame of mind. If – and only if – my aunt and uncle wanted to sell to Julian’s rich cable man, then who was I to stand in their way? It was their farm, their home and ultimately their future. Just as long as Julian didn’t mess them about, that was my only worry.
There was a rattle at the letterbox and I got there just in time to snatch the letters up while Madge snapped in vain at the air, trying to bite the postman’s fingers off through the flap.
‘Junk, junk, junk,’ I mumbled, flicking through the little pile of post. Eek! Except this one.
My stomach lurched as I dropped the rest of the envelopes on the table and kept hold of the large brown one.
It was from the Cumbrian planning department. I held my breath as I slipped my finger under the edge of the envelope. This was it. The decision on whether I’d be allowed to open the Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms. In my heart of hearts I was expecting a yes – my friendly planning officer, Patience Purdue, had as good as told me so. But there was always a chance …
Actually, on second thoughts – I stopped tearing the paper and sprinted out of the kitchen and back along the hall to the office – I’d sit down at my desk first. Just in case it was bad news.
As my hand reached for the door handle, I froze. Julian was in there, talking quietly on the office phone.
‘The old dears have as good as agreed. Yeah, yeah, I know … a goldmine.’
I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop myself yelling out. The absolute scumbag.
I knew it was too good to be true.
Fancies himself as a farmer, living the good life.
Yeah, right.
I pressed my ear closer to the door. My breathing was so loud, I could barely hear Julian’s slimy voice. I caught something about demolition and was just about to burst in on him when the kitchen door banged open and interrupted me mid-eavesdrop.
Someone whistled tunelessly, presumably to attract attention, then called, ‘Hello? Anyone home?’
It was Harry.
I dived back to the kitchen door, making him jump, and shushed him fiercely.
‘Sorry, is someone asleep?’ he said, twisting his mouth into a bemused smile.
‘Shush! Listen to this,’ I hissed.
Touching my forefinger to my lips to secure his silence, I grabbed his arm and hauled him along the hallway. We both pressed our ears to the office door.
‘They’ve no idea what it’s worth,’ Julian laughed.
‘Who is it?’ murmured Harry, frowning with curiosity. ‘What what’s worth?’
‘Julian,’ I murmured back, shaking my head, ‘and Appleby Farm.’
Squashed together like this, I was aware of the warmth of his body through his shirt and the faintest smell of mint on his breath. I felt hot all of a sudden and brushed a curly piece of straw from his sleeve.
‘Yeah, luxury hotel, holiday village, country retreat … the sky’s the limit,’ Julian boasted.
Harry and I exchanged shocked looks.
‘This deal will put me on the map. Julian Moorcroft has arrived.’ And then he did an evil sort of laugh and ended the call.
‘Quick!’ I yelped under my breath.
I scrambled up the first flight of stairs, dragging Harry by the hand behind me. We flattened ourselves to the wall as Julian came out of the office and went back out into the farmyard, humming to himself.
I met Harry’s bewildered gaze and let out a long shuddering breath. To my astonishment I found I was still clutching the letter from the council in one hand and Harry’s fingers in the other. I let go of his hand, sank down on the worn stair carpet and dropped my head into my hands.
Harry squeezed in next to me, his thighs pressing against mine as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
‘Freya, what’s going on? I only came in to get the tractor keys and I feel like I’ve stumbled into an Agatha Christie mystery,’ he said softly.
Despite my anger at Julian’s underhand behaviour, I couldn’t help smiling.
‘Either that or an adult game of sardines,’ he added, ‘which, by the way, has a lot going for it.’
I picked at the corner of the envelope and felt the tingle of tears at the back of my eyes.
‘Oh, Harry, as if we haven’t got enough to deal with at the moment, what with TB and the movement restriction. Then Julian turns up unexpectedly and claims to have found a buyer for the farm. Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur want to retire and I’m all for helping them do it,’ I shook my head, ‘but I can’t believe Julian would try to cheat his own family out of the proper value of the farm.’
Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure about that? I’ve only met your brother a couple of times over the years, but I know you’ve never seen eye to eye over money.’
I sighed. ‘Good point.’
‘It would be a travesty to see the farm replaced by a hotel,’ agreed Harry. ‘Anything I can do to help, you will let me know, won’t you?’
I felt my heart swell with gratitude. ‘Thank you. I need a friend right now.’
We smiled at each other for a few seconds and it was all I could do not to sink against him.
‘What’s the letter, by the way?’ asked Harry, breaking into my thoughts.
‘This?’ I said, a smile twitching at my lips. ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’
I ripped open the envelope from the planning department and held my breath as I scanned over the page.
Planning application approved.
‘Fantastic! Appleby Farm Vintage Tea Rooms can go ahead!’ I exhaled with relief.
‘Congratulations, I’m really pleased for you.’ Harry grinned. ‘So what’s your next move?’
I stood up and caught sight of my reflection in the landing mirror. I felt my heartbeat, strong and defiant against my ribcage.
I’d always described myself as a fun, fearless female and Julian was undoubtedly a strong opponent. But I had right on my side and this was one battle I was not prepared to lose to my big brother.
‘Right now? I’m going to fight Julian. I’m not going to let him take Appleby Farm from me, and certainly not from Uncle Arthur and Auntie Sue.’
By the time I’d found the tractor keys for Harry, splashed cold water on my face and made it outside to the yard, Julian was sitting in a sleek black sports car with his window wound down, chatting to Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur.
‘Leaving without saying goodbye, were you, Julian?’ I said, forcing a smile as I bent to face him.
‘Can’t wait all day for you to get dressed,’ he scoffed.
‘Has Julian been telling you about his development ideas for a
luxury hotel
at Appleby Farm?’ I smiled sweetly, not breaking eye contact with him and adding air quotes to ‘luxury hotel’.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and punched the steering wheel with the other. ‘Freya—’
‘Or possibly a holiday village and – what was the other one? Oh yes, a country retreat.’ I turned to face Auntie Sue and Uncle Arthur, who both looked bewildered. ‘The sky’s the limit, apparently. Isn’t it, Julian?’
‘All right, all right. Get out of the way,’ said Julian, opening the car door and pushing me to one side as he climbed out. His foot landed in a puddle and muddy water splashed up his leg.
‘So, there is no TV cable man?’ Auntie Sue automatically stepped towards her husband and linked her arm through his. I felt guilty all of a sudden. In my haste to expose Julian for what he was, I hadn’t considered how they might react.
‘Yes, yes, of course there is.’ Julian scowled, rubbing his wet trouser leg uselessly.
‘There’s just no good life,’ I added. I put my arms around my uncle and aunt and hugged them tight. ‘I apologize on behalf of my devious brother. He’s trying to pull a fast one, I’m afraid.’
‘Julian?’ gasped Auntie Sue.
‘Is that right, son?’ said Uncle Arthur coldly.
‘No!’ Julian dragged a hand over his red face. ‘Look. This is a bit awkward. I admit, I should have come clean. I do have a buyer interested, but he’s an investor and not a would-be farmer. I just thought you might not want to see the farm as a development opportunity.’
‘Not to mention a gold mine, eh, Julian?’ I said quietly.
Julian made a show of checking the time. ‘I’ve really got to get back to London.’
I smirked at him. How convenient.
‘But would you consider it? If I offer you market rates?’ he continued.
‘No way!’ I huffed, folding my arms. ‘On your bike.’
Uncle Arthur put his arm round my waist. ‘Freya, we’re not in a position to turn offers down flat at the moment,’ he murmured and then added more loudly, ‘I don’t like the way you’ve conducted yourself so far, Julian. But I will consider a sensible and honest proposal. Any more underhand business and you’ll be shown the door. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ muttered Julian. ‘How long—’
‘And as I said, it’ll be in my own time.’ Uncle Arthur extended a hand, drawing the discussion to a close and Julian reluctantly shook it.
The car engine roared into life and within seconds it had disappeared, taking Julian with it.
Thank God.
My aunt and uncle tottered back inside and I stood soaking up the farm: the charm, the history, the aroma, the sounds and, more than anything, the overwhelming sense of home.
I was so privileged, I thought, being able to share this little corner of England for however long it stays in the family. But the thought of losing all this heritage filled me with horror.
All of a sudden a tingling sensation crept over me. It began at the backs of my knees, flickered its way up my spine, along my arms and swirled around my head until every little hair on my skin stood on end.
I had no idea how little old me could keep Appleby Farm out of the hands of investors, but I was going to give it a good go.
I had set a date for opening the vintage tea rooms. The first of August, which was five weeks away. Gulp. If I said it fast it didn’t seem so scary.
It was hugely ambitious, admittedly, but Goat and his team were in the barn now, knocking seven bells out of it, and, as he said, it was mostly cosmetic (if you didn’t count the toilets, plumbing, electrics and flooring). It was the new glazing that would take the longest time and that was already on order. And I’d started buying second-hand equipment and storing it in the shed.
Summer would be the busiest time of year and getting the tea rooms open to take advantage of all these potential visitors to Appleby Farm was my number-one priority. Besides which, with the whole ‘leaving at the end of the year’ plan, plus paying Dad back, not to mention Julian snapping at my heels, I had to crack on and make a profit sharpish.
Today was an inside day for me, partly because I needed to work on the menu and partly because the rain had been falling as sharp as needles since last night.
It’s an unwritten rule that no one is allowed to complain about the wet weather up here because the Lake District wouldn’t be so green and lakey without it. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it, though.
Harry had taken Uncle Arthur on a gentle jaunt to the weekly cattle auction. Officially Arthur was advising Harry on the purchase of some calves but I suspected that Harry was doing it out of the kindness of his heart to cheer my uncle up. Bless him, my uncle had been looking forward to a day out and a chin-wag with other farmers all week, and had been ready an hour early this morning. Auntie Sue was getting to grips with gluten-free flour for our ‘special dietary requirements’ offering and apart from the odd grumble emanating from the kitchen such as ‘the damn stuff is like dust’ and ‘will this sponge ever rise?’, the farmhouse was silent.
So when the phone on the desk next to me rang, I leaped into the air like a scalded cat.