The Loner (27 page)

‘You do well to handle him at all.’

Frank had scars where he had battled with the stallion at different times.‘He can be a bad bugger!’ he exclaimed. ‘But he seems calm enough now.’ All the same, he was concerned. ‘I didn’t buy him straight off,’ he admitted. ‘I thought long and hard before parting with money for this particular one.’ He recalled the day, years ago. ‘It was the first time I let my heart rule my head. And, of course, I was wrong.’

Reaching out, he attempted to stroke the stallion’s mane, withdrawing his hand when it got agitated. ‘You can’t deny he’s a prime specimen though. He’s got a pedigree a mile long, and his offspring are valued worldwide.’

‘You’re right, he is a beautiful animal,’ Dave commented. ‘But for some reason, he seems to have taken against us.’

Frank had his suspicions. ‘There was one occasion when I had to reprimand Seamus for being too hard on the horse,’ he told Dave now. ‘The way this fella’s been behaving, I’m beginning to wonder how many times that little bastard has taken the leather to him without my knowing.’

The very same thought had crossed Dave’s own mind. ‘The wrong treatment can turn a horse quicker than anything,’ he agreed. ‘And you must know yourself, once that happens, it’s the devil of a job to bring them back – though I reckon with kind handling and the right attitude, we can get this fella round, now Macintyre has gone.
If
you’ll givehim a chance?’

‘Mmm. Well, I value your judgment, Dave,’ Frank told him earnestly. ‘You’ve proved yourself to me, time and again. But I have to admit, I’m not so sure with this one.’ He looked at the horse and thought what a waste it would beif they were to give up on him.

In his usual, brisk way, he made an on-the-spot decision. ‘All right then. We’ll give him a month. If he hasn’t settled properly by then, he’s out the door, and no argument.’

‘I don’t think he’ll disappoint you.’

‘I wonder if it might be best to get somebody else in, somebody who could just work with him alone. What d’you think, Dave?’

While they spoke, the stallion was fidgeting uneasily. ‘There’s no denying he’s a powerful fella, and he will need a lot of time spent with him,’ Dave answered. ‘But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to deal with him myself. Y’see, I’ve got to know him, and I reckon he trusts me.’

Frank smiled. ‘Trusts you, does he? Well, that makes two of us. If you feel happy about that, then you have my blessing. But, like I say … a month at the most, and nota minute more.’

Dave was relieved. ‘That suits me.’

‘Good. Now that we’ve settled that, I want to show you something.’ Frank glanced at the tower clock. ‘It’s nine o’clock now. Meet me at the gate in an hour, saddled up and ready to go.’

‘Go where?’

Frank would not be drawn. ‘One hour. See you then.’ With that he marched off, hands in pockets and a satisfied grin on his face.

Behind him, Dave quietened the stallion and made him secure, before searching out a capable groom. He found Laura in the bottom yard.

‘The boss wants me to go somewhere with him. Can you keep an eye on everything?’ he asked. ‘I’ve no idea how long I’ll be gone. Oh, and I need a mount. Is it OK to take Shamrock?’

‘’Course. It’ll do her good. She’ll be glad of the exercise.’

‘Right, thanks. Oh, and if you need help with anything, get one of the younger girls to give you a hand.’ He chuckled. ‘Or you could always fetch Thomas from the fields.’ He gave her a knowing wink. ‘That should put a twinkle in his eye.’

When she blushed deep pink, he laughed out loud. ‘I’d best go,’ he said, ‘before you come at me with the pitch-fork …’

There was time for a quick tidy-up, before he set about preparing the big Irish horse. ‘Come on, my beauty.’ He eased the saddle on. ‘It seems we’re going for a ride.’ Taking a moment to encourage her, he then swung himself up onto her back. ‘I want the best of behaviour from you,’he instructed; though he had no fear on that score, for this young mare had a kind and sensible nature. ‘The boss will have his eye on you, and being as I’ve already sung your praises to him, you are not to let me down.’

When he arrived at the main gates, Frank was up and ready to go. ‘I’vebeen meaning to do this with you for a long time,’ he told Dave. ‘And there’s nobetter time than right now.’

‘Do what?’ The young man was curious. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I’ll tell you as we ride.’ With a curt instruction he urged thehorse on, leading the way through the gates and into the open fields.

Dave was already familiar with the layout of the fields, and as far as he was aware, there were no problems out there that had not already been dealt with.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, slightly apprehensive. ‘I rode across the fields yesterday and everything seemed fine, except for the foal who caught her hoof in the brambles. But she’s fine now – seen to and put back out to graze.’

‘There’s no problem,’ Frank answered equably. ‘I just want to show you my empire.’

‘I thought I’d seen it all?’

The man shook his head. ‘You may have seen the tip of it,’ he answered, ‘but you haven’t been to my other farms, and I don’t suppose you’ve yet managed to get out to Demon’s Lake, have you?’

‘No. I haven’t got that far yet.’

Although he had been at Thomson’s Stud Farm for a good while now, Dave’s life was so busy that time flew, and his attention was mainly concentrated on helping to run the business. In his spare time, he did some woodcarving – mainly presents for this, his ‘adopted’ family, and helped in the house and garden.

‘You need to familiarise yourself with every square inch, and that’s one reason why I’m taking you out today, to show you the extent of my business.’

‘So, what’s the other reason?’

‘I need your opinion on a little project I’ve been considering.’

Dave felt very privileged; it was good to know that Frank trusted him enough to ask his opinion on one of his business ventures.

For the next two hours, they covered some 800 acres of land, part arable, mostly paddock. Then they were at the lake, a magnificent expanse of water, surrounded by spreading shrubs and trees. Even in the January starkness, it was a lovely place.

‘Why do they call it Demon’s Lake?’ Dave was curious.

Frank was happy to tell him the story. ‘According to legend, a young girl ran off with the bad boy of the village; they were in love and meant to get married. But the father came after them, pursuing their carriage like a man demented. The horses took fright and bolted, the carriage ended up in the lake and the lovers were both drowned. The carriage driver managed to leap to safety, but there was no saving the couple. It was a tragedy.’

‘What about the father?’

‘Ah, well … he’s the demon they named the lake after. According to the driver, he was ranting and raving – calling on the devil to send the boy to hell. Then he threw himself into the water and drowned. The theory is, if he couldn’t save his daughter from the bad boy, then he would haunt them both for ever.’

There was something about this tragic story that reminded Dave of the destructive passion of his parents’ marriage – and of his grandparents’, too. Tears stood in his eyes as he took in the serenity of the scene, all the time picturing the terrible sight of the accident, hearing the screams and terrified neighing, the surface of the lake heaving and then growing calm once again.

With the sobering tale of Demon’s Lake strong in their minds, the men arrived at the furthest farmhouse. ‘We won’t call in,’ Frank decided. ‘If I arrive unannounced, they might think I’m checking up on them.’

As he gazed across the horizon, a look of wonder came over his features. ‘I’m a fortunate man to have all this,’ he murmured. ‘Above all else, I consider myself to be custodian of this land.’

Seemingly embarrassed when he caught Dave looking at him, he pointed to the rambling house and cluster of outbuildings and explained, ‘This was the very first farm I bought after Dad died. The farmer who owned it emigrated to Australia after the war. It was badly rundown, so I got it for a good price.’ He grinned. ‘Especially after I agreed to sign the tenancy to his nephew.’

‘It’s a grand-looking place.’ Dave hoped the tenant was thankful, to have such a beautiful home.

‘He looks after it well,’ Frank said, as if reading his mind. ‘I pay two visits a year to all my farms, once in the winter, and once in the summer. I find that’s usually enough, though if I get wind of any farm being neglected or ill-used, I have the right to snatch back the tenancy.’

He smiled knowingly. ‘A short-term contract with that kind of clause keeps the tenants on their toes.’

Dave was learning every day. ‘You’re a shrewd businessman, I’ll give you that, sir.’

As they travelled on, Dave was increasingly impressed by the extent of Frank’s business empire. Through hard work and dedication, he had amassed and lovingly tended an enviable piece of God’s creation.

The land glowed with health; there were vast swathes of woodland, all carefully harvested, before being replanted and nurtured. Every square inch of prime land was kept fertile and protected, and each farm was a credit to both Frank and his tenants.

As he trotted down the bridle path, Dave had a sudden vision of his home town, of the mills and narrow streets of Blackburn. Of himself, as a boy, playing football with his pals on bomb-damaged ground. Of his mam, calling him in for a meagre tea. By contrast, this little corner of rural Bedfordshire, with all its abundance, was like the biblical land of milk and honey.

‘This is Blueberry Farm.’ Frank was visibly proud. ‘What d’you think of it, son?’

‘Of all the farms you’ve shown me, this is the best.’ Dave had no doubts. ‘Best spot, best layout, and every field fenced and watered.’ He could see the stone water troughs shining in the fields. ‘What more could a man want?’

They had reined the horses in at the very top of the hill, and from there they surveyed the property below. From this angle, the farm-stead was like the perfect jigsaw, every field fitting together; and right at the front of the house a long, wide pad-dock wrapped itself round the dwelling like a scarf.

‘Would you like a closer look?’ Frank was enjoying his day, and more particularly the surprise yet to come.

‘I thought you didn’t like turning up unexpectedly?’

‘Oh, I’m sure no one will mind on this occasion.’ Frank started down the hill. ‘Come on! Time’s a-wasting.’

Intrigued, Dave quickly followed.

As they neared the farmhouse, Dave could see how the building was in need of some repair. The white paint was faded and the walls were shot with fine cracks. The door was falling off its hinges, the windows were boarded up, and the gardens overgrown. Only the fields surrounding it were kept in pristine condition.

‘Well?’ Frank had seen the disappointed look on Dave’s face as they neared the house, where the extent of its neglect was clearly visible. ‘What do you think now?’

Dave was honest. ‘I’m shocked.’ He gazed about, at the broken windows and the leaning chimney, tiles missing on the roof and gutters hanging by a thread, and he could hardly believe it. ‘How was it allowed to get into this state?’

Shame-faced, Frank explained. ‘I bought this property for the land around it,’ he said. ‘I had no need of the house, which was already past its best anyway, so what with one thing and another, it seems to have gone unloved.’

Like Dave, he had instantly felt the beauty of this place.

‘I had a mind to pull it down after I bought it,’ he went on, ‘but there was something about it that made me want to keep it, so I boarded it up to stop any passing tramp from setting up here. Time gradually slipped away, work rolled up on me, and nothing was ever done with the place.’

They lingered a minute, looking and both regretting that it had been so neglected.

‘Let’s see what the years have done to the insides,’ Frank suggested.

The men dismounted, and while Frank was forcing open the misshapen door, Dave tied the animals securely to the fence-post, giving them long enough rein, so’s they could crop at the grass without too much of a struggle.

The interior of the house seemed every bit as bad as the outside. ‘It’s a bit dark in here,’ Frank said. He had fallen over rubble twice, and behind him, Dave hit his head on a low roof beam. ‘If we rip down the boarding,’ Frank decided, ‘we’ll be able to see a lot better.’

With that, the two of them began pushing out the boarding that covered the windows, and as each board fell, so the daylight flooded in, and the house came alive.

‘Aw, this could be so lovely.’ Dave wandered from room to room. The beams were thick and low throughout, but unlike the entrance porch, not so low as to hit your head. Every room had succumbed to the ravages of time, with the ceiling having fallen in, in places, and the walls torn and damp, but even then, there was still a kind of magic about this house.

They were in the kitchen now; a big square place with a higher ceiling and the beams open to the roof, it gave a feeling of height and space. At the far end was the most splendid range; a great creation of iron and brass, it was thick with dirt and dust, and stretching from side to side was the most beautiful cobweb … so perfectly formed and delicate in pattern, Dave thought it must have taken the spiders years to build it.

Deep in thought and lost in the arms of this lonely place, Dave was startled when Frank spoke right by his shoulder. ‘What do you think I should do with it?’

Dave did not hesitate. ‘I think you should bring it back to its former glory, sooner rather than later.’

Frank patted him on the back. ‘A man after my own heart.’ From the very first it had struck him that Dave was so much older than his years. It wasn’t time itself that did that to a man. It was tragedy and loneliness, and a childhood lost.

Not for the first time, Frank was tempted to ask him about his past, but instinct warned him off. Dave was nineteen now, a fully-grown man, and his past was his own affair.

‘Come on, son.’ He urged him out. ‘Let’s get back. It’s coming up to lunchtime, and Lucy will think we’ve been kidnapped. And there’s no knowing what Maggie will do to us if we’re late.’