Page 16 of A French Inheritance
Adam nodded. ‘Yes. We’ve lost about thirty. The replacement plants seem to be doing okay.’
‘So now we have told everyone, what happens next?’
‘Well, nobody should expect to buy our home-grown avocados in the near future, We have at least two years before we can expect to see signs of fruit and then they have to reach a certain size. Could possibly be as long as another five years, but hopefully sooner. In the meantime, we have to maintain clean ground, provide adequate water, do some pruning, maybe grafting, and generally make sure they’re happy plants.’ Adam smiled at Lucy. ‘It is not a quick crop and it is a lot of work. Fingers crossed, we can pull it off and help diminish that carbon footprint at least a little.’
‘Fingers crossed indeed,’ Lucy said before panning a general view of the crop for about twenty seconds before stopping the video. ‘That’s great. I’ll edit it later and add a final voiceover.’
Adam gave a sigh of relief. ‘Do I get a cup of tea now and the last piece of that coffee and walnut cake?’
11
After a busy but rewarding afternoon in the practice, Elliot arrived home in time to have a reviving shower and feed Luna before heading across to the farmhouse for supper. After supper, he’d take Luna for her evening walk before settling in for an early night. Standing under the power shower as he felt the stress of the day fall away, he wondered why he felt so tired. He’d worked on the farm with Adam on a daily basis since he’d arrived and considered himself fitter than ever.
In a moment of clarity as the hot water pounded his body, he realised he wasn’t physically tired but drained with the mental effort of being around people, speaking French all day and hopefully building trust with his colleagues. He’d cut himself off from so many people when everything fell apart, it was harder than he’d anticipated getting back into a work routine and being around people who were still strangers all day.
As for building up a new network of friends here in France, that would either happen or it wouldn’t. He gave a mental shrug. He wasn’t quite ready yet to socialise away from the farm. Not that Adam and Lucy – particularly Lucy – would allow him to become a total recluse. He knew she wanted him to meet someone new and be happy. But he was determined to be careful whom he allowed into his new life and a close relationship with a woman was not going to happen any time soon.
Turning off the water, Elliot stepped out of the shower, quickly dried and dressed and, within minutes, he and Luna were on their way to the farmhouse. Tomorrow, he had the morning off and he planned to offer Adam a helping hand with anything that needed doing around the farm.
* * *
Lucy smiled as Luna bounded into the kitchen, closely followed by Elliot. ‘How was your day?’
‘Good. Yours?’
‘Mine was good too. Actually persuaded Adam to record something for this week’s video.’
‘Not making a habit of it,’ Adam muttered.
Lucy ignored him and pointed to the family whiteboard where important dates, notices and reminders for everyone were put and held in place with magnets. ‘I met the postman this morning. You have mail.’
Elliot’s heart sank as he moved across to the board. Slowly, he took the envelope with its English stamp and the loopy handwriting that he knew so well off the board. Thoughtfully, he tapped the envelope against his hand. His first thought was to mark it ‘Undeliverable. Gone Away’. But the French postal service was unlikely to return it to the UK.
Lucy gave him a questioning look. She, like him, had clearly recognised Robyn’s handwriting. Robyn, though, could write as many times as she liked, but he was no longer married to her and he was not remotely interested in anything she had to say.
Both Lucy and Adam watched as he tore the envelope into tiny pieces and threw them in the rubbish bin.
‘You don’t think you should have read it first?’ Adam ventured quietly.
‘No.’ Elliot gave his brother a look and shook his head. ‘And do me a favour please? If she sends any more, tear them up and throw them away without telling me, okay? I’m not interested in anything she has to say.’
Opening and reading the letter, whatever its contents, would mean Robyn was surreptitiously slipping back into his life, ready to take up space, mess with his head. There was no way he was going to allow her to do that. She had no place in his present life and no place in his future either. Robyn belonged in the past and that was where he intended her to stay.
* * *
After a pleasant but quiet supper with her mum, Briony set off on a longer walk past the lake and to the woods at the very edge of Adam’s land. She hoped the fresh air and exercise would clear her head and help her to think straight. Her thoughts were a veritable jumble of memories of the past, mixed in with worries about finding a job and knowing she had to make a decision about the cottage soon. If nothing else, it wasn’t fair to keep her mum waiting for a decision that would change both their lives. Especially when in her heart she knew the decision she had to take regarding Owls Nest.
Jeannie had made a valid point when she said that she didn’t have anywhere to take the furniture she wanted to keep if she decided to sell the cottage. But the thought of not adding to all those memories that the settees, the table, the cottage itself, had all invoked of past family celebrations was upsetting. It was such a perfect family cottage.
She quickly pushed that particular thought out of her head. The fact that she had been married and should have had a couple of babies by now didn’t bear thinking about. But, in truth, it was probably for the best that there had been no children, seeing the way things had turned out. Not that she could ever forgive Marcus for his despicable behaviour. Or the fact that her biological clock was now ticking down like a time bomb in reverse, silently extinguishing all hopes of her ever having a family. Bloody Marcus.
Reaching the beginning of the woods, Briony stopped and looked at the nearest trees. In the pale blue evening sky above, a buzzard was circling. The woods were a mix of oaks, beech, horse chestnut and the occasional silver ash, with the ground beneath them covered in a mush of dead leaves and twigs. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the drilling sound of a woodpecker searching for insects. She stretched out and placed her hand against the trunk of a large oak tree, its bark thick and textured with age and rough with lots of creases and grooves.
Right now, when Jeannie’s unexpected news about the cottage had tossed all her plans and thoughts for the future up into the air, she could really do with the happy, grounded feeling that hugging a tree always gave her. Hugging the tree in the garden the other day had been all too brief but here, on the edge of the woods, where there was no one around to see her and think she was mad, which was most people’s reaction, was the ideal time.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly placed her arms around the trunk. It was too large a circumference for her hands to meet, but she gently squeezed the trunk. She closed her eyes and stood there breathing and trying to empty her mind. Time disappeared as she stayed hugging the trunk as her mind cleared and her thoughts drifted away. All she knew when she finally took her arms away from the tree was that she felt lighter, calmer and happier, the stress in her shoulders of the last few days magically banished. Giselle had been so right. It was therapeutic.
Walking slowly back to the cottage past the lake, Briony gave a sigh of pure contentment. It was so lovely here. How could she bear to sell the cottage and never again have the opportunity of enjoying the special place it held in her heart?
