Page 4 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
‘Yep.’ Flora breathed out in an excited rush. ‘And picked… ready for our brides, our shops, our birthday bouquets, our anniversary surprises. You wouldn’t think, would you, that at the beginning of the year Hope Corner was a dairy farm?’
Amos stared around him. ‘A dairy farm?’
‘Yep, wall-to-wall cattle…’
‘So how did you…?’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘That’s quite some transformation.’
‘It had to be. We’d reached a point in time where things needed to change; dairy farming wasn’t working for us, so we had to have a sharp rethink. And the flowers were it.’
‘And let me guess… this was your idea, Flora. Ha! Even your name fits!’
‘Yes, well… but you’re right, I am to blame – quite how much remains to be seen. But so far so good.’
It made absolute sense. Amos could see how much work was involved and his arrival would seem to have been perfectly well timed but, still, there was something missing… Something buzzed at the back of his mind and he thought back to Flora’s earlier words, suddenly coming to full alert.
‘So, the bees?’
‘Ah, yes…’ She angled her body slightly, and pointed to her left, up high, to the hill which swept up from the edge of the fields. ‘That’s where they live,’ she said. ‘Our neighbour keeps them.’
Amos laughed. ‘I would imagine they feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven with all these flowers,’ he remarked.
‘I should imagine they do,’ replied Flora. ‘Grace will know. She talks to her bees all the time. She says they knoweverything,’ she added, laughing.
Do they now, thought Amos. Do they indeed.
He glanced up at the sky. ‘You mentioned before about the watering…’ He trailed off, staring out across the field and wondering quite what he had let himself in for.
There was a peal of laughter from beside him. ‘Oh, don’t worry, nottheseflowers… Blimey, I wouldn’t want to water this lot by hand. No, it's just the ones in pots up around the house, although that’s bad enough.’ She looked at him, shaking her head in amusement. ‘I still don’t quite believe this… you… but I’m not going to argue. Come on, I’ll show you what’s what.’
It didn’t take too long with them both working at it, but Amos could see that, without his help, the task of watering all the flower pots and troughs that lined the walls of the courtyard and stood outside gates and doorways all over the farm would have taken Flora quite some time. It was her last task of the day and Amos was glad that she would now have the opportunity to go and enjoy the rest of the evening with her family.
He wandered back out into the courtyard once they were done, staring up at the sky. Dusk was still an hour or so away yet and, having checked first with Flora that it was okay for him to take a walk and get a feel for the lie of the land, he began to stroll towards the fields where they had been earlier. The reason why he was really here would come to him, it always did. And if by some rarity his intuition had let him down, well then, there was still plenty to keep him occupied on the farm. Surely there was no nicer place to be for the summer. Reaching the gate into the field, he eyed the foxgloves which lined the hedges to his left and then he followed the hum of the bees.
2
Grace added two spoons of sugar to the mug of tea she was making and stirred it thoroughly before passing it to her husband. ‘Paul, please keep your voice down, people will hear.’
Paul glared at her for a moment before snatching the cup away sulkily. ‘Is that all you're worried about, that people will hear? Well, so what? This is my house, my kitchen, and if I want to shout then I bloody well will. In fact, I think I'll shout some more… Who’s going to hear anyway? We’re in the middle of nowhere and those country bumpkins next door are probably glued toThe Archersby now, sucking their rich tea biscuits and sipping their cocoa.’
‘Those “country bumpkins” are my friends, Paul. Besides, I really don’t think calling them names is going to make any difference to the situation.’
‘Hah!’ snorted Paul, his face twisting. ‘Is that what you call it – “a situation”? You tell me you want a divorce and then call it a situation. Well, that's not the word I'd use, honey. “Betrayal”, now there's a word, or how about “ungrateful cow”, or are you going to get all pedantic on me and say that's two words?’ He took a slug of tea, his jaw working as he thought up his next missile.
Grace eyed him calmly, noting that he was still quite happy to drink the tea she had made him. ‘I am neither ungrateful, nor a cow, Paul. Before you throw your next insult at me, let me just tell you yet again why I want a divorce.’ She took in another steadying breath.
‘Firstly, let me tell you that making a marriage work usually involves a little effort, and it certainly involves a little monogamy! Your protests would go down a lot better if you hadn’t just come home from entertaining your latest fling. Secondly, I have today, as most days, washed and ironed and cleaned and cooked for you without so much as a thank you or a helping hand. I have also entertained your countless slimy colleagues and their gossipy wives over the years in the name of your career and, as well you know, have done all these things without question, as your wife. Yet not once do I recall youeverasking me what would helpmeor makemehappy.’
Grace could feel the heat rising up the back of her neck as she summoned up a steely glare that she hadn’t even known she was capable of. Her voice sank even lower as she continued.
‘Today though, Paul, you reached a new low, even for you. Earlier this morning I received this email from your assistant, Barbara, and would be very grateful if you could explain to me just how you thought you were going to get away with this.’ She handed over a single sheet of paper with a shaking hand, willing it to stay steady.
Paul snatched the paper from her. His eyes, which had narrowed further and further over the last few minutes, were now mere slits. She drew no pleasure from the fact that his face, usually a perma-tanned mahogany, was becoming paler by the minute. A colour that usually meant only one thing; she readied herself for the explosion.
‘The stupid cow,’ spat Paul. ‘She issofired!’
‘Yes, I thought she might be,’ Grace replied calmly. ‘Incidentally, so did she. Which is why, while you were busy cavorting with the TV station’s weather girl this afternoon, she cleared out her desk in preparation for a new job that starts tomorrow. As you know, PAs of her calibre are very hard to come by. So, now I know that Barbara is out of harm’s way, I'll ask you again: just how did you think you were going to sell this house out from under me?’
Paul’s fist was white at the knuckle around his mug of tea. ‘Oh clever,veryclever,’ he snarled. ‘But the house is in my name, it's mine to do with what I please. I've always hated it; it's so horrificallytwee, like everything in this godforsaken village. So while you're in yourtweelittle shop tomorrow, with yourtweelittle pots of honey, havingtweelittle conversations, I will arrange for an estate agent to value it and tell me just how much I can sell this heap for. You can have your divorce, darling, but you'll be looking for a new place to live too.’
