Page 110 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Did he actually say anything out of the ordinary to you, Blanche?’
The old lady shook her head. ‘No…but then he wouldn’t, would he, not with Elizabeth here. Of course, he didn’t stay long, there was no point really. He couldn’t get what he came for.’
To his astonishment, Laura chuckled. ‘Would you listen to yourself, Blanche! I think you’ve been reading too many Agatha Christies.’ She glanced at Elizabeth. ‘I’m sure the police are doing everything they can to find out who did this, but for now the most important thing is for you to forget all about the accident and concentrate on getting better. Have some lovely time with your daughter and get fit and well again. After all, I shall still need a good home for my sloe gin, and who else is going to drink it?’
Elizabeth reached over and squeezed her mum’s hand. ‘She’s right, Mum. I’m going to enjoy spoiling you rotten, so you’re not to worry about a thing.’
‘And I shall be making sure that Laura’s well looked after whilst you’re not around to keep an eye on her,’ said Stephen. ‘So, no fretting about that either.’
Laura checked her watch. ‘We should get going really. You’ve had a busy day already, and we don’t want you to be too tired to enjoy getting out of this place.’ She got up and planted a kiss on Blanche’s cheek. ‘You behave yourself now and do what Elizabeth tells you. I’ll see you very soon.’
A few moments later, after general goodbyes and promises to keep in touch, Stephen found himself hurtling down the corridor after Laura, trying to keep up with her. Much as he hated doing so, the only way he could get her to slow down was to catch her hand. She swung to face him.
For a moment, he thought she might be about to belt him one, such was the look of fury on her face, but then to his amazement her face broke into a wide smile.
‘Sorry,’ she said, almost breathless. ‘You’re right, I should stop, calm down…otherwise…’
‘You’ll nail the bastard to a tree?’ suggested Stephen.
Her shoulders dropped. ‘Something like that,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘You’re also sure that it was Giles who came to visit today?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ replied Stephen. ‘I think it was pretty obvious.’ He looked at her flushed face for a moment. ‘You know that was a stellar piece of acting back there – letting Blanche think she was imagining things. It was a kind thing to do.’
‘Well, I could hardly agree with her, could I? Imagine how she would feel.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘You know something, Stephen Henderson…’ She paused for a second as if thinking of what to say. ‘Nah, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.’ And with that she took hold of his hand again, and started to walk. ‘Come on. We’ve got things to do, and first on the list is to call the police. I think they might be very interested to learn of Giles’ antics this afternoon.’
58
Freya wiped a dribble of melted butter off the end of her chin. ‘Just think…’ She sighed happily. ‘In four days’ time I will be making your bacon sandwiches as Mrs Henderson. What do you think of that?’
Sam took another huge bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. ‘Will you be changing the recipe at all?’ he asked eventually. ‘Only if you do, I fear it may be grounds for divorce.’
‘And why would I mess with perfection?’
‘Why indeed…’
They sat in silence save for the occasional slurp of tea, and the ticking of the huge grandfather clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. Freya, who already had one eye on it, sighed again. How was it already seven o’clock in the morning? She’d been up since four and the To-Do List, which sat ominously in the middle of the table, still had just as many items to get through as it had when she first woke up. ‘I could go back to bed; I don’t know about you.’
Sam put the last of his sandwich down on his plate. ‘Jeez Freya, again? I’m not sure I can keep up with your demands.’ He winked cheekily, and Freya stuck out her tongue.
‘Oh, ha, ha,’ she replied, ignoring his expression. ‘Not a chance, mate. We’ve still got far too much to do…In fact, I’m thinking of imposing a ban on sex until after the wedding – seeing as it was you who suggested it would be a good idea to get married in the middle of the harvest…’
‘Freya Sherbourne, you bloody liar! It was all your doing, as well you know, romantic fool that you are.’
‘Me?’ she queried, with mock innocence. ‘It can’t have been me. I would never have suggested anything so daft.’ She met his look with eyes that danced with good humour. ‘Come on, eat up, we haven’t got all day.’
‘Mutter mutter, grumble grumble; bloody slave driver,’ said Sam with a smile, getting up from the table. He offered a solicitous hand to his soon-to-be wife. ‘Listen, about the whole sex thing, maybe we could renegotiate…’
Freya was pulling on her wellies when a thought occurred to her. ‘Have you heard anything from Stephen yet?’ she asked.
‘Probably a bit early,’ replied Sam, shrugging on his jacket. ‘I’ll give him a call in a while if we still haven’t heard. He did say he might pop over with Laura today anyway, now that the marquee’s here. She needs to measure up, apparently. Besides there are no guarantees that the police’s stance will change, even with Laura’s further statement. Granted they’re viewing Giles’s visit to the hospital as suspicious, but they still need something more concrete to go on before they can act. We just have to hope that they do decide to investigate further; taking a look at Giles’s car will be the crucial thing.’
‘Laura must feel happier about things though, surely? At the very least the police seem to be taking her more seriously, and rightly so, it’s a big thing for her.’
Sam regarded her squarely as he zipped up his jacket. ‘Hmm, although the potential repercussions worry me somewhat. She’s still very vulnerable.’
Freya stopped in her tracks. ‘What do you mean repercussions?’ she asked, looking up.
‘Well, think about it for a minute. Laura’s husband died five years ago and yet, according to Laura, Francis Drummond still takes every opportunity he can to make fun of her or threaten her even. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, why bother, after all this time?’
