Page 12 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
Tears sprang to Freya’s eyes. ‘No, you don’t understand, Sam, I need to carry on. I need to sell my stuff today…Oh God, I’ve stopped the sale, haven’t I? Are people really cross?’
Sam smiled. ‘No one’s cross, just concerned. Once we’ve got you sorted, they’ll carry on, don’t worry.’
Freya looked up at his face which was alarmingly close to hers. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and the stubble suited him.
‘Perhaps Amos could handle the sale on your behalf, Freya,’ added Sam, ‘if that’s okay? I’m sure he’s more than capable.’
Amos grinned. ‘It would be a pleasure, Freya, and don’t worry, I’ll kick up a storm for you. Just relax, and as Sam said, do as you’re told. You’re in good hands. I’ll see you later, okay?’
Sam flashed him a grateful look and tucked the blanket around Freya a little more.
‘I can’t believe I threw up on your boots,’ she said.
‘I know, it’s not my week, is it? My horse shat on them yesterday too.’
Two and a half hours later, Freya was propped up in bed eating a piece of toast and jam which was, quite possibly, the best meal she’d ever had. A very lovely young doctor had given her a very lovely injection of something equally lovely, and now everything was…well just lovely really; even Sam.
‘Do you remember the time at the Harvest Festival dance when I threw a glass of wine at you?’ She grinned. ‘All over your beautiful pristine shirt. You didn’t speak to me for days.’
‘Well, that’s because I thought you did it on purpose. I hadn’t realised you’d tripped over Mrs Courtney-Smyth’s enormous feet.’
‘And I was doing my best to act all sophisticated, like I drank red wine all the time, when in truth I couldn’t stand the stuff and was quite happy to have got rid of it.’
‘I remember your dress,’ said Sam quietly. ‘Deep claret-red velvet.’
Freya remembered her dress too, and she remembered the way Sam had looked at her that night. She looked at him now, on the outside, not that much different; still the same unusual green eyes, darkest brown hair that, although cut short, still liked to curl if it could, and the wide generous mouth that curved into a cheeky grin. On the inside, however, she doubted things could ever be the same, and she pulled her gaze away before she could dwell on it any longer.
‘Well, I was thin then, of course, back when we were all bright young things and could wear a bin liner and still look good,’ she said, trying to lighten the conversation.
‘I never looked good in a bin liner.’
‘Well, there were some exceptions to the rule, of course.’
Sam snorted. ‘From the woman currently sporting this season’s chicest finger to elbow white plaster cast, I’m not sure you’re in a position to be quite so judgemental.’
Freya cast around for something to throw, but there was nothing in her cubicle and she certainly wasn’t wasting her toast, so she took another bite.
A face peered around the curtain. ‘Hey, good to see you’re looking better,’ said Amos. ‘You had us worried there for a minute.’
‘Oh, I’m fine, a good clean break. If you’re going to break your arm, then you could learn a thing or two from me, apparently. Besides which I’m drugged up to the eyeballs and currently don’t care about anything much.’
‘Ah,’ said Amos, and exchanged a grin with Sam.
‘Sorry, I’m being mean, of course I care. How did you get on without me?’
‘Well, mistletoe sold, check. Holly sold, check. Wreaths all sold, check, check, check. You got an alarmingly good price for those; I think the punters were feeling sorry for you.’
‘So it was worth it then, breaking my arm? That’s a relief.’ Freya grinned.
Sam looked down at his body. ‘I know I wouldn’t have got the sympathy vote, but I don’t suppose you noticed if we managed to sell anything, did you? That is of course if Stephen even realised the auction had started.’
‘No, you’re good too, don’t worry. I’m not sure what price yours fetched, but it all went. I’ve left Stephen in the pub, but we can go home once you’ve finished your toast, Freya. The auction yard shut, so I had to move your van, but we can drop you back there first, Sam. It was good of you to stay with Freya.’
‘It was good of you to stay at the sale, Amos, thank you.’
Amos dipped his head and smiled.
‘But what on earth am I going to do next week?’ asked Freya, suddenly panic-stricken. ‘I can’t make up my wreaths like this, or cut any mistletoe, and there’s still all the packing to do.’
