Page 7 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘I was too far away to hear what was actually being said, but whatever it was, Sam didn’t like it. I could see they were arguing, and then Sam turned as if to leave but instead swung round with an almighty punch. He had Stephen on the floor.’
‘No wonder he looked a little sheepish when he first came in. Oh, Amos, you’ve made my day.’
‘Ssh, they’re coming back; straight faces back on, no laughing,’ said Amos sternly.
Freya tried to stifle her giggles. She thought of Stephen poking his nose into all her things, and that did the trick, but then reminded herself that it was a necessary evil. She knew she was biased, but Appleyard was a handsome house; not huge, but a good size nonetheless, of warm red brick and with a pleasing symmetry. It was hard to think about it objectively, but its welcoming rooms were just what people wanted, according to the estate agent.
By the time they’d all arrived back in the kitchen, Freya even managed a welcoming smile. She got up to show them out as they all did the thank-you-for-showing-us-round, we’ll-be-in-touch routine. Freya didn’t doubt that they would; in a way it hardly mattered what the house was like, Stephen Henderson had been trying to get his hands on their farm for years.
Later that night as Freya lay next to Gareth listening to his rhythmic snoring, she found herself thinking about Sam for some unaccountable reason.
* * *
Four doors down at the other end of the house, Amos lay on the floor, as was his custom, gazing at the stars through the window. He was also thinking about Sam, but for an entirely different reason. When they’d met earlier, his attention had been consumed by the young man. He’d only ever seen Sam from a distance, but up close, he’d been able to see the family resemblance. He had Stephen’s features, but more refined so, instead of looking squashed and pudgy, he was a very attractive man. And while he had none of his brother’s stature, his clothes suited him too; he seemed relaxed in them whereas his brother always looked like he was dressing up. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, another piece of his jigsaw falling into place.
3
The call from the estate agent didn’t come until Friday afternoon, much as Freya had expected. It was all part of the game, and it certainly wouldn’t do for the Hendersons to appear too keen; although Freya imagined that Stephen had found the two-day interval rather trying. Despite his disparaging remarks about her house, she knew it had been on his hit list for years. He’d even had the gall to ask her not long after her dad’s funeral when she was putting it on the market. The fact that it had only taken eight months before she’d been forced to, stuck in her craw, but she reminded herself that it was a means to an end.
She actually laughed out loud when she heard what they were prepared to offer. She had expected it to be low, but fifty thousand pounds below the asking price was plain ridiculous. Having reminded the estate agent that they had deliberately priced the property competitively to take into account the time of year, she left him in no doubt that his client either needed to be sensible or quite frankly piss off.
‘Do you think they’ll come up?’ asked Amos as she returned to the table.
Freya picked up another length of ribbon and proceeded to twist it expertly into a bow. ‘I think so, although you can never really tell with Stephen. He’s that arrogant he seems to think his money is worth more than anyone else’s.’ She swapped hands, winding wire around the bow to secure it and adding a tail which would fasten it to the wreath. ‘Much might also depend of course on how much influence Sam has. You see the thing with Stephen is that he convinces himself he wants something really badly, but then when he gets it, he can’t be bothered. He doesn’t put the effort into their own farm; it’s all down to Sam. Stephen just likes the title of landowner and the ability it gives him to swank about. He’s always been the same, ever since he was little.’
‘So what’s the story with the two brothers then?’
Freya paused for a moment, raising her eyebrows in query. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I might be mistaken,’ ventured Amos, ‘but you seem to be rather fonder of one than the other. I wondered if there was any reason for that.’
‘Oh there are lots of reasons for that, but none that I’m prepared to go into just now.’
‘Fair enough.’ Amos shrugged with a smile. ‘It was worth a try.’
Freya smiled too. ‘Another time perhaps. Now how many of these blessed things have I got left to do?’
Amos counted up. ‘Thirty-seven,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Would another cup of tea help? I’m not sure what else I can do.’
‘Tea would be lovely, and you could always peel the veg for tea if you wanted a job. I’m just going to make a chuck-it-all-in vegetable soup, which requires very little effort on my part, but fortunately tastes like I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day.’
‘So what’s the grand plan now?’
‘There’s nothing terribly grand about it,’ started Freya, scratching her nose. ‘I do need to sell the house, and pretty quickly too, but after that I have a few options. I had another chat with Merry on the phone this morning, and there are a few ideas I’m exploring with her.’ She looked down at the table. ‘I love doing all this – making things, the decorations, everything really. I think there’s a market for this type of thing, but I need a base to do it from, and once the house has gone, that’s what I don’t have.’
‘Is there no one else interested in this place?’
‘Nope. Dead as a dodo. I shouldn’t have left it as late as I did putting it on the market, but there you go, one to chalk up to experience.’
‘Understandable, in the circumstances.’
Freya tilted her head to one side. ‘Perhaps. Not everyone sees it that way.’ She laid another wired ribbon on the table. ‘Right, I’d better get these finished. It doesn’t take long to fix them to the wreaths, but I’d rather get them all finished today. That way I can get them over to Tom and Merry first thing in the morning.’
‘Well, this is cosy.’
Freya looked up at the sound of the voice by the door and tutted audibly. ‘Don’t be such a prat, Gareth. I’m sitting here finishing Tom’s decorations off for tomorrow, and Amos is reading. We’re not having wild abandoned sex on the rug in front of the fire.’ She looked pointedly at the wall on the clock. ‘Nice of you to let me know you were going to be late.’
‘It’s Friday, I always go down the pub after work on a Friday.’ He pouted.
