Page 111 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Because he likes to throw his weight around. He’s a bully, you know that.’
‘He is,’ continued Sam, ‘but bullies usually have something to gain by their behaviour. Often they’re cowards, or vulnerable themselves, using their actions to hide the truth from the world. It’s almost as if he needs to keep Laura under control, subdued, if you like. But what do you suppose would make him want to do that? What possible threat could Laura pose to him?’
Freya’s eyes widened. ‘You’re scaring me now, Sam. Are you saying you think Laura’s in danger of some sort?’
‘No, I think that’s a tad melodramatic, but it does make me curious. And now that she’s made an accusation against Francis’s son, which looks as if it might stick, I don’t suppose he’ll be feeling particularly charitable towards her.’
‘Then we should say something to Laura, warn her.’
Sam took her arm gently. ‘I think Stephen has it pretty much covered,’ he said with meaning, giving Freya a long look.
She stared back at him. ‘You’ve discussed this with him, haven’t you?’ she accused. ‘That’s what you were talking about for ages on the phone yesterday; nothing to do with the wedding at all.’
‘It was mentioned, yes, but don’t go getting on your high horse about all this…’ He gave her a small smile. ‘Stephen really is the best person to deal with this as far as Laura’s concerned. I’d say he’s got to know her pretty well over the last few days…’
Freya opened her mouth to speak again, but Sam dropped her arm, and turned for the door.
‘And not the way you’re thinking either, so you can take that look off your face. I’ve honestly never seen Stephen behave this way before, about anybody. He obviously cares about Laura a great deal, and I think he deserves some respect, or at the very least, our trust.’
With that he walked out into the yard, leaving Freya staring after him in astonishment, a small smile gathering at the corners of her mouth. Well, well, well. Now that was something she’d never expected to hear. Stephen might be acting out of character, but he wasn’t the only one. In all the years she’d known Sam, she’d never heard him stick up for his brother like that before. Times certainly were a changing. She hurried through the door, pulling it firmly shut behind her.
* * *
Laura could hardly contain her excitement. At least she thought it was excitement. The bubbling, fizzing feeling in her stomach might well be sheer terror, she acknowledged. She gazed around her at the huge open space, at the multitude of tables and chairs that filled the marquee, and took a very deep breath. Then she closed her eyes.
She stayed that way for several minutes, letting images fill her mind, mentally roaming the hedgerows, seeking out the colours and the textures that would bring the pictures in her head to life. The tables, the great arch of the marquee entrance, the tented ceiling, all of it was a blank canvas waiting to be filled. When she opened her eyes, she gave a nod of satisfaction. She had several days of hard graft ahead of her, but it was going to look beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had ever created in her life before. And the thought brought a sudden rush of tears to her eyes.
She glanced at her watch to confirm that she didn’t have the luxury of any more time here and, whilst it would have been nice to make some sketches, or measure one or two things, Laura knew that it wasn’t really necessary, not for her. Her designs weren’t that structured; they were organic, they grew out of themselves, and however hard she tried to think things through in advance, she knew that in practice she rarely looked at any plans she had made. Instead, she sat down with her raw materials heaped around her and let the strange alchemy begin. It made her fingers twitch just thinking about it.
With one final glance about her, Laura strode from the marquee. Stephen had disappeared almost the minute they got here, saying that he would only be in the way and she should have some time on her own to think about things without his interference. More like gone in search of a bacon butty she reckoned, but she couldn’t begrudge him that. He had offered to help her today, and having done a recce on the church first thing this morning, now she needed to plunder what the fields and hedgerows had to offer, and that was going to take some time, and manpower.
She finally rooted him out in the kitchen, having a bit of a heart to heart with Sam by the look of things, but he jumped up the minute he saw her.
He turned to her and smiled. ‘Are we sorted?’ he asked, stretching out his back and giving his neck a flex.
‘We are, although are you sure you’re up for this? We’re going to walk miles this afternoon.’
Stephen merely shrugged. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. I’ll have you know this body is a finely tuned machine.’
Laura caught Sam’s eye and winked. ‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘Come on then, no time for dallying. It’s a mile-and-a-half to the first place we need to go.’
‘Not that I’m wimping out or anything, but you do realise there’s a perfectly good car outside?’
She grinned. ‘Perhaps I should rephrase that last statement. It’s a four-mile drive to the nearest place you can park, and then a mile-and-a-half walk across the fields.’
Stephen looked back at Sam, and she didn’t catch what he said next, but judging by the expression on his face when he turned back to her, she could guess.
It had been a shrewd investment buying Clarence Cottage all those years ago. Back then, she’d been an accounts clerk, and neither she nor David could have foreseen the direction her ‘career’ would take. They had fallen in love with the cottage primarily because of its cosy charm but, whilst they appreciated that it also had a large garden and outbuildings, they hadn’t thought much beyond them at the time. Now, these sheds were filled with tables and, looking around her in the dimming light, Laura was grateful indeed. Their afternoon’s work was heaped before them. Every surface groaned with an array of greenery, fruits, grasses and grains, with hues of every colour ranging from vibrant oranges and reds, to dusky pinks and purples, lime greens, soft greens, and warming ochres.
Her hair was tangled with straw and cobwebs, her skin flushed by the sun and wind, and her fingers stained with sap and juice, but Laura felt profoundly at peace. She was knackered, but filled with an immense satisfaction, something she had not felt in a long time. She sat on a wooden chair beside one of the tables and smiled to herself. Usually, the fields and hedgerows were hers alone; she might see the odd rider or dog walker, but invariably her day was spent in solitude. This afternoon she had shared her knowledge with someone else. Where she’d walked, Stephen walked, out of necessity saying little, but at times stopping to ask her questions, and listening to her enthusiastic responses with a keen ear and a ready smile. He had followed her instructions for what to pick and how to pick it to the letter, and had worked solidly without complaint. His company had been easy, familiar even, and reluctant though Laura had been to admit it, she had enjoyed the afternoon far more because of it. When he dropped her home, his kiss to her cheek had been soft, nothing more, but the memory of it now, still brought a renewed flush to her cheeks. She shook her head in wonder at the changes she could feel within herself. Who would have thought that Stephen Henderson of all people would be the person to bring that about?
She glanced outside at the rapidly falling night and began to scoop up sheaves of tawny foliage from one of the tables. They would need to be steeped in a glycerine solution to preserve their colour and pliability, and the sooner she did it, the better the result would be.
The back door to the cottage was still open, the light from the kitchen spilling a welcome square onto the path which led up the garden. She was only a few feet from the door when the first brilliant flash lit up the sky, followed quickly by another, then another. She flinched automatically, unable to see clearly for a few moments, but her feet carried her safely to the door. Once inside she threw the door closed, and hurriedly dumped her cargo on the table. Boris was right where she expected him to be, cowering up against the side of the Aga, his brown eyes ringed with white. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around his neck. Bonfire night was ages away yet, but every year the fireworks seemed to get earlier and earlier and, big dog he might be, but he was still terrified of the noise and bursts of light.
She remembered firework displays from her childhood, how her stomach had contracted with the thud of the rockets, noise that seemed to come from nowhere even though it was expected, the sharp staccato crackles leaving her ears ringing. Of course, now, for her, the fireworks had fallen silent, but she could recall the noisy confusion as if it was yesterday.
Another burst lit up the darkened room, the intensity of it making even Laura jump. She could feel the fur in Boris’ throat quivering and knew that he was growling. Her murmured words of comfort were having little effect, and he broke free from her hold, running at the window, jumping. She would like to give whoever was being so irresponsible a piece of her mind, but there was little point; she would never be heard. The flashes were coming almost continually now, until, blinded, Laura could scarcely make out the room in front of her. Boris was frantic, running up and down the room, and out into the hallway. She realised belatedly that the light which alerted her to a caller at the front door was flashing too, and it was then that the first slivers of fear began to replace her anger.
