Page 59 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
Stephen did as he was told and Merry eyed her watch once more, wondering how long her husband was likely to be. She couldn’t wait to see the smile on his face when he returned to the house. He was in for such a surprise. She turned her attention back to the frying pan nearest to her, where six rashers of bacon were crisping nicely. Freya and Sam had better hurry up or she’d be banging on their bedroom door.
She was just turning out three perfectly fried eggs when Sam shuffled in, Freya hot on his heels, a solicitous arm on his back.
‘Ah,’ she winced. ‘Yesterday catching up with you, is it?’
Sam groaned. ‘Don’t. I can hardly move this morning. Freya had to put my bloody socks on for me.’
Freya nodded brightly, confirming his words. ‘Sad, but true. I’ve told him not to get used to being waited on hand and foot, mind. It’s only for the next day or so, while he still has hero status.’ She smiled fondly at his stooped figure as he gingerly lowered himself into a chair.
‘Well then, maybe this lot will make you feel a little more human,’ said Merry, placing an enormous plateful of food in front of him, similar to the one that Stephen had just demolished.
Freya sat down beside Sam. ‘Thanks Merry,’ she said, accepting her breakfast with a grin. ‘This is fantastic; I hadn’t realised quite how hungry I was until I began to smell this lot from upstairs. It was very good of you to let us all stay over.’
Merry simply waved her tongs in acknowledgement. ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘It’s the least we could do.’ She looked down at her own breakfast. ‘And this is just like the old days; cooking for the masses. I’ve rather enjoyed it, to be honest, and quite relieved to know I can still do it.’
Freya raised an eyebrow. ‘Another opportunity to be explored perhaps…Five Penny House B&B?’ Merry said nothing, but Freya knew her too well to expect an answer. ‘Where’s Tom anyway?’ she asked instead.
Merry speared a mushroom. ‘He’s just popped into the village to see how things are this morning,’ she said, blushing a little. ‘…And if I’m honest to go and shake a few hands. Cora came to see us first thing and apparently news of yesterday’s events has spread far and wide. There isn’t a soul round here who doesn’t know what you’ve all done for the village.’ She eyed Sam warmly. ‘So I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to being the centre of attention for a while.’
Sam grimaced, but continued to eat steadily. He swallowed and looked around him. ‘So where’s Stephen? He hasn’t gone home, his truck is still outside.’
‘No, he’s still here. He’s just gone to take some tea to our guests. I expect he’s still nattering.’
Sam looked about him. ‘Guests?’ he said.
She was about to reply when Freya cut across her. ‘My God, where did that come from?’
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ replied Merry, without looking up. She knew exactly what Freya was referring to.
‘It’s beautiful. But it wasn’t here yesterday surely? I would have noticed it.’
‘No, you’re right. Cora brought it round this morning.’ She laid her knife and fork down on her plate. ‘She thought that now might be the perfect time to return it, even though of course, strictly speaking it belongs to her.’
Freya swung her chair round a little so that she could get a better look at the painting which was propped up against the far wall. ‘Is it who I think it is?’
A huge smile crossed Merry’s face. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘The Marchmont family. Christopher, his wife, Marina, and their daughter, Catherine.’
‘But, it looks like it was painted yesterday.’
‘I know, that’s the most remarkable thing, isn’t it? I think they’re pleased to be home.’
Sam put down his own fork and looked at the oil painting which had so caught Freya’s eye, a portrait of two women, and a man, a little behind, his arms around them both. Happiness shone out of their faces, the paint gleaming as if lit from within.
‘Is that your painter?’ he asked, remembering some of the conversations that Freya had relayed to him.
‘One and the same,’ nodded Merry. ‘It hasn’t hung in this house for a very long time. Cora said Christopher couldn’t bear to look at it after they died, and he removed it to an upstairs room where it stayed in the back of a wardrobe. It’s so sad.’
‘So how did Cora get hold of it? I don’t understand,’ asked Freya.
Merry gazed at the painting, a soft expression on her face. ‘Because he could never truly bear to be parted from it, even in death. I think he understood that after he was gone no one would care for it, least of all his rather grasping relatives, and so he left it to Cora in his will. It’s hung in her dining room ever since, waiting for the time, she said, until she could return it to its rightful place.’
Freya gasped, her eyes unexpectedly filling with tears. ‘Oh, that’s beautiful, Merry.’ She sighed, her hand lying over her heart. ‘You will put it up, won’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ said her friend softly. ‘I know just the place.’
Sam looked between the two women, both of whom he had known since childhood, both the truest of friends, and now one a woman he loved with all his heart. He looked back at the painting, recognising the feeling that shone from Christopher’s eyes, and he smiled.
‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the house is no longer cursed.’
