Page 78 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Well then, Jude, how about it?’ He grinned. ‘Is today a good day to make an obscene amount of money?’
‘It’s always a good day for making money, Eddie, but obscenity can sometimes take a little longer.’ He flashed a candid smile. ‘And I never sign anything on an empty stomach. May I?’ he asked, indicating the tray of pastries.
Olivia slipped out of her seat and began to pour the coffee. ‘Help yourself,’ she purred. The pastries were not the only thing being offered on a plate.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of summarising the key points of our agreement,’ said Edward, ‘which you can find in front of you, although you and I both know we could recite them in our sleep. I want to be sure that you’re happy with everything, Jude. It’s important to me that there are no doubts from your perspective; Jennings Pemberton has built its reputation on integrity and, important though this deal is, for both of us, I’ve no wish to jeopardise what we’ve worked so hard for on a detail overlooked, or a technicality. Please take all the time you need before signing.’
Jude smiled. Edward was smooth, there was no denying it, but the fact of the matter was that Jude would not be sitting here today if he were in any way unsure about the deal on the table. Jude paid his lawyers a great deal of money to make sure that every detail was locked down, and indeed Jude himself had set the terms of this deal. There was never going to be any deviation from its specifications, he simply would not allow it. Today had been a very long time coming, and Jennings Pemberton were certainly not the first organisation with whom he had sought to broker a deal. It was gracious of Edward to make it appear that they were doing him a favour, but really it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Even the parcel of land he’d thrown in as a sweetener had been chosen with the utmost care. Completely disingenuous on his part of course; he was well aware that there was every possibility that planning permission would be granted on it, but it didn’t hurt to feign ignorance. Punters liked to think they were getting one over on the seller, and for all his integrity, Edward was no different.
He sipped his coffee, savouring the rich taste. ‘I’m happy to sign, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I trust you received Andrew’s instructions yesterday?’
‘On the dotted line, Jude, all present and correct.’
Jude lifted the cup to his lips once more, letting it hide the outward breath he released. Andrew’s co-operation had been by no means assured, and after their argument of the other evening there was a small, but none the less, significant risk that he would veto the agreement at the last minute. Jude was mightily relieved to see that Andrew’s mercenary tendencies still held. Cold-hearted he might be, but he was no fool, and given the choice of either signing and accepting the new arrangements or losing a good deal of virtually free money, was there really any other choice open to him?
Edward reached inside his jacket pocket to retrieve a midnight blue fountain pen that exactly matched the colour of his tie, and slid it along the table towards Jude.
Jude looked down at the sheaf of paper on the blotter in front of him. He scanned the pages with a practised eye, and flipped to the last page with a casual flick of his wrist. He signed his name on the bottom without a second glance.
As if a spell had been broken, the calculated atmosphere in the room relaxed, and jackets were removed, ties were loosened and the conversation flowed amiably. Olivia rubbed her foot along Jude’s calf a total of three times and Jude enquired politely how their eldest daughter’s GCSEs had gone. Forty-nine minutes after he first entered the building, Jude bid a cheerful goodbye to Emily in reception and walked back out to the car park. Moments later, he swung out past the security cameras with just the same panache as when he had entered.
He waited until he was several streets from the offices of Jennings Pemberton before pulling his car to the side of the road, opening his door and vomiting the two almond pastries and Olivia’s unwelcome attention and cloying perfume into the cool grass of the verge.
41
It was difficult to see how Freya was managing to type anything on her laptop. It was precariously poised on a pile of papers, resting at such a slant that it bounced up and down each time she typed. Willow hovered in the doorway for a moment, unwilling to break Freya’s concentration, but also fascinated to see her working in such a haphazard fashion. As she watched, Freya lifted up her laptop, peered at the piece of paper directly underneath it, and then carried on typing completely oblivious to how absurd she looked.
Sam leaned towards Willow. ‘She’s been like that for hours. Every time I come in, the paper level has risen another inch. God knows where it’s all coming from. In fact, if you hadn’t arrived, I’d be worried I might lose her altogether.’
‘I can hear you, you know,’ came the disembodied voice from behind the laptop. ‘Sorry, Willow, I’ll be with you in a minute…I just want to finish this sentence…while it’s all in my head.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Sam grinned, crossing the room.
Willow looked around her at the homely kitchen. When they were children, she used to come here at least once a week after netball practice. Freya’s dad would make them hot chocolate and they would sit and giggle their way through copies ofJust Seventeen. She’d never dreamed that years later they would still be here, hatching plans and schemes of a different kind. But it felt right; the happy energy in the room was still here after all this time, as if nothing had changed, and even Freya herself didn’t look much different to how she had then, frantically trying to finish her homework before school the next day. When Freya’s father had died last year, it had looked for a while as if she might lose both the farm and her childhood home, but today, with Sam at her side, their future was secure. She could only hope that her own plans would bring about a similar resolution for her and Jude.
Freya’s dark head bobbed up from behind the screen, and she laid the laptop to one side.
‘Sorry about that, but I’ve been trying to nail this particular paragraph all morning, and the perfect words suddenly came to me.’ She got up from the table and gave Willow a hug. ‘I’m like a thing possessed, but then I guess you feel that way too,’ she added.
Willow smiled at Sam as he handed her a cup of tea. ‘There never seem to be enough hours in the day. Everything I do spawns more and more jobs…I’ve never been so excited, though. I can’t stop thinking about stuff, and even though things are getting done, I’ve a horrible feeling I’m getting carried away.’
Freya nodded repeatedly. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said. ‘Been there, done that…still there in fact.’ She laughed. ‘Look, I’ll show you.’
She took Willow’s arm, just as Sam butted in. ‘I’m going to leave you two for a bit and take my tea somewhere a little more peaceful, but I’ll come back and check on you in about half an hour, Willow, just to make sure you’re still with us. If you need me to come and rescue you before then, just shout, okay?’ He winked at Freya. ‘Go easy on her…and remember to breathe.’
Freya picked up her pencil preparing to throw it as Sam ducked out of the room. ‘Cheeky sod, he’s just as excited as I am.’
‘So what are you up to now?’ asked Willow, sitting down and peering at the assortment of leaflets and brochures on the table.
Freya turned the laptop screen around to face her friend.
‘The Appleyard Community Juice Pressing Scheme,’ she announced proudly. ‘We’re not short of a few fruit trees here in Herefordshire as you know, and it suddenly struck me what a wonderful resource we have. There are loads of people around here who’d like to make their own juice but haven’t got the right equipment. Even a single tree in your garden is enough – one bucket load of apples could make about five bottles of juice, and we’ll pasteurise it too, so it will last for about a year.’
Willow looked at the vibrant images on the screen. She scratched the side of her nose. ‘But don’t you want people to buy the juiceyoumake?’
‘Of course.’ Freya grinned. ‘But this way we get the best of both worlds. We’ll make and sell our own juice products, with a little help from you of course, and by aiming these products at carefully selected retailers, we won’t be saturating the market locally which will give the range more of a specialty feel to it. People will still have to pay for the pressing service, so that will generate additional income, keep our machines running and, with any luck, score us some brownie points with the local community, especially if we stress the fundraising possibilities for groups who want to press juice for a profit themselves.’ She looked down fondly at the screen. ‘It might also result in even more sales, perversely. Just suppose you press your own juice, proudly take home your bottles and then drink them over the course of the next few weeks. Where are you going to get more from, now that you’ve developed a taste for the fresh stuff?’
‘Ah…clever,’ said Willow. ‘You know that actually makes sense. What a brilliant idea.’
