Josephine Cox Sunday Times Bestsellers Collection

The old man shrugged. ‘If you say so, Mr Morris.’

‘I do, but don’t think I’m not grateful for the offer. I’ll let you into a secret, shall I? I enjoy feeding the animals.’ He grinned. ‘They’ve begun to think I’m their mummy.’

The old man laughed. ‘You certainly have a way with ’em, I’ll say that for yer.’ He pulled the neb of his cap down over his forehead. ‘If yer sure then, I’d best make tracks. I expect the missus will have the tea on the table and the kettle already singing away.’

Before they parted, Ben assured him quietly, ‘Les – you do know I could never manage this place without you?’

That brought a smile to the old farmhand’s face, for he was well aware of how Ben Morris had bypassed younger, stronger men in order to keep him in work. ‘You’re a good man, Mr Morris, God bless you.’ With that he was quickly gone, away down the path, off to the village, and home to his darling woman.

For the next couple of hours, Ben was kept busy. He had a tried and tested feeding routine; despite this, it was not only a dirty job but a time-consuming one, too. There were two hundred chickens in the hen-house; twenty fat porkers in the pig-pens; the same number of milking cows in the small barn, and a small flock of thirty sheep in the big barn.

Feeding them all took between two and three hours in the morning and the same at night, and when they were let loose in the fields, all the barns and sheds had to be mucked out, ready for when the weather turned and the animals were brought back in again.

As he went inside the farmhouse, Ben gave a sigh of relief. He had fallen in love with the place the moment he set foot through the door. It was like a calm after the storm, a haven where he could lick his wounds and grow strong again.

The year leading up to the move had been the worst of his life. After leaving the RAF, in which he had served for three years after his training, he had gone back to his career as an architect. When the company went bust through financial mismanagement and shortages of some basic materials, he took out a loan to start up his own business. Sadly, it never really took off. He sold the premises at a loss, and found work with the local council, but hated every minute of it. His wife grew distant because there were no longer the funds to maintain the kind of life she wanted. Then his lively, darling daughter Abbie, by then aged eighteen, moved out of the family home and he had missed her terribly.

He hoped he and his wife Pauline would grow closer, and he believed this was happening – until he caught her in bed with his best friend, Peter. There had been a long and unpleasant period when he didn’t know which way to turn. His daughter had been his salvation, but she had already forged a life of her own; she shared a flat with two other girls and had a good job, working for a tea-importer in London. Thankfully, the break-up of her parents’ marriage had not seemed to interfere too much with all that.

The divorce had been a messy business, and the only ones to come out of it winning were the lawyers. Still, Ben was determined not to slide into bitterness, because what was done was done, and there was no turning back for either of them.

When it was over, he and his wife were left with enough from the sale of their family home to start again. She had gone to live abroad with her new husband, while Ben chose a completely different way of life. He was happy enough now. Perhaps happier, in a strange way, than he had ever been.

Taking a deep invigorating sigh, he looked around the farmhouse. There was a warm feel of history in this delightful little place. He could not deny it had its disadvantages, though they were small compared to the joy he had found here. The whisper of a smile crossed his features as he recalled the number of times he’d banged his head on the low cross-beams, and the wood-burning stoves caused more dust and dirt than he could ever have envisaged. The small windows were draughty, and when the wind drove the rain, it came right through the framework to soak the walls. The flagstone floors were sunk and broken in places and even in the height of summer there was a dampness in the air that got right into the bones. This was his first winter in the cottage, and once the better weather arrived, he knew he would have to put in many a long hour working on the house in between his other responsibilities.

Yet in spite of all that, he would not have changed one single thing.

As always, he went straight to the kitchen, where he turned on the gas stove, filled the kettle and set it for boiling. ‘Now then, Chuck.’ Going to the pantry, he took out a lamb chop and dropped it into the dog’s bowl. ‘You chew on that while I see who’s been writing to me.’

Returning to the dresser, he picked up the mail which had lain there since yesterday. There was a bill for animal feed, a card reminding him to return an overdue book to the local library, and a white envelope with a tuppenny stamp and a small pink flower drawn in the corner.

‘We know who this is from, don’t we, eh?’ He cocked an eye at the dog, who was far too busy enjoying his treat to worry about what the postman had brought.

Ben took out the letter and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words and his heart warming as he read them aloud:

Dear Dad,

I’ve managed to get time off at last, so if it’s OK with you, I plan to visit for a few days. It’s been too long since we had a real heart-to-heart, don’t you think? I’m not sure which day I’ll turn up, but it’ll either be next Sunday or Monday. If that doesn’t fit in with your plans, you’ll have to let me know a suitable date. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume it’s all right to arrive sometime on one of those days. I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Meanwhile, take care of yourself,

Your loving daughter,

Abbie xxx

Folding the letter, he slipped it back into the envelope before dropping it onto the dresser.

‘You’ll need to look to your laurels,’ he told the dog with a wag of his finger. ‘Abbie’s coming to stay, and when she’s about, no one gets any peace!’ His daughter was noisy, untidy and could be the most irritating creature in the world. More than a week of her company and he would likely be pulling his hair out. But oh, how he was looking forward to seeing her.

He was so excited that he cut his finger when making himself a cheese sandwich, and then found he could only nibble at it, though he swigged down three cups of tea and ravished the jam-tart made especially for him by Les’s wife. In fact, she’d made him a whole bagful only the day before yesterday, and this was the last one. ‘Sorry, matey,’ he told the dog who had demolished his chop and was begging for a crumb. ‘You’ve had your tea. This is mine, and besides, there isn’t enough here to share.’ Nevertheless, he was still shamed into throwing him a bite.

With the jam-tart all gone and the teapot emptied, Ben put on his work-clothes and with the dog at his heels, made his way to the yard where he unlocked the feed room. Here he laid out three large galvanised buckets; one for the chickens; one for the sheep and another for the pigs. That done, he lifted the lids from three of the drums and scooping out several sizeable helpings of food from each of them in turn, he filled the buckets to brimming.

Taking up the buckets, two in one hand and one in the other, he made his way over to the big barn. Knowing exactly when feed-time was, the sheep were already crowded round the food-troughs. On sight of him, they began pushing and shoving their way forwards. ‘Get back! BACK, I SAY!’

Fighting his way through the bleating animals, he partway filled the various troughs, then leaving the sheep to sort themselves out, he climbed the ladder to the hayloft, where he threw down four slices of hay, making certain that they landed far enough apart for everyone to get a fair share without too much argument.

Afterwards, he stood at the barn door for a minute or two. Satisfied that the sheep were all feeding and seeming content, he went outside to the tap, filled the bucket with water, returned inside and emptied it into the two water-troughs. ‘That should keep you going for a while,’ he told them. ‘Come the morning, I might let you loose in the fields.’

It was always a pleasure to set them free, for sheep were not indoor animals. Small-minded and built to eat, it was in their nature to nibble the pastures, get caught up in brambles and go lame at every opportunity.

With the sheep fed and set up for the night, he tramped off to the undercover pig-pens. Here he went through the same procedure, but with a different and coarser food, for pigs were gluttons and required bulk. Ben was always wary when surrounded by the porkers. Weighing upwards of half a ton each, they were capable of doing a man some considerable damage if he got in their way.

The boars in particular were an angry sort when penned, as old Les was quick to point out to Ben at the first opportunity. ‘I once knew a man whose prize boar drove his tusks clean through the poor chap’s thighbone; crippled him for life, it did. So don’t go messin’ with them big buggers, ’cause if they don’t get yer with their tusks, they’ll have yer over and trample yer underfoot!’ Les did not have to tell Ben twice. It was ironic that poor Les himself came a cropper soon after he’d issued that warning.

With the pigs happily burying their snouts in the troughs, Ben attended to the other animals; first the cows, then the chickens.

The cows were housed in the smaller of the two barns. The area had been divided up to provide eight large pens on one side and six on the other, with a birthing pen at the far corner. The beasts had more than enough room and as long as they were fed and watered and clean underfoot, they saw out the winter in comfort; though once the worst of the weather was over they, too, were always happy to be let loose in the fields.

The spacious chicken-house was a vast, open area, which gave the chickens ample room to run. At night they would either roost in the lower beams, or retire to the many small wooden houses set along either side of the walls. Sadly, some of the chickens fell prey to the odd fox who dared to burrow under the wire, which was dug in and around the entire perimeter. Thankfully it had not happened just lately, and Les kept a wary eye out for weak links in the netting.

A long while later, Ben made his weary way back to the farmhouse. At the door he kicked off his boots and overalls before going through to the parlour.

First, he made himself a cup of well-earned tea, then it was off upstairs for a much-needed bath. He’d lit the geyser to heat up the water long since. ‘I can’t be going to see the ladies smelling of pig manure and chicken-muck,’ he told the dog, who simply rolled over, gave a long, shuddering yawn and fell into a deep sleep.

In the bathroom he turned on the taps and let the bath fill while he stripped off. A few moments later he slithered under the water and lay there for awhile, luxuriating in the warmth and thinking of young Mary, with whose pretty lavender-blue eyes and the way her mouth turned up at the corners when she smiled …

Chapter 2 (#ulink_b780f16e-72a1-52df-937f-3a497670ecd1)

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK that evening, Ben arrived at the front door of Knudsden House. Standing on the top step of the little flight of stairs, he fidgeted nervously before reaching up and knocking briskly.

The door opened and Mary stood before him. His breath caught. Divested of her heavy winter coat, she was wearing a lilac-coloured twin-set and a pretty knee-length skirt. The light from the hall and from her, too, dazzled him.

Fumbling, he brought out the bag from where he’d been hiding it under his coat. ‘I found this,’ he said jerkily.

‘It’s my mother’s! Thank you.’

The women had discovered the loss of the handbag once they’d arrived home. Fortunately, Mary had her own front-door key and could let them in. Adam had offered to go and look for it, after searching the car and not finding it, but Lucy had said no, not to worry. She felt far too unwell for any fuss, and the bag would turn up somehow. People round here were honest men and women.

‘Won’t you come in?’ Mary asked now. ‘I expect Mother will want to thank you herself.’

Accepting her invitation without hesitation, Ben followed her through to the drawing room. ‘Is your mother all right? I mean, has she suffered any ill-effects from the fall?’

‘She says she’s all right. With Mother, you’re never really sure.’

When Mary turned to smile at him, Ben felt foolish; like a shy young boy on his first date instead of a forty-year-old man of the world.

For what seemed the longest moment, she continued to gaze on him, her quiet smile reaching deep into his senses. Suddenly the smile fell away and, slowing her step, she confided in him.

‘The truth is, since she fell in the churchyard, she hasn’t seemed well at all,’ she whispered. ‘I’m worried about her.’ Before she inched open the door, she confessed, ‘I wanted to call Dr Nolan, but she won’t hear of it.’ A sigh escaped her lips. ‘She’s so independent – and stubborn like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m half tempted to call the doctor anyway.’