Larkrigg Fell by Freda Lightfoot

not important to you.’
    Meg inwardly flinched but let the remark go. He was arrogant, as the young often were. Clearly imagined he had all the answers. ‘Ah yes,’ she said, becoming aware of the coolness in the breeze. ‘I remember Jack well. Very well in fact. So you are his grandson?’ Then she turned her back on him, making him wait while she weaved a pliant strip of hazel in to the hedge she was layering and set the billhook safely away. It gave her time to collect herself, and to wonder why he had come. ‘Jack was in Italy during the war, and afterwards returned, if I remember correctly.’
    ‘That is so.’
    Meg looked fully into his smiling face. ‘And you have come to find your roots?’
    ‘It was time.’ He laughed and looked confidently about him, at the hills and the lime-washed walls of Broombank farm, at the twins: Sarah close by, Beth sitting hunched on a log.
    A small, strained silence. ‘Did your grandfather talk much about the Lake District?’
    The smile widened as he shrugged his fine shoulders. ‘He talk about it all the time. He say it ees his home. He also say you took his house, this Broombank, sì? That is so?’
    Meg ignored the question, wishing suddenly that Tam hadn’t chosen this particular morning to drive into Kendal for fresh supplies. Pulling off her hedging mitts, she massaged her aching hands. ‘I dare say you’ve heard the story many times so I won’t bore you by repeating it.’ She managed a bright smile. ‘Let me see now, you must be some sort of distant half cousin to the twins.’
    His eyes were on the house. ‘Broombank looks a fine and prosperous farm.’
    Meg turned, her gaze upon its white walls mellow in the sun, and felt her heart swell with pride. ‘It has always been a warm family home, though not so prosperous when I first took it over. Rather neglected, in fact.’
    ‘And you were ambitious to be the sheep farmer, yes?’
    Meg, feeling oddly reluctant to talk about the past, admitted that was the case. A faint stirring of disquiet made her wonder if he meant anything particular by this interest. ‘It was all entirely legal,’ she said, and could have kicked herself for sounding almost defensive.
    ‘I do not doubt it. You must have been pleased to acquire such a fine farm.’
    ‘It wasn’t so fine then. Jack was never interested in farming. Too much of the wanderlust in him.’ She laughed. ‘And there was a war on.’
    ‘You were to be married, is that not so?’
    Meg had no wish to resurrect the past, or to pick a quarrel with Jack’s grandson, though he seemed to be twisting the facts somewhat. It was too late now to explain how things had worked out, all those years ago. For all his excessive courtesy, a part of her did not like this young man, who clearly had a very high opinion of himself, or his probing questions. Perhaps it was the stillness of his face, the glint in his eyes that reminded her too much of Jack. And such a deep blue, so very like Sarah’s own that it made her shiver with foreboding.
    What was he doing here at Larkrigg Hall? Should she say something? What could she say? So far as she knew he meant them no harm. The twins would only tell her they had their own lives to lead, that it was none of her business.
    ‘Life moves on,’ she said.
    A flicker of eyebrows and a half shrug of the shoulders. ‘Of course. And a new family. You let him down so he left.’
    Meg felt herself flush as if she were again that young girl hurt by Jack’s betrayal but too sensitive of the fact he was fighting a war to confront him on the matter. ‘You have it all wrong,’ she said, lifting her chin.  
    ‘Pietro didn’t mean it quite as it sounded, Gran.’
    She patted Beth’s hand and said nothing more, yet deep in her heart knew that he had meant every word. But if Pietro Lawson wanted a fight, then he’d come to the right place. She’d never backed away from one yet.
    Sarah was saying, ‘Why don’t we all go indoors and have tea?