us.’
Andrew’s frown deepened to a scowl and Beth tried to soothe tempers by scurrying round with cans of beer. This gave a few moment’s respite while everyone found a log or dry-stone wall to perch on, can rings were pulled, drafts of cooling ale supped. Then Andrew pointed to the brown and white dog at Jonty’s feet. ‘That your cur?’
‘He’s not a cur.’
‘He’s considered so in these parts. What breed does he reckon to be then? Bit of terrier in him, is there?’
Jonty’s angular face grew dark as thunder. ‘He doesn’t reckon to be anything. This is Dart. He’s a mongrel. I found him in London.’ The animal glanced up at the sound of his name, happily waving a long scraggly tail, and Jonty’s hand reached down to pat him.
‘Best keep an eye on him then. We don’t like stray dogs round here.’
‘He’s not a stray. He’s mine. A city dog, right? You farmers don’t have a monopoly on caring, or owning bloody dogs.’
The two young men glared at each other for a long, chilling moment, looking very much as if they’d like to tear each other apart. Over a scruffy dog? Beth thought, amazed.
Then Tessa jumped up, jiggling James on a squeal of delight. ‘Can I show Andrew round?’ Something had to be done, she decided, about this unexpected crackle of tension. A guided tour was as good a way as any to break it. She felt rather sorry for Andrew, out of his depth with these two. But her offer only seemed to make matters worse, making her wish she’d kept in the background as usual, for Sarah at once bridled.
‘You do like to make yourself at home in other people’s property, don’t you? First Broombank, now Larkrigg. You’ll be wanting a free trip to the States next.’
‘Sarah, that’s not fair. Tessa is a good friend and of course she can show Andrew round. Enough of this, everyone. We should all be friends not squabbling like infants.’
So Tessa showed Andrew over the house, though he expressed only polite interest. Sarah and Jonty went off for another of their long walks, and Beth started to stack logs.
The rain was coming down in horizontal sheets, beating against the windows. The sunny days of summer seemed an almost forgotten memory as September came in blustery and wet. Grey clouds cloaked the hills and rain dripped from the trees, filling the hanging valleys, seeping into the ground, emerging to fill the becks and erupt over Whinstone Force and gush through the dale below in a torrent.
But inside Larkrigg Hall all was cosy and warm as a bright fire burned in the small drawing room grate. This was still the most comfortable room in the house, the only one with a chimney not blocked by bird’s nests. Beth spent the day sanding orange paint off some old cupboards and felt exhausted. She would have liked to take a shower but there was still no hot water.
‘I’m going for a bath.’
‘You’re mad,’ Sarah said. A remark which proved justified as Beth stood in the old cracked bath tub and scrubbed herself all over with a loofah and breath stopping cold water. Her skin was tingling by the time she’d finished.
She emerged from the bathroom surprisingly warm and glowing, swathed in a towel, and bumped into Jonty hovering on the landing. His presence outside the bathroom door so startled her, she couldn’t think what to say.
Completely unperturbed, he grinned and strolled off, whistling.
Her skin crawled. Had he been peeping at her through the keyhole? She glared at it, set low in the old door and made a mental note to block it up with soap next time. His presence reminded her that they were not alone to enjoy their home in peace.
Hurrying to a bedroom she quickly pulled on her patchwork cotton skirt and T-shirt, bundled her dusty overalls into a carrier bag and headed for the small drawing room. Back to the farm, cocoa, and bed still sounded good.
But Sarah wasn’t ready to leave. It was always the same, dark by the time they left. Beth didn’t object because
Andrew’s frown deepened to a scowl and Beth tried to soothe tempers by scurrying round with cans of beer. This gave a few moment’s respite while everyone found a log or dry-stone wall to perch on, can rings were pulled, drafts of cooling ale supped. Then Andrew pointed to the brown and white dog at Jonty’s feet. ‘That your cur?’
‘He’s not a cur.’
‘He’s considered so in these parts. What breed does he reckon to be then? Bit of terrier in him, is there?’
Jonty’s angular face grew dark as thunder. ‘He doesn’t reckon to be anything. This is Dart. He’s a mongrel. I found him in London.’ The animal glanced up at the sound of his name, happily waving a long scraggly tail, and Jonty’s hand reached down to pat him.
‘Best keep an eye on him then. We don’t like stray dogs round here.’
‘He’s not a stray. He’s mine. A city dog, right? You farmers don’t have a monopoly on caring, or owning bloody dogs.’
The two young men glared at each other for a long, chilling moment, looking very much as if they’d like to tear each other apart. Over a scruffy dog? Beth thought, amazed.
Then Tessa jumped up, jiggling James on a squeal of delight. ‘Can I show Andrew round?’ Something had to be done, she decided, about this unexpected crackle of tension. A guided tour was as good a way as any to break it. She felt rather sorry for Andrew, out of his depth with these two. But her offer only seemed to make matters worse, making her wish she’d kept in the background as usual, for Sarah at once bridled.
‘You do like to make yourself at home in other people’s property, don’t you? First Broombank, now Larkrigg. You’ll be wanting a free trip to the States next.’
‘Sarah, that’s not fair. Tessa is a good friend and of course she can show Andrew round. Enough of this, everyone. We should all be friends not squabbling like infants.’
So Tessa showed Andrew over the house, though he expressed only polite interest. Sarah and Jonty went off for another of their long walks, and Beth started to stack logs.
The rain was coming down in horizontal sheets, beating against the windows. The sunny days of summer seemed an almost forgotten memory as September came in blustery and wet. Grey clouds cloaked the hills and rain dripped from the trees, filling the hanging valleys, seeping into the ground, emerging to fill the becks and erupt over Whinstone Force and gush through the dale below in a torrent.
But inside Larkrigg Hall all was cosy and warm as a bright fire burned in the small drawing room grate. This was still the most comfortable room in the house, the only one with a chimney not blocked by bird’s nests. Beth spent the day sanding orange paint off some old cupboards and felt exhausted. She would have liked to take a shower but there was still no hot water.
‘I’m going for a bath.’
‘You’re mad,’ Sarah said. A remark which proved justified as Beth stood in the old cracked bath tub and scrubbed herself all over with a loofah and breath stopping cold water. Her skin was tingling by the time she’d finished.
She emerged from the bathroom surprisingly warm and glowing, swathed in a towel, and bumped into Jonty hovering on the landing. His presence outside the bathroom door so startled her, she couldn’t think what to say.
Completely unperturbed, he grinned and strolled off, whistling.
Her skin crawled. Had he been peeping at her through the keyhole? She glared at it, set low in the old door and made a mental note to block it up with soap next time. His presence reminded her that they were not alone to enjoy their home in peace.
Hurrying to a bedroom she quickly pulled on her patchwork cotton skirt and T-shirt, bundled her dusty overalls into a carrier bag and headed for the small drawing room. Back to the farm, cocoa, and bed still sounded good.
But Sarah wasn’t ready to leave. It was always the same, dark by the time they left. Beth didn’t object because
Similar Books
