Perfectly Correct by Philippa Gregory Page B

in Wistley Common Farm. His life was an antithesis of hers. Their hours, their pastimes, even their thoughts were in complete contrast.
    Andrew Miles drank the scalding coffee at speed.
    ‘Is it going to rain?’ Louise asked in her light social voice.
    ‘The forecast’s bad,’ he replied. ‘Rain from midday and some thunderstorms tonight. I’ll go down and see Rose before I leave. Make sure she’s all right.’
    ‘Rose?’
    Andrew Miles looked surprised. ‘Rose,’ he repeated. ‘In the van.’
    ‘I didn’t know her name.’
    ‘Rose Miles.’
    He handed the mug back to Louise with a word of thanks and then continued unloading the hurdle.
    ‘Hang on a minute,’ Louise said, struggling to understand. ‘Did you say Miles? Is she a relation of yours?’
    ‘She told you she was born here,’ Andrew said reasonably.
    ‘I thought she was a gypsy.’
    He smiled. ‘Born in this house, married a gypsy. Shewent away when she was twenty or so. But she always comes back here for the summer.’
    ‘She’s one of your family?’
    Andrew shrugged vaguely. ‘She was born a Miles. She’s an aunt or something. I’m not very good on that kind of thing.’
    ‘Well, then, she should certainly be at your farm,’ Louise said suddenly. ‘Not here.’
    Andrew smiled. ‘I really would like to oblige you, Miss Case,’ he said formally. ‘But it’s her wish to be here. I can’t move her on. I have no authority over her.’
    Louise felt reproved. ‘Captain Frome says there are travellers coming this way.’
    Andrew nodded.
    ‘They might come in here when they see the van.’
    ‘They wouldn’t break down a fence. That’s damage and trespass. They’ll come on up to my farm.’
    Louise’s eyes widened. ‘What will you do?’ she asked. ‘Have you warned the police?’
    ‘I’m renting them a field,’ Andrew Miles said pleasantly. ‘We’re going to have one of these – what d’you call them? – raves. There’ll be dancing and I’ve said they can have fires and cook. It’ll be a bit of a party. I like a bit of a party.’
    He humped the hurdle from the back of the Land-Rover on to his back and carried it around to the break in the fence, not seeing Louise’s astounded face. He leaned it against the surviving fence and carefully broke away the damaged wood and put it into a pile.
    ‘Rose can have that, I suppose,’ he said to Louise. ‘Unless you want it for kindling.’
    Louise flapped her hands dismissively at the wood pile. ‘You can’t possibly do this!’ she exclaimed. ‘There will be all sorts of people. You don’t know what you’re getting yourselfinto. They’ll be dealing in drugs and they’ll be in trouble with the police, and they’ll be impossible to move on. They’ll damage your land. Their dogs will eat your sheep.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said gently.
    He reached in his pocket for some baler twine and started lashing the gate to the fence posts with three loose loops.
    ‘Why are you doing this?’ Louise exclaimed. ‘Why let these people come to your land?’
    Andrew went to the other end of the gate and experimentally lifted and opened and then closed it. He twisted a loop of twine to fasten it shut.
    ‘No hinges,’ he explained. ‘You’ll find it a bit heavy to shift. But she’s not going anywhere till I get the van fixed. At least it closes the gap for you, if that’s what you want.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Louise said distractedly. ‘But why are you letting them on your land? Everyone in the village is against it!’
    Andrew straightened up and smiled at her. ‘I like a bit of a party. It’s not often we get a chance for a bit of a party round here.’
    Louise was speechless for a moment. ‘Captain Frome will go mad.’
    Andrew smiled warmly at her. ‘He doesn’t matter,’ he said with the confidence of a man who lives in his own house, his father’s house, with his own land stretching for miles all around him. ‘He doesn’t matter at all.’
    He opened