clump of white dog daisies by the barn, the old mare Betsy was looking out over the stable door. The only sounds were Paul talking softly to the calves in the barn, Tara sweeping and the chickens clucking.
'There are meadows all around that belonged to my ancestors.' She gestured behind her. 'Mother tells me if we go down the lane it leads to the river. A couple of miles over there' – she pointed beyond the house – 'is a huge lake full of wild geese, swans and other birds. You tell me where I'll find that in London.'
Harry had never seen Amy like this. In a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse she looked more like twenty than over thirty. Her hair was tousled, her hands were already red from scrubbing, but she had a determined look in her soft blue eyes.
'Well, you know where we are,' Harry said as he opened the car door. 'If it don't work out, any trouble, anythin' at all, just phone and we'll be down to sort it out.'
'Are you going now, Harry?' Tara shouted, running across the yard as fast as she could in her huge boots.
'Paul!' Amy called out. 'Harry's leaving now.'
Somehow it showed the full measure of Harry when Paul came racing out of the barn, running full tilt to the older lad's arms, beating his sister. Harry swept him up, pressing his face against the smaller one.
'You'll come and see us, won't you?' Paul asked, his small grubby hands cupping Harry's face. 'And teach me to box?'
Harry hugged Paul one last time before putting him down. 'And I hope I get such a good hug from you too, Tara?'
Tara looked bashful, but she put her arms round his waist and buried her head in his chest.
'I never had such a good friend as you,' she whispered. 'I won't ever forget you.'
'You won't get a chance.' Harry prised her off his chest and lifted her chin so he could see her face. 'I shall be checking up on you, so don't think you can marry some spotty-faced farm boy and forget about being a famous dress designer,' he said. He kissed her cheek, then reached out for Amy, a stricken look on his face.
Amy hugged him. 'Promise me you won't go astray, Harry?' She wiped away the dirt Paul had smeared on his face. There was strength and character in that angular face, his blue eyes were compassionate. If he didn't wander from the straight path it would be a lucky woman that had those sensual lips to kiss and that lean, strong body in her arms.
He shook his head, kissed her cheek and got into the car.
'You don't know how much Dad and me'll miss you. Keep in touch!'
'Can't you sit down for a minute?' Mabel said tetchily as Amy put back the last piece of washed china on to the dresser.
The children were in bed, exhausted from exploring and cleaning their bedroom. They hadn't even noticed the absence of a television in the excitement of so many new experiences.
'I'll stop now.' Amy hung the teatowel on the rail in front of the Aga to dry and leaned back against it, looking round at the clean room. 'It looks much better, Mother, but it needs painting.'
She had worked on the kitchen since Harry left that morning – walls and ceiling washed down, the pine table scrubbed with bleach, cupboards and drawers turned out, every last utensil and piece of china washed. Some of the old pots were copper and now they gleamed up on the beams, free of cobwebs and dust. The prettiest china was displayed on the dresser and faded checked curtains had been washed and replaced at sparkling windows.
It was far brighter now, already a pleasant family room, but Amy's head was buzzing with ideas, for new upholstery on her mother's rocking chair, maybe a rug beneath it, and bright cushions on the wooden settle.
'I can't afford painters.' Mabel's rocking chair scraped on the tiled floor.
'I can paint it.' Amy studied her work-reddened hands; they hadn't look like this since she left Bill. 'If I'm going to live here we have to make it nice.'
She'd barely had time to examine the other rooms but a quick glance had daunted her. Boxes of rotten, forgotten
'There are meadows all around that belonged to my ancestors.' She gestured behind her. 'Mother tells me if we go down the lane it leads to the river. A couple of miles over there' – she pointed beyond the house – 'is a huge lake full of wild geese, swans and other birds. You tell me where I'll find that in London.'
Harry had never seen Amy like this. In a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse she looked more like twenty than over thirty. Her hair was tousled, her hands were already red from scrubbing, but she had a determined look in her soft blue eyes.
'Well, you know where we are,' Harry said as he opened the car door. 'If it don't work out, any trouble, anythin' at all, just phone and we'll be down to sort it out.'
'Are you going now, Harry?' Tara shouted, running across the yard as fast as she could in her huge boots.
'Paul!' Amy called out. 'Harry's leaving now.'
Somehow it showed the full measure of Harry when Paul came racing out of the barn, running full tilt to the older lad's arms, beating his sister. Harry swept him up, pressing his face against the smaller one.
'You'll come and see us, won't you?' Paul asked, his small grubby hands cupping Harry's face. 'And teach me to box?'
Harry hugged Paul one last time before putting him down. 'And I hope I get such a good hug from you too, Tara?'
Tara looked bashful, but she put her arms round his waist and buried her head in his chest.
'I never had such a good friend as you,' she whispered. 'I won't ever forget you.'
'You won't get a chance.' Harry prised her off his chest and lifted her chin so he could see her face. 'I shall be checking up on you, so don't think you can marry some spotty-faced farm boy and forget about being a famous dress designer,' he said. He kissed her cheek, then reached out for Amy, a stricken look on his face.
Amy hugged him. 'Promise me you won't go astray, Harry?' She wiped away the dirt Paul had smeared on his face. There was strength and character in that angular face, his blue eyes were compassionate. If he didn't wander from the straight path it would be a lucky woman that had those sensual lips to kiss and that lean, strong body in her arms.
He shook his head, kissed her cheek and got into the car.
'You don't know how much Dad and me'll miss you. Keep in touch!'
'Can't you sit down for a minute?' Mabel said tetchily as Amy put back the last piece of washed china on to the dresser.
The children were in bed, exhausted from exploring and cleaning their bedroom. They hadn't even noticed the absence of a television in the excitement of so many new experiences.
'I'll stop now.' Amy hung the teatowel on the rail in front of the Aga to dry and leaned back against it, looking round at the clean room. 'It looks much better, Mother, but it needs painting.'
She had worked on the kitchen since Harry left that morning – walls and ceiling washed down, the pine table scrubbed with bleach, cupboards and drawers turned out, every last utensil and piece of china washed. Some of the old pots were copper and now they gleamed up on the beams, free of cobwebs and dust. The prettiest china was displayed on the dresser and faded checked curtains had been washed and replaced at sparkling windows.
It was far brighter now, already a pleasant family room, but Amy's head was buzzing with ideas, for new upholstery on her mother's rocking chair, maybe a rug beneath it, and bright cushions on the wooden settle.
'I can't afford painters.' Mabel's rocking chair scraped on the tiled floor.
'I can paint it.' Amy studied her work-reddened hands; they hadn't look like this since she left Bill. 'If I'm going to live here we have to make it nice.'
She'd barely had time to examine the other rooms but a quick glance had daunted her. Boxes of rotten, forgotten
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