Chapter 26
26
‘What on earth did you do to George?’ Rebecca asks when I make my way back to the cottage a few minutes later. ‘He came tearing in here looking like he’d seen a ghost, grabbed his stuff, made some lame excuse about being called away and then shot off up the drive as if he couldn’t get out of here fast enough.’
‘Where’s Ben?’ I ask, noting that she’s alone in the kitchen.
‘He’s gone home. He figured you and I needed time to talk.’
I sink down at the table and bury my head in my hands. ‘George came to find me,’ I tell her.
‘I know. We sent him. We were worried about you.’
‘Yeah, well. We had a chat, I had a bit of a cry, and then we ended up kissing.’
‘Oh, wow! Wait, why would he be in such a hurry to leave though? Didn’t he like it? You didn’t bite him or do something weird, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ I snap. ‘It was lovely, if you must know, but then he pulled away, said he had to go and vanished.’
‘Maybe it caught him by surprise. Give him an hour or two to cool down, and then call him. It’s funny; I would have sworn he was gay.’
‘Based on the way he kissed me, I’m pretty certain he isn’t.’
‘You don’t think he’s married or has a girlfriend, do you?’
‘I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would kiss someone behind a partner’s back.’
‘What exactly did he say when he broke it off?’
‘He apologised a lot, said he had to go, and then ran off. The stupid thing is that, if anything, I took advantage of him. It was me that started the kiss.’
‘Hmm. Definitely sounds like he’s just spooked.’
‘You’re probably right.’
I’m struggling to concentrate on my work as my mind grapples with the events of the morning. I’ve called George’s phone a number of times, but it’s gone to voicemail. Ben and Rebecca are wisely working on lagging the pipes and keeping out of my way, but I know I also need to come to some sort of conclusion about the family farm idea and I just don’t know what to do. When my phone rings after lunch, I snatch it up hoping that it’s George, but I’m instantly disappointed.
‘Hi, Thea, it’s Charlotte from HIBT,’ she tells me when I answer. ‘I’ve just had a call from George to say that he’s been taken ill suddenly, but you need help with submitting application forms for a family farm business. Is that right?’
‘Umm, I don’t think it’s hugely urgent,’ I reply, unable to summon enthusiasm for either Rebecca’s idea or more form filling unless it brings George back. ‘It can probably wait until he’s feeling better.’
‘The thing is,’ she continues, ‘this isn’t really his area of expertise. I suspect he would have leant heavily on Ernest for advice and, as it happens, Ernest has just finished his assignment in Norfolk. I gather the mill restoration is nearly complete?’
‘Yes, not far off.’
‘Great. This is probably a good time for George to step aside and Ernest to come back on board to get you over the finishing line. I’ll ask him to contact you.’
‘Oh, OK.’ This is disastrous news, and my mind is whirling, trying to think if there’s anything else I can do to get in touch with George so we can straighten this out one way or another. ‘Umm, Rebecca and I would like to send a get well card and a small token of thanks to George. You wouldn’t happen to have his address to hand, would you?’
‘I can’t give you his home address because of GDPR,’ Charlotte tells me firmly. ‘You’re welcome to send something here though, and I’ll forward it on for you.’
‘OK, thanks.’
‘Fuck,’ I mutter vehemently once I’m sure the call has disconnected.
‘What’s up?’ Rebecca obviously heard me on the phone and has come to check up on me.
‘That was Charlotte. George has called in sick and she’s decided to replace him with Ernest.’
‘Sick?’ She laughs. ‘Bloody hell, that’s a bit extreme. Are you sure you didn’t bite him?’
‘It’s not funny,’ I tell her crossly. ‘How am I supposed to get to the bottom of this if he’s not coming back?’
‘Call him.’
‘I’ve tried that. Voicemail. I’ve left messages too but nothing. I don’t buy the sickness story for a minute.’
‘Me neither. He’s avoiding you.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
‘I don’t know. Give him time, I guess.’
By the end of the day, I’ve called four more times but it’s gone to voicemail every time. I didn’t leave any more messages, but I’m like a caged animal. My mood wasn’t improved when Ernest called late afternoon to say he’d be popping over in the morning to check on progress and have a general catch-up.
‘Look on the bright side,’ Rebecca had told me when I’d imparted this latest piece of bad news. ‘If you don’t hear from George by the weekend, at least you know where he’ll be.’
That did bring some comfort, and I’d returned to my varnishing in the mill with a little less aggression. Maybe she’s right and he just needs a bit of space to process his feelings. If I haven’t heard from him by the weekend, I’ll go and find him in Tenterden. One way or another, we’re going to talk about this. Even if he thinks it’s a mistake, I need closure.
‘I’d forgotten what a cracking cup of splosh you make,’ Ernest says the next morning, after taking a deep and noisy slurp from his mug. ‘The bloke in Norfolk couldn’t make a cuppa to save his life. It was like drinking dishwater. Right then, where are we?’
‘We were just beginning to explore the idea of opening up as a tourist attraction,’ Rebecca says cautiously. ‘Nothing’s set in stone, but we have a potential investor and were thinking of using the land to put in a family farm.’ We haven’t discussed her plans any further yet, so I’m pleased that she’s soft-pedalling it. I’m still in a spin about George and not really in the mood to deal with this at the moment.
‘Great idea,’ Ernest says approvingly, placing his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. For a moment, I vaguely hope it’ll collapse underneath him as a punishment both for looking so impossibly smug and also for encouraging her but, although it’s creaking alarmingly, it holds firm. After a moment where he seems to be contemplating his own genius, he brings the chair back down and opens his eyes again. ‘What about the covenant?’
‘Not a problem,’ Ben assures him. ‘The covenant specifies that the land must be used for the purpose of agriculture or food production, and the family farm qualifies. I checked when I was thinking of doing it.’
‘Is there anyone else doing something similar nearby?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good. So your first issue is going to be getting the council on board. They’re going to want to know about the potential traffic impact, whether the local residents object, all that kind of thing. It can take a while, so I’d get cracking on that sooner rather than later. I assume you’re planning to use the mill as a centrepiece?’
‘That’s the idea, yes.’
‘OK,’ he says, suddenly energised. ‘We’ll need to get the mill certified for food production, assuming you’re going to sell the flour. If you’re planning on running it for any length of time, we’ll also need to check the pond. It might need dredging. Good news is that winter is the best time to do that, because there are bound to be newts using it in summer, and you’re not allowed to disturb them.’
‘Hang on.’ I’m only half listening to Ernest but this seems important. ‘How much will that cost?’
‘Oh, it’s not cheap,’ he says breezily. ‘But we should be able to get a grant to cover most of it, if we word the application right. We’d probably best crack on with that too so we can get the dredging done before spring. I’ve got some forms in my car. I’ll bring them in shortly and we can get started.’
I’m starting to feel overwhelmed again, but thankfully Rebecca seems to spot it and suggests to Ernest that he might like to check progress in the mill before we start form filling, which thankfully deflects him.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks once he’s pottered off.
‘I’m not trying to be difficult, but I haven’t agreed to any of this yet,’ I tell her.
‘I know. But there’s no harm in putting in the applications, is there? If the council says no, then there isn’t really anything to talk about. If they say yes, well, then we have options. The more options we have, the better, surely? Ever since the mill turned out not to be as knackered as we hoped, we’ve known this wouldn’t be an easy place to sell, so having a plan B can’t be a bad thing.’
‘I guess not. I’m just worried that you and Ben are completely sold on this farm idea and, if I’m honest, I feel backed into a corner.’
‘That’s my fault. I let my enthusiasm run away, especially when Ben offered to invest and everything. Look, nothing’s changed, OK? You and I are partners, and I’m not going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you feel you’d rather press ahead with extending the cottage and trying to sell it, I’m sure Ben will understand.’
I sigh. ‘But you want this, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ she admits. ‘Much as I liked the property development plan, I like stability even more. The idea that this could be a permanent home for Rollo and me, plus a business that could provide a decent standard of living, that’s very tempting.’
‘And don’t forget Ben,’ I add.
‘I’m trying not to let him be a factor, but yes. I’d like a future with him too,’ she agrees. ‘But you and I have a contract and I’ll happily abide by it. The only way the farm happens is if you’re completely comfortable and on board. Ben and I have drawn up some plans, and I’d like you to have a look at them and give your opinion, but that’s it. You have total veto. Ben and I are agreed on this.’
‘OK,’ I concede. ‘I’m happy to look.’
‘Thank you. Right, you’d better go and see what Ernest is up to in the mill.’
‘Must I?’
‘I think, after all the work you’ve put into it, I’d want to make sure he isn’t making a mess in there.’
As I round the side of the building, I see that Ernest is not in the mill, but doing something by the side of the pond.
‘Everything OK?’ I ask him.
‘Yes, just trying to get a feel for the depth of the water,’ he tells me. ‘I’m going to recommend dredging, just to be on the safe side. The downside of these ponds is that they do tend to silt up over time. If the river is flowing fast, it brings all sorts of stuff with it, which then sinks to the bottom the moment the water slows down in the pond. Best to dredge, I think. Right, do you want to show me what you’ve been up to inside?’
By mid-afternoon, my mood is at rock bottom. Partly because Ernest isn’t George, and I have a constant George-shaped dull ache in my chest today, but also because I’ve spent most of it at the kitchen table with Ernest, filling in forms. We’ve done an application to Natural England for the dredging of the pond, one to certify the mill for food production and now Ben and Rebecca are taking us through their high-level plans for the farm, which I was a little alarmed to find were considerably more advanced than I’d expected.
‘They’re the ones Ben originally drew up when he was thinking of doing it himself,’ Rebecca explained when I queried it. ‘We’ve just tweaked them slightly. Ben’s also done a complete set of cost and revenue projections, which we’ll take you through another time.’ She flicks her eyes surreptitiously towards Ernest; she’s obviously keen not to have him listening in for that part.
Despite my misgivings, I have to admit that the plans are impressive. Although he hadn’t included a soft-play area or café, Ben has obviously put considerable thought into the types of animals to keep and how they would best be housed. He’s also put together a detailed map of the whole plot including car parking, fences and paths.
‘This is just the start,’ Rebecca tells me, and I can tell she’s trying not to let her enthusiasm run away with her again. ‘I’m thinking we could do rowing boat hire on the pond, “adopt an animal” schemes and I’ve set aside space in the top barn for something that might bring a smile to your face, Thea.’
‘What?’
‘You know how George said the industrial unit was costing a fortune? I was thinking we could offer them this area for their traction engine. It’s win-win. They pay rent, the public get to see a restoration in progress, and they can do demos and stuff with it when it’s finished. Plus, you have George on site regularly.’
‘Assuming he’s speaking to me,’ I murmur quietly, so Ernest doesn’t overhear.
‘Yes. I admit I had the idea before he was taken ill.’ She makes air quotes when she says the word ‘ill’ but they’re lost on Ernest who has closed his eyes again. She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine once you’ve talked to him on Saturday, if you don’t hear from him before.’
I hope she’s right. God, I hope she’s right.