A Country Escape Read online

  Amy seemed to be getting angrier and angrier with every word.

  Fran swallowed and took a breath. ‘Amy, you’re still very much alive and so you haven’t left me the farm. We agreed that I’d try farming for a year to see if I can make a go of it. Well, I can’t make a go of it if I can’t get up and down the track.’ She realised she was getting angry herself, which would not be helpful. She paused and smiled. ‘Now, is there anything you need? Anything I can bring you? You could try my cheese?’

  Amy fixed her with a look. ‘Are you trying to poison me? Everyone knows that the elderly shouldn’t eat soft cheese. I could get listeria or E. coli!’

  Fran made her excuses and left as soon as she could. Honestly, Amy was a piece of work! She thought making sure the chimney wasn’t going to catch fire was ‘making a fuss’ but wouldn’t try a scrap of cheese in case it gave her food poisoning!

  She swept into the coffee shop on a cloud of indignation. ‘You’ll never believe what she’s said now!’

  Issi regarded her friend. ‘Don’t tell me. Have some cake.’ She pushed a plate of chocolate gateau across the table. ‘Everything is better after cake.’

  Chapter Ten

  Spring had arrived early at the farm. Fran and Issi were able to dig up primroses and transplant them into small dishes and teacups and use them as table decorations for the supper club. Fran explained to her helpers, Issi, Seb and Tig, that they could remove any primroses that flopped. They were all going to be planted afterwards anyway.

  ‘I think the room looks spectacular!’ declared Issi, wiping her earthy hands on her apron after they’d put primroses on every table.

  ‘I am quite pleased,’ said Fran, less confident. Although the supper club had quickly booked up, which was wonderful, she had to make sure the food was perfect and every one of their careful plans worked.

  ‘It reminds me of an old-fashioned tea shop,’ said Seb, who’d offered to help move furniture – possibly because there were always baked goods as a reward.

  ‘Is that good or bad?’ asked Tig, who was there for the same reason.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Issi, who’d taken on the role of cheerleader – if anyone was less than cheerful she rallied them. ‘After a couple of sips of their complimentary cocktail they’ll all think it’s wonderful!’

  They were going to serve ‘Heavenly Dew’ for this free drink which, they gathered from the internet, was a feature of supper clubs.

  Fran had discovered several bottles of cowslip wine in a dusty cupboard although everyone knew that Amy didn’t drink. She had discussed this with Tig who said his employer would have described it as a ‘country wine’ and therefore somehow non-alcoholic. They had decided to use it for the supper club. Seb had shown a good knowledge of cocktail mixing and combined it with a little brandy for extra kick, topped up with cava from the local supermarket. Everyone was happy with the final result.

  This was to be served in Amy’s random collection of glasses with a few extra borrowed from Mrs Brown, who had volunteered to be a waitress and to help with the washing up. Fran had worried that some people were getting a better deal than others given the glasses varied quite a lot in size. Issi had said it didn’t matter.

  Mrs Brown, who’d got well into the spirit of the supper club, had provided extra chairs courtesy of her key to the village hall and also produced her own fairly extensive collection of pretty plates and dishes to add to Amy’s, as she hadn’t got enough.

  ‘Well, I really like the vintage look,’ said Issi. ‘It looks perfect in here, with the fireplace and everything. Who wants everything matchy-matchy?’

  ‘It does have that “country auction leftovers” vibe,’ said Seb. ‘But maybe that’s OK.’

  ‘It’s charming,’ said Issi firmly.

  Fran worried that he might be right, it did look a bit ‘tea shoppe’ – with a double ‘p’ and written in Gothic script.

  Along with the Heavenly Dew (which was quite strong) they were serving various canapés, some of them cheese-based, all of them fairly economical. The general favourite were the cheesy-stuffed mushrooms which Fran had served as supper at least twice.

  ‘It’s brilliant that we’re fully booked,’ said Issi. ‘After all, no one really knows us round here.’

  ‘I did go to that dinner party and I think Antony helped spread the word,’ said Fran. ‘As well as us putting up postcards and things in the local shops. And you’ve been brilliant with the online marketing.’

  ‘My mum told all her friends,’ said Tig, ‘but if they come it’ll be because no one’s been in this place for a while.’

  ‘I expect lots of people will come because they’re curious,’ said Issi, ‘but as long as they pay for the privilege, that’s fine!’

  ‘And if they have a good time, they’ll come again,’ said Tig.

  ‘Plus there aren’t many restaurants near here,’ said Seb, ‘and you’re offering something a bit different.’

  ‘Pie and mash, do you mean?’ said Fran, suddenly worried that her menu was far too unsophisticated.

  ‘Game pie,’ said Issi.

  ‘From game shot on very grand shooting estates,’ added Seb. ‘You could call it Posh Pie and Mash if you wanted.’

  Issi and Seb spoke in a way that indicated they’d said similar things before and were getting just a bit fed up with it.

  ‘As long as people pay enough,’ said Fran. ‘We need to cover our costs and make sure we can pay everyone—’

  ‘I don’t need to be paid,’ Seb interrupted. ‘I have a job.’

  ‘So have I,’ said Tig.

  Fran felt suddenly tearful. ‘Thank you so much! I absolutely insist on paying you, but I really appreciate all the effort you’ve put in to helping us.’

  Issi, possibly guessing her friend was a bit overcome, changed the subject. ‘It’s a shame it isn’t summer. People would pay just to look at the view.’

  ‘Well, we can do another supper club or two,’ said Fran. ‘If this one goes well.’

  ‘I’ve got cows to milk, so I’ll be off now,’ said Tig, who had refused to be a waiter, or to just eat the supper, but had agreed to hang around in the kitchen and wash up if necessary.

  ‘You’ve been brilliant. Thank you so much, Tig,’ said Fran.

  ‘Yes you have,’ Issi agreed, and gave him a hug.

  ‘I’d better go too,’ said Seb. ‘Ant’s got a meeting later. What time do you want me tomorrow?’

  When the goodbyes and thank yous had been said, and the two women were on their own, Issi said, ‘Remind me what we’re doing about alcohol? Is it Bring Your Own?’

  ‘Oh, Is! I’ve been wondering if I should have applied for that licence that lets you do five events per year that Antony told me about but I left it a bit late and ended up not doing it.’

  ‘Well, you have been busy, doing all the cooking over at Ant’s and having the cheese room built.’

  ‘I have but I probably should have gone for it. I just didn’t think we’d do this five times a year.’

  ‘So people will bring their own?’

  ‘We made it really clear they had to, but Antony has supplied some nice but inexpensive table wine. People will donate to his favourite charity to pay for it.’

  ‘I think you’re his favourite charity, Fran,’ said Issi, studying her friend.

  Fran sighed. ‘He has been incredibly kind but he hasn’t ever given me any sign he likes me more than just a neighbour. Not that I’ve actually seen much of him. I know I always seem to be over there recently, but he’s never there at the same time.’

  Issi laughed. ‘You know what Mark Twain said – that there’s no such thing as an unselfish act. He likes you.’

  ‘Not like that! And if his generosity to me has an ulterior motive, it’s because he wants to buy the farm if I inherit.’

  ‘You will inherit, don’t worry. Amy is very fond of you.’ Issi had finally been to meet Amy and had since been to visit her with Fran a couple of times. To Fran’s rel
ief, they had got on really well.

  ‘Not always. She accused me of trying to poison her with my cheese, don’t forget, even though I didn’t actually give her any!’ Fran fiddled with a loose curl as she thought about it. ‘Sometimes she does seem fond, and keen for me to make a success of the farm, but at others, she’s all, well – I don’t know – argumentative and difficult.’

  ‘She’s old, she’s allowed to be.’

  ‘I know,’ said Fran. ‘But it makes it hard for me. For example, she won’t tell me …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, never mind. You know, I’m still not sure that people can actually sit at the chairs. It’s one thing being able to squash everything round the table, but they’ve got to be able to actually use their knives and forks.’

  In the end Fran and Issi sat next to each other on the table where space was tightest and mimed eating. It was just about possible.

  Fran was encouraged. ‘As long as I haven’t forgotten how to cook for big numbers, it’s going to be fine. At least everyone’s having the same thing at the same time, more or less. The publicity material said to ring if you were vegetarian and no one has, but I will make some individual veggies pies, just in case. You know what people are like.’

  Although they had started arranging the room in plenty of time, it was late when they were finally satisfied with how it looked.

  ‘I’d come and eat here,’ said Issi. ‘In fact, you could offer cream teas in the summer, with your own cream, now the track’s been done.’

  ‘Farmers do have to diversify to survive these days,’ said Fran, ‘but I’m hoping I’ll be making cheese from my cream. Although I suppose I could keep some back. I’ll think about it.’ She yawned. ‘I am so tired, and we haven’t even had the supper club yet.’

  ‘You’ve done an awful lot of prep and moved an awful lot of furniture. Tomorrow will be easier.’

  Issi sounded very reassuring but Fran could tell she wasn’t actually convinced.

  ‘At least it’s not snowing, or even raining,’ said Issi the next morning, handing Fran a cup of tea across the kitchen table. It was extremely early, still dark outside, but Issi was an early riser and knew Fran wouldn’t want to sleep in today.

  ‘No,’ said Fran. ‘Think how dreadful if no one could get up the lane because of ice after all the work and expense that’s been lavished on it.’

  ‘It would be quite difficult for us, too,’ said Issi. ‘I’m going to take Tig some coffee. Anything you want me to ask him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I won’t need him here until about six this evening. He should have time to shower and change after the afternoon’s milking, but then I want him to light the fire, but so it won’t actually give out much heat.’

  ‘He can do that,’ said Issi and left, carrying two cups of coffee. Fran allowed herself a sentimental sigh at her friend’s blossoming relationship before gathering ingredients to make enough puff pastry for at least twenty people and setting off for Antony’s house.

  That afternoon, Fran consulted her list. She was about as far ahead as she could be. The range was burning well and the small ordinary cooker was also up to temperature. She planned to put the pies in an hour before the guests were due to arrive. That would give her time to swap them around so they were equally brown on all sides.

  The veg was all prepared, mountains of potatoes peeled to make mountains of mash. There were carrots, spring greens and peas, which she was going to serve together to look bright and fresh and not cabbagey. The peas were frozen but the carrots and greens were local and organic.

  She had roasted beetroot for the starter and was going to serve it with her home-made feta to make a salad. Given the potential heaviness of the main course, she’d felt a light starter was a good idea. For pudding she had a choice of chocolate tart (served, naturally, with home-made clotted cream) or lemon mousse made (surprisingly) without cream, so it was fresh and light and almost diet food.

  Then there would be cheese, with home-made crackers, shop-bought crackers and soda bread, made by Mrs Brown.

  With the coffee (or a selection of teas) would be home-made tablet, just in case, Issi declared, anyone went home having eaten fewer than two thousand calories. Just to make absolutely sure, Fran was sending them all away with a little bag containing a further selection of her home-made cheeses.

  To give herself a breath of air she went outside and looked at the view. She could see blossom starting to highlight the hedgerows and some early lambs in a distant field. She knew Tig’s cows would soon stop being milked, to be ‘dried off’ before calving.

  That would give her a reprieve from making cheese but in the future, it would mean her income could dry up as well. She needed to make hard cheese that would keep. Still, no point in worrying about that, she told herself. She might not be here next year. Making a living without milk might not be something she needed to concern herself with.

  But the thought made her heart ache. Life wasn’t easy but every day brought a challenge, something to be achieved, or overcome. She loved it.

  Fran and Issi, who were both in the kitchen putting finishing touches to the canapés, jumped when they heard the first car arrive.

  Issi looked out and said, ‘It’s only Seb and Antony.’

  Fran didn’t actually feel ‘only’ about Antony but had convinced herself it was because she hardly ever saw him. He’d become more attractive and sexy in her head because she hadn’t had the dose of reality that actually being with him would give. She knew a lot of her feelings for him were because of gratitude. If it hadn’t been for Antony she’d have probably had to give up and go back to London weeks ago.

  Issi went out to meet them, but Fran stayed where she was, filling mushrooms with a combination of bacon, fried breadcrumbs, fried mushroom stems and a little garlic. When she’d finished, she’d put cheese over the top and put them in the oven. Although her gaze never moved from the task in hand she was alert to the sound of Antony coming into the kitchen.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Both men came in, talking. ‘Hey!’ said Seb, giving Fran a casual kiss on the cheek. ‘Those look amazing!’ He took a mushroom canapé. ‘Delicious,’ he declared, still chewing.

  ‘They’re not finished,’ said Fran.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Seb, wiping his mouth with his hand.

  ‘How can we help?’ said Antony, looking less relaxed than Seb did, and without kissing anyone.

  ‘You could go into the sitting room and see if it looks all right. Make sure that we haven’t forgotten anything vital,’ said Fran.

  ‘Come with us,’ said Antony, taking her elbow.

  She allowed herself to be towed into the next room because she knew she ought to make a final check herself.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Issi.

  It did look pretty good, Fran thought. The tables were beautifully set with mismatched crockery and knives and forks. It was a look that was much harder to achieve than it should have been, they discovered. While the side plates and glasses were different they had to be put next to china that was complementary. There were a few nearly complete sets, but they had to be kept apart from each other so there were no clumps of colour all together.

  They’d removed any of the transplanted primroses that had faded earlier in the day, and Tig had lit the perfect fire, giving light and a bit of flame, but very little heat.

  Fairy lights were draped along the windowsills and pinned across the newly exposed beam over the fireplace. Tea lights on the tables and well-placed table lamps gave the room a warm, inviting glow. Yes, there were far too many tables and chairs, yes, people would be a bit cramped, but the atmosphere was delightful.

  ‘Very gemütlich,’ said Antony.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Issi.

  He gestured. ‘Cosy, warm, intimate. What this is, really.’

  Fran knew the word and was pleased. It was exactly the effect she and Issi had been aiming for.

  Before she could say anythi
ng they heard another car and she made for the door. For some reason she didn’t want to be caught in the dining room.

  ‘Hey! No need to run away,’ said Antony, following her.

  She paused. ‘I know but I must get my mushrooms into the oven. Is? Do we need Seb to make the aperitif or have you done it?’

  ‘It’ll need testing,’ said Seb. ‘Antony’s driving tonight.’

  ‘You do that then, I’ll get back to work.’

  Fran knew the deal. At a supper club you were not only the chef, but the hostess, you had to put in an appearance. It was annoying there wasn’t anywhere for the guests to mingle before taking their seats but there just wasn’t. When she took off her grubby apron and replaced it with a clean one, and went to say hello, everyone would be seated. It would be like making a speech rather than going up to groups of people and saying hello.

  As there was nothing she could do about it, she took a deep breath and went into sitting room.

  She took a moment to admire it. Everything looked even better now the chairs were filled and everyone was chatting. Proximity lent itself to conversation and a lot of people knew each other anyway.

  She banished the feeling that she was the headmistress about to address her school at a mealtime, coughed and waited for people to be quiet.

  No one noticed. Antony, who was sitting quite near her, banged his fork on his water glass.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention please!’

  Although she was grateful to him, Fran now felt obliged to make a speech. She’d keep it short.

  ‘Welcome, everyone. It’s lovely to see so many of you here. I hope you’ll bear with us if everything doesn’t appear bang on time. We’re not a restaurant, and we can’t get the staff – so I’m relying on friends to look after you. Please finish the Heavenly Dew and the canapés and then we’ll get your beetroot salad with home-made feta out to you. There are menus on the tables but it’s not a choice, it’s a warning!’

  Obligingly, people laughed at her joke and Fran was able to retire to where she felt she knew what she was doing.