Falling In Love

‘Haven’t any of the girls got a car, for heaven’s sake? Why did you have to lay on a taxi?’

‘It’s safer,’ mumbled Barry. ‘Then they can’t plead they got stuck in traffic or their car wouldn’t start. The taxi goes round and picks them all up, drops them at wherever they’re shooting, then goes back for them...only this time the taxi broke down en route and there isn’t another free for ages.’

‘What about the photographer?’

‘He only has a small two-seater van; his equipment takes up most of the space in the back, and he has that hulking great assistant in the front with him. I’d go myself, but I’m due at my sister’s wedding in Durham at three; I’ve got to leave right away, then I thought of you...’

‘Oh, did you?’ she retorted. ‘I’m busy too, Barry! I’ve got better things to do with my time than play chauffeur to your girls!’

‘But you did say you were going that way this morning and might look in on the Castle Howard shoot!’ he protested, wounded innocence in his tones.

Laura had to admit that. Still frowning, she did some quick calculations. ‘Yes, OK, I’ll pick them up. How many girls was it? Four? Yes, I can just about squeeze them into my Mini. I have to be at Malton by eleven, and should be at Castle Howard at around eleven-thirty. The timing will be tight—I have to see a cottage—but supposing that we leave there at twelve...yes, I can do it. Will you be able to talk to the girls first?’

‘Yes, they’re going to ring me back.’

‘Well, tell them to meet me at the main gate, at eleven-thirty. Will they have much stuff with them?’

‘Clothes, make-up, shoes, the usual stuff. They might be able to stow some of that in the photographer’s van, if it helps.’

‘Well, I should have room in my car. Now, I’d better go or I’ll be late too.’

The drive to Malton was quite a rapid run, in spite of the traffic going from and coming to York, and she reached the estate agent’s office exactly on time. As she pulled up outside, the estate agent emerged, smiling.

Mr Dale was a broad, short Yorkshire man with a face like a well-weathered prune. He shook hands with a firm grip, giving her the grimace which passed for a smile with him.

‘Well, I think we’ve finally come up with exactly what you’ve been wanting, Miss Grainger. Nice little property, needs the odd job done to it, mind—lick of paint, some work on the roof—but it could be made very comfortable without costing an arm and a leg. It’s not an easy trip from here; do you want to come with me, or will you take your own car?’

‘I’ll take my own car, then I can drive straight back to York,’ she decided, and he nodded.

‘Follow me close, then, Miss Grainger; don’t get yourself lost. Remember, we’re turning off at the Castle Howard road.’

He was about to climb into his car, but she stopped him. ‘Mr Dale, I have to pick some girls up from Castle Howard on our way. It won’t take a minute; they should be waiting for us at the main gates.’

‘Work there, do they?’ he asked, looking interested.

‘No, they’re models; they’ve been working in the grounds, with a photographer.’

The drive back towards York was easier because the roads were not quite so crowded now. The road which led to Castle Howard had once been the private road of the family who owned the castle; they had built it in the days long before cars. About seven miles long, it ran across country, between green fields, and wasn’t busy, so they were able to drive fast. It was just after half-past eleven when they arrived at Castle Howard’s main gate, and to Laura’s relief the girls were waiting as arranged.

‘This is ace of you, Laura,’ a skinny black-haired girl said, clambering in beside her, folding her long, long legs somehow into the limited space available. The other girls climbed into the back and settled themselves, pushing and giggling.

Mr Dale had drawn up in front of Laura’s car and was waiting, watching in his driving mirror as the models one by one vanished into the little Mini. Laura could see his bemused expression in his mirror.

‘Thought we were going to have to walk!’ one of the girls in the back said. ‘Thanks, Laura.’

‘That’s OK, I was passing the gates anyway. All in? Then off we go.’ Laura waved to Mr Dale, who started his engine again and moved away with her car following him.

‘Barry’s such a skinflint,’ the black-haired girl said crossly. ‘He always books the cheapest transport—he gets block bookings for half the price and they send their oldest car or coach, and it’s always breaking down. I’m fed up with him—I’m moving to another agency down south as soon as I can get placed.’

The girls in the back made mocking noises. One of them drawled, ‘That’ll be the day! You’ve been saying that for as long as I can remember, Suzy.’

‘I mean it this time!’

‘Sure you do!’ the other girls drawled, and her friends in the back seat giggled.

‘It’s like driving around with a lot of kids; stop squabbling,’ Laura said, then ruefully realised that kids were what most of them were. Suzy was twenty-one now, Yasmin nineteen, but the others were mostly sixteen or seventeen.

Mr Dale had turned off the road now on to a rough, bumpy track between wire fences which clearly led eventually to a farm. Laura followed him; the car bumped and grated over ruts in the track. Laura hated to think what this was doing to her tyres. Surely this wasn’t the only road to this cottage?

Then she saw it and her green eyes widened, glowing. In one glance she saw that it was the sort of place she had always dreamt of living in. An old flint and stone-built cottage with a slate roof, set in a walled garden with an apple tree leaning over the gate, it stood alone with fields all round it, and Laura loved it at sight.

She pulled up behind Mr Dale’s car and got out, slamming her door. The models fell out, chattering excitedly.

‘Oh, isn’t it sweet? You going to buy it, Laura?’ Yasmin asked, walking with difficulty on the rough surface of the track in her stilt-like heels.

‘Is this where you and Patrick are going to live when you’re married?’ asked Suzy.

‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ cooed Yasmin. ‘You are lucky, Laura. Mind if we gatecrash the church? I’d love to see you getting married.’

‘I’ll send you an invitation,’ promised Laura, and the other girls excitedly chattered to her.

‘For all of us? Can we all come to the wedding? Oh, great, thanks, Laura.’

‘Want a bridesmaid?’ Yasmin asked wistfully. ‘I’ve never been a real bridesmaid. I dressed up as one, once, for that bridal shop advert—ever so pretty the dress was, sort of peach satin, lots of lace, too, and I carried a little round bouquet of creamy rosebuds with a silver foil backing. I kept it afterwards, got it hanging on my dressing-table; it dried lovely, the roses still smell nice. But I’ve never been a real bridesmaid.’

Two girls were tottering along the track, giggling. ‘Ooh, look, there’s cows in this field...black and white ones! Moo, moo, come here, moos! Look at them staring; what a hoot... I’ve never seen one this close, have you, Yaz? Come and look! Haven’t they got big heads...oh, look at that one’s tongue—all rough, like sandpaper...Hello, moos...’

Mr Dale watched them with a mixture of disbelief and indulgence. ‘No brains at all, have they?’ he murmured to Laura, who smiled and shrugged.

‘They’re nice girls, though, when you get to know them.’

At that instant a tractor turned out of one of the fields and chugged noisily towards them only to stop dead, the engine throbbing, while the driver stared at them with a dark scowl on his face.

He shouted something Laura couldn’t hear above the noise of his tractor, and waved his arms at them.

Mr Dale groaned.

‘What did he say?’ asked Laura, but before the estate agent could answer the tractor driver switched off his engine and shouted again, and this time they all heard what he said.

‘How many times do I have to tell you? Get off my land or I’ll set my dogs on you!’

The models shrieked and ran back towards the car.

‘His land?’ Laura asked Mr Dale. ‘I don’t understand; is this his cottage?’

‘No, no, it belongs to a lady who’s lived here for years.’

‘Then what does he mean, his land?’

Mr Dale didn’t answer. He was looking nervous. The tractor driver had jumped down, was striding towards them, long, muscled legs rapidly covering the ground. Laura tensed with an instant hostility. He was everything she disliked in a man. Tall, broad, with thick, windswept black hair, he certainly couldn’t be accused of charm or good looks. His face rugged, powerful, he had a jaw she recognised as belligerent, even at a distance, and piercing grey eyes glittering with rage.

‘Ooh...’ giggled the models, clustering behind Laura, as if for protection. ‘He looks real mad, doesn’t he? Wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night.’

‘Don’t know about that! Wouldn’t mind at all, actually!’ Yasmin whispered and set them all shrieking with laughter, which didn’t soften the lines of the man’s angry face.

‘Who is he?’ Laura hurriedly asked Mr Dale, who crossly muttered back,

‘Josh Kern. He owns the farm, all this land...’ His voice broke off as the dark man reached them and stopped, his legs apart in a threatening stance.

Mr Dale was not the nervous type, but Laura saw his throat move convulsively as he swallowed.

‘For the last time, will you get off my land?’ snarled Josh Kern.

Mr Dale stood his ground, facing up to him. ‘Mr Kern, you don’t own this cottage, and the owner has been using this right of way for many years, as you know perfectly well.’

‘There’s no right of way; this is a private road, and I’m taking legal steps to establish that fact!’ Josh Kern snarled. ‘Now, get these women out of here, and don’t come back!’

Laura bristled. ‘I came here to see this cottage, Mr Kern, and as you don’t own it you can’t stop me!’

He slowly swung his head in her direction, his grey eyes full of menace.

‘Don’t be so sure about that, whoever you are.’

‘She’s Laura Grainger,’ Yasmin told him, her face flushed with the excitement of the conflict, and determined to get his attention. She wasn’t frightened. In fact, this was her idea of fun, watching an angry man bellowing at someone, especially a man this sexy. It beat hanging around waiting to be photographed any day!

She was disappointed, however. Josh Kern ignored her. He went on staring narrowly at Laura, from her clouds of blonde curls and full pink mouth to her long, slender legs and tiny feet, his cold eyes contemptuous.

‘Who are all these people, Dale? Actresses?’ he bit out, flicking a glance over the other girls with the same distaste.

‘Models,’ Mr Dale growled.

Josh Kern’s mouth tightened. ‘Models!’

The girls posed for him, smiles inviting.

His face tightened. ‘My God! Are they all planning to move in here? Not if I can stop it. Listen to me, Miss...whatever your name is...if you’re the one who might buy this place... Did Mr Dale explain that this cottage really belongs to my farm? That it was given to someone, not sold, and that I want it back? I hoped to get it back legally, because there was no legal conveyance, just a scribbled paper saying the cottage was a gift, but the court upheld it. Then I tried to buy it back, but my offer was refused although it was far more than the cottage is worth on the open market. The present owner insists she’ll only sell to someone else. Anyone else, so long as it isn’t me, apparently!’ His eyes flashed. ‘Apparently, I can’t force her to sell it back to me...’

Clearly, thought Laura, he wished he could!

He went on fiercely, ‘But I can refuse to let anyone who buys the place use my land as an access road, so be warned! If you do buy Fern Cottage you’ll be buying yourself a lot of trouble.’

‘Don’t you threaten me!’ Laura bit back at him, her head up and her green eyes very angry.

‘I’m not threatening, I’m warning,’ Josh Kern said very softly, and something in that dark face made her skin turn cold.

The other girls gazed, transfixed, their eyes wide and incredulous.

Laura knew how they felt; this man was not someone you could ignore or forget. He had such penetrating eyes; in his rage they turned silvery, as though white-hot.

Mr Dale cleared his throat and nervously suggested, ‘Shall we go and look round the cottage now, Miss Grainger?’

‘Yes,’ she murmured, her eyes still held by Josh Kern’s menacing stare.

‘I meant every word,’ he said in that soft, dangerous voice, and she believed him. He had the look of a man who always meant what he said.

Maybe she should forget any idea of buying Fern Cottage?

CHAPTER TWO

‘HE CAN’T do anything to stop us using his road! If someone lived in that cottage for years and used his road all that time then that makes it a legal right of way,’ Patrick said on the phone later that day when Laura rang him to report on the cottage.

‘That’s what Mr Dale said. He told me to ignore the threats; there was no way we could be denied access if we bought the cottage.’

‘Mind you,’ Patrick said thoughtfully, ‘this farmer chap...what did you say his name was?’

‘Josh Kern,’ said Laura, investing the name with scorn.

Patrick gave a hoarse crow of amusement. ‘Josh Kern! How could I forget that? But seriously, darling, he could make life rather awkward, couldn’t he? I wonder if it’s worth it to go ahead? Do we want to find ourselves in the middle of a war with our neighbours?’

‘I’m not being frightened off by some hulking great brute of a farmer huffing and puffing at me!’

‘I can’t imagine you being scared, even by a hulking great brute.’ Patrick laughed, then more seriously added, ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take him on, darling. Damn this flu; why do illnesses always come at such inconvenient times? From what you say about the cottage it’s just what we were looking for, and the price is way below what we would have expected. We should have guessed there would be snags. What did you say to Dale?’

‘That you’d have to see the cottage before we could give him a decision, so we have time to think about it. I’m glad your headache’s better, even if your throat sounds worse. Shall I come round tomorrow morning and cook you some lunch?’

‘I don’t want you to catch this, Laura. Better not come over. I’m not hungry, anyway. I’m drinking lots of fruit juice and I ate an orange just now. I’ve got plenty of eggs and cheese; I can always whip up an omelette if I do get hungry.’

Wryly, she said, ‘And your omelettes are ten times better than mine! In fact, anything you cook is ten times better.’

He laughed, but didn’t deny it. Instead he yawned, then said, ‘Sorry, darling...I’ve been sleeping on and off all day, but I still seem very tired.’

‘Then I’ll let you get back to sleep,’ she said. ‘Get well soon; I miss you.’

She put the phone down and stared out of the window at the busy York street below. Yes, it was a pity Patrick hadn’t been with her. Maybe then that man wouldn’t have talked to her, looked at her, the way he had. Her face ran with scarlet, remembering Josh Kern’s contemptuous eyes as he’d looked her up and down. She could never remember meeting anyone she disliked more; it had been like running into a stone wall. Her whole body still ached with the shock of it.

‘Who does he think he is?’ she had demanded of Mr Dale after Josh Kern had climbed back on to his tractor and driven away.

‘He knows who he is! He’s Josh Kern of Kern House, and he owns all this,’ Mr Dale had said drily, waving an arm around in a circle. ‘Four hundred acres of good farm land, half arable; last year he had a fairish crop of barley, but he runs stock, too. A good dairy herd—Friesians. He’s starting to run sheep on the hill up there too now, I gather. That’s new. His father never had sheep, never did much with that land, except a bit of rough shooting. Plenty of rabbits and some game birds up there—I’ve shot with him in the past. Not much use for anything else, that land, old Jack Kern always said; not worth clearing the gorse and heather, but upland sheep can live on very little. Josh Kern’s a canny chap; he’s done some controlled burning up there, rid the land of most of the scrub, and ploughed it up.’

Mr Dale looked respectfully and wryly after the farmer, who was disappearing into another field. ‘Aye, Josh works like a demon himself, and he gets good work out of his men—he expects his land to work, too.’

‘If you ask me, he expects too much!’ Laura muttered, still angry after the encounter with Josh Kern. ‘And he isn’t threatening me and getting away with it!’

‘Good for you, then,’ said Mr Dale, looking rather relieved. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t let Josh scare you away.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Has he scared many would-be buyers away?’

Mr Dale didn’t answer. He pretended not to hear her, watching the girls, who, now that all the excitement was over, had tripped, giggling and chattering, into the cottage garden.

‘Eeh...like a flock of starlings, aren’t they?’ Mr Dale said, beaming after them. ‘Well, now, Miss Grainger, shall we go inside and look round?’

Laura followed him, but she wasn’t going to let him drop the subject of Josh Kern.

‘Was it his father who sold this cottage to the present owner?’ she asked the estate agent, who looked reluctantly at her, as he unlocked the front door.

‘Jack Kern didn’t sell it to her, he gave it,’ he said at last, rolling an expressive eye, and Laura’s brows shot up.

‘Gave it?’

‘Oh, aye,’ he said, waving her past him into the cottage. The models surged in after her and spread out around the ground floor of the cottage like spilt marbles, running from room to room, shouting to each other.

Mr Dale gestured around them. ‘The current owner had this porch hallway built on to the front of the cottage. The front door used to open right on to the parlour—that was how they built them a couple of hundred years ago. Through here, miss. There were two little rooms downstairs which have been knocked into one big one.’

Laura walked into the sunlit room and looked with pleasure at the rough stone walls, the arched fireplace with a blue slate hearth, the polished floorboards on which lay a few scattered blue and white rugs. There was a minimum of furniture—dark blue velvet curtains, a couch upholstered in matching material, piled with white and blue cushions, an armchair by the fire, covered in the same velvet, a writing desk, and a couple of bookcases on either side of the fire.

‘It’s a bit stark, to my taste,’ Mr Dale apologised.

Laura gave him a quick look and didn’t tell him that it was exactly to her own taste. ‘Has it always been like this? Or did the present owner...what did you say her name was?’

‘Forest,’ he said. ‘Mrs Joanna Forest. Yes, she tells me she had the cottage modernised when she moved in twenty years ago. It had been a bit of a mess—it was a farm cottage since it was built, used by the head cowman. No money had ever been spent on it before. First thing she did was strip off all the old wallpaper, and then the plaster, laid the actual stone walls bare, the way they are now. Did it all herself, she said. Quite a job for a woman.’ His face was wryly knowing. ‘But then she didn’t have anything much else to do.’

‘She didn’t have a job?’ Laura was fascinated. She felt she would like Mrs Forest, judging by her taste. She wondered how old the woman was, and what she looked like? Why had she decided to sell the cottage?

‘Depends what you mean by a job,’ Mr Dale said, winking at her. ‘She was...let’s say...a friend...of old Jack Kern, Josh’s father, who died a year ago.’

‘Oh,’ Laura said, eyes widening. ‘Oh, I see.’ So that was why Josh Kern didn’t like her?

Lowering his voice, Mr Dale said, ‘Aye, I’m not one to gossip, but it’s common talk around here—you’d hear the tale in any pub for miles. Everyone knew what was going on. He visited her here every evening, they say. Never slept up at the farmhouse, if you get my meaning. What his wife thought of that, nobody ever found out. Nell Kern’s the grim and silent type...’

‘His wife was still living with him?’

‘Oh, aye. Nell’s still there now, running the house for Josh. There’s just the two of them living there now. A wonderful housekeeper, Nell—people swear by her cooking, too—but that marriage never worked. Not that she’s bad-looking. Even now she’s what I’d call a handsome woman. In fact, when we were young, Nell Bevan could have taken her pick of men around here. I didn’t have the brass to make her an offer, but I had my eye on her, I tell you! Jack Kern was thought a very lucky man to get her. What went wrong nobody’s sure, but...well, who knows what goes on inside a marriage? They just weren’t happy together, it seems.’

The other girls surged into the room. ‘Oh, the kitchen’s lovely, Laura—come and see!’ They caught her hands and pulled her after them.

‘My wife was taken by it too when she came round with me,’ said Mr Dale, following. ‘She likes to have a peer at places I’m selling. Very interested in houses is my Doris. And the kitchen was her favourite room in this house.’

Laura loved it, too. Like the sitting-room it had been stripped back to the stone walls, and the fittings were all of golden, polished pine which shone in the sunlight. It was surprisingly spacious and was obviously intended for use as a dining-room, too, judging by the large pine table and chairs set out by a long window at one end.

But even while she looked around, smiling, part of her mind was busy with what Mr Dale had told her about the family background, which explained Josh Kern’s hostility. No wonder he had resented his father’s gift of this cottage to the woman who had usurped his mother’s place.

‘Now upstairs,’ said the girls and stampeded off with Laura and Mr Dale in the rear.

‘I suppose there’s no doubt that the cottage does belong to this Mrs Forest?’ Laura asked him and he shook his head.

‘No, don’t you worry about that...you won’t have any legal problems.’

Laura gave him an uncertain look. ‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Certain. Don’t worry. Josh was just trying to scare you off; take no notice of his threats. He can’t legally deny you access to this place, and he knows it. I promise you, Mrs Forest’s title has been tested in court; there are no problems.’

He might be telling her the strict truth, but Laura still had doubts about the wisdom of going ahead with buying the cottage.

He saw her expression and grimaced. ‘Look, frankly, miss, it did look as if there might be a problem with it because when he gave the cottage to her old Jack Kern didn’t do it through his lawyer, daft old beezer. I suppose he didn’t want any talk. Not that he had a chance in hell of stopping talk! Not around here. Breath of life to them, a juicy scandal. Anyway, Jack just wrote her a letter—very private letter, too, a love letter—saying he was giving her this cottage so that she could either live here, or sell the cottage, to provide for her future.’

Laura frowned. ‘Just a letter? But surely that isn’t a legally binding document?’

‘Aye, it was, the way he phrased it. It was like a codicil to his will, you see. The lawyer had that, but Jack’s letter was dated later than the will, so it was a legal codicil, and Jack had left a sealed letter with his lawyer which said the same thing. Well, when Jack died, Josh Kern challenged her right to the place. She stayed on here until the court found in her favour, because she was afraid that, if she left, Josh Kern would take possession and she would never get it back. The court decided in her favour, and then she moved out and asked me to sell the place for her.’

‘She moved away out of the area?’ asked Laura, walking into the main bedroom at the front of the cottage.

‘She’s living in Salisbury with a widowed sister.’ Mr Dale looked around with more approval. ‘Now this is my favourite room—very pretty.’

Laura looked at the cream wallpaper sprigged with pink, the curtains in pale pink wool, the frilled pink lampshades on the small bedside tables on each side of the double bed, which had a cream coverlet. The deep-piled carpet was cream, too. It was a very soothing, ultra-feminine room.