isn’t?’ Dawn looked around the chilly room. ‘Shall I call
DIY SOS
or will you?’
‘It’s had lots of workdone,’ Kat said defensively. ‘Constance sold a William Hodges to pay for it.’
‘Surely you can’t sell people in this day and age. That’s slavery.’
‘It was a landscape of an Indian palace,’ she said witheringly, aware that Dawn was winding her up. ‘It was supposed to pay for the repairs here, but she died before it was complete and work stopped when the legal wrangle started aboutthe ownership of the farm.’
Dawn eyed the many pans and bowls strategically positioned around her to catch drips. ‘So who pays for the roof to be mended now?’
‘That’s my responsibility,’ Kat explained, as she boiled an ancient enamel kettle on an even more historic range. ‘The family won’t have anything to do with it now, which I guess is understandable if a bit depressing. At leastthey seem to have stopped trying to bully me out. The charity trustees are local do-gooders who are all very sweet but they’re more obsessed by whose turn it is to bake biscuits for committee meetings than getting things done, and they won’t let me take in other old animals or seek proper funding until we know who is buying Eardisford. Constance’s will ensured the house is so tightly tied to itsland and farms it can’t be split up, which limits the market.’
Dawn had a certain sympathy for the Mytton-Gough children, hamstrung by their mother’s many clauses while their inheritance mouldered as a depreciating asset. ‘If the old biddy knew it would have to be sold after her death, who
did
she think would buy it?’
Fetching down mugs, Kat confessed, ‘Royalty.’ She laughed at Dawn’scynical expression. ‘It’s true! She thought it would suit one of the princes to raise a family. The most recent rumour I heard is a Beijing manufacturing magnate buying a quiet weekend retreat for his son at LSE, but the village is full of rubbish. Last week it was a Hong Kong property tycoon.’
‘Lots of Chinese whispers, then?’
She grinned. ‘Whoever it is, you can bet Dair knowssomething.’
‘Dair?’
‘The estate manager – he runs the fishery and the shoots.’
‘You know a man called Dair?’ Dawn whooped. ‘You are
kidding
me?’
Kat laughed, pulling the whistling kettle from the hob. ‘I think it’s short for “Alasdair”. He’s Scottish.’
‘Even better! Please tell me he’s rich and handsome. Is he single?’
‘He’s very tweedy and looks likeElmer Fudd,’ she said, as she slopped boiling water over teabags. ‘But he’s definitely single.’ Dair Armitage still had a bit of a tongue-tied crush on Kat, despite the dirty-tricks campaign he’d been tasked with when the Big Five had wanted her out of the farm. As her closest neighbour – he lived in one of the estate’s lodge cottages – he popped in once in a while with gifts of freshly caught browntrout, but their glazed eyes had seemed to look straight through her and she had no idea how to gut and cook them so she’d secretly fed them to the cats or Ché. Shy, stuttering, yet curiously pompous, Dair seemed equally frightened of Kat’s eyes and never looked into them, although he had no such qualms about staring lustfully at her chest. She’d not seen him since Russ moved in and was glad. Constance,who had been fond of Dair, would no doubt have encouraged the match vociferously, but it was never going to happen.
But Dawn was entranced by the idea of his name. ‘You
must
have a Dair in your life, Kat. What could be more perfect for the girl who’ll do anything for a dare?’
‘I’m not quite as brave as I used to be.’
‘Trust me, living here is
well
brave.’ Dawn shuddered, takinga slurp of her tea.
When they’d been student nurses, Kat had been notorious for her pluck. No challenge too great, no risk too frightening. Always the first to volunteer and the last to give up, she’d had a lust for life that left others
DIY SOS
or will you?’
‘It’s had lots of workdone,’ Kat said defensively. ‘Constance sold a William Hodges to pay for it.’
‘Surely you can’t sell people in this day and age. That’s slavery.’
‘It was a landscape of an Indian palace,’ she said witheringly, aware that Dawn was winding her up. ‘It was supposed to pay for the repairs here, but she died before it was complete and work stopped when the legal wrangle started aboutthe ownership of the farm.’
Dawn eyed the many pans and bowls strategically positioned around her to catch drips. ‘So who pays for the roof to be mended now?’
‘That’s my responsibility,’ Kat explained, as she boiled an ancient enamel kettle on an even more historic range. ‘The family won’t have anything to do with it now, which I guess is understandable if a bit depressing. At leastthey seem to have stopped trying to bully me out. The charity trustees are local do-gooders who are all very sweet but they’re more obsessed by whose turn it is to bake biscuits for committee meetings than getting things done, and they won’t let me take in other old animals or seek proper funding until we know who is buying Eardisford. Constance’s will ensured the house is so tightly tied to itsland and farms it can’t be split up, which limits the market.’
Dawn had a certain sympathy for the Mytton-Gough children, hamstrung by their mother’s many clauses while their inheritance mouldered as a depreciating asset. ‘If the old biddy knew it would have to be sold after her death, who
did
she think would buy it?’
Fetching down mugs, Kat confessed, ‘Royalty.’ She laughed at Dawn’scynical expression. ‘It’s true! She thought it would suit one of the princes to raise a family. The most recent rumour I heard is a Beijing manufacturing magnate buying a quiet weekend retreat for his son at LSE, but the village is full of rubbish. Last week it was a Hong Kong property tycoon.’
‘Lots of Chinese whispers, then?’
She grinned. ‘Whoever it is, you can bet Dair knowssomething.’
‘Dair?’
‘The estate manager – he runs the fishery and the shoots.’
‘You know a man called Dair?’ Dawn whooped. ‘You are
kidding
me?’
Kat laughed, pulling the whistling kettle from the hob. ‘I think it’s short for “Alasdair”. He’s Scottish.’
‘Even better! Please tell me he’s rich and handsome. Is he single?’
‘He’s very tweedy and looks likeElmer Fudd,’ she said, as she slopped boiling water over teabags. ‘But he’s definitely single.’ Dair Armitage still had a bit of a tongue-tied crush on Kat, despite the dirty-tricks campaign he’d been tasked with when the Big Five had wanted her out of the farm. As her closest neighbour – he lived in one of the estate’s lodge cottages – he popped in once in a while with gifts of freshly caught browntrout, but their glazed eyes had seemed to look straight through her and she had no idea how to gut and cook them so she’d secretly fed them to the cats or Ché. Shy, stuttering, yet curiously pompous, Dair seemed equally frightened of Kat’s eyes and never looked into them, although he had no such qualms about staring lustfully at her chest. She’d not seen him since Russ moved in and was glad. Constance,who had been fond of Dair, would no doubt have encouraged the match vociferously, but it was never going to happen.
But Dawn was entranced by the idea of his name. ‘You
must
have a Dair in your life, Kat. What could be more perfect for the girl who’ll do anything for a dare?’
‘I’m not quite as brave as I used to be.’
‘Trust me, living here is
well
brave.’ Dawn shuddered, takinga slurp of her tea.
When they’d been student nurses, Kat had been notorious for her pluck. No challenge too great, no risk too frightening. Always the first to volunteer and the last to give up, she’d had a lust for life that left others
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