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Authors: Hazel Osmond
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of a nobrainer and if he played it right, he might get away with it.
With that thought he looked defiantly out of the window and was aware of a new feeling stirring within him, one he hadn’t experienced for quite a while. He certainly hadn’t expected to experience it now.
There it was, though – the thrill of the chase, no mistaking it.
CHAPTER 5
Jennifer drove off the main road and down the track, bumped over the cattle grid and stopped the car. There were snowdrops here, but the daffodils were still cowering, barely out of the soil, as if saying ‘You’re joking, we’re not going out there yet’. She turned off the engine and listened. Nothing.
Here, on this small road looking out on the hills and down to the river, she felt the embarrassment and anger that had stayed with her since yesterday’s Armstrong and Araminta incidents seep away. Thank goodness for half days. Sometimes she just needed a rest from pretending everything was fine; from that new tendency she had to want to smooth over any unpleasantness as though it was somehow her fault and not the other person’s.
She reached for her jacket, aware that the hard brightness in the sun gave a false impression of how warm it would be, and got out of the car to look at the sheep. It was the Bluefaced Leicesters up here, heavy with lambs.
When she was little, she had thought them ugly, allbony-nosed and arrogant. Now, if she heard anyone else say that, she bristled. They were pedigrees, beautiful in their own way and the farm’s reputation as well as her family’s was bound up with them.
Besides, these days, who was she to call anything or anyone ugly?
‘Not long now, ladies,’ she called and laughed at their complete lack of interest.
The wind was picking up, whipping the little bits of wool caught on the fence and, down by the river, she could see the branches of the trees swaying. Up here the trees had long ago been moulded into shape by the prevailing winds and now gave the impression that they were leaning forward as a preamble to setting off for a walk, the wind at their backs. The lichen on them made them look as if they were already in strange, fluorescent bloom.
Everything was simpler out here: sheep, earth, grass, trees, sky. She could usually stay here for hours just breathing great lungfuls of the purity, but not today: the wind had ice in it and despite her jacket she was starting to feel chilled. Back in the car, she turned up the heater.
Passing the large Suffolk ram, she slowed the car and wound down the window. He was a big-shouldered lad who, despite looking chunky and cuddly, could break the neck of a more delicate Leicester in a scrap.
‘Hello, Winston,’ she shouted and the ram took a few steps back, havered from side to side and then turned and ran.
All mouth and trousers.
Reaching a fork in the road, she hesitated and then turned left. The track here got bumpier and narrower until it ended in front of a small stone house with a green door. Right now the door was open and a young woman was struggling to peg out a variety of baby clothes on a rotary dryer. As she waved, the babygro she had been hanging out flicked up and over her face before she slapped it back with her hand.
‘Good drying day,’ she said as Jennifer got out of the car, ‘if you’ve got the strength to get the stuff hung out.’
Jennifer knew that in a straight fight between the wind and Bryony, her sister-in-law, the wind might possibly lose. The Suffolk ram definitely would. Bryony was a ‘direct from central casting’ farmer’s daughter and filled the role much more ably than Jennifer ever could. Hearty, a good rider, only ceding a few inches in height to Jennifer’s brother who himself was a big man, she approached everything with gusto, including motherhood. But today her eyes had a redness about them that Jennifer knew was not due to the wind.
‘How’s Louise?’ Jennifer asked, and as if on cue there was a loud bellowing wail from
With that thought he looked defiantly out of the window and was aware of a new feeling stirring within him, one he hadn’t experienced for quite a while. He certainly hadn’t expected to experience it now.
There it was, though – the thrill of the chase, no mistaking it.
CHAPTER 5
Jennifer drove off the main road and down the track, bumped over the cattle grid and stopped the car. There were snowdrops here, but the daffodils were still cowering, barely out of the soil, as if saying ‘You’re joking, we’re not going out there yet’. She turned off the engine and listened. Nothing.
Here, on this small road looking out on the hills and down to the river, she felt the embarrassment and anger that had stayed with her since yesterday’s Armstrong and Araminta incidents seep away. Thank goodness for half days. Sometimes she just needed a rest from pretending everything was fine; from that new tendency she had to want to smooth over any unpleasantness as though it was somehow her fault and not the other person’s.
She reached for her jacket, aware that the hard brightness in the sun gave a false impression of how warm it would be, and got out of the car to look at the sheep. It was the Bluefaced Leicesters up here, heavy with lambs.
When she was little, she had thought them ugly, allbony-nosed and arrogant. Now, if she heard anyone else say that, she bristled. They were pedigrees, beautiful in their own way and the farm’s reputation as well as her family’s was bound up with them.
Besides, these days, who was she to call anything or anyone ugly?
‘Not long now, ladies,’ she called and laughed at their complete lack of interest.
The wind was picking up, whipping the little bits of wool caught on the fence and, down by the river, she could see the branches of the trees swaying. Up here the trees had long ago been moulded into shape by the prevailing winds and now gave the impression that they were leaning forward as a preamble to setting off for a walk, the wind at their backs. The lichen on them made them look as if they were already in strange, fluorescent bloom.
Everything was simpler out here: sheep, earth, grass, trees, sky. She could usually stay here for hours just breathing great lungfuls of the purity, but not today: the wind had ice in it and despite her jacket she was starting to feel chilled. Back in the car, she turned up the heater.
Passing the large Suffolk ram, she slowed the car and wound down the window. He was a big-shouldered lad who, despite looking chunky and cuddly, could break the neck of a more delicate Leicester in a scrap.
‘Hello, Winston,’ she shouted and the ram took a few steps back, havered from side to side and then turned and ran.
All mouth and trousers.
Reaching a fork in the road, she hesitated and then turned left. The track here got bumpier and narrower until it ended in front of a small stone house with a green door. Right now the door was open and a young woman was struggling to peg out a variety of baby clothes on a rotary dryer. As she waved, the babygro she had been hanging out flicked up and over her face before she slapped it back with her hand.
‘Good drying day,’ she said as Jennifer got out of the car, ‘if you’ve got the strength to get the stuff hung out.’
Jennifer knew that in a straight fight between the wind and Bryony, her sister-in-law, the wind might possibly lose. The Suffolk ram definitely would. Bryony was a ‘direct from central casting’ farmer’s daughter and filled the role much more ably than Jennifer ever could. Hearty, a good rider, only ceding a few inches in height to Jennifer’s brother who himself was a big man, she approached everything with gusto, including motherhood. But today her eyes had a redness about them that Jennifer knew was not due to the wind.
‘How’s Louise?’ Jennifer asked, and as if on cue there was a loud bellowing wail from
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