‘Patronizing, isn’t he? I rather like that weird little tower stuck on the corner, but the Reverend Sebastian is appalled: “Unfortunately, the present owner’s father made an extended visit to the Scottish Highlands some twenty years ago and succumbed to Balmoral fever, in the erroneous belief that the addition of a would-be antique turret might enhance his house’s appearance.”’
Rory flicked through the pages and looked up with a grin. ‘He’s got a real downer on the family, hasn’t he? Listen to this: “Despite early pretensions to nobility – witness the application to crenellate (which, in hindsight, must be deemed over-ambitious) – the Attlin family soon sank into yeoman obscurity, where they remain to this day, although, as previously mentioned, they have not been above claiming descent, on occasion, from a Roman soldier who dwelt in the area during the latter years of the occupation of Britain. The notion that the said soldier received a blessing on his land and house by the good offices of an angel is laughable.” What did the Attlins ever do to upset him? And what’s all this about an angel’s blessing?’
‘Oh, one of the daughters turned down his proposal,’ Edith said. ‘Mind you, old Simon Attlin does seem to have been a bit of a vandal, getting rid of the panelling and so forth.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Time to get a move on,’ she announced. ‘It’s gone half eight so we’d better go and get some breakfast. I’ll tell you the angel story later. The Rotarians and Inner Wheel people will be here by ten or eleven but I think we’ve done all we can. Elveece,’ she grinned at his snort of laughter, ‘oh, all right, but I agree with Harriet. I love the way he says it. Elvis then, he said he’ll finish polishing the floor in the Great Hall but then he’s off to Romsey on another job.’
As they crossed the yard, Rory surveyed the outbuildings, which included a barn as well as the stables, none of them used for anything but storing junk.
‘Seems a pity not to put this lot to use,’ he ventured. ‘Do you have any plans?’
‘That’s my job for the foreseeable future,’ she shrugged. ‘We need to make the place earn its keep; the house and the outbuildings too, not just the farm. When I was little there were animals in here but when my father died Grandpa lost heart and got a very good manager in. The whole character of the place altered when the fields at the back were turned over completely to arable and the livestock moved over to the new man’s house down the hill.’ She led the way back to the house, with a rueful smile over her shoulder. ‘That’s where the real working farm is and I won’t be involved in that day to day; what’s here is just an old house that needs to earn its keep. Any suggestions as to how that can be achieved will be extremely welcome.’
In the kitchen they found Karen looking grey-faced. ‘Sick,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘Got a migraine coming on.’
‘Go back to bed this minute,’ insisted Edith. ‘Here, have you taken anything for it? Don’t worry about us, I’ll do the grandparents’ breakfast and see to things here. Go!’ She shooed the hesitating Karen out of the kitchen and turned to see Rory filling the kettle.
‘I can cook,’ he said. ‘Heart attack on a plate do you?’
She laughed and nodded and arranged a tray of toast and tea for her grandparents. When she came back Rory was flipping a slice of fried bread onto a plate. ‘I worked in a lorry drivers’ café one summer,’ he told her. ‘It was a real greasy spoon. Here you are, tuck in.’
As they ate in companionable silence Edith glanced across at Rory’s plate.
‘Have we run out of bacon?’ she asked. ‘Have some of mine.’
‘No.’ He sounded slightly annoyed as he waved her away. ‘I’ve temporarily gone off bacon, that’s all.’
His tone was forbidding so she shrugged and subsided. While they ate they were watched by the assorted animals. The dog, Lulu, was cramped uncomfortably into a cat bed, fondly gazing at the fierce black kitten, Percy, who was lording it in the dog’s own bed. After eating, three other cats had disappeared, with an air of purposeful activity about them as they operated the cat flap, each tail an erect question mark as they embarked on a day’s hunting. The shy marmalade cat had plucked up the courage to sit under the table beside Rory’s feet and the old lady of the menagerie, Milly, was curled up on the sunny windowsill languidly washing her tail and pretending to be above such mundane matters as breakfast.
‘It’s a good thing you like cats,’ commented Edith as she watched Rory seduce the ginger cat with a morsel of fried bread while the kitten pranced over to see what was on offer. ‘You’ll fit right in. Percy seems an awful brat, but Lulu adores him; I’ve seen her washing him. Gran had only just acquired him when I was home for Christmas and Lulu spent the whole time running round after him, protecting him from the other cats.’