‘I’m home!’ I called.
‘In here, Sally,’ Mum called back.
Puzzled, I headed for the kitchen. Mum, Dad, and the owner of the BMW were seated around the table with steaming mugs of tea beside them and a plate of Mum’s freshly made drop scones within easy reach.
‘Look who turned up on the doorstep!’ Mum said, smiling.
‘Jeremy! Hello! What a surprise!’
Jeremy Winstanley had been our nearest neighbour and a friend for as long as I could remember. Throughout my growing-up years his family had farmed the land that adjoined ours, and though Jeremy hadn’t gone into farming himself – he worked for one of the big financial institutions in the city – whenever he was at home he would drop by to talk to Dad. He was a great horseman, too, riding with the local hunt, and my earliest memories of him were very romantic ones – a big, handsome man in hunting pink, astride a huge grey horse.
It was Jeremy who taught me to ride – Mum and Dad couldn’t afford such luxuries as a stable – but the Winstanley family each had a horse of their own, and a pony that had belonged to Jeremy’s youngest sister, but which they’d never been able to bring themselves to sell. He was quite old, that pony, by the time I got to ride him, a fat little chap called Mickey, who was quiet and gentle and absolutely perfect for an inexperienced six year old.
I’d spent a lot of time at the Winstanley farm, mucking out stables, hacking on Mickey, and later riding Mrs Winstanley’s horse, Duchess, a pretty bay. Mrs Winstanley had developed arthritis, and was no longer able to ride her, so she was glad for me to give her some exercise. Jeremy had once even taken me out with the hunt, but I’d quickly discovered it wasn’t for me. I was too worried I might put Duchess at a jump that was too much for her; if she’d fallen and broken a leg I’d never have forgiven myself. I didn’t like the kill, either, though of course since the hunting ban that no longer happens. No, I was much happier simply taking Duchess for a leisurely trot around the lanes and the occasional exhilarating canter across the meadows that were almost all Winstanley land or our own.
When Farmer Winstanley and his wife both died, within a year of each other, we’d expected Jeremy to sell the farm. Instead he’d put in a manager, who lived in the farmhouse, and converted one of the outlying barns into a luxury residence for himself. He was no longer working for the city firm, but had set up as some kind of financial adviser, using the new house as a base. But a lot of his business was in the Eurozone and Jeremy spent a lot of time abroad. He’d been away since before I’d come home to recuperate – in Brussels, Dad had said, but judging by the depth of his tan now, I rather thought he’d been somewhere a good deal warmer than Belgium.
‘Good to see you, Sally,’ he said, getting up and giving me a kiss on both cheeks, continental style.
‘You too, Jeremy.’
Besides the tan, he’d put on weight, I thought. He’d always been a big man, but now there was a considerable solidity about him. He wasn’t fat – yet! – but there was no doubt that he’d been living the good life. Yet it suited him, somehow adding to his not inconsiderable presence.
‘Cup of tea, Sally?’ Mum asked.
‘Mm, please! And I could do with one of your drop scones, too.’
‘Haven’t you had any lunch?’
‘No, but I’m OK. I had a teacake at Muffins mid-morning.’ I sat down, reached for a drop scone anyway and bit into it. It was still warm.
‘You’ve had a pretty tough time of it, I hear, Sally,’ Jeremy said, looking at me sympathetically.
‘She was nearly killed,’ Mum, setting the kettle to boil, said over her shoulder.
‘Sounds nasty.’ Jeremy brushed away a crumb that had settled in the thick cable pattern of his Aran sweater. ‘No riding for you for a while.’
‘I haven’t ridden for a long time,’ I admitted.
‘Pity. Ah well, I suppose you’ve got other things to interest you these days. Didn’t I hear you were engaged?’
‘Not engaged, no,’ I clarified. ‘I was living with someone, but that’s over. I’m fancy free and single again, Jeremy. Just like you.’
He snorted, wagging a finger at me.
‘Very true.’
‘You could do with a good woman to keep you in order,’ Dad joked.
‘I’m quite happy as I am, thank you, Jack. I’ve never had time for all that nonsense,’ Jeremy retorted.
‘When you’re old and lonely, with no one to make sure you’ve got a clean shirt to put on, you’ll wish you’d made the time,’ Mum chided, setting a mug of tea down in front of me.