Sunrise over strawberry.., p.1
Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm, page 1
SUNRISE OVER STRAWBERRY HILL FARM
ALISON SHERLOCK
For Sian Maidens, with whom I’ve enjoyed many wonderful camping holidays and who never picks on me during Uno. With much love x
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
More from Alison Sherlock
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Alison Sherlock
Love Notes
About Boldwood Books
1
Flora Barton gave her grandmother a wide smile as she tried to pretend that her heart wasn’t completely breaking into two.
‘Well, these numbers look great, don’t you think?’ she lied in an overly bright tone, gesturing at the iPad screen on the kitchen table.
Flora and her grandmother, Helen, known to most people as Grams, locked eyes briefly before they both looked away. She couldn’t get anything past Grams, so Flora let her fake smile slip as she then turned to their friend Joe with a sigh.
Joe Randall was their neighbour in the tiny rural village of Cranfield in the middle of the English countryside. In addition, he was a great businessman who had achieved success helping quite a few local farms diversify and turn a profit in an increasingly uncertain time in the trade.
But some farms were seemingly beyond help and, unfortunately, Strawberry Hill Farm was one of them.
‘Thanks for all your hard work sorting this out these past few weeks,’ Flora told him. ‘We really appreciate it, especially all the extra hours you had to put in when you’re already so busy.’
She glanced at the clock and saw that it wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning yet. Joe had managed to squeeze in a very early meeting with them in his packed diary.
Joe gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I wish I had been able to do more,’ he replied. ‘But at least the decent price we’ve been offered for the plough means that now all your farming equipment has been sold, you should have enough money to pay off your debts.’
‘Just the tractor left,’ said Flora, gulping away the emotion which was threatening to overwhelm her.
They had sold nearly everything to keep Strawberry Hill Farm afloat, but without any crops to tend, what on earth was she going to do now that she wasn’t a farmer any more? It had been her only job since she had left college so her CV was non-existent.
A ray of April sunshine shone through the nearby window as the sun rose above the horizon, lighting up the farmhouse kitchen. After so many months of endless rain, Flora felt as if the weather was mocking her. It was the rain that had done the damage year after year. It had flooded all their fields but two and ruined every crop that they had tried to sow. Without any income from the fields, Strawberry Hill Farm had been running at a loss for a couple of years.
They had let their farmhand go to reduce costs, but even that hadn’t been enough. The only thing left to keep the farm afloat was to sell the farm machinery. That left them just the empty fields slowly being reclaimed by nature and the farmhouse – their home.
Flora glanced over at Grams. Her tiny elderly grandmother was pulling a baking tray packed with various pastries out of the Aga.
When she was little, Flora had been unable to say the word Grandma and so it had become Grams and the nickname had stuck, even amongst her friends.
Grams was eighty years old but had yet to lose the fierceness which had helped her survive a busy life working the land over many years. However, Flora knew that deep down Grams’ heart was breaking too over the fate of Strawberry Hill Farm.
But whatever happened in the future, she and Grams would always remain together. They had a very close and loving relationship, and despite everything that had been thrown at them, they had hardly ever exchanged a bad word.
‘Right, who wants a breakfast muffin?’ asked Grams, whose baking always filled the farmhouse with its sweet tempting aroma. She placed a plate piled high with banana and apple muffins in the middle of the large oak table.
‘Actually, I’ve got another early meeting to go to,’ said Joe, standing up and glancing at the muffins with regret. ‘Shame really as you know how much I love your baking.’
Flora nodded in agreement. Everyone loved Grams’ baking.
‘It’s fine,’ said Grams, reaching up to give him a hug. Her diminutive stature meant that she barely came up to his chest. ‘I’ll pop a few in a bag that you can take with you. You won’t keep that business brain of yours whirring on an empty stomach. The right breakfast sets you up for the day.’
‘Try not to worry about the farm,’ Joe told her, before turning to give Flora a hug. ‘We’ll keep trying to find a way out of all this for you both.’
‘Thanks,’ murmured Flora, grateful for his kindness. She knew that he had done his best. But some things were just not salvageable.
After he had left, Flora looked once more at the plate which was piled high with double the amount of muffins that Grams normally baked.
‘Have you invited the girls for breakfast and not told me?’ asked Flora, raising her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat all this by myself.’
The girls were her best friends, Harriet, Libby and Katy, who also lived in the tiny hamlet of Cranfield. She had known Harriet and Libby since childhood and Katy had arrived in the village the previous autumn, at which time their cosy threesome had become an awesome foursome of close friendship and support. And Flora needed their support now more than ever.
Despite everything, at least she and Grams still had their home, she reminded herself. Although without any income from the land, even that was now under threat. She glanced around. It was a large but comfortable farmhouse kitchen, full of oak beams, a huge oak table and the homely aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread. The only thing missing was her grandad.
Grams and her husband Bill had lived at Strawberry Hill Farm for all of their sixty years of happy marriage. Flora’s grandad had inherited the farm from his own parents and it had been in the family for almost a century. Having lost her mother to illness when she was only eight years old, Flora had been delighted when she and her father had come to live at the farm soon afterwards. Her grandparents were so steady and loving, in stark contrast to her father, who had sunk into a deep depression after the loss of his wife.
He had first remarried a year later and everything had changed once more. Flora’s new, glamorous stepmother had no desire to live on a farm, nor to be the wife of a lowly farmer either. Her dad’s own reluctance towards inheriting the family farm had turned into a full-blown crisis when he and Flora’s stepmother moved out soon afterwards. That marriage had lasted six months and two more had followed since.
Her father was always seeking out someone to fill the hole left by the loss of Flora’s mother. His search had led him everywhere but back to Strawberry Hill Farm to visit either his parents or his daughter.
Flora knew that the memories of her mother kept him away but had always secretly hoped that the lure of his only child would have brought him back home. But it had never happened.
Left behind, Flora had blossomed under her grandparents’ care and attention and they had encouraged her to pursue her love of art. She had always adored painting and they had all been delighted that she had received a place at art college. During her first summer break, she had returned from a holiday in Africa armed with new ideas to freshen up the farmhouse. Consequently, the thick walls of the kitchen were painted bright orange and the cupboard doors a vivid blue. It wasn’t the traditional colours for a country kitchen, but her grandparents adored it and suited their sunny natures.
But all too soon afterwards, Flora’s grandfather had grown ill, leaving Grams overwhelmed with trying to cope with working the land by herself. So Flora had abandoned her art course to return to the farm to help out. When her grandfather passed away a short time later, Grams had tried to encourage her to return to college but Flora had refused. She would never have wanted to be anywhere else other than by Grams’ side when she needed her.
She had been young, only nineteen years old, and her carefree college days were suddenly over. As Grams grieved for her beloved husband, Flora became aware of the responsibility of ensuring the farm that had been in the family name for over one hundred years survived. It was a huge burden and weighed heavily on her young shoulders.
So she had even abandoned her beloved painting to work every hour, do anything and everything that she could to help the farm carry on. In fact, she loved working the land, never minding the early starts and late finishes as it meant that she could enjoy the beauty of the sunrises and sunsets – her favourite times of the day. But any work/life balance was impossible with so much to do. She enjoyed a weekly cocktail session with the girls, but everything else had been sacrificed. And it still didn’t feel as if it had been enough, especially now with the future of the farm so uncertain.
Grams brought over a mug of coffee and sat down at the table.
‘I’m getting things ready for our visitor. Have you forgotten?’ she asked. ‘Lorenzo’s grandson is arriving over the next couple of days.’
Flora made a face as she selected a muffin from the pile and picked at a piece of apple on the top. ‘I still don’t understand why he’s coming here,’ she said.
The timing couldn’t be worse and the farmhouse wasn’t exactly up to welcoming any visitors.
‘Nico is coming here because he’s the grandson of one of my oldest friends,’ Grams told her. ‘The letter I received last week said that he has something he wants to discuss with me. I have no idea what that is, but of course we will make him welcome. He couldn’t be sure on the exact date when he was going to arrive, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
‘So, remind me again. You and Lorenzo were…?’ prompted Flora.
‘Just good friends,’ said Grams with a smile to herself. ‘He came to the farm to work during the summer of 1961. We had such fun all those years ago, your grandfather, Lorenzo and I. We were all young and carefree, only in our late teens, and we have remained friends ever since, despite Lorenzo returning to Italy that same year. Did I tell you that his son is a very famous footballer over there? And an even more famous playboy!’ added Grams, laughing. ‘Can’t wait to hear all about that! Paolo Rossi is apparently always in the news over there with his scandalous love life. I’m sure his son has inherited the same good looks and charm that all the Rossi men seem to have.’
Flora grimaced. The last thing she wanted was some overbearing charmer turning up at the farm. Having been abandoned by her father all those years ago, she had deliberately built a hard shell around her heart to any kind of romance. Because if her own father could walk out on her, then surely every other man would do the same? Men were an alien species to be approached with caution, hard to understand and always likely to let her down. Apart from her grandad, of course. She missed him terribly and so did Grams.
She looked across at her grandmother. Helen Barton had a weatherworn face, but her eyes sparkled bright against her grey hair and rosy cheeks.
‘I think a playboy might be just what you need,’ Grams told her with a wicked glint in her green eyes. ‘Have a bit of fun. You’re thirty-one and I can’t remember the last time you went on a date.’
Flora took a bite out of the muffin, the delicious flavour reminding her just how good a cook her grandmother was.
‘I went out with Tyler Smith last autumn,’ she replied, before wolfing down the rest of the muffin.
Grams rolled her eyes. ‘Tyler is a nice lad and a good farmer, but he’s as dull as ditch water,’ she said with a sad shake of her head. ‘You need someone you can laugh with. That’s the one whom you should fall in love with.’
‘Love?’ Flora raised an eyebrow at her grandmother. ‘I haven’t got time for love. I need to check on the fields.’
‘Why?’ asked Grams, looking surprised. ‘There’s nothing growing in them any more.’
‘I know, but how else can I avoid this awkward conversation?’ said Flora, with a wink. She quickly got up and went to walk outside when she stopped to return to the table to drop a kiss on her grandmother’s forehead. ‘You don’t need to worry about me,’ she said in a soft voice.
‘I will always worry about you,’ replied Grams, reaching out to take Flora’s hand in hers to give it a tight squeeze. ‘You’re our lovely girl and always will be. I just need to know that you’re happy.’
‘Of course I’m happy,’ said Flora quickly. ‘I’m here with you, aren’t I?’
Flora squeezed her grandmother’s hand before dropping it to walk out of the kitchen door.
Once she had pulled on her wellington boots and shrugged on her wax jacket, she went around the side of the L-shaped farmhouse to walk down the hill on which the farm was set. At this highest part of the farm, the land fell away towards the river in the valley below and the view was spectacular across the rolling hills and green landscape of the English countryside.
The glorious surroundings always kept her calm, especially at that moment when it was bathed in early-morning sunshine. Flora would be heartbroken if they ever had to leave the farm. But if she couldn’t find a way of bringing in any income, what choice might they have in the future?
She glanced at the strawberry field on her right as she headed down the wide stony track. The strawberry plants were just peeping up from the ground where she had sown them the previous autumn but would benefit from being bathed in warm sunshine and the gentle incline which helped drain any rain away. Facing south, this field never flooded, so, over the summer, the bright red fruits which had given the farm its name all those years ago were the only crop which had made any profit.
Further across, the next field was much larger. It too was bathed in spring sunshine and never flooded, but it lay empty. That particular field hadn’t produced any decent crops in a couple of years and with costs spiralling, Flora had left nature to reclaim it. Slowly, the field had become a wildflower meadow, fresh green growth showing everywhere. In its wild way, Flora rather preferred it than the other regimented fields that had been farmed until recently on the other side of the hill.
But those larger fields wouldn’t be farmed any more either. The hill on the other side dropped sharply away and the farm’s remaining fields were all on a floodplain at the bottom, boggy and sodden for most of the year. It had been an ongoing battle for ages, but the last two winters had been the worst, with the wettest weather on record causing the winter harvests to fail for the second year in a row. And now, with the sale of the farm equipment, they couldn’t be farmed any more anyway.
At the bottom of the hill, Flora continued along the wide stony track into the woods. After being bathed in the early-morning sun, the woods briefly felt darker and cooler until she stepped out into a leafy glade where the trees had been cleared a long time ago.
In the distance, she could see the glistening water of the River Ley through the trees as it wound its way from nearby Cranbridge village onwards through the countryside.
Around two decades ago, when the flooding had caused problems further down the river one winter, Flora’s grandad had dug out a large amount of earth to widen the bank of the river on their land and created a huge natural pond. It had helped slow down any floodwater, using nature to protect the villages and farms upstream from any damage.
