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‘No, not at all. She doesn’t like me much and she didn’t really know Mum.’
A car droned in the distance as a silence stretched between them. Liam was the first to break it. ‘Did you want some veg, then?’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
She followed him into the barn and studied his recently harvested crop: fat Savoy cabbages, spring greens, and carrots and parsnips still coated in red soil.
‘What do you fancy?’ he asked, breathing in the familiar smell of damp earth and sawdust.
‘A cabbage will be fine. Look…’
When Rosie turned to him, his fingers itched to brush back the sun-streaked fringe that was flicking into her eyes. She looked tired and slightly battered this afternoon, as though life was too much for her.
‘I wasn’t terribly sympathetic when I saw you near the church first thing this morning, but I didn’t realise it was such a difficult day for you. I found out later, though I don’t want you to think I was gossiping because I wasn’t. Nessa mentioned it when I said that I’d seen you. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I didn’t know about the anniversary or I would have made allowances and not been so… snippy.’
Liam wasn’t sure he wanted people making allowances. He’d soon tired of the pity in locals’ eyes when they asked him how he was doing, and the barely disguised glee on some so-called friends’ faces that he’d been taken down a peg or two. But it was kind of Rosie to care. And kinder still for her to come and apologise.
‘Don’t worry about it. I was slightly grumpy, to be fair.’
‘Only slightly?’ A slow smile lit up Rosie’s face, making her eyes shine.
‘OK, very grumpy. But I do have an excuse for not being on my best behaviour.’
‘Me too.’
‘Yeah, we make quite a sorry pair.’ Liam dropped two of the largest cabbages into the basket on Rosie’s arm.
‘How much is that?’
‘Forget it.’
‘No, I want to pay.’ Rosie reached for the purse in her basket.
‘If you insist, fifty pence will cover it,’ said Liam, vaguely registering that Katrina hadn’t paid for her eggs.
He took the coin that Rosie proffered and dropped it into his jeans pocket. ‘When are you going back to Spain?’
‘Not for a little while.’ She paused and screwed up her face, as though she was wrestling with a decision. Then she said: ‘I went to see Jackson Porter, the solicitor, like you suggested. But he couldn’t help me. So… I went to see Charles Epping today, at his house on Dartmoor.’
Liam stared at her. Writing to Epping about the house was one thing, but visiting him at home? No one in the village had actually spoken to the man for years – although he was discussed often enough by those adversely affected by his business decisions and rent hikes.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me. You went to his house?’
‘I did and I saw him and his wife and talked about Driftwood House and about them building a hotel in its place. Had you heard about the hotel idea?’
Liam nodded.
‘From Belinda?’
‘Who else? So how did your chat with the Eppings go?’
‘Badly, at first. His wife looked like she wanted to kill me. But I ended up striking a kind of deal with him.’
Liam folded his arms, admiration for Rosie’s chutzpah overshadowed by unease. ‘What on earth have you agreed to with a man like that? You’ve struck a deal with the devil.’
Rosie blanched at that, and maybe it was a little strong, but she’d been away and didn’t know the Eppings like he did.
‘I suggested that Driftwood House didn’t need to be demolished because converting it into a guesthouse could be a money-spinner instead.’
