Birds Of A Feather Episode 11
“Looking after a few goats is hardly a full-time job,” Mr Gregory remarked.
“I do other things there as well. I make cheese and help to run the tea room.”
“Then you could work here as well, couldn’t you?” Will pointed out. “It’s not exactly onerous.
“Just a bit of light housekeeping and taking Finn to and from school. I don’t expect you to provide three cooked meals a day or iron my shirts.”
Paloma was very tempted. She’d fallen instantly in love with the neglected farmhouse and would dearly love to bring it back to life.
But then she remembered the look of unbridled dislike as Finn had wiped his hand where she’d touched him.
“I’ll be honest with you, Mr Gregory. I’ve no experience of working with children.”
He brushed his fingers through his hair and gave a weary sigh.
“Neither have I, Miss Brookes.”
Her heart contracted with pity.
“I’m so sorry, but I think you’ll find Finn doesn’t like me very much. And he finds my cooking –”
“Let me guess,” he cut in. “He finds it disgusting. Am I right?”
“As a matter of fact he does.” Paloma felt slightly offended.
“That’s his word of the moment, I’m afraid. He doesn’t like Little Billington, and the farm in particular.
“He doesn’t like me much, either,” he went on. “And he finds my cooking disgusting, too. He’s going through a rather negative phase at the moment.”
“He’s a very unhappy little boy,” Paloma said softly.
Will’s head shot up, his eyes hot and angry. He looked so much like his young son at that moment that Paloma flinched.
“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped. “You think I enjoy having my son treat me like a stranger?”
Paloma hands shook as she struggled into her coat. She’d done it again, blundering in, trying to say the right thing but making things worse.
It was obvious he wanted her out of his house.
“I’m sorry, Mr Gregory. I hope you find someone to help soon. I know it must be difficult. I’ll let myself out.
“Don’t forget the soup, will you? It’s not so bad.” She smiled in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
“Even though Finn said it was disgusting, he did have second helpings.”
She left him sitting at the table, staring with unseeing eyes out of the freshly cleaned windows.
Jess groaned as she tore the page out of her sketch pad and tossed it into the waste basket.
“It’s no good, Alfie,” she said as the dog laid his head on her knee. “I might as well call it a day and take you for a walk.”
There was a big wedding fair coming up in a few weeks and she was lucky enough to have been asked to come up with a new collection of bridal jewellery for it.
Normally at this stage of a new commission her head would be teeming with so many ideas that her problem would be deciding which ones to develop.
But worried thoughts whirled around inside her head and left no room for anything else.
The ideas wouldn’t come, which was something else to worry about.
She pushed her chair back and went to fetch her dog-walking coat, the sight of which set Alfie dancing around her in excitement.
As she reached for his lead, the phone rang. Would it be Ben this time?
Before she could say hello, a voice boomed.
“This is all your fault!”
“Who is this?” she asked sharply, in no mood for crank calls.
“Daphne Heston-Plucknett. And I –”
“Please calm down, Daphne, and tell me what I’m supposed to have done.”
“I’ll tell you what you’ve done.” Daphne’s shrill voice could probably be heard down the other end of the village.
“You’ve invited a whole load of travellers here, with stinking vehicles and flea-ridden dogs.”
Jess pressed the phone closer to her ear as a noisy vehicle went past the cottage.
“What makes you think it’s anything to do with me?”
“They said they’ve come to see you,” Daphne went on. “Asked me where Nightingale Cottage was. You brought them here, so you deal with it.”
As Daphne ended the call the noise outside got louder than ever.
Jess’s hand shook as she opened the door, Daphne’s words leading her to expect to see a convoy of travellers’ vehicles.
It sounded like at least half a dozen being driven at full throttle.
But it was, in fact, just one old van, thick black smoke billowing out from under its bonnet and its engine screaming like a hundred banshees were trapped inside.
She recognised it immediately. The last time she’d seen it, it had been propped up on bricks in Ed Weston’s garden.
She stiffened as Sam leaned out of the window.
“Call in any time you’re passing. That’s what you said, darlin’, wasn’t it?”
Harry Manvers’s words raced through her head. Was this the invasion he’d warned her about?