‘To be fair, this situation isn’t just down to Orlando. It’s also due to my mismanagement of the farm. Anyway,’ Mouse sighed, ‘many a slip, as they say, and we’ll just have to wait and see how serious our bidder is. Right.’ He swung the car into High Weald’s drive. ‘I hope you don’t mind me dumping you and running, but I’ve got a million things to do at home tonight.’
‘No problem.’ I got out of the Land Rover and Mouse went to retrieve my holdall from the back.
‘Could you have Rory ready for school at eight thirty tomorrow morning? It’s only half a mile away, in what is rather grandly called High Weald village. Do you drive, Star?’
‘Yes. I took my test in Switzerland eight years ago.’
‘Great. It would help a lot if you were mobile and could drive Marguerite’s Fiat. I’ll put you on the insurance.’
‘Okay.’ I gulped, thinking how rusty I’d be, besides having to drive on the left-hand side of the road.
Mouse drove off and I lugged my holdall to the front door, which opened immediately to reveal a welcome party.
‘Star!’ Rory threw himself into my arms, nearly knocking me backwards off the step.
‘Salvation is at hand! Thank the heavens,’ said Orlando from behind him, taking my holdall and putting it by the bottom of the stairs. Then he led us towards the kitchen, where the table was loaded with provisions he’d ordered in from the farm shop. I gave an inward sigh at the way Orlando spent money – despite their economic crisis, it seemed the Forbes family had never learnt to economise.
‘I didn’t know quite what you’d want, so I bought everything I could think of. I must say that we were rather hoping for leg of lamb tonight. In fact, Rory and I have already picked the rosemary. Did you know that once you grow a bush in your garden, it’s awfully bad luck to ever cut it down?’ he said as he took a piece and put it under his nose like a fake moustache, causing Rory to giggle. ‘I remember this rosemary bush being here when I was a young pipsqueak like you. Now, Miss Star, what can we do to help?’
We sat down to eat two hours later and afterwards played a game of Scrabble, which Orlando won by a mile.
‘Uncle Lando is so clever,’ signed Rory, as I led him upstairs. ‘He said Mouse was making him sell his bookshop.’
‘Maybe. Now, let’s get you into bed, and I’ll send Orlando up to read you a story.’
‘Goodnight, Star, I’m glad you came back.’
‘So am I. Night, Rory.’
‘Morning,’ Mouse said as Rory and I got into the Land Rover. I chanced a glance at him as we drove away from the house and thought again how strained he looked.
‘Pay attention to where we’re going, will you, Star? If you have a practice in the Fiat, I can’t see why you couldn’t drive Rory to school from now on.’
I concentrated on the route he took, which must have been less than seven minutes in duration, but involved a number of left and right turns. We pulled up in front of a charming old schoolhouse, set next to a green in the centre of the village.
‘Star, come in with me,’ Rory signed and pulled me down from my seat.
We walked in through the gate and joined the mothers shepherding their children through the playground. As everyone hung their coats on pegs, Rory reached out for a hug from me.
‘Come to get me later?’ he asked as a little girl came to offer her hand to Rory.
‘Come on, Rory,’ the girl said to him. ‘We’re going to be late.’
With a last wave, Rory was off down the corridor.
‘Okay?’ Mouse asked me as I stepped into the car.
‘Yes. Rory’s obviously happy there.’
‘For now, at least. The school have been phenomenal with him, but whether he can continue in mainstream education as he gets older is another thing altogether,’ he said as we set off back down the country lanes. ‘Think you can manage to collect him tonight? I’ve got a meeting at half past three.’
‘I’ll have a practice in the drive this afternoon.’
‘The keys are in the pot by the telephone. Call me if there’s a problem.’
I hopped out at the top of the drive and he zoomed off without another word. In the kitchen, Orlando was sitting at the table. ‘There’s some wonderful bacon in the fridge and some locally picked mushrooms. I do so love mushrooms,’ he said, giving me a sideways glance.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked as I gathered his requested ingredients from the pantry and the fridge.
‘As fit as a flea, or a fiddle. Though for the life of me, I cannot understand how a fiddle can be “fit”. The fiddle player, granted. What are you doing today?’
‘Giving myself a driving lesson in the Fiat. I have to pick Rory up from school at three thirty.’
‘Perfect! Then perhaps you could incorporate me into your plans. I need to visit Tenterden, a quality little town nearby. It has the most wonderful bookshop, where my mother used to take me as a child . . .’ Orlando’s voice trailed off as his current situation entered his thought process. ‘Anyway,’ he said quickly, ‘I am sure that they will have somewhere with broadband, and the delicatessen makes the best smoked salmon mousse I’ve ever tasted.’
So, having coaxed the Fiat’s reluctant engine to life, and completed a couple of practice runs up and down the drive to get to grips with a gearstick that resembled a large black lollipop, my equally nervous passenger and I set off for Tenterden. Orlando’s directions were as unreliable as the car I was driving, and we bumped, screeched and stalled our way along the narrow country lanes. By the time we reached Tenterden, my nerves were in shreds. I managed to find a parking space adjacent to the village green, its fast-shedding trees protecting a row of well-tended clapboard houses.
‘I can assure you that the harrowing journey we have just taken will be well worth the effort,’ Orlando pronounced as he strode across the green and I followed him, feeling as though I had indeed been transported to a much gentler time. A church tower overlooked the old timber-framed buildings, and people chatted outside the colourful shops, or sat on the benches on the green.
He stopped abruptly outside a café, complete with mullioned toffee-shop windows, then held the door open for me to step inside. A woman looked up from serving a customer, and a wide smile appeared on her face.
‘Master Orlando! How lovely to see you in here.’
‘And you, dear Mrs Meadows. How is life treating you these days?’
‘Times are tough for us independent shops. You’ll have seen what’s happened next door.’ She indicated to the left with her thumb.
‘No, we approached from the other direction. What is it?’
‘Mr Meadows has had to close the bookshop. The two rents were killing us. And the café is the premises that’s making money.’
Orlando looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. ‘The bookshop is closed?’
‘Yes, two months ago now, but so far, we haven’t managed to find anyone to take over the lease. Will you be staying for your lunch?’
‘We will indeed,’ Orlando said. ‘What is it today?’
‘Chicken pie and mash.’
‘Then we’ll take two of those, Mrs Meadows, if you please. With two glasses of—’