Page 21 of A Change of Location
“You’re an American? Lily, this lady lives across the ocean. She can tell you all about Disney World.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Hannah said apologetically. “I’ve never been there.”
Excusing himself from the nosy cat woman, Martin went into the corridor to cancel his lunch appointment.
“Sorry to say I won’t make the meeting, Thomas. Poppy Deane’s dog was struck by a car or lorry, and I’ve got to fill in for her this afternoon. I’d be most grateful if you’d contact the building society chaps to extend my apologies. Find out how soon we can re-schedule.”
Creating a finance package for his new housing estate’s future residents was a priority. But poor Poppy had to stay here. Hannah hadn’t seen the significant local landmarks, and it was imperative to land that film production. He phoned Ron at the house to report the accident and his change of plans and went back to the admitting room.
Poppy, at the reception desk, whirled around to say in relief, “She’ll be okay—eventually. Dr. Allason looked her over himself. She’s in the imaging theatre being checked for hip damage. Later she’ll have an operation to secure the broken bone with pins, or a metal plate.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Awfully rocky. Thankful she’ll be all right, in time. I’ll stay to hear the results of her scan, but you needn’t. You’ve got your lunch in Newbridge.”
“I called it off.” When she opened her mouth to object, he assured her, “Postponed, not canceled. Ron’s on his way to fetch Hannah and me. After Jan feeds us a midday meal I’ll continue the tour guiding.”
Shaking her curly head, Hannah said, “You don’t have to. I’ve got my hire car and its satnav. Plus a detailed Ordnance Survey map.”
“Even so,” Poppy responded, “you’ll probably get lost. Mind you, it’s just as likely to happen with Mart.”
He ignored that comment, untroubled by her habitual put-downs. “Don’t concern yourself with us. Stay here, and find us at the pub later. If you feel like it.”
She kissed his cheek. “Ta.” With a sideways glance at Hannah, she added, “Dr. Allason says you gave excellent advice. Sorry I was such an ungrateful bitch.”
“If any of our dogs was hurt like that, I’d be a complete mess.”
“What breed?”
“Two shelties and a border collie—a volatile mix. They’re living their best lives on my parents’ farm. Because of all my travel, I can’t have a dog.”
“Too bad for you,” said Poppy with feeling before she sat down to continue her vigil.
Chapter 7
“Where do the local people work?” Hannah wondered, after a thorough examination of the surrounding countryside and villages. “Not the farmers, or the teachers and shopkeepers, but all the rest.”
“It varies. People commute to Newbridge, which is quite close, or to larger towns. Yeovil and Wincanton and Sherborne are less than half an hour’s drive. Taunton and Bath are slightly farther away. By car it’s just over an hour to the heart of Bristol,” Martin said.
“What about a train?”
“About the same, direct service from Castle Cary or Taunton. I have great hopes of building up and sustaining a local workforce. To that end, I collaborate with area employers, in various enterprises. We strive to retain our young people through training programs and apprenticeships.”
“You must’ve had an influx of city people during the pandemic, when so many jobs could be performed remotely.”
“Oh, yes. Swarms of Londoners moved to the West Country. Bristolians, too. Our region is a certified area of Historical and Natural Significance,” he boasted. “The available stock of high-value, attractive homes was already limited, and prices rose accordingly. But due to a gradual outflow, there’s less competition. Countryside living, long-term, doesn’t suit everyone. And working from home is no longer the norm.”
Residents in Martin Latimer’s part of Somerset were recognizably similar to most of Hannah’s family and friends and acquaintances in Maine. Here, as there, people either lived in quirky or historic older houses or modern ones. Farmers raised and gathered their crops. Factory employees fretted about job security. Horsey folks rode and showed. Commuters zipped from country to city and back again.
He pointed out a pasture of grazing milk cows and the meadow populated with ewes and their lively spring lambs. He took her to a farmyard and encouraged her to climb onto a stone mounting block. Standing under flowering pear trees, as pale petals floated to the ground, she imagined them laden with fruit in the final weeks of filming. She roamed an ivy-clad burying ground beside an ancient church and marveled at the size and age of the yew trees on either side of the lych-gate. She explored the Georgian rectory’s walled garden, which would delight her mother.
The massive tithe barn on the road from Milver Cross to Little Milver was suitable for the harvest supper scene. She’d photographed the stone bridge spanning the River Milver, and on the other side assessed a vacant warehouse, not yet converted to an antiques center, and an abandoned factory. In either, or both, the construction crew could create interior sets. She found sufficient parking for the generators and trailers for the actors, make-up team and wardrobe.
“We have a strong commitment to adaptive re-use,” he told her. “The deconsecrated church and disused parish hall received planning permission for alteration. Work on the heritage center is likely to start this summer, but I have the authority to delay it by a few months. If you gave me a good reason.”
“You are persistence personified,” she commented.
For her benefit, this man in dire financial straits had missed a meeting with bankers. If she hadn’t already fallen so hard for Stanwell and the Milver villages, sheer guilt would compel her to put them ahead of all other sites she’d seen.
