Page 95 of A Change of Location
“It’s all right. Really.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
He stood. “Shall we carry on?”
She’d had another type of carrying on in mind, and disappointment flowed from the perspiring crown of her head to the toes of her running shoes. A sheep bleated, a mournful noise that accurately expressed her feelings.
The track led them away from agricultural land to a paved roadway bordering the grassy park in Milver Cross. Instead of overtaking Joyce and Eileen, Martin suggested they all head straight for The Peacock.
“If Rory took the long way,” Joyce commented, “we’ll beat him to the bar.”
He hadn’t, and they didn’t.
Hannah waited her turn for the ladies’ loo. She rinsed her flush face at the sink, careful not to streak her mascara or smudge her rosy lips.
She found the runners on the terrace behind the pub, seated at a round table. Martin had already ordered her cider. Jack Elliston brought out three servings of chips, fresh from the fryer basket and so hot they couldn’t be touched. Eileen handed him her phone and everyone squeezed close together, holding up their glasses.
After comparing their completed run to prior outings, the Dashers talked of summer holidays, work activities, family matters. Bob managed Milver Vale Dairy. Rory, an estate agent, had two properties under offer, subject to conditions. Thomas, a motor sports enthusiast, worked as a mechanic and attended rallies in his spare time. Hannah listened passively, entertained by teasing remarks addressed to Martin, who clearly relished them. He possessed a noble title and doubtless held the deeds to their homes and business sites, but she could tell how much he valued this camaraderie.
After Joyce—the first defector—departed, there was a mass exodus.
Martin accompanied Hannah to her car. “Caroline said you’ll be at the flour mill tomorrow.”
“For a scene that was delayed until the set carpenters could construct a fruit press. Miraculously, the props people sourced a working reproduction at a museum down in Dorset, which is being delivered and set up today. Owen wants to finish filming by the riverside before Sir Francis Cooke arrives. He plays Rosalind’s father. After that, we’ll be back at Stanwell.”
“And our horses will go before the cameras. Then it’s on to Newbridge, right? Before finishing up at Hartwell Studios.”
He must have learned these details from his cousin. She’d probably already invited him to the wrap party.
“Counting the days till we leave you in peace?”
“It hasn’t been bad. Even Popster admits it. She might actually miss all the activity.”
***
Martin waved to tenants and acquaintances who had gathered near the mill to observe the proceedings. Liz and Hannah stood on the spectators’ side of the cordon, with an agitated man who flailed his hands. He stalked off before Martin reached them.
“Is that fellow causing trouble?”
Hannah turned to him. “It’s Simon, our historical advisor. We actually pay him to complain that we have the wrong type of apples.”
Liz added, “According to him, the ones Props brought in by the bushel are a modern variety, most likely imported from France. I couldn’t tell which of those facts is most offensive to him.”
“You need heritage apples.”
“Apparently.”
“I can solve your problem. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Define not long,” Liz replied.
After considering, he told her, “Within the hour. I could use a couple of helpers.”
“You can have Hannah.” Liz was clearly too flummoxed to realize how Martin would interpret her words. “And Logan, Alistair’s intern.”
“The orchard where you filmed the other day grows old-fashioned fruit, and there’s plenty of it at the cider factory. I’ll exchange your apples for theirs. I can transport them in the van we keep in reserve at Stanwell. For emergencies.”
