Page 10 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

She watched as Bob and Eddie, the former stationmasters, came out of the station and waved at her before they disappeared into the railway workshop. Hidden inside the large metal building was the steam locomotive which they were promising would finally be up and working by the autumn.

Flora turned slowly towards the valley where the river and Cranbridge, a much larger village, lay spread out in front of them. Before them, on the opposite side of the railway tracks were the lavender fields. Hopefully, this summer would be a repeat success with many visitors enjoying the lavender. At the moment, the rows of lavender bushes were still green, waiting for the warm sunshine to burst into their vibrant purple.

In the far distance, there were more gently rolling hills, slowly coming to life as spring took hold after the cold, wet winter.

It was one of her favourite views and Flora took a moment to savour it.

After a while, she realised that Nico was watching her and suddenly felt uncomfortable.

‘So, what do you do when you’re not farming?’ he asked.

Flora was momentarily startled. ‘There’s not much time to do anything when you’re a farmer,’ she eventually replied. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

It was the question which she had asked herself over and over in the past few months. If she didn’t farm the land, then what would she do? Her artistic side had taken a back seat over the years, except for a brief glorious moment in the past winter when Katy had asked her for ideas to help decorate Platform 1.

Katy had a great business mind but had no artistic flair so had left most of the decisions up to Flora. She had revelled in choosing a colour palette, as well as finding some bargain decorations that she could embellish. For a short few days she had enjoyed herself, but once the restaurant had been decorated, then that was that.

Nico was still looking at her, so she spun the question around.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘How do you relax when you’re not working?’

‘I find the old-fashioned way of relaxing works every time,’ he joked.

Flora rolled her eyes. A few moments ago, he had been struggling in his grief and she had almost been tempted to feel sorry for him. Not any more.

‘Listen,’ Flora told him. ‘Some of us have more serious problems than joking around and making sure your pretty car doesn’t get dirty or whatever.’

‘You really think that the extent of my problems is my car getting muddy?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘Look, you’re here because you wanted to see Grams,’ she told him. ‘I suggest you spend the hopefully short time that you’re here with her and not me.’

She stalked away, leaving him to march down the hill. She knew that she was taking out her frustrations on Nico, perhaps somewhat unfairly. But his life was so different to hers. He probably didn’t spend each day with a list of tasks that needed to be completed, like she did.

Except it wasn’t like that any more, she reminded herself. And she was a little lost and worried about what the future might really bring.

Whatever lay ahead, however, she was convinced it would remain a playboy-free zone!

6

Exhaustion had suddenly come over Nico late in the morning, having driven through England late into the night. So, after lunch, he lay down on the bed in the spare bedroom, still trying to catch up on the broken night’s sleep he had endured in the Ferrari.

In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time that he slept properly. Not since his grandfather’s funeral, he thought. Ever since that, his life had been reeling from one bad decision that his father had made to another. He was exhausted from fighting the battle to save his family home. Now the fight was finally lost, he felt even more tired than before.

But the farmhouse felt familiar, despite this being his first visit. It had a relaxed feel about the place, old furniture that was comfortable to sit on and that had obviously been there for many years. The paint on the walls of the spare bedroom was fresh, but the patchwork quilt was soft and warm and obviously home-made.

Even the paintings on his wall made him relax. His particular favourite in the bedroom was a landscape one, painted at sunset when the rolling hills were bathed in golden light. He fell asleep imagining himself enjoying such a view.

He woke up late in the afternoon to the smell of a delicious dinner wafting up through the kitchen to his bedroom above.

After a quick shower and feeling much fresher, he wandered downstairs and found Grams and Flora in the kitchen.

Grams was at the stove whilst Flora was laying the table with plates and cutlery. The scene reminded him of the happier days in the vineyard when dinner was very much a family affair and for a moment he was warmed by the memory.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Grams.

Nico nodded. ‘Too well,’ he replied. ‘I should have been down here helping you prepare dinner.’

‘Nonsense,’ she replied, urging him to sit down at the table. ‘It’s only a stew, I’m afraid. Ryan over at the railway station is the proper Italian cook. His food is wonderful. We should all eat in there whilst Nico is staying with us.’