A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

‘That’s not going to happen either,’ I said, squeezing his fingers in mine. ‘I want to see this place thrive again. There’s no way you’re going to have to part with any of it.’

Grandad nodded, but didn’t comment further.

‘Now,’ I said. ‘Let’s get this lamb in the oven, otherwise we’ll be eating dinner rather than lunch!’

I was fanning myself with a tea-towel by the back door when the Randall clan rocked up. I was mightily amused to see Eliot squeezed into the back of the Banana-mobile and it was most entertaining to watch him prise himself out and unfurl.

It was the first time I’d seen him wearing proper going-out clothes and I tried not to stare when I noticed how good his long, toned legs looked in cargo shorts. I supposed their impressive shape was the result of gripping that powerful Ducati so tightly between his muscular thighs. Perhaps best not to think about that. Lustful thoughts about legs didn’t have any place in the ‘friend zone’, did they?

‘Felicity,’ beamed Louise, pulling me into one of her trademark hugs. ‘How are you settling in?’

‘It’s been a surprisingly wonderful few days,’ I told her, quickly banishing the inappropriate thoughts about Eliot’s physique and focusing instead on everything that had happened since she, Grandad and I had had our heart to heart. ‘Given the circumstances.’

‘I’m so pleased,’ she said, kissing my hair.

The second she released me, Bec filled the space in my arms that Louise had left and gave me a squeeze that rivalled her mother’s. When she eventually stepped back, I found myself facing Eliot. We hesitated for an awkward second and then he thrust a bag that clinked with bottles into my arms.

‘Bill said we were having lamb so really it should have been red,’ he said, looking a little rosy himself. ‘But given everything that’s happened, we thought champagne would be a better option, didn’t we, Bec?’

‘You did,’ she shot back. ‘I would have settled for elderflower cordial as I’m driving, but you said it should be top shelf champers to celebrate Fliss’s arrival in our lives or nothing.’

‘Well, thank you,’ I said, feeling genuinely touched that he felt that my turning up was something worth celebrating in such style and at such expense. ‘I’ll put it in the fridge.’

‘And just wait until you hear what Fliss has come up with for the farm,’ Grandad chimed in. ‘Then you’ll be even more pleased that you splashed out, Eliot!’

Bec, Eliot and I carried the table out of the barn and set it down in the shade of the apple tree before adding a tablecloth which Grandad told me had been embroidered by his mother, my great-grandmother, along with a mismatched collection of crockery, cutlery, glasses and chairs.

The dinner, carried out in covered tureens that also hailed from my great-grandmother’s era, was delicious, and the accompaniment of the champagne ensured we were all, other than Bec, a little drowsy by the time I served up apple pie swimming in pools of thick double cream.

I’d found the apples in the freezer and it had been a treat to make the pie using Fenview fruit. I had felt the same surge of pride as when I cooked using the Rossi produce in their Italian kitchen.

I smiled to myself as I thought of the heady pleasure I would derive from baking Nonna’s highly prized cherry and almond tart using Fenview cherries. What an amalgamation that would be! The delicious taste of home would be doubly delicious then and I willed the harvest to ripen all the faster.

‘That,’ said Louise, licking her spoon clean, ‘was another absolutely wonderful meal. Who was it who taught you to cook, Felicity? I don’t think you told us before.’

‘It’s Fliss, Mum,’ Bec pointedly said, from her end of the table.

I don’t know why she still bothered trying to correct her. I was always going to be Felicity to her mum, just as she would always be Rebecca.

‘I had the most amazing teacher,’ I told Louise. ‘I honed my skills under the tutelage of the most accomplished cook and wisest woman I’ve ever known.’

‘Not your mother then,’ Louise smiled.

‘No,’ I said, thinking of Mum’s inability to even cook pasta. ‘Not Mum.’

‘You sound very fond of this person,’ said Bec.

‘I’m more than fond,’ I told her.

‘Well,’ said Eliot, who sounded a little squiffy. ‘I think we should raise a toast to her.’

‘I agree,’ I said, raising my glass and accidentally spilling some of its contents. Apparently, I was a little squiffy myself. ‘To Nonna Rossi.’

‘To Nonna Rossi,’ they all chorused.

We drained our glasses and Eliot refilled them. He tried to bypass Bec, but thanks to the impact of the bubbles on his balance, he knocked into her and she scowled up at him, clearly unimpressed. The sight of him looking a little wobbly and her so annoyed made me want to laugh.

‘So, Bill,’ said Eliot, flopping heavily back into his chair, once he’d done the rounds. ‘What exactly is it that Fliss has come up with? It certainly seems to have put a spring in your step.’

‘I knew it,’ said Bec, sitting forward in her seat, once Grandad had finished giving them the lowdown. ‘When I mentioned Fliss and the farm at the café, Jemma quizzed me for ages.’

‘She told me that until you filled her in, she’d assumed Fenview Farm had ceased trading so I suppose we should be thanking you for not keeping my arrival to yourself,’ I smiled at her.

‘Well, I never,’ chuckled Louise. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when my daughter’s inability to keep a secret would actually do some good.’

Bec stuck out her tongue and Grandad chuckled.

‘Your mum’s right,’ he nodded. ‘But try not to keep making a habit of it, my lovely.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ she sheepishly smiled.

‘So, are you going ahead?’ asked Eliot.

‘Of course,’ said Grandad. ‘Fliss is going to invite Jemma to have a look around and