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

Eliot nodded. ‘That must be a weight off your mind,’ he then said, looking at me.

‘Oh, it is,’ I sighed. It was a really good feeling, knowing that within days of my arrival I was already playing a part in helping the farm find its feet again, even if the partnership had been Jemma’s idea. ‘And just in the nick of time too,’ I added, smiling at Grandad and thinking of the concerns he’d mentioned earlier as well as the speedily ripening strawberries.

‘Yes,’ said Eliot. ‘You’ll be able to leave knowing this place has a chance again now, won’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’ I frowned, my gaze snapping back to him. ‘Leave for where?’

‘Italy,’ he said, slurring the word a little. ‘Bill said you have an important job on this farm in Puglia. You won’t be giving that up for good, will you?’

I hoped Grandad hadn’t discussed my life in Italy with Eliot because he was worried about me disappearing like Mum had. With each new day I was feeling more and more connected to the farm, and to Grandad, and I didn’t want him worrying that I was just biding my time. That wasn’t the impression I’d got from him when we talked about it before, but Eliot’s intoxicated comments suggested that could have been on Grandad’s mind, even if they didn’t confirm it.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we still haven’t sorted out the finer details of how things will work out here in the long-term, but I have absolutely no plans to go anywhere at the moment.’

‘Good,’ said Eliot, raising his glass. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

I was pleased that he was relieved, but I wasn’t thrilled to think that Grandad might have been worried about me leaving. He didn’t look particularly perturbed, but I’d have to talk to him about it again and the sooner the better.

‘I better get these dishes cleared away,’ I said, standing up and hoping the action might prompt the others to go so I could get on with it.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Bec, shooting her brother another less than loving look. ‘Ignore Eliot,’ she said, once we were alone in the kitchen. ‘He hardly ever drinks and I don’t think he meant for that comment to come out the way it did. I don’t even think he’s realised how it sounded. He knows full well you’re not going anywhere.’

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d failed to find the right words where I was concerned, so I supposed I shouldn’t be feeling too put out by it.

‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘Because I’m really not, however I am a bit worried now that Grandad might have said something and he’s thinking I might disappear…’

‘I don’t think he’s thinking that at all,’ Bec quickly said. ‘I reckon what just happened was more about Eliot than Bill.’

‘What do you mean?’

Bec looked outside again. Eliot, Louise and Grandad were still sitting under the tree.

‘I think he’s got the hots for you Fliss,’ she whispered. ‘And he was trying to sound you out.’

‘Sound me out?’ I spluttered.

‘Yes,’ she nudged. ‘But not very discreetly, thanks to the champagne. I reckon he wanted to make sure you’re here for the long haul before he declares his…’

My cheeks blazed and I quickly began noisily scraping the plates.

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, cutting her off. ‘He wasn’t about to declare anything.’

Bec shrugged but didn’t say anything further and I fell to wondering if that was what Eliot’s lowered inhibitions had just exposed. Had the addition of expensive bubbles revealed the fact that he was struggling to keep his feelings for me in check? As thrilling as the thought was, it was unsettling too.

My life, as well as the day-to-day running of Fenview Farm, was going through a huge transformation and as much as I fancied Eliot, and as hard as I found it not to act on the spark that had ignited between us, I knew I was going to have to try that little bit harder because the last thing I needed, as much as I wanted it, was to throw a love affair into the mix. We had already agreed that we would stick to being friends and, tipsy or stone-cold sober, that was what we both had to commit to.

Chapter 12

The celebrations turned rather flat after Eliot’s sozzled suggestion that I would soon be returning to my job in Puglia and, once he had been bundled into the back of the Banana-mobile, Grandad took himself off for a nap.

Determined not to let my concern that he was worried I was going to leave fester, I resolved to address the situation the moment he got up, however he had other issues he wanted to discuss and we worked through those first.

‘I want to talk to you about the farm finances, Fliss,’ he said, seriously. ‘There’s a box file in the dining room sideboard. Would you go and fetch it, please?’

‘Isn’t this a private matter, Grandad?’ I asked, as he opened the box and pulled out a pile of papers and bank statements.

‘It’s a family matter,’ he told me. ‘And you’re family, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Of course, the only family, as far as I know.’

But it still felt like an intrusion, me knowing the state of the farm affairs. That said, I soon set any awkwardness aside, because the financial affairs were in a bit of a state.

‘So, to sum up,’ I said, as I looked at the papers spread out on the kitchen table, ‘you own Fenview Farm outright and there’s no mortgage or any other loan secured on it.’

‘Correct, and no credit card debts or anything like that either.’

That was a huge relief.

‘But there are a number of outstanding accounts with local businesses and the overdraft is getting near its limit.’

‘It is,’ said Grandad, shaking his head. ‘There’s not enough to clear the accounts and live on and the bank manager has been very patient,