WAS obviously going to be one of those weeks.
Mirabelle’s mastitis had cleared up overnight, but Betsy had gone down with milk fever and needed IV calcium. Guernseys were prone to milk fever, and Betsy had had it before. And Mike should have been on the alert for it as she’d just calved, but his mind had been elsewhere.
Still, he’d caught her in time and given her the injection, so she’d made a rapid recovery. And he’d turned Amber out that morning to await the arrival of her calf. Her milk had dwindled to a halt, and it was time for her to rest and gather her strength. He’d have to take a walk up there later and check on them. They were near Ben and Lucy Carter’s, grazing on the field by Tregorran House, the one with the barn where Lucy had had her baby at Christmas.
He could go with Fran when she got back from school—or perhaps not. It was a gorgeous day today, unlike yesterday, and no doubt Lucy would be out in the garden with the baby and would want to say hello.
He didn’t think either of them needed that at the moment.
Fran had been moody for the past week, short with him for no particular reason. And every time he tried to talk to her, she changed the subject. Whatever it was.
He went into the farm office and put a mug under the spout of the coffee-machine. It was one of those new pod ones, which meant he could have real coffee without fiddling around too much, and when reps from the wholesalers and farm shop outlets came to visit, he could give them decent coffee quickly that hadn’t been stewing for hours. It also meant they didn’t have to go into the house.
And recently, for some reason, he just didn’t want to go into the house if Fran was around. She was always busy making something for school, and it was simpler to keep out of her way.
Not that that was going to sort anything out, but if he left her alone, she’d get over it. She always did, but usually quicker than this.
He was just taking the milk jug out of the little fridge when there was a tap on the door. Since it wasn’t closed, knocking was a bit of a formality, but nevertheless he was surprised to see Nick Tremayne there.
‘Hello, Nick,’ he said, summoning up a smile. ‘Come on in. Coffee?’
‘Oh—yes, why not. Thanks.’ He propped his hips against the battered old desk and Mike could feel the searching stare of those dark brown eyes burning into his back. They’d seen enough of their GP in the previous three years to know that Nick Tremayne never did anything without a reason, and Mike had no idea what it could be. Not unless Nick knew something that he didn’t.
‘So—what can I do for you?’ he asked, turning round with the coffee in his hand and holding it out to Nick.
‘Oh, nothing. I’ve just finished my visits and I was just passing, thought I’d have a look in the farm shop, pick something up for Ben and Lucy. You’ve got some interesting things now.’
‘We try. The ice cream’s going well, and the blue cheese is a runaway success. We can’t keep up with the demand—but I’m damn sure you aren’t here to talk about that.’
Nick’s smile was wry. ‘Am I so transparent?’
Mike just grunted, and Nick smiled again. ‘OK. Point taken—but I really was just passing!’ He hefted the farm-shop paper carrier in evidence. ‘Ben’s got a few days off and my daughter’s invited me for lunch, and I didn’t want to go empty-handed. And as I was here, I thought I’d just see if you were around. We haven’t seen you recently—I wondered if you were both OK.’
Mike snorted softly and stared down into his coffee-cup, swirling the dark brew while he tried to work out how to reply. Honestly, he decided, and put the cup down.
‘Not really. We haven’t been since the miscarriage. Fran’s preoccupied, her temper’s short, she’s lost all her sparkle—I don’t know, she doesn’t have anything to say to me any more, and I think it’s pretty mutual. Frankly, Nick, I’m beginning to wonder if the strain of all this isn’t going to be too much for our marriage.’
‘Do you still love her?’
He hesitated, his eyes locked with Nick’s, and then he looked away, scrubbing his hand through his hair and letting his breath out on a harsh sigh. ‘Yes. Yes, I still love her. I just don’t know if she still loves me.’
He swallowed hard, emotion suddenly choking him, and Nick tutted softly and put his cup down as well. ‘Time for a stroll?’
‘Yeah. You going to Tregorran now?’ Mike asked.
‘I am.’
‘I’ll come with you. If you give me a lift there, I’ve got some stock to check and I’ll walk back. It only takes five minutes across the fields.’
They pulled up on the drive at Tregorran House, and while Mike stood waiting by the car, Nick handed over the bag of shopping to Ben. ‘There’s some strawberry ice cream in there that needs to go in the freezer,’ he said. ‘Back in a minute. Mike’s just going to show me something.’
A likely story, Mike thought with a mental snort, but he raised his hand and dredged up a smile for Ben. He liked his neighbours, and he was delighted they’d bought Nick’s old family home, but it would have been easier if Ben hadn’t come to the door with baby Annabel gurgling on his hip and rubbing salt into the wound.
‘Mike, I’m glad I’ve seen you,’ Ben said now, coming out onto the drive. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Any chance we could have a chat some time?’
He nodded. ‘Sure. Give me a call when you’re not busy, or drop round. I’m usually about.’ Mike gave him his mobile number and Ben keyed it into his own phone, then slipped it back into his pocket and smiled.
‘Cheers. I’ll call you.’
Ben waved, lifting the baby’s chubby little hand as Mike himself had done with Sophie so many times, and Mike waved back to them both, his breath jamming in his throat as Annabel’s face split into a cherubic smile, and he turned away.
Nick fell in beside him, and they went down the track at the side of the house and to the field at the side. It wasn’t right on the cliff top, because that field had a footpath through it, part of the Cornish Coastal Path, and he didn’t want his dry cows disturbed in their last few weeks of pregnancy by all the walkers.
‘Here we are—my ladies-in-waiting,’ he said to Nick, his eyes scanning the field to check that the six cows in there were all looking well. Amber came over to him, her gorgeous coat, fox-red splashed with white, gleaming with health in the summer sun, and he rubbed her poll and spoke softly to her for a moment.
‘You love your farm, don’t you?’ Nick murmured, and Mike nodded.
‘Can’t imagine doing anything else, but it’s a constant reminder of our own failure. With a dairy herd, all you do all the time is monitor their pregnancies and deliver their calves and manage their lactation. And it’s impossible not to draw parallels.’ He smiled, but he could feel it was off kilter. ‘If we were livestock, Fran and I would be shot. It seems we’re useless together. Giant pandas have more success.’
‘That’s not true. Fran’s been pregnant before, and you achieved a pregnancy on your first cycle of IVF.’
‘Yeah—which
