firmly but carefully with his grimy paw.
‘Welcome to the flower farm, Gaby,’ he said, still unable to tear his eyes from her face.
‘Thank you, Mr Godrevy. You seem to have a very professional operation here.’
‘Thanks. And er … please call me Will. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘Thank you, Will. I look forward to working with you and possibly tasting your buns.’
Will opened his mouth but seemed to choke on his reply.
‘Have you tried the trip switch on the pump?’ Jess cut in, trying to divert Will. ‘That was the problem last time.’
His attention snapped back to Jess. ‘Of course I’ve tried the trip switch, but you can have a look if you like. Anything’s better than leaving the farm without water until the technician can come out.’
‘Where is the pump?’ Gaby asked.
‘In the shed over there above the well.’ Will flipped a thumb in the direction of the other side of the yard. ‘It supplies all the water for the farm and business.’
‘You’re getting a tour of the farm anyway, so you may as well see everything now, not that you’ll ever need to go in the pump house,’ said Jess. She could feel Adam beside her, saying nothing but obviously enjoying every word of the exchange. He’d be bound to take the piss out of Will about ‘his buns’ as soon as he got the chance but Jess was only concerned with keeping the peace.
With Will forging ahead, Adam, Jess and Gaby followed him over to a small wooden shed on the far side of the yard. The goats stopped chewing long enough to watch them trudge past, as if to wonder what the fuss was all about.
The door was open and Jess joined Will, who was staring at the control panel above the blue pump, while Adam and Gaby waited outside the cramped shed. Jess flicked the trip switch up and down, and the pump stopped, then shuddered and rattled in an alarming way.
‘I do hope you don’t think I’m interfering, but could it possibly be an airlock in the pipework?’
They all turned at the small voice from behind them. Gaby gazed at them both with innocent eyes.
‘We used to have a similar problem at the nursery where I worked out in the Fens. It’s a long shot, but you never know.’
Will scratched his head and pushed out his bottom lip. ‘It’s making a lot of noise, but there’s no actual water coming through.’
‘As Gaby said, it could be an airlock,’ said Jess.
‘It’s never had one before,’ Will muttered.
‘But it could be,’ said Jess.
Gaby stepped forward and opened the hinged wooden cover concealing the blue pipework. ‘It looks very similar to the pump we had at the nursery. Is it worth letting the air out of this vent on the back of the pipework?’
Jess stood by as Will peered at the pipework. ‘Yeah. S’pose it could be that. Like I say, we’ve never had an issue with it before …’
He turned the vent and after a few rattles and clangs, the pump tone speeded up to its normal smooth hum.
‘Certainly sounds healthier,’ said Jess.
Gaby pointed to the control panel. ‘The current’s running through it again. I think that’s a good sign.’
Len poked his head round the door. ‘Hey! The water’s on again. I don’t know what you did, but it’s worked.’
Len vanished as fast as he’d appeared and Will closed the cover on the pipework.
‘Thanks,’ he muttered.
‘A pleasure. Now if you’ll show me to my accommodation, I can settle in and leave you to get on with your work.’ She threw a smile at Will. ‘I can see you’re obviously terribly busy …’
*
Half an hour later, Jess had completed the tour of the farm and showed Gaby into the staff accommodation. The farm was very fortunate to have a staff house, the glorified name for the converted farm building used by the seasonal workers. The house was divided into individual bedrooms served by communal bathroom and kitchen facilities. While most of the workers were local, some came from mainland Cornwall to work the winter narcissi season, and a handful hailed from Europe.
Jess had introduced Gaby to Anna, who had looked her up and down as if she was a pest that had landed on the narcissi, before grudgingly shaking hands and saying, ‘Welcome to St Saviour’s.’
Jess and Will loved their mother, but even they had to admit that she wasn’t the easiest woman to live with. When their dad had finally left after all attempts to patch up their marriage had failed, she’d been landed with the responsibility of an ailing business and two young adults who’d had to step up and help her run it at an age when they might have been going out with friends or travelling further afield before settling down. The farm had been a poisoned chalice to start with. The shock of her husband’s affair combined with the long hours and financial worries had aged her not only physically but given her a hard shell that could look like callousness to strangers.
Jess knew that Gaby should get a warmer reception from the rest of the team. Even crusty old Len had a sense of humour sometimes and the rest of the field, packing and office workers were a friendly bunch who worked hard and played harder.
She took Gaby through to the rear of the staff house where a handful of workers were sitting in a small garden area, enjoying a beer and sunbathing. Normally at this time of year there were around a dozen field and packing shed staff around, while a separate small team worked in the office who Gaby would get to meet soon enough. The sunbathers greeted Gaby with smiles and set about the banter straight away, telling her horror stories about the weather and Len cracking the whip.
Jess watched Gaby carefully, but was pretty sure she was taking everything with a large pinch of salt. Anyway, judging by the way she’d handled Will, she could give at least as good as she got.
Jess heaved a sigh of relief as she walked past the pump house and heard it chugging away. They had running water, a new staff member, and she could finally enjoy the rest of the day with Adam and find out in detail the surprise he had in store for her. She had a feeling it was going to be a memorable one.
With a sigh, Gaby dumped her bag on the floor of her new quarters. OK … so it wasn’t the Ritz. Not even the BudgetLodge, actually. After eight years of student life, she didn’t expect comfort, let alone luxury, but the staff house still came as something of a shock.
Her bedroom was spotlessly clean but tiny compared to the relatively spacious rooms she’d had in her college at university. It had a single bed, a chair, the kind of cupboard her granny liked to call a ‘tallboy’ and a curtained-off alcove that Gaby assumed was the wardrobe. Not that she’d brought much to hang in it. A small table with spindly legs, one of which was propped up with a pile of beer
