the most of the festive spirit and give the place a bit of sparkle.’
‘There’s plenty of sparkle here already, what with you two lovely ladies here to greet me.’ Frank gave a cheeky grin.
Jill’s smile widened. ‘Come on in. Now, what can I get you with your coffee today, Frank? Oh, hang on, I’ve been baking something new this morning, a Gingerbread Pudding. Thought it’d take the chill off these damp autumn days. Fancy giving it a try?’
‘Oh, that’ll go down a treat, I’m sure.’
‘Any cream or vanilla custard with that?’
‘Custard sounds delightful.’
‘Excellent choice!’
Frank was soon settled at one of the white-painted wooden tables, happily tucking in to his sponge and custard, with the local newspaper set out beside him.
‘What’s the verdict, Frank?’ Jill asked a minute or two later, a trace of anxiety in her tone.
‘Well … I’d say it’s a ten out of ten. Got all those lovely warming festive flavours through it, somehow. In fact, it brings to mind a pudding my mam used to make, back in the day. Though I have to admit,’ Frank pulled a wry smile, ‘her puddings always turned out a bit on the heavy side, bless her soul. Still, it went down a treat when I was a young lad.’
‘Hah, I bet it did.’
‘Yes, she used to blame it on the post-war rations, but me and Da knew better. She didn’t have the best of teachers, mind. Now then …’ Frank was off in full storytelling mode. ‘Her mam, Nanna Wallace, lived across on the Scottish side of the border, so she did. Now, she used to make something called a “Cloutie Dumpling”. “Clarty Dumpling” me and Da secretly called it. It was a dark-coloured pudding with raisins, currants, and all sorts in. I seem to remember having it around Old Year’s Night. It was meant to be a special treat. Well, that thing was like a cannon ball. Don’t suppose it was meant to turn out that way. Hah yes, I even spooned some off one day and shaped it into balls for my catapult. That stuff made great pellets.’
Jill couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Well, we’d better not make anything like that here, Frank!’ Rachel pitched in.
‘Aye, lass, we’d have to have lashings of custard with it, to manage to get it down. My, it was hard work that pudding.’
‘Well, I’m lucky I had the best teacher in my mum, Isabel,’ Jill said. ‘And, well, I’d be lost without the fabulous Baking Bible.’
The ‘Baking Bible’ was the family recipe book that had been handed down over generations. It took pride of place on the shelf in their farmhouse kitchen and provided inspiration, recipes and tips, even now.
‘That’s where the Gingerbread pudding came from, it was one of my old Aunt Elsie’s recipes.’
‘Well, you’re onto a winner there, lass. My taste buds are waltzing.’
‘Thank you, Frank.’
Jill then focussed on getting organised for the day ahead, and began making a batch of fresh cherry and sultana scones in the little oven they had there in the Pantry. Rachel stood wrapping up sets of knives and forks in red gingham checked napkins. They were both humming away to Radio Two, and when one of Jill’s favourite oldies, Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’, came on, they ended up doing a bit of bum-wiggling in time behind the counter, with a dusting of flour spinning around them from Jill’s wooden spoon which had suddenly morphed into a microphone, much to Frank’s delight.
Rachel then headed out to the customer area to make sure the tables were all set out prettily. She’d bought a spray of red carnations from the flower shop in the village, which she split into posies and placed in the mini milk bottles they had on each table. The red was a blast of colour against the cream stone walls and rustic white furniture. She stood tapping her feet in time to the music – her cheerful wiggle belying the worry curdling in her stomach as she looked out on a near-empty Pantry.
And so began another day at Primrose Farm.
At eleven o’clock sharp, the sound of Tom’s quad pulling up came from outside. Rachel couldn’t help but grin as he strolled in, his dark eyes smiling warmly beneath chestnut-brown hair that was cut fairly short but still managed to be unruly. He was dressed in his farmyard-stained jeans, green wellies and a weathered Barbour coat.
‘Hah, we’ll be able to set the clock by you soon. I’ve already started the bacon off on the griddle for you,’ said Rachel.
‘You know me too well. And yes, a bacon roll and coffee it is. Though, I may surprise you one day and order something else. I might live dangerously and have a cheese scone or something.’ He grinned mischievously.
Rachel had to admit that eleven o’clock was fast becoming one of her favourite times of the day, seeing Tom stroll in, hungry and handsome in a windswept kind of way after having worked several hours on his neighbouring farm. And, the amazing thing was, that after years of them growing up as children close by – albeit with a bit of an age gap – they were now actually an item. A rather wonderful, sexy and caring kind of item. Rachel could still hardly believe it.
She passed him a mug of steaming coffee – strong with a touch of milk and no sugar, just how he liked it – across the counter.
‘Cheers, Rachel. Morning, Frank,’ Tom greeted the old chap who was still sitting there, browsing his newspaper, with a top-up of coffee to hand.
‘Hello, Tom. Busy morning?’
‘Yep, I’ve just put the tups out in the fields with the ewes. And, with this wet weather we’ve had lately, the fields are getting damned muddy. I’ve had to pull out a couple of stuck sheep.’
‘All fun and games, I’m sure,’ replied Frank.
‘Tell me about it,’ added Rachel. ‘There were two stuck in the mud here yesterday morning. They’d got themselves in a right state.’ She dished out the crispy bacon onto soft white bread.
Tom took the sandwich and was soon tucking in. ‘Delicious, Rach. As always. I’ll settle up. Can’t stay long, unfortunately. Gotta get back as there’s a delivery of bulk feed due in at any time.’ He handed his plate and mug back across the counter. ‘That was great, thanks.’
‘Ah, okay.’ Well, that was short and sweet. Rachel couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.
‘Can I see you, later on?’ Tom’s smile was hopeful and his dark eyes had a rather sexy look about them. Or maybe that was just Rachel’s interpretation.
‘Yes, I’ll try. When Mum’s back over in a while, I’ll check if she has any plans for this evening herself. She’s just nipped over to the farmhouse.’ It was unlikely that Jill would be out, but she didn’t want to take her mum’s babysitting duties for granted. This new relationship with Tom was still very much finding its feet and Rachel felt she was juggling her responsibilities as a mother with it. Tom seemed pretty laid back about the situation, knowing the set up at Primrose Farm, but sometimes what they both really wanted was a couple of hours just for the two of them.
Tom leaned across to give Rachel a kiss on the
