‘I’m a professional chef, that’s what I do during the summer,’ I said icily, ‘and my charges are very high. In winter I prefer to house-sit for a rest. Catering for family dinner parties doesn’t come into my current plans and besides, as I’ve said, I don’t celebrate Christmas in any way.’

‘But—’

‘Mr Martland,’ I interrupted firmly, ‘while I’m sorry your arrangements have been put out, you can rest assured that I’ll keep an eye on your property and look after the animals until your return on Twelfth Night.’

‘But how can I be sure of that when I know nothing about you, except that you have no knowledge of horses and—’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘you don’t have any alternative! If you think I’m going to drink your gin and fall into a drunken coma over Christmas, neglecting the animals and burning the house down, I suggest you email Ellen for my CV and references. Good night, Mr Martland.’

And I slammed down the receiver.

I regretted my lapse into rudeness almost immediately. It must have been tiredness, but also there was something about his manner that rubbed me up the wrong way. While a bit of snappishness might be allowable in a cook of my calibre, provided I produced delicious meals, which I always did, it’s not such a good idea with house-sitting clients.

The phone rang again almost immediately. Sighing, I picked it up.

‘You hung up on me!’ he said incredulously.

‘I’m sorry, but the conversation seemed to have run its natural course. Now, it’s been a long day and I was just on my way to bed. . Oh, and by the way,’ I added as an afterthought, ‘your cleaner has resigned, with effect from today. But going by the filthy state of the house, I daresay you’ll hardly notice.’

This time when I put the phone down, he didn’t ring back. I filled my hot water bottle, patted Merlin, and took myself off up to bed where, despite my exhaustion, I found myself going over and over the conversation with the irritating and unreasonable Jude Martland. I would be sure to leave long before he came home on Twelfth Night!

In the end I switched on the bedside lamp and read a few more entries in Gran’s journal until, soothed by the small dramas of the hospital ward and her battles with her awful landlady, I finally fell asleep.

Chapter 6

Horse Sense

A new case has arrived on Pearl’s ward — a bad leg wound and they are trying penicillin on it, which seems to be doing the trick. The patient is a young man and apparently a member of a local gentry family. Pearl and the others were whispering and giggling about him and how good looking he was, though I told them it was what was on the inside that mattered, not the outside. But I am ashamed to say that, stirred by curiosity, I peeped in later to see what all the fuss was about and Sister nearly caught me!

January, 1945

After breakfast next morning I checked on Lady and her smelly little companion, fed them a few chunks of carrot, then clipped back the top of the stable door to the courtyard.

They both looked fine, but I thought I would leave them where they were until it was fully light and took Merlin for a walk up Snowehill. He seemed to be moving a little easier this morning and I suspected he’d missed a couple of his pills and regular exercise in the last few days.

The closer we got to the red horse hill figure, the harder it was to make out what it was. It had been cut out of the turf and the earth banked on either side to make a raised edge. The natural red sandstone lay revealed, though it didn’t stand out like the white horse ones I’d seen elsewhere and was on a much smaller scale. I wondered if it was ancient, perhaps Celtic? I seemed to recall that Celts were keen on horses. Or perhaps it was a more modern addition to the local scenery?

A track up to the beacon ran right by it and, looking down, I could see that it met the road above Old Place, where there was another farm. It was well trodden, so I expect lots of walkers come here to climb up to the folly. I’d do it myself one day, too, only not this particular one: I had too much to do.

I was just about to go back down when there was a quick spatter of Mozart from my pocket. The ringtone somehow didn’t seem quite right for a windswept Lancashire hillside, but I’m not sure what would. Ride of the Valkyries?

‘Caught you!’ Ellen said triumphantly. ‘I tried the house but there was no reply.’

‘No, I’m up on the hill behind the house. In fact, the only mobile reception is up here, or down near the village, so you’re lucky to have caught me at all.’

‘What are you doing on the hill?’

‘Walking the dog — and he’s old and arthritic so I can’t keep him standing about here very long.’

‘I only wanted to warn you that I found a flood of emails from Jude Martland in my inbox this morning and he isn’t happy about the change of home-sitter, though he should be grateful I could find anyone at such short notice!’

‘Yes, that’s what I told him.’

‘You mean, you’ve spoken to him? He didn’t mention that. . or maybe I just haven’t got as far as that email yet.’

‘He rang last night and he struck me as a very autocratic and disagreeable person — and totally unreasonable! I told him I was perfectly capable and competent, but I’m not sure he believed me.’

‘I told him much the same, but he still wanted to see your CV and references, so I faxed them. They’re all glowing so they’ll put his mind at rest.’

‘I doubt it, because he seemed more worried about the horse than anything and you have to agree that I’ve no experience with them at all. But still, the instructions he left were clear enough and I’m sure I can manage. I made her hot mash last night and I’m going to put her in the paddock shortly and have a go at mucking out.’

‘Oh, you’ll be fine,’ she said comfortably, which was easy for her since she wouldn’t be the one coping! ‘Well, I just wanted to warn you in case you got a phone call, but obviously you’ve dealt with him. And once he’s read your CV I expect he will feel much happier. I told him he was lucky that one of my best house-sitters was free to step into the breach.’

‘I hope so, though he may want regular bulletins on the horse and dog. Some pet owners do.’

She agreed and rang off, and Merlin and I went home again. I was dying to have another look around the house, but thought I’d better tackle Lady’s stable first. From what I recalled, it was simply a matter of removing the old straw and replacing it with new: how hard could that be?

I changed into old jeans, a warm fleece and wellies, girded my loins and went to do the Augean stable bit. Merlin heaved himself up out of his basket with a resigned expression, but I gave him one of the rawhide chews out of the cupboard and left him in the kitchen with it: I needed my full attention on what I was doing.

At least by the New Year I would be able to add looking after horses and goats to my CV if I wanted to, though I wasn’t entirely convinced I would ever want to see a goat again.

It was still very cold, though there was a wintry sun shining, and I had no idea whether I should put Lady in the paddock or not. Or perhaps just the cobbled yard, while I tried to sort out her bedding?

The shovel and wheelbarrow were easy to find — and so was the manure heap over the wall in the paddock. There were bales of straw and one or two of hay at the opposite end of the barn to Lady’s box, and more in a sort of half-loft overhead, with a rickety wooden ladder. Luckily I can tell straw from hay because guinea pigs, rabbits and chickens have all been previous charges of mine.

I was still debating what to do with Lady and her companion — especially her companion — when help arrived unexpectedly in the form of a large, elderly woman on a stocky brown cob. She hailed me from the other side of the gate, then dismounted and led her horse through, shutting it behind her. She was wearing a Burberry check headscarf tied pirate-fashion instead of a riding hat and a hugely-caped wax jacket, so she looked like a slightly eccentric highwayman.

‘Hello,’ she said in a deep, hearty voice, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Becca — Becca Martland, Noël’s sister. He told me you’d arrived, so I thought I’d ride this way and see how you were doing.’

We shook hands. She was by no means as tall as me (at six foot, not many women are!) but she made up for it in girth.

‘I’m very glad to meet you — especially since I was just about to muck out Lady and I wasn’t sure what to do with her while I did it,’ I confessed, seeing knowledgeable help was at hand. ‘Is it too cold to put her in the paddock, do you think?’

‘Not at all, Arabs are tough as old boots and she’ll go in the field shelter if it rains, or to get out of the wind. Have you taken her rug off and brushed her?’

‘No, though I did check that it was secure last night.’

‘We’ll do that first, then, because I don’t suppose anyone has for a couple of days. You go and open the gate to the paddock, while I tie Nutkin up in the barn out of this cold wind and fetch the brushes from the tackroom.’

We let Billy out while we groomed Lady — Becca assured me he never went far from her side. Indeed, he dithered in the open door until I gave him a quick shove and closed it behind him and then he hung about outside, bleating.

‘Lovely creature, Lady,’ Becca said, stripping off the rug and then handing me one of the two oval brushes with the concise instruction, ‘Firm strokes in the direction of the hair.’