Page 83 of The Knitting Club at Wagtail Ridge

Bree laughed. She was well aware of that and it made her glad. Her grandmother deserved to be happy.

‘Anna, can you stay in touch about your visits, please? I want to make sure everything is all right for Sky, but I don’t have a bottomless pit of money.’

‘Of course. And don’t worry. There’s a possibility of live twins so I’m very invested in this for my own reasons. The bill won’t be too terrifying.’

‘Thanks.’

After Anna set off down the driveway, Bree settled herself in for the daily routine she’d established with Maggie, gently and calmly sending small groups of alpacas into the metal yards and stalls for feeding. The pregnant females were first and those with crias at foot came later. She made sure each animal was healthy before turning them back into their paddocks, still wet after good overnight rain. After the girls, it was the boys’ turn. Although generally calm animals, sometimes their male egos got a little out of control and aggressive at this time of the year. Those curved teeth could do a bit of damage. But not today.

***

The afternoon was drawing into evening when she heard a car on her drive. That would be Nan. Bree liked the idea of having her around for more than a day or two. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before the cottage in town was ready for habitation, but Nan was welcome to stay as long as she needed to. And Mike too, if that was what her grandmother wanted.

She glanced out the window. There were two cars coming down her driveway, and the second one was not Mike’s. She knew who the dark grey Mercedes belonged to and it was a surprise. She glanced down at herself. Her jeans were old and very much showing the signs of a couple of days’ wear around the animals. Not that Nan would mind. But her other visitors …

It was too late now. The two cars parked side by side and Bree sighed and walked out to greet the occupants.

‘Hi, Nan. Mother. Father. This is a pleasant surprise.’

‘I have a meeting with your Matt Ambrose tomorrow morning, so we thought we’d come up early and have a look at your … farm.’ Margaret looked about her. ‘My mother has told us quite a lot about it.’

Bree caught Rose’s eye. Her grandmother was trying not to grin wildly as Bree’s parents took in their surroundings. The place looked much better now than when Bree had first seen it—it looked prosperous and cared for. But as she looked at it through her parents’ eyes, Bree saw only the places that still needed work. The old wooden fence posts, dark grey with faded creosote. The walls of the house that needed painting. The temporary metal yards that would one day be replaced with new ones. The remains of the flower gardens by the gate that were exactly that—remains.

‘It looks like a lot of hard work,’ was Gary’s reaction. ‘Far harder than working at the firm.’

‘It is hard work, Father. But it’s much more enjoyable.’

‘Yes. Well. Why don’t you show us around and let us see these animals?’ Margaret didn’t sound at all enthused at the prospect. She was also wearing her trademark smart suit and heeled shoes. Not exactly appropriate for stomping around a rural property.

‘Of course, Mother. But first, we have to do something about your feet.’

Bree led her parents to the nearest outbuilding. Just inside the door was a rack with rows of paired gumboots. ‘Mother, you’ll need these. Father, it’s up to you.’ She looked pointedly at his shoes. While far more sensible than the shoes her mother was wearing, his expensive black loafers would not be enhanced by mud. ‘It did rain quite a bit last night.’

‘Ah, yes. I’m a size ten.’

‘You’re a six, aren’t you, Mother?’ Bree held out a pair.

Margaret took them and held them tentatively at arm’s length. ‘Whose are these?’

‘They are for the alpaca walkers,’ Bree told her, ignoring the gleeful grin her grandmother was trying to hide.

‘Well. If I have to.’

‘If you don’t, you won’t be wearing those Blahniks again.’

Margaret threw Bree a look that had been known to cause her firm’s junior associates to blanch, then she perched delicately on a wooden bench and removed her city shoes.

Gary had no such hesitation. ‘How do I look?’

Bree suppressed a giggle. The lower legs of her father’s tailor-made suit had disappeared into a pair of muddy green gumboots.

‘You look quite the farmer, Father. Although you could lose the tie.’

‘Ah. Yes.’ Gary removed the offending object and crumpled the silk into a pocket of the suit jacket he was still wearing. By her father’s standards, he was now a picture of casual dressing.

Margaret got to her feet and took a few tentative steps. ‘They are not too uncomfortable.’ This from the woman who could spend all day in a pair of six-inch heels and never so much as shift her weight from the pain.

‘Shall we go?’ Bree led the way down to the girls’ paddock. She hoped the sight of the crias suckling and walking around on their none-too-sturdy legs would help her parents understand the love she had for these creatures. ‘They’re very gentle and shy animals,’ she said. ‘You’re perfectly safe around them. They only spit when they’re really upset.’

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