Page 68 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Oh,’ said Willow, a little embarrassed now. ‘Was I really that obvious?’
Henry laughed. ‘Have a look. I might have got it completely wrong.’
Willow pulled the folder towards her and opened it cautiously. Whatever was inside could potentially mean this thing was about to come alive, and although a part of her was ready for it, a large part of her was not.
She picked up the first piece of paper, struck first by the beautiful colour of the artwork, a soft green, like a summer meadow. Then there were pale golden hues, a gorgeous pink – the colour of the setting sun, a deep cranberry and a dark purple, the exact shade of ripe blackberry juice. There were bold scripts, elegant scripts and modern edgy patterns. Willow couldn’t believe it. She looked up in astonishment.
‘How did you do all this, it must have taken you an age?’
Henry simply smiled. ‘I was on a roll,’ he said. ‘Do you think any of them are what you’re looking for?’
Willow gazed on in wonder. ‘I think they’re stunning. How will I ever choose? Every one of these could make a perfect logo, and I love the way you’ve put them onto some packaging already. It makes them so much easier to see what they would look like.’
‘It’s what I do.’ Henry shrugged.
A rush of excitement hit Willow like a wave. ‘Can I take these away with me, to have another look? I’ve got a couple of friends I’d like to show them to as well, if that would be all right.’
Henry waved a hand. ‘Sure, they’re yours for as long as you want. They’ll probably need some tweaking too, so just let me know what works and what doesn’t, and we can go from there.’
‘Oh my God,’ squealed Willow. ‘Thank you so much!’ She lurched up from the sofa much to Dylan’s disgust, coffee forgotten. ‘I’ll bring you some more ice cream,’ she gushed as she rushed to the door. ‘Thank you so much, Henry.’
* * *
Henry watched her go, an amused smile on his face. His hunch had been right then. He gave a sigh; time to get back to work. But then he checked his watch, picked up his spoon once more, and worked his way steadily through the entire carton of ice cream. He liked Willow, in fact he liked both of them. He’d shared a pint or two with Jude and always found him very likeable. He had pots of money of course, and a love of the finer things in life; but it rarely got the better of him. Most of the time, he appeared to be an ordinary bloke, much like himself. Only now and then had Henry seen a little seam of something darker running through him, but Jude was a very successful man, and Henry supposed it came with the territory. He wanted Willow to succeed, for her sake and, actually it was sweet that she was so reticent about her capabilities. She shouldn’t be. Henry was a pretty good cook himself, but Willow was amazing. Her food was so full of flavour, so full of life. He suspected that she could make even a cardboard box taste exceptional.
* * *
It wasn’t until Willow got to the bottom of the lane again that she remembered her dream. It flashed in front of her as her hand touched the gate to open it. An explosion in her mind, much like the lightning that she remembered, and she turned quickly to look behind her. The wind was filling the canopy of the trees above her, lifting the leaves in a song above her head. Beyond them there was nothing but more trees and the dusty ground of the lane which reached back towards Henry’s house and the clearing where Jude also had his office. She knew that she was in the right place, though; that beyond the trees was a gentle sweep of pasture land almost as far as the eye could see, land which at the moment was a carpet of grasses and wild flowers, of hedgerows and swaying corn. It wouldn’t take much to reduce it to the muddy hell hole she had seen, just a few diggers and an unhealthy greed. She shuddered, gripped by the force of the images and clutched Henry’s folder to her. She had to hope that time would be on her side.
35
‘How long is it since you moved here, Merry?’ asked Willow. ‘Only it looks like you’ve been here forever.’
Merry laughed. ‘Well, that’s only because everything is so old…myself included. I can’t believe how tiring it is, running a shop. I thought we were busy before with the hotel, but I guess I’d forgotten how much I used to delegate,’ she added ruefully. ‘But it is absolutely the best fun ever. I wish we’d done it years ago.’
Willow eyed the garishly coloured fittings and decoration. ‘It shouldn’t work really, should it?’ she commented. ‘All I remember from the seventies is that it was dubbed the decade that taste forgot, but this is stunning, inspired even.’
Merry and Freya exchanged looks before Merry grinned and pointed to a rather grand portrait on the wall. ‘It was inspired, actually,’ she said. ‘Meet Christopher, our artist in residence, his wife, Marina, and their daughter, Catherine. They’re all dead by the way.’
The painting was very striking, but Willow wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It looked almost as though it had been freshly painted. ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ she said. ‘How can he be your artist in residence if he’s dead?’
‘I’ll tell you all about it some time,’ said Merry. ‘But all the work you can see on the walls is Christopher’s. He was quite a well-known artist in his time; he designed wallpaper and textiles, that kind of thing. He once owned the house, and we found all these things just packed away when we moved here. It seemed right to reuse them, and they gave us the theme we were looking for.’
‘It’s amazing,’ answered Willow. ‘I love it. But you said you’ve still got things to do, more plans for the place?’
‘We have,’ said Merry. ‘There are things we’d like to try, but what I’d love to show you is this little space out the back here.’
She led the way through the main part of the shop, past tables overflowing with produce, and through an archway into the rear. The smell in here was even more amazing. An array of old cupboards and bookcases lined the walls, every inch of which was covered with bottles and jars, or packets and boxes. What set these apart from the items for sale in the rest of the shop was the packaging itself and the labels. None of the items looked mass-produced, and all had an air of quality about them. The labels were classy and individual, they looked hand-lettered. It was exactly the look that Willow herself was hoping to achieve.
Willow looked about her, picking her way around the room, peering at the contents on display, and wondering whether she would be able to compete; moreover, whether anything she could produce would actually fit in here, the room was crammed to the gills as it was.
‘View these as only temporary,’ said Merry. ‘We wanted to introduce some speciality products alongside the everyday staples we offer, but we didn’t have enough time before we opened to seek out the suppliers we really wanted to use: local people with fabulous local produce. We’re taking our time discovering who, and what is out there, people like you, Willow. So bit by bit, we plan to replace this lot with new lines as we find the right suppliers. What was more important in the beginning was to establish whether or not these type of products would sell, and admittedly we haven’t been open that long, but people do seem to like them. I’m convinced that we’ll continue to do well with them.’
‘But I’m not sure how long it will be before I’m up and running,’ said Willow. ‘I don’t want to hold you up, and I’m not sure yet what kind of quantities I’ll be able to make.’ She picked up a jar of bramble jelly, very similar in fact to the jars that lined her own pantry shelves at home. It was so exciting to see the possibilities of what the shop might offer her, but it also brought home just how much hard work this would involve, and what a big leap it would be for her. She still wasn’t sure whether it was something she should go ahead with, but all her instincts were telling her it was. Perhaps it was the fear of what she suspected was coming next that prevented her from making the next move.
‘Well, why don’t we take it a step at a time,’ said Merry. ‘Your fruit is amazing right now, and I would certainly love to sell some for you. Can you imagine how the strawberries would smell in here? Why don’t we start with some of the fruit varieties, and perhaps some bottles of your cordial, and that would give you a little more time to think about your other products, particularly the ice creams. It would also give you some time to have a play at home before you agree to provide us with anything.’
Willow didn’t mean it to, but her face fell a little. She should be treading more carefully here. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Merry, but this was a small community, and the village shop was the fount of all gossip. What would happen if people found out what Jude was planning before she’d had a chance to put her own plans into place? It didn’t bear thinking about, but time was of the essence now.
