Downstairs in the kitchen Tess greeted Mr Bell, scrubbing his hands at the sink. He was a tall, spare man, with a long, rather lugubrious face, though appearances were deceptive, for he had a keen sense of humour and enjoyed a joke. He was not demonstrative, so Tess was surprised when he patted her on the head before taking his place at the table. At his wife’s command he removed his greasy tweed cap and threw it at the hook on the back door. Tess smiled. ‘You ought to go on the fair, Mr Bell,’ she said. ‘If there was a cap throwing contest you’d win hands down. Wish I could throw anything as accurately as that!’

Jonty laughed. ‘That’s a thought, Dad,’ he said approvingly. ‘You have come out of your shell, Tess Williams!’

‘Never you mind our Jonty,’ Mrs Bell interrupted. ‘Just you sit down so’s I can start dishin’ up. And don’t encourage Mr Bell to go hurlin’ his cap at the door; if I’ve told him once I’ve told him a hundred times that my kitchen int a fairground.’

Tess settled in her place and began to eat. The food was lovely but it was eaten more or less in silence, apart from such requests as ‘pass the salt’ or ‘can I have another piece of bread please?’ and Tess remembered that it had always been the way, in order to finish eating and return to farm work as quickly as possible. She smiled to herself, thinking how different life was with Gran. They chatted away at mealtimes, telling each other any interesting news they had gleaned during the day, interrupting, laughing and generally enjoying the talk as much as the food. But now she had to wait until the meal was finished and Mr Bell had returned to the farmyard before the farmer’s wife spoke up. She was clattering dishes into the sink whilst Tess dried them and Jonty put them away.

‘You’ll not know that Mr Bell is using the pastures beyond the cut to fatten beef cattle,’ her hostess began. ‘He go into Norwich every two or three weeks and buy poor stock which he can see will make up, given the right grub. Of course we’re still mainly arable – sugar beet and wheat as well as the orchards – but beef cattle are worth a tidy sum, and there’s talk of getting more pigs . . .’

‘Oh, you do go on, Ma,’ Jonty cut in, no doubt seeing that Tess was struggling to find an appropriate comment. ‘She’ll find out for herself how things have changed as time goes on.’

Mrs Bell looked reproachful. ‘She don’t know we’ve bought Larkin’s, so things have changed a lot,’ she pointed out. She turned to Tess. ‘I didn’t tell you we’d bought Willow Farm, did I? Old man Larkin retired and neither of his sons wanted to work the land. The farmhouse is terribly rackety and run down, but one of these days when we’ve time to spare we’ll do it up and either sell it or pass it to young Jonty here when he’s got hisself a wife and needs a place of his own.’