Ed sat down in his father’s chair, and crossed his legs in a deliberate effort to show that he was relaxed. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘Dr Benson is the Kansas state expert on crop protection. Whatever father thought about him, and however erratic he might seem to be—’

‘Alcoholic, more like,’ sniffed Mrs Hardesty.

‘All right, alcoholic. Erratic. Whatever. But he’s still the man I have to do business with, week in and week out, and if I go over his head now there’s never going to be any chance of my getting a favour out of him in the future. I know what he’s like. I’m not dumb. But I told Willard to kick his keister if he dragged his feet, and I think he’ll be able to help us.’

Mrs Hardesty suddenly and unexpectedly turned to Season. ‘What do you think, my dear?’ she demanded.

Season shrugged. ‘I don’t think anything. I don’t think I’ve ever met Dr Benson. Whatever Ed decides to do is fine by me.’

Mrs Hardesty rose to her feet. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’ she said, in a frivolously sarcastic tone. ‘“Whatever Ed decides to do is fine by me.” Have you ever heard any wheat-farmer’s wife come out with such a positive and helpful contribution? Do you know something, my dear, when I was mistress of this farm, I used to spend all my waking hours finding out about crops and how to grow them. I was as much an expert on wheat as Ed’s father was. I could talk about planting and harvesting with the best of them, and I could take a tractor to pieces with my own bare hands. This region is lousy with sidewalk farmers, who commute to their farms from Wichita and Kansas City, and lousy with suitcase farmers, who spend most of their time in Chicago and Los Angeles, and only fly in for the sowing and the harvesting. Well, Dan Hardesty wasn’t one of them, and neither was I. We lived on our land and we took care of our crops and we produced more grain on these eighty-five thousand acres than most farms that were twice our size. We did it together, Dan and I, and that’s why I can hardly believe my ears when I hear you saying that you don’t care about it.’

‘I didn’t say that I don’t care about it,’ put in Season. ‘I simply said that I respect Ed’s judgement.’

‘Come on, Mother,’ said Ed. ‘We all know what you and Daddy did to build up South Burlington. It’s part of the family’s history. But can’t you just leave it alone?’

‘I see,’ said Mrs Hardesty. ‘You’re prepared to talk about your father and I as ancient history – a bedtime story for Sally, maybe – but you’re not prepared to take my advice?’

‘Mother, this is my farm now.’