Country Lovers by Rebecca Shaw

Phil?”
    â€œAt an auction. Farmer packing up, selling everything, including the farmhouse—fed up to the back teeth with not making money at the job, and I went along.” He tapped the side of his nose, well, more accurately tapped his balaclava in the area of where his nose would be if one could see it. “Heard a rumor, you know how it is, glad to be shut of the lot and everything might be going cheap. So Blossom and me went along and there he was, one of the last lots. Blossom nudged me and I nudged her and told her not to look too enthusiastic, but you know Blossom. Anyways, things went according to plan, and I got him for a song. What do you reckon?”
    â€œI reckon you’ve got a gem. An absolute gem. What have you called him?”
    â€œBlossom’s named him Star. What do you think?”
    â€œSpot on. Oh yes. Spot on. Star! I like that.”
    â€œWell, he is, isn’t he? A star.”
    â€œHe certainly is. Is he friendly?”
    â€œHamish is training him.”
    â€œHow is Hamish?”
    Phil looked at Dan as though pondering what to say. “He’s OK. Got over Sunny Boy goring him, but the youth still isn’t up to scratch in here.” Phil banged his chest.
    â€œNot talking yet, then?”
    Phil shook his head. “Not yet, but Blossom keeps hoping. The youth’s been through something terrible, that’s for sure; what, we don’t know, and we can’t ask the authorities for any help else they’ll be for taking him away and that wouldn’t do. He’s happy and that’s what matters, after all. One day it’ll come when he’s been loved enough.” Phil fell silent after his final perceptive statement, and the two of them leaned companionably on the wall watching Star.
    Dan heard the rapid tap tap tap of Blossom’s high-heeled shoes, and she appeared carrying a tray with three glasses on it. She and Phil were so totally mismatched, Dan found it hard to believe that this peroxided, heavily made-up, dazzlingly dressed, twiglike person could possibly be the wife of stout, rotund, good-natured, shambling old Phil. She held out the tray. “Here we are—take one. A whisky to toast our new bull. Isn’t he brilliant, Dan?”
    â€œHe most certainly is, Mrs. Parsons. I reckon Phil’s got an eye for a good bull. He doesn’t get taken in by a lot of show but recognizes stamina and good breeding when he sees it, and that counts.” Dan raised his glass. “To Star. Long may he reign!”
    â€œTo a perfect physical specimen!” Blossom clinked Dan’s glass with hers and by the twinkle in her eyes when she winked at him, it wasn’t only the bull she was toasting. Time he went, Dan thought.
    â€œHow’s your son and heir, Dan? Doing well? And Rose? We’d love to meet them both.”
    â€œWell, perhaps sometime when I’m calling I’ll pick them up and bring them along. I’m sure Rose would like to meet you too. Must go. Other calls.” His visit with Star had cheered him considerably, but at the back of his mind was the problem at Bridge Farm.
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    A FTER Dan left, Joy sat pondering the situation with Newcastle disease and what it would mean at Bridge Farm. It would be a terrible shame if their chickens had to be slaughtered; after all, they weren’t any old chickens but a pedigreed flock. It would have to be dealt with very delicately. Thinking of delicate problems reminded her of Duncan. She wondered how he was, striding out over the hills in his steady, relentless pace.
    Joy took the photographs she had picked up on her lunch hour out of her bag. There was a particularly striking one of Duncan leaning on a fence looking ahead, apparently oblivious to the camera. She’d caught him in profile and focused on him so that the camera was looking slightly upward at him. Anyone else would have admired the drama of that shot, and