She glanced around. She didn’t know anything about farms. She thought that she must have been on a school trip once. That was about it. She knew about closing gates, that there was manure everywhere, that you shouldn’t let your dog in, and that there were electric fences. All of those things conspired to make her think that perhaps farms were fairly scary places to be. On the other hand, she didn’t know what she’d do otherwise in terms of finding a place to stay. She couldn’t even afford the pub for much longer.
The mountains opposite were gleaming with sunshine, even though the day was chilly. Nina had sought out her winter parka before she’d come up, and she was glad of it now, even though it was technically spring. She pulled it closer around her and tried to figure out what to do.
Half an hour later, she was utterly engrossed in Fair Stood the Wind for France in the front of the van, with the radio on, when a violent banging on the driver’s window made her start. She looked up, blinking, as she often did when she was immersed in a book, not quite knowing where she was.
Standing next to the van was a rather gruff-looking man wearing a flat cap on curly brown hair. He wasn’t smiling. Nina wound down the window.
“Um, hello,” she said, suddenly totally shy.
“You can’t park here! It’s not a campsite,” barked the man.
Nina stared back at him, slightly shocked. “Yes, I know that,” she said. She pulled the handle to open the door, and the man, reluctantly, stepped back. When she jumped down, she realized he was extremely tall and was holding a big stick. He was rather imposing, in fact.
“And I’m not expecting any deliveries. Are you lost?”
Nina was about to say he didn’t know what a deep question that was for this particular time in her life, but instead set her chin forward.
“I was told to come and look at the cottage,” she said. “I thought you knew.”
There was a moment’s quiet. Then his hand went to his forehead.
“Oh,” he said gruffly. “Right. I’d forgotten all about that.”
There was another silence as Nina waited for him to apologize, which he didn’t.
“Do people often try and camp here?” she asked, kicking a stone with her toe.
“Aye,” he said. “I don’t mind normally, if they ask first. Well. It depends.”
“On whether you like the look of them?” said Nina, trying to raise a smile.
The man didn’t answer, just sighed briefly.
“Do you want to see the place then?”
“Um, yes please.” She stuck out her hand. “Nina Redmond.”
The man looked at her, then took it. His hand was strong, large, and weather-beaten, a working hand. He was, she realized, younger than she’d thought at first.
“Lennox,” he said shortly.
“Like Lewis was?” Nina said before she could help herself. He frowned even more deeply, if that was possible.
“If you like,” he said in a thick, melodious accent, and Nina instantly regretted saying it.
“Right,” he said. “Follow me.” And he set off across the farmyard with a broad stride, scattering the chickens that had come out to see him.
About twenty yards from the house, tucked away at the end of a beaten track that Nina eyed carefully but figured she could probably get the van up, was a stone building.
“You’re sure you don’t mind me parking the van here?” she asked nervously.
“What on earth have you got a van for?” said Lennox. “You’re only little.”
“Why can’t short people drive vans?” said Nina crossly. “Anyway, I’m a perfectly normal size. You’re too tall.”
“Well, at least I don’t need a ladder to get into my van.”
“Well, at least I don’t need to wear a pillow on my head to get through a door frame,” said Nina. It was, she found, oddly liberating to be rude to someone who was rude first. She wasn’t normally nearly so cheeky.
“Hmm,” he grunted. “You can park it there. If you can maneuver it.”
“I hope you weren’t about to be sexist?” said Nina.
“No,” said Lennox. “Um. Not sure. It’s difficult to tell these days.”
Nina looked at the muddy slope next to the building. “I’m sure it’ll be totally fine,” she said, trying to sound blithely confident.
“Well, maybe leave it in gear. Which you knew already, as you are totally competent about everything,” said Lennox quickly.
Nina stepped forward to inspect the building. It just looked like a barn.
“Have you got the key?” she said.
“Oh. Yes. Key,” said Lennox vaguely. “I didn’t think of that. Don’t lock up much around here.”
“Because you know, if I rent it, I’ll probably need a key.”
Lennox squinted against the sun. “I’m sure I know where it is . . . It’s definitely somewhere.”
The barn door was made of heavy wood. The entire place looked very forbidding. Nina worried suddenly that it wasn’t actually converted, that it would just be an old barn filled with straw, with eaves open to the sky and one set of silverware. Which had always sounded like utter heaven when it happened in Heidi, but she wasn’t at all sure what it would be like now. She took a deep breath as Lennox pushed the door open and groped around inside for the lights, which turned on.
“Oh thank goodness,” he said. “I couldnae remember if we’d wired it up or not. Obviously we did.”
Nina followed him into the space. It smelled a little musty and dank, like a place that hadn’t been lived in, and there was a chill to the air. But she didn’t notice that. She didn’t notice it at all.
Instead, as she stepped forward, she stared straight ahead. Someone had installed, at what must have been vast expense, big picture windows on the south side of the barn, the side facing away from where they’d come in, so you couldn’t see the farmhouse or the road behind it or the mountains to the north, simply what looked like an advertisement for bread: miles of gently rolling hills carved up by lazy stone walls; blobs of sheep; wildflower meadows; and a long, low river with a humpback bridge over it.
All that could be heard through the double glazing was a little lowing, while a chicken scratched about on the small lawn space that had been formed out in the front.