Free Honey's Farm by Iris Gower Page A

another animal, she reminded herself.
    Just then old Mr Evans, who had his back to Fon, called out joyously, ‘Go on, you devil, give my Bessie a good rogering! Let me get my money’s worth!’
    Jamie had seen Fon, noticed her high colour, but did not seek to ease her embarrassment. Instead, to her chagrin, he appeared amused by her discomfort.
    â€˜Ah, look, some refreshments,’ he said loudly. The men surrounding the pen turned and took the mugs from the tray, waiting stoically as Fon poured out the strong beer.
    Mr Evans tipped his hat to her. ‘Sorry if I was a bit coarse, missis,’ he said. ‘Didn’t see you there, mind.’
    Fon muttered something, wanting to make her escape, but Jamie was smiling, leaning against the fence, allowing her to hand out the beer.
    The bull had stood down, breathing heavily, his task seemingly completed. The evil eyes seemed half-closed, but Fon shuddered, knowing she was afraid of the black beast.
    â€˜Refill, missis.’ Farmer Evans held out his mug, and Fon bit her lip at his abrupt tone.
    She heard the harsh rasping of the bull behind her and turned to look over her shoulder. She had thought the mating over, but now the huge black creature was pawing the ground once more, eyes glinting, his readiness to repeat his performance alarmingly plain for all to see.
    Fon placed the tray on the ground, determined to remain no longer, and, catching Patrick’s hand, she led him back to the kitchen.
    She was angry with Jamie for embarrassing her and more for enjoying her discomfiture. But by the time the men came indoors for their meal, everything was under control. including Fon’s emotions.
    â€˜Where’s Pat?’ Jamie asked, seating himself at the head of the table.
    â€˜Gone to bed. He’s worn out,’ Fon said coldly, ‘and, incidentally, so am I.’
    The last words were spoken quietly, so that Jamie alone heard them.
    â€˜A bit of cooking too much for you, is it, then?’ Jamie asked, his eyes meeting hers in a level gaze.
    It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that trying to keep the food hot after spending hours cooking it was no joke, but farmer Evans was helping himself to a liberal plateful of meat and a burst of laughter from his companion reminded her that they had company.
    â€˜Good job done there, all right.’ The farmer’s companion, who was so like Ian Evans that he could only have been his brother, slapped a big hand against his thigh. ‘Get a good calf out of that cow in due course, I shouldn’t wonder.’
    â€˜Aye,’ Ian Evans agreed, helping himself to more beef. ‘Got a fine randy animal there, Jamie, lad! A bit like his master, is he?’ He winked suggestively, and Jamie smiled without replying.
    â€˜Got another cow coming into season any day now,’ farmer Evans said more soberly. ‘Bring her up here will I?’
    â€˜Please yourself,’ Jamie said reasonably, ‘though I don’t think you’ll get finer stock from any other animal in a twenty-mile radius.’
    Fon wished they’d stop talking about the animals, at least for the duration of the meal. She told herself it was something she must get used to; it was Jamie’s living, after all, and the bull had to pay somehow for its keep.
    As though sensing her thoughts, Ian Evans took some shillings out of his pocket and spread them on the white cloth like a conjuror demonstrating his sleight of hand.
    â€˜That do you, Jamie, man?’ he asked, and before any reply was made he turned to Fon. ‘Bit of apple pie now, missis, if you please.’
    At last the farmer, along with his more jocular brother, took his leave. Tommy stayed to help Fon wash the dishes, and he glanced at her shyly.
    â€˜They mean no harm, missis,’ he said apologetically, ‘though I suppose to a town girl farm ways seem rude and coarse-like.’
    â€˜It’s all right, Tommy,’ Fon