Empty Nest by Marty Wingate Read Free Book Online

estate agent.
    He was taller than Linus but not quite reaching Cecil’s height, in his mid-fifties with mostly brown hair in that shade that might’ve been blond when he was younger; short on the sides, it had a distinct wave on top. He had well-defined cheekbones, a thin nose, and a weathered look. Not a bad-looking man, only a quite serious-looking one. His canvas trousers were soft and well-worn, his clean boots polished but broken in, and his sheepskin coat retained a dried leaf or two.
    Rushing out from behind the counter, I slapped a smile on my face that I hoped didn’t come across as maniacal. My heart rose in my throat, causing my voice to squeeze out with an accompanying unpleasant quaver.
    “Hello, good afternoon to you all.”
    Linus took off his helmet and said, “Julia, may I present Geoffrey Addleton, our new estate agent?”
    I put my hand out and swallowed a small cry, surprised at his firm grip and the rough calluses pressing against my palm. “Mr. Addleton, I’m happy to meet you.”
    “Ms. Lanchester,” he replied, nodding.
    “Where were you working before this?” I asked.
    “Dorset.”
    His gaze was unflinching, as if daring me to ask more. “The entire county?”
    He squinted one eye at me. “No, at a house near Beer Hackett—a few miles from Yeovil.” He stepped back and took in his surroundings. “A good space here—it would bring in a fair rent if it were let as a shop.”
    And I was turned out on the street? I gave a tinny laugh.
    “Isn’t the tourism center partially funded from the Heritage Lottery Fund?” Cecil asked.
    “Yes,” I said, surprised that he knew. “We have a two-year grant. And I hope that the TIC can benefit the estate more than the rent from a shop would. Please, come through and sit down.” I gestured to the back and introduced Vesta.
    They settled at the table. Linus had an encouraging smile for me, bless him—Addleton and Cecil offered nothing. It was quite close in the back, with three men and Vesta and me.
    “I thought we’d begin today with a little taste of what’s to come. On Saturday, Adam will have an old-fashioned screw press for the children to watch, and he’ll have the larger press in the cider house going as well.” I turned my back to them, opened a bottle, and began filling the teacups, but my hands trembled and I spilled. Vesta reached over and covered my hand with hers, and I could feel her calm warmth seep through my skin. I gave her a quick smile and a nod before she went out front to keep an eye on the door.
    “Here now,” I said, turning to the men with cups in my hands, “is a sample of Bugg’s Best Cider, made locally on the estate.”
    Geoffrey Addleton looked at my offering. “Are we drinking in the middle of a work day?” he asked.
    I plunked his cup down in front of him. “It’s a cup of cider, not a fifth of gin.”
    Had I said that aloud? I cut my eyes to Linus, who only smiled more broadly as he took up his sample. “You’re not required to drink on the job, Addleton, but I for one am delighted for a taste.” He raised his cup to me, and I took up my own.
    “I’m not opposed to a drink, your Lordship,” Addleton said, dispatching his own sample in one swallow, “although I’m more of a whisky man.”
    Cecil followed suit. “Adam and I used to play in that orchard when we were boys—do you remember, Father?”
    “I remember a fair number of scrapes and bruises from the two of you falling out of old apple trees.” Linus, with a distant look in his eyes, smiled at his son before turning to me. “Thank you, Julia. And now, shall we begin?”
    With that cue, my nerves stretched to their limits. I sat on my hands so that no one would see them shake. “I’m delighted that you were all able to be here today so that I can talk about our overarching goals and aspirations for tourism on the estate.” I stopped and swallowed.
    Linus drew out a small notebook—he always liked to jot down details. Addleton