Anne Doughty - Second Chance at the Belfast Guesthouse

She stood up and cleared away the empty plates and dishes and carried a domed silver dish ceremoniously to the table. Once part of the equipment for serving a cooked breakfast to be laid out on the long sideboard in the dining room, it had been redeployed for covering whatever might be a temptation to the summer flies. She removed the cover with a flourish.

‘Shall I carve, or will you?’ she asked soberly.

Andrew peered at the soft icing decorating one of June’s Victoria sponges and looked at her quizzically. ‘Did you put this icing on?’

‘I added the little sugar flowers, but June did the house and the fields. She said a cow was a bit much at short notice.’

‘So it is an anniversary, or nearly. Are you telling me we can think about buying a cow and a field?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said, as she picked up the cake knife and handed it to him. ‘Perhaps even two of each if we can do as well next year as we have this year. We can certainly open a new account. What shall we call it? Cows or fields? Or Drumsollen estate?’

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