“Ms Payne, wait,” Edward calls from behind me as he struggles untangle the seatbelt and climb out of the car. All he does is call Mr Johnston’s attention to himself.
Mr Johnston raises his fist, finger pointing towards the passenger door of our car. “You! You’re that professor from St Margaret. Edmund, something?”
“It’s Edward, actually…” Edward interrupts, finally standing up.
Brandishing his broom, Mr Johnston’s voice booms across the car park. “I don’t care what your name is. I’ve seen you lording around the college grounds, too good to acknowledge the help. You people are all the same. Stuffed shirts, noses stuck into the air. You couldn’t care less what happens to little people like my family. You all sat back and let that bloody woman chef ruin us, our lives, and our business. Now you come here to my home and try to run me over. Get out of here!”
Oh great, this is exactly the scene I promised Dr Radcliffe we’d avoid. I look at Edward, hoping he’s about to launch into a very apologetic speech which will bring Mr Johnston’s temper down from the stratosphere. As I catch sight of his face, I’m reminded why I’m along for the ride. Anger colours his cheeks and I can see his finger rising into the air, prepared to let Mr Johnston have it right back again.
My mind goes blank, my eyes leaping frantically around the farm, desperate for an idea. I weigh and discard options in an instant. Tractor - too far away. Hay bale - too heavy. A lone rooster crows in the distance. Insane, but it is the first thing I see that might work as both a distraction and a tension reliever.
With no further hesitation, I leap in between the two men, pointing towards the chicken. “Did that bird just lay an egg? Unbelievable, I’ve never seen one do that outside a henhouse!”
Mr Johnston pauses, confusion crossing his brow as he follows the direction of my finger. “An egg? That’s a rooster.”
Before I can say anything else, Mrs Johnston rounds the corner of the barn, coming to a halt at the scene in front of her.
Edward looming. Me, finger pointed at a chicken. And her husband, with broom raised to clobber us both.
“Derek, what on earth? What are you doing to Ms Payne? And who is that behind her?”
Mr Johnston lowers his arm and looks at his wife in disbelief. “You know this woman?”
Mrs Johnston nods. “She’s the one I told you about. She came by yesterday, introduced herself and offered us a pathway back into supplying the college.”
Lowering the broom, Mr Johnston wipes a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about that, all the blustering on at you.”
Mrs Johnston comes over and wraps an arm around her husband’s waist. He doesn’t seem so scary now that I can see she has a firm hold on him. “You’ll have to forgive my husband, Ms Payne. He’s quick to fly off the handle, but he’s a gentle old soul at heart.”
With his temper gone, I can see a bright twinkle in his eyes and a ruddy cheer in his cheeks. If you put a red hat and suit on him and dyed his beard white, he’d be a dead ringer for St Nick.
Smiling apologetically, Mr Johnston passes the broom over to his wife before reaching out a hand. “My family is my weak spot. Ms Payne, was it? I’m Derek, Derek Johnston.”
I accept his offer to shake, grimacing as his hand threatens to crush my own. Edward stays firmly behind me.
Mr Johnston wraps his arm around his wife, smiling at her. “We’ve worked so hard to build up this life, so we can be able to afford to give our children every opportunity in the world. I get my back up at the mere thought of someone trying to take it all away from us. I’d do anything for her and for those kids of mine.”
Relieved that we’ve got past the initial tension, I reassure him, “I can understand that, Mr Johnston. No harm done. I’m sure it didn’t help that I startled you with my arrival.”
Edward harrumphs, causing me to motion behind my back for him to keep quiet.
“Our kids worship the ground he walks on,” says Mrs Johnston. “The eldest less so now that she is at uni. She’s too grown up to admit she still loves her old da. She’s a chip right off the old block, you need the patience of a saint to put up with her.”
Mr Johnston chuckles, “Come now, dear, she’s not so bad. She’s got a slower burning temper than I do. If I time it right, I can usually calm her down before she reaches the point of exploding.” He looks at Edward and I, “But enough about us, what brings you two back out here again?”
Oops. Instead of fighting over the radio, Edward and I should have been planning our strategy in advance. Too late now, no option but to muster on as best as we can.
“As you know, I had a lovely chat with your wife yesterday about local chefs and the possibility of you returning to St Margaret as a supplier. I was updating Dr Radcliffe this morning, and she wanted to make sure you were both comfortable with the planned return, given how unhappy you were when you last spoke with her.” I point at Edward, continuing, “Edward walked through and overheard the end of our conversation. He offered to ride over with me.”
Edward steps up to my side, looking at me for confirmation that he should speak. I nod in encouragement.
“I felt, out of respect for the college’s long relationship with your family, that it would be best
