Cidered in Sidmouth Page 6

  “Very impressive,” said Frank, genuinely amazed by the clear description of the complex process.

  “Yes it is,” said Harry. “We try to ferment the cider as slowly as possible through the winter before bottling it in April. The cider should be clear and absolutely brilliant before bottling. If we get it right, then bottled cider will keep and improve for several years.”

  “Just like wine?”

  “Exactly. We’ve found that the old‌-‌fashioned way produces the very best cider. You’ll not taste any better cider in the whole West Country, including Zummerzet!”

  “There’s a great deal of skill in every part of the process.”

  “Yes, not everybody can make great cider. We can. We do.”

  Frank and Ella were treated to a small sampling of last year’s vintage. It was delightfully, brilliantly clear and sweet tasting. It was the colour of yellow harvest, the taste of sweet summer apples.

  “Time to go.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to get apple‌-‌pied.”

  “Thanks for the tour,” Ella said, “I hope you sort out your cider marketing problems.”

  “Cheers.”

  They made their way back to the car.

  ***

  “Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

  “Ella, I only had a sip. I know my responsibilities.”

  “I believe you. Why don’t we go into Cullompton and see if we can buy a few bottles of Sowden Valley Select? It’ll make a nice change from our usual cup of water at dinner.”

  Ella took her phone out to switch off the recording app only to discover her phone battery was down to one percent. The app had turned itself off automatically.

  “Well, I’ll be clotted!” she cried.

  Frank looked at her. Ella looked at Frank. They both burst out laughing.

  “You’re becoming a local yokel, speaking like that!”

  “Sorry, Frank, it just came out of nowhere. I turned my phone app on to record the conversation and the battery’s run out. I don’t know how much it recorded. Did I miss something? He seemed to be willing to give out far more information than we wanted to know!”

  “Yes, I thought that as well. We’ll check on the recording when we get home.”

  “Could he be our ‘Arry? The one they said to steer clear of?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. If he is, at least, he’s got an alibi.”

  “He seemed very determined to let us know where he was on the day of the murder.”

  “Hope that wasn’t a guilty conscience. I quite liked him.”

  ***

  Frank started the car engine and they drove off away from Sowden Valley Farm. After a mile or so, the farm was already far behind them when Ella reminded Frank about going into Cullompton to find some of that Select Cider.

  “Just for a little background research, of course!”

  “Naturally, what other reason?”

  “Well, I fancy some lunch. Don’t you?”

  “A good old fashioned roast dinner.”

  “In the middle of the week?”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re retired with nothing else to do so why not?”

  “Nothing else to do. We’re rapidly becoming full time detectives.”

  As they drove over the M5 and approached Cullompton, Frank began ruminating over the early part of their meeting with Harry.

  “You know, I don’t think we were very good detectives back in the farm office.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, we told him as much as he told us. Next time we need to speak much less, listen a lot more and concentrate. We need to ask open‌-‌ended questions. It’s a bit like being a teacher once again.”

  Ella nodded. “I know what you mean. We used to get the youngsters to exercise their thinking skills and not just copying everything we say parrot fashion.”

  “Let their thoughts flow and who knows what they’ll reveal.”

  “Right. I’m willing to learn from my mistakes.”

  “Same here.”

  They were in Cullompton now. Ella pointed at a pub coming up on her left. “Let’s stop here. It looks cosy and the board outside is advertising roasts every day.”

  They struck lucky. The pub was cosy. Warm and cosy. It served an excellent lunch of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with all the trimmings. And they stocked the cider they had heard so much about during the morning. Frank wasn’t sure how potent Sowden Valley Select would be, so they bought a couple of bottles to take home and sample later. In the pub he stayed with the orange juice and lemonade.

  Meal over and a reasonable bill paid, they climbed back in their car and decided to take the A373, the quiet road to Honiton rather than use the motorway to go back home.

  After a couple of gentle miles, Frank frowned, “That’s strange.”

  “What?”

  “Well, there’s an old rusty landrover behind us. I swear he was behind us on the way into Cullompton. I think we might be being followed.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to take a right here. Signposted Luton and Clyst William.”

  They turned off the Honiton road.

  Ella checked in her wing mirror. “They’ve turned off as well. Could just be an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “OK. Let’s go through Luton and head for Payhembury.”

  Frank kept a watchful eye on their followers in his rear‌-‌view mirror. Ella kept her gaze on the wing mirror. “They’re still behind us. Frank, I don’t like this.”

  Then she screamed “Watch out!!”

  Frank was confronted by a large tractor towing a muck spreader manoeuvring itself around the approaching t‌-‌junction. The road was only wide enough for one vehicle. Frank skidded to a halt, swerved onto the grass and narrowly avoided scratches from the overhanging hedges. He missed the tractor by what seemed like millimetres and slid back on to the narrow winding road.

  The tractor was slower to react and stumbled to a standstill some 10 metres later blocking the whole road. The rusty landrover screeched to a halt and despite a cacophony of horn blasts, was forced to reverse. The front seat passenger wound down his window and shouted “Stop! Wait! Stop!”

  Ella turned to Frank. “I don’t think so. Drive on whilst they’re stuck.”

  Frank sped onwards towards the main road. When he reached it, he turned left back towards Cullompton. He sped up when the road was straight, took the corners and bends as quickly but as carefully as he dared. It wasn’t a road for over‌-‌taking, very few Devon roads are. There were too many occasions when they were travelling too slowly for their liking.

  “Must be the slowest car chase ever!” scrawled Ella.

  Frank was too busy checking the rear‌-‌view mirror.

  “Still behind us. A couple of cars back but still behind.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well, we could stop and confront them. Or we could head to the motorway and try to lose them. This car is surely faster than an old landrover.”

  Ella’s face had turned paler than usual but there was steely determination in her voice. “I hope we don’t regret this but let’s lose them on the motorway.”

  “How many in the landrover? It looks like three of them?”

  Ella tried to use the wing mirror but with the speed they were travelling at, it was shaking and wobbling all over the place.

  “It’s difficult to be sure. I think, there’s three. There’s definitely two, the driver and a front seat companion. It looks like there’s just one in the back. They’re all wearing sunglasses. On a day like today!!”

  They reached the junction that led down to the motorway. The M5 had its usual share of lorries and vans. Frank weaved a bit around a couple of large lorries before heading for the outside lane.

  With a cry of “Geronimo!” he put his foot down. The car responded and soon reached triple figures. It didn’t feel that fast until Ella glanced out of the window at the crash barrier posts flashin
g by her.

  In no time at all, Frank was pulling off the motorway at Junction 30. Thankfully, he had driven the eleven miles without attracting the attention of the traffic police.

  “I’ve never driven so fast before in my life. And I don’t want to ever again!” Frank breathed an enormous sigh of relief that they had left the motorway and were still in one piece. However, he was forced to wait, for what appeared to be forever, at the traffic lights at the foot of the slip‌-‌road.

  “Come on, change!”

  “Can I open my eyes now?” Ella looked over at Frank. He was sweating. She looked in her passenger windshield mirror. She was still a whiter shade of pale.

  The car now appeared to be travelling really slowly as they settled into the usual 40mph on the A3052. They were headed for home.

  “Frank?”

  “Yes?”

  “They’re still behind us. About three cars back.”

  “Oh no, I thought we’d lost them. Right, I think it’s time to put Plan B into action.”

  “I hope it’s less scary than Plan A.”

  “Let’s wait and see. It’s involves a little bit of a confrontation.”

  “Oh, go for it, I’m right beside you!”

  Without warning, Frank turned sharp left off the main road towards a village signposted Farringdon. At a convenient passing place, he screeched to a halt.

  Chapter Ten

  Clearing away the cobwebs

  Solvitur ambulando 2

  The rusty landrover appeared chugging as fast as it could along the hedge lined lane. Thankfully for everyone at the scene it stumbled to a wheezing halt.

  Frank got out of the car and marched towards the landrover. He leant against the driver’s door and hammered was his clenched fist forcefully on the window.

  Ella joined him on the other side of the car just as the passenger opened the door. She slammed it shut catching him on the knees. A rather obvious swear word emanated from the passenger’s mouth.

  The driver successfully wound down his window.

  “Don’t you dare move. Stay in this rust bucket and start talking. Why are you trying to scare my wife half to death?”

  Frank recognised the three occupants immediately in spite of, or because of, the sunglasses.

  “You drive very fast for an old’un!” The driver tried a smile but it was obviously fake.

  “You’re a long way from Taunton!”

  “That’s a good ‘un!” came a cry from the back seat, “Down from Taunton like a grockel on a jolly.”

  “Why are you following us and endangering our lives?”

  “We just wanted to ask you a few questions.” The driver looked up at Frank with a fake news smile on his face.

  His front seat passenger leaned across and added, “We don’t mean you any harm.”

  The driver continued, “We tried to flag you down in Cullompton. I flashed my lights at you so many times. You must have seen us! You were the one driving like a bat out of hell down the M5.”

  “You scared us! We were trying to escape from you!” Ella joined in the conversation from around the other side of the landrover.

  “You’re lying about the lights. We didn’t see your headlights flashing once, let alone ‘so many times’!”

  The front passenger turned to speak to the occupant in the back seat. “Delbert, I told you to check the lights last night. Now both bulbs have gone. This is a disaster of a vehicle. We need something much better than this ‌-‌ what did he call it? ‌-‌ rust bucket!”

  “Never a truer word was spoken,” agreed the driver.

  The front seat passenger started to dominate the conversation. “Well, I’m sorry about that. It seems we weren’t having any success in attracting your attention. Still, no harm was done.”

  “No harm done?” blustered Ella.

  Front seat passenger waited for the echo of Ella’s words to fade away. “What we wanted to ask you is simply this. We love Sowden Valley Select. However, Harry Sowden doesn’t want his recipe to go outside of Devon. Furthermore, seeing we’re affectionately known as the Zummerset Zyder Mafia by the licensed victuallers here in Devon, he won’t sell to us.”

  “You haven’t asked your question yet!” said Frank.

  “Yes, you’re quite correct, of course. Well, it’s this. Have you been bidding for the recipe? If Harry sells his recipe to you, we’ll match your price and add on twenty five percent.”

  “Why would Harry sell to us?”

  “That’s why you were there this morning, wasn’t it? To bid for the Sowden Valley Select recipe? Do you work for one of the Devon Cider companies?”

  “Well, that’s for you to find out. But the price would be at least double, not a measly twenty five percent!”

  A voice piped up from the back seat, “Seems fair enough. Remember our mission ‌-‌ to protect the Zummerset Zyder makers?”

  The driver asked “Cash OK?”

  Ella could keep quiet no longer. “No, cash is not OK. Because we don’t have a recipe. We do not work for any Devon cider company. We did not bid for it. We have no interest in having a recipe. We wouldn’t know what to do with it if we did! And I’m not even sure if I like cider!”

  Frank stuck his face closer to the driver’s window. “Did you hear my wife? No business. No bidding. No recipe. No interest. No knowledge. No sell! Satisfied?”

  “Yes, for now. I believe you.” The driver smiled once more, a little more sincerely this time. “However, we’re not leaving Devon without Harry Sowden’s recipe!”

  “That’s up to you. From our point of view, please just leave us alone. Stop following us. Stop scaring my wife. Just…‌ Go away!”

  “Point taken. Goodbye!” The driver wound his window up and the landrover chugged into life and set off towards Farringdon. Five minutes later, it came back towards them. The passenger window was wound down, “Dead end, that way. We’re off back home. We need to regroup and decide upon…‌” he struggled to find the correct words.

  “Future strategy,” said the driver.

  “Good. Bye!” said Frank in his best head‌-‌masterly voice!

  “And good riddance,” Ella whispered under her breath.

  Frank and Ella got back into their car and sat there. Frank turned to Ella and saw the tears trickling down her face.

  “Why don’t we just go home and forget about the whole dismal business?” he said.

  Ella bravely nodded.

  ***

  For the next couple of days, they stayed wrapped up snugly at home. A two thousand piece jigsaw was completed, a box set bought last year was finally viewed, and, in between, Ella caught up with her reading on her Kindle. The clouds were grey and enveloped Mutter’s Moor. The rain rolled along the valley floor. There was little incentive to venture anywhere else.

  As so often in Devon, on the third day, the sun shone and Ella once more suggested a long walk to clear away the cobwebs. So they consulted the South West Coast Path website and decided upon an eight mile there and back walk between Colaton Raleigh and Budleigh Salterton. The walk followed the course of the River Otter as it made its gentle way to the sea.

  They parked by the village hall in Church Road. Colaton Raleigh was its usual sleepy but friendly self. A few workmen were erecting scaffolding around a thatched cottage’s roof preparing for it to be re‌-‌thatched. Two old ladies were discussing watercolour paintings by a front gate whilst putting up an advert for the forthcoming Colaton Raleigh Art Exhibition.

  “I’m amazed there are enough artists here in Colaton Raleigh to mount an exhibition.”

  One of the old ladies heard him. “You’d be surprised how creative our village can be.”

  “Make a note of the date,” said the other, “We’ll see you there.”

  Frank thanked them for their invitation, locked the car and, bidding the old ladies a good morning, they crossed the farm road and followed the path to the river. They turned right at the new bridge and kept the river on their le
ft‌-‌hand side as they made their way to Otterton.

  The sun rippled on the swiftly flowing river. It was higher than normal due to the recent rains. They soon passed the swing rope beloved by the children of the neighbourhood. Ella wondered how many of them actually managed to avoid a soaking in the Otter. Birds were in abundance and their song could be heard above the melodic rush of the water. Ella was on the lookout for a kingfisher, a blue bird tiny in size but always a delight to watch skimming over the river surface. Today was not a kingfisher day. Frank harboured the thought of seeing one of the otters swimming powerfully against the current. No such luck either.

  However, the sky was almost Mediterranean Blue except for a few white fluffy clouds. A number of the trees were losing their leaves but still provided adequate cover and protection. It was yet another beautiful Easy Devon morning.

  They reached the village of Otterton in about twenty‌-‌five minutes and decided to stop at the Mill for morning refreshment. They crossed the road bridge and made their way through the Otterton Mill car park and into the restaurant. There were a smattering of local couples and one or two from further afield if one listened to the accents emanating from the conversations. Otterton Mill was mentioned in the Domesday Book as the largest and most productive of the seventy water mills in the Otter Valley. About forty years ago, it had been restored.

  “Seventy water mills in this valley!”

  “Now there’s just this one around here. At least, it’s producing something!”

  They had both seen the wholemeal flour on sale at the counter. Otterton was still a working mill.

  “Where have all the others gone?” Frank asked, not expecting or needing an answer.

  They found a gnarled wooden table near the stairs and sat down to people watch. Ella thought the coffee was delicious. Frank found it less so.

  “A little expensive,” he whispered.

  “Maybe, but worth it, every once in a while.”

  They chatted about this and that but Ella obviously had something important on her mind. She spoke in an emphatic but soft voice. Frank had to lean forward to hear her.

  “I miss it, Frank.”