Chapter Text
Gatcombe Park, 3nd March 2024.
As Anne made her way down to the lower paddock, she could already see the group she was looking for - a trio who were affectionately known by everyone on the estate as the three musketeers. Arthur, once the land manager of Gatcombe, was an affable man who Anne could always rely on to give his honest and informed opinion on any new strategies and ideas. More often than not he stood as a champion of the importance between heritage and redevelopment that she was keen to achieve - as a result, he had remained involved with the estate long after his retirement. Charlie, musketeer member two, had arrived in the early 1990’s to take the post of resident stonemason. His highly skilled craftsmanship was invaluable then and was even more so now, despite him being very much into his own ninetieth decade.
The third was Tim, of course. He had fallen in step with the other two almost the day he moved to Gatcombe, having offered to create more accurate maps of all the limestone walls needing renovation - something both Arthur and Charlie had been very appreciative of. Much to Anne’s amusement, they had been thick as thieves ever since - no piece of gossip was too salacious to be shared, and no odd job was too small for them to tackle - which was exactly why all three of them had devoted their morning to mending the broken fence in the paddock.
“Just how many young chaps does it take to knock in a fence post?” Anne called to the men, now only a few metres ahead of her. Stood in deep conversation around the bonnet of an ancient John Deere tractor, their heads had turned at her voice. Tim had been mid-sip from his trusty thermos cup, and the way his face lit up when he saw her made Anne feel giddy.
“D’you happen to know of any, ma’am?” Arthur earnestly called back, before the puzzled look on his weathered face broke into laughter. With only three original knees between them and a combined age of over 200, her comment was an exaggeration to say the least.
“How are you both, gents? Long time no see.”
“Not bad, ma'am, not bad. Keeping busy.” Arthur replied.
“And out of trouble I hope?” Anne winked at Charlie who was sitting in the driving seat of the tractor. He was a man of very few words, but he had a mischievous grin that always said more than enough.
“Oh no, not if I can help it, ma’am.” the elderly man replied, tipping his hat to her as she reached them.
“Hello you.” she smiled as she walked up to Tim, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, giving him a little squeeze on his arm as she did. He truly was a sight for sore eyes. The last few weeks had been a hectic blur; Namibia, Dubai, Edinburgh, so they had spent far too much time apart. When she had returned home from her last engagement about half an hour ago, Anne had headed to her office to remind herself of her upcoming diary, but as soon as she had spotted the tall figure of Tim from her window, she was half way down the stairs and headed for the paddock in her wellies before she had even cognitive of the thought.
“Welcome home, darling.” That was a phrase she would never tire of hearing her husband say. Nor would she ever tire of seeing the soft adoring look that had taken over his face - a look that she knew was only for her, that conveyed all the love they had shared in their life together. By his side, she truly was home.
“I thought I might find you here.”
“Who else would bring the most important bit of kit?” Tim waggled the thermos he was holding and offered out his cup.
Chuckling with a roll of her eyes, Anne slipped the tin cup from Tim's hand, taking a sip and enjoying the warmth of the coffee as much as she did the way the soft pads of his fingertips lingered against the back of her hand. As miserable as being apart was, when they did finally make their way back together again, it was all the more sweet. Now, there was just the small matter of getting this post in the ground standing between them and a quiet afternoon alone.
“You've joined us just in time to see this in action.” Tim motioned towards the new post driver attached to the rear of the tractor, all shiny and clean in contrast to the rusted, mud-caked John Deere, its weight primed and ready against the replacement stab.
“Well, don’t let me hold you back. Let me take those.” gathering the flasks from the group, Anne headed to place them in the bags lying against the grass slope as Tim went back to going over the tractor controls with Charlie. Arthur, who had been checking and double checking the positioning of the machinery gave them both a double thumbs up and stood back.
Four pairs of eyes watched as the hydraulic arm raised effortlessly and swiftly released the suspended weight to drive the post into the ground - but in the few seconds between the release and the contact with the stab, time halted around them. Doomed to be nothing more than spectators, they watched as it splintered the moment the weight rammed into the top, folding it in half like a straw. The resulting shower of timber was sent hurtling towards Charlie in the tractor, and Tim who was still standing beside him.
Anne was powerless, her body frozen alongside the others as a solid thud reverberated in the still air when the most sizeable chunk of timber connected squarely with Tim's brow before he even had the chance to duck. No one moved. Tim swayed almost imperceptibly on his feet, his face blank.
Then suddenly everything sped back into focus, a rush of activity spooling into motion in the peripherals of Anne’s vision, her eyes remaining locked on her husband. Somewhere in the static she heard Arthur call out having come to his senses, swiftly followed by Charlie cutting the tractor’s engine and power to the driver. As her mind caught up with her body, Anne immediately sprinted the short distance to Tim, her heart in her mouth.
“Christ, Tim!” was all she could utter as she grabbed him by the forearms, steadying his weight as he stumbled backwards onto the grass beneath him.
Understandably dazed, he was merely blinking as he cautiously touched his right side of his face, wincing as he did. “I'm fine, I'm fine.” Dropping to her knees beside him, Anne placed her hands on either side of his face, tilting his head to get a better look. Gently, she pressed her thumbs against the flush of swelling already blooming around his eye - but relief coursed through her as Tim's gaze steadied and focused on hers, an unspoken reassurance passing between them. “Honestly, it was just a little knock.”
“Your penchant for understatement knows no bounds.” buoyed by the sound of his little laugh, as forced as she knew it was, Anne's heart lightened in her chest. With no broken skin other than a small nick on the bridge of his nose, there thankfully appeared to be no signs of serious damage.
Stubbornly attempting to get to his feet by pushing his hands down into the grass, Tim stopped as a wave of dizziness washed over him, swiftly sitting back down. “Ah, maybe it was slightly more than a little knock.” he confessed.
“Will you just sit for a moment! Can you see alright?”
“Mostly stars, but yes. Unless you’re standing perfectly still, in which case I may be in trouble.” Anne had been ducking and bobbing her head to see if his eyes were following her, which she was pleased to find they did - it was another good sign of no lasting injury.
Having ensured the machinery wasn't about to cause any more damage and having checked over Charlie, Arthur stepped back into view. “Are you alright, man? Jesus, that’ll leave a mark.”
“I've told you once and twice before lad, being tall does you no good.” Charlie added, still sat in the tractor’s seat, brushing splinters from his coat.
“Right as always, Charlie.” Tim smiled lopsidedly, the slight movement sending waves of pain through his face, which did not go unnoticed by Anne.
“We should take you to get checked over.”
“I don't need a fuss, I just need to sit down for a moment.”
“There will be a whole raft of seats you can choose from down at the surgery.”
“Anne-” Tim began, but the look on his wife’s face was all but an order to surrender, which due to the throb now pulsing through his skull, he was inclined to follow. “Help me up.” he acquiesced. Taking an arm each, Arthur and Anne managed to get him to his feet and though he looked for a moment very much like a newborn giraffe, all wobbly legged and discombobulated, he soon steadied with their help.
“Will you get him back alright?”
“It’s not far. I’ve got him.” Tucking herself into his side, wrapping her arm around his waist, Anne pulled her husband close, preparing to take some of his weight for the walk.
“I do wish you'd stop fussing, honestly, I can walk by myself."
“That is absolutely not the case, you daft sod.”
“Arthur, Charlie, I will be back to help you momentarily. I'm not sure what went wrong.”
Anne shot Arthur a look, who simply nodded in response, clearing his throat as he spoke up. “I wouldn't worry about rushing back Tim. We'll handle things here, get everything cleared up before the sheep are moved back down.”
“Aye, take it easy, lad. The fence can wait.” Charlie added, much to the grumbles of his friend.
As Anne and Tim started off for the house, quietly bickering as they went as to who was overreacting and who wasn’t reacting enough , Arthur couldn't help but smile. Head injuries were nothing to underestimate but he knew Tim was in the safest of hands. Over his many years at Gatcombe, he had lost count of the number of accident forms he had to sign off for the Princess, cuts and bruises, broken fingers and other assorted bones to the more serious occasions where she’d been kicked by a horse. Each and every time she had only turned up at his office after having done the precise and correct first aid on herself, muttering about the “bloody paperwork” with her trademark eye roll.
“They're both just as bad as each other.” he turned to Charlie, who had a wry smile of agreement on his face.
"That they are."