Forging a FUTURE
‘Dad was a smithy for 40 years’
Kate tapped the edge of the petal with the tiny hammer, then held it up for inspection. Happy with the result, she sat back on her stool. Through the dusty curtain, she could see Ollie, her donkey, ambling across his paddock. A man stood at the gate and as Ollie rested his shaggy head on top, the man ruffled the donkey’s ears and rubbed his cheek against Ollie’s.
Kate smiled. Anyone who was a softie for donkeys was a friend in her eyes.
Placing the finished rose in a bud vase, she slid off the stool and walked through to reception in time to hear the scrape of wood on gritty floor tiles. The man was pushing open the door.
‘Hi, I was just getting acquainted with your donkey. What a sweetheart.’
‘Yes, Ollie’s a darling. Betty, too,’ she said, as her elderly collie appeared, wagging a hopeful tail. He obliged by fussing over her. ‘So, how can I help you?’
The man came closer and she noticed a few flecks of grey in his chestnut-brown hair. He also had a slight limp.
‘I’m looking to order a plaque for someone. Does your father do that sort of thing?’
‘My father?’
‘Yes, they said in the village that Fred’s Forge was the place to go.’
‘They’re right, although it wouldn’t be Dad who would do it. It would be me.’
Surprise flickered briefly on his face.
Fishing in the pocket of her work apron, Kate took out her order book, full of drawings and notes about recent commissions. ‘What sort of thing did you have in mind? If you could sketch it, we’ll see if it’s doable.’
‘Was this an order?’ he asked, tapping a drawing of the rose she’d just been working on.
‘Yes, although sadly destined to go undelivered. It was to be an anniversary gift for a customer’s wife but he recently died in a car accident.’
‘Perhaps the
