Country Affairs

‘Get me another drink, Charlotte dear, and do stop looking like a wet weekend. It’s your father’s wedding day, well his party, at least. And there’s no point in moping over that man. I’m not surprised he abandoned you, you’re not exactly his type, are you?’ Lottie took the empty glass that Elizabeth was pressing into her hand without thinking. ‘He’s very pretty, but totally irresponsible, I’d say from the look of him.’ She stared totally unselfconsciously at Todd. ‘How many wives did the man have?’

‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him, Gran?’

‘I might do that. Somebody needs to stop him pawing young Tabatha. No idea of how to behave. No wonder the Spanish deported him.’

Lottie decided not to point out the obvious, that it was actually Tab who was doing the pawing, and that she was plenty old enough to look after herself these days.

‘Chop, chop dear. And do make sure it’s a double gin, or shall I ask Roger to get it?’

‘You know very well his name’s Rory.’

Rory was oblivious to the conversation. After tethering the horses to the pegs that held the marquee in place (which seemed a bit of a dodgy idea to Lottie), he was getting down to the serious business of planning the competition (on the previously pristine white tablecloth) and drinking. Which left Lottie with the job of getting another drink for her gran and wondering what the hell Todd was doing in Cheshire, well even in the UK, at all. Obviously they didn’t have long prison sentences for bigamy, well not long enough, or he’d just charmed his way out early.

***

Billy Brinkley was used to competing at the Olympia Horse Show, which always took place indoors and was guaranteed to be big, noisy and involve fancy dress and night-time events. And so were his horses. At the sight of strobing disco lights (somebody’s vain attempt to keep the party on track) his favourite bay stallion pricked his ears and got ready to party.

Perched bareback on top of his horse, still in his wedding finery (but minus the top hat), Billy couldn’t believe his luck. Despite being determined to make an honest woman of Victoria ‘Tiggy’ Stafford, the word ‘wedding’ had initially made his hands clammier than they’d ever been when he’d been about to represent his country at the Olympic Games. But Tiggy knew him so well and her suggestion to quietly marry in advance with the minimum of fuss so they could enjoy the occasion, followed by this unexpected competition, made it the perfect day. He winked at Tiggy, who he really did adore, then glanced back at Rory, gathering his reins up as he did so. ‘Keep the flowers on my right, champagne bottles to the left, eh?’

Rory gave the thumbs-up then grinned as his chestnut mare, Flash, who stoically refused to mature and settle, but retained the spirit she’d shown as a yearling, reacted in her normal aghast manner when a rider waved their hands about unexpectedly. She kicked out backwards, her heels narrowly missing the top tier of the wedding cake, before throwing in a buck and squeal for good measure. Todd visibly paled beneath his perma-tan. In fact, from where Lottie was standing he looking more a translucent shade of green than brown.

‘Here.’ Tab passed him a bottle of whiskey, her fingers touching his for a second longer than was actually necessary, as far as Lottie could tell.

The course that Rory had designed was interesting, to say the least. It involved jumping over several tables still laden with glasses and plates, before exiting the marque and re-entering it at the back. The horse and rider then had to clear a row of chairs and a table, followed by the final hurdle, which was the stand that now held the one remaining layer of wedding cake. A swift left turn then took the rider along the front of the bar, where the challenge was to grab a champagne bottle and take a swig before exiting the marquee for the final time.

Rory had insisted that Todd ride Merlin, as they’d bonded. And to be fair, he was the only horse that the poor man had a chance of sticking on.

‘Go Billy.’ Rory waved a piece of the bunting, which acted as a starting flag. Flash half-reared as the scrap of cloth whizzed past her eye, and then went swiftly into reverse and nearly cannoned into the solid bulk that was Merlin, who was unperturbed and looking around lazily for something to eat.

Billy went, the stallion flying into canter from a standing start like the old pro he was. They nearly took Elizabeth’s hat off when they cornered a bit too sharply, getting dangerously close to the guests, who’d wisely abandoned the main tables. Amanda covered her eyes and the wedding cake trembled alarmingly, but it was a clear round for Tippermere.

Bending down, Billy grabbed the grinning Tiggy, who screamed as he swung her onto the horse behind him.

Tab giggled and forgot her gothness for a second, and the fact she had a short skirt on. ‘I’m next, aren’t I? Rory, am I next?’ Rory, who was preoccupied trying to control Flash, who had gone into a spin, turned to Mick, who, true to form, had no such problems with his own horse, which was standing patiently behind him, as though jumping wedding cakes in a marquee was an everyday occurrence.

‘You are, treasure. Go show these Tippermereians what proper riding is.’

‘Will you hold Merlin for me? He’s totally ignoring Todd.’

‘Anything for you, my darling.’ Lottie watched as Mick O’Neal reached out with his spare hand, the other holding a large chunk of wedding cake, to take over the horse-holding duties.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have said Rory’s farrier had been avoiding her lately, but that was just her being stupid. He was busy and he was seeing Pip, and she was happy for both of them. But it had seemed quiet since he’d moved out of their yard and into Pip’s cottage. She did miss the chats they used to have, and his dark, slightly brooding, presence that simultaneously excited and unnerved her a little. And the calm way he assured her she could do anything, and the way he watched her with those dark eyes…

Well, thinking about it, it was probably good that he wasn’t around as much these days. Being excited by a strange man, well a man who wasn’t Rory, wasn’t right at all.

Lottie supressed a sigh. She had loved riding out with him, he made her feel supremely safe and gave her a confidence she’d never felt before. With Mick by her side she’d felt like she could do anything: ride any horse, jump any jump, which was too weird for words as she hardly knew the man.

It was probably just because he was good with horses and she admired him. He was calm and steady – that was all. The fact that his Irish brogue gave her goose bumps, and when he took his shirt off to work she couldn’t resist a peek, was beside the point.

He caught her eye, but didn’t wink as she expected, just stared with those searching eyes that seemed to see far too much. Lottie felt the heat rush to her cheeks; the last thing she needed was a man who could read her jumbled-up mind.

Luckily a shout of encouragement from Todd to Tabatha broke the spell and Merlin, thinking he was missing out on something, stamped on Mick’s foot. Mick swore, dropped his cake and Lottie forgot all about his mind-reading abilities and giggled.

Ignoring all offers of a leg-up, Tab leapt from one of the tables onto the back of one of Billy’s quieter mounts and, gathering up the reins, took off at a canter, her skirt flying up and treating the audience to the sight of some alarmingly pink knickers.

‘I thought she always dressed head to foot in black?’ Pip nudged Lottie, who by now had given up all pretence of trying to organise anyone or anything. Now that it was obvious she had no say in the matter, her only regret was that her figure-hugging dress would have needed a severe modification before she’d be able to climb on a horse, and her thighs just weren’t up to the type of scrutiny they’d get if she went for the split-to-the-waist look. Unless she had a couple more bottles of champagne first, by which stage she wouldn’t care if she even had any thighs, well-padded or not.

‘I used to wear knickers like that.’

‘And now you don’t bother at all?’ Rory, horse in tow, slapped her bum before kissing her neck in a way that was guaranteed to make her wriggle.

Tab, meanwhile, had narrowly missed one of the main poles in the marquee, which had made the whole place shake alarmingly, and decided to take a short cut along the back of the DJ and his equipment rather than exiting the tent. Mr Music Man (as his equipment stated) lurched forwards, his hands clutching at the nearest thing he could find, which happened to be his laptop, abruptly replacing the current smoochie track with some heavy rock.

As the bass kicked in, Tabatha’s horse plunged forwards, took off too late to clear the row of chairs and skidded to a halt in front of the disapproving Dom.

Lottie’s Uncle Dominic, who was more used to the controlled environment of a dressage arena and conducted his life in the same measured and precise way as he rode, gave a wry smile. He had standards, ones that Lottie often felt she fell woefully short of, and a natural aristocratic air that she knew she would never get close to. However much she practised in front of the mirror. Tab, however, not being a family member and having no reputation to live up to, just thought he was slightly stuffy but a bit of a softy. She grinned.

‘Amateurs.’ Dom shook his head and gave the horse an encouraging slap on the rear as Tab regrouped and aimed her mount at the final hurdle. As she did a victory lap around the tent there were a few shouts for her knickers, but even in her elated state it was a step too far for the hormonally challenged but inexperienced Tab, who elected to keep her bottom covered.

The next competitor, Dom, rather let the side down by riding in an efficient and completely controlled manner, as though he was out for a rather boring afternoon hack. Impressive though the riding was, it fell woefully short of the wow factor that the audience had come to expect from the other competitors. He did, though, earn an enthusiastic round of applause from the love of his life, Amanda, who had been keeping her distance from the excited horses. She got so carried away that she ran up to give him a chaste kiss as he dismounted, rapidly retreating when the horse struck one impatient hoof on the floor.

And then it was Mick’s turn. Mick was a true horseman in the way that only an Irishman, born and bred, can be. He understood his horses, knew how to cajole the best from any animal in a way that was a million miles from the flamboyance of most of the other Tippermere residents.

But today was not a good day.

Ever since Todd’s unexpected arrival and the resulting look of shock on Lottie’s face, Mick had been unsettled. And, as a man of few words, he’d found a bottle of whiskey to be a better partner than the eagle-eyed Pip, who he knew would spot his agitation and interrogate him.

It wasn’t that it was any of his concern – Lottie was very much Rory’s and in Pip he’d found a woman who was as undemanding emotionally as she was demanding in bed. He’d accepted the way things were, but the appearance of the man he knew had caused the sweet Lottie a great deal of distress bothered him. And he knew it bothered him more than it should. So he’d withdrawn. Which all meant that when he vaulted onto the horse’s back, his mind wasn’t fully on the job. Horses liked Mick, and now this one was confused by the light hands that had suddenly become heavy. It shook its head in warning, expecting reassurance and Mick suddenly realised he couldn’t give it. ‘Sorry old fella.’ The horse, sensing a difference in his rider, decided to step up to the mark. The round was careful, the gelding who was still young enough to be headstrong, ignored the temptation to be flamboyant and strong picking his way around, and coming to a gentle halt at the makeshift bar so that Mick could reach for the champagne. He gave the horse a rueful pat on the neck. ‘I think we’ll skip the bubbly this time, fella.’

On the far side of the marquee, Lottie frowned. Mick might not be a top competition rider like most of the others, but there was something wrong. He could settle and take care of any horse he rode, but this time it had looked as if the horse was taking care of him.

The holler took her attention back to Rory, who was back in the saddle and hanging on to Flash as though he expected the usual fireworks. Which the horse complied with, destroying the flower arrangement on the first table and landing a hoof in the wedding cake as her finale. A shower of icing coated all those standing near as the mare skidded to a marzipan-induced halt in front of Todd.

‘Your turn, mate.’ Rory waved his by-now empty bottle in Todd’s direction. ‘And I’ve lowered the cake jump to give you a chance.’

‘That is so unfair. He’s not going to make it round the course, you know he can’t ride.’ Tab was hanging on to Merlin’s head looking as if she was afraid her sweeties were about to be taken away. Which they probably were. It would be just her luck to find the man of her dreams, only for him to be hospitalised before she even got a snog.

‘Unfair?’ Rory’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’s not some kind of cissy. You’re up for it, aren’t you Todd?’

‘Well it’s not fair on me.’ Tab realised what she’d said too late and turned the colour of her knickers.

‘You?’ Rory looked confused. ‘What’s it got to do with—’

‘Lottie, you don’t want him to do it, do you?’

Lottie, who hadn’t really disapproved of the whole event, just Rory’s involvement in it, hesitated. ‘I don’t mind, honest.’

‘But he’ll fall off, and you don’t want him to get hurt, do you? Please, Lottie.’

‘Well, I, well no.’ Lottie knew as she said it that she didn’t. Todd was the kind of guy you could actually split up with and still like. Once you’d got over his method of splitting up, not to mention his unexpected reappearance. It was the last bit that had shook her up, but it was surprising how much a few drinks could change the way things looked. And in fact she quite liked the new assertive Rory who had emerged. She still thought his apology had been pretty half-hearted, well, pretty much non-existent, in fact, and she would have been quite happy never to see him again. But he obviously hadn’t known what he was agreeing to when he’d cooked up this plan with Rory.

‘Relax, it’s cool.’ Todd grinned, then turned his attentions to the worried Tab. ‘Do I get your pink knickers if I make it round?’ Tab blushed again, but a shade lighter than the lingerie under discussion this time. ‘Can’t be that bloody difficult after all, can it? Bet I can get round in record time and have a drink on the way. Pass us the bubbly, mate.’

He didn’t get a drink on the way, or get round in record time. Tab letting go of the bridle was a mistake. Merlin took one look at the course and his sensible, lazy cob brain decided it all looked too much like hard work. Freed of Tab’s firm hand, he did what all good ponies do – and headed for his hay net. Which unfortunately was half a mile due southeast, back at the equestrian centre stables. ‘Blimey. What the hell do you feed this thing on?’ Todd, who thought he was fit after a lifetime of mornings in the gym and afternoons on the surf, pulled two-handed on one rein to no avail as the horse swerved past official jump number one and headed out of the marquee. Merlin wasn’t a surf board. He kept his course, his neck resolutely set, totally ignoring his riders ineffectual attempts to influence matters. One of the pink balloons that festooned the marquee caught in his tail as he veered to avoid the diving Tab, then he set off at a resolute trot, the balloon bobbing gently behind as they made their way across the lawns along a route he now knew so well.

‘Had I better go and get him?’ Tab looked hopefully from Rory to Lottie.

***

Lottie went barefoot, carrying her high heels in one hand, as she and Rory made their way down the drive towards the equestrian centre, the string of horses ambling behind them. She had been planning on talking to Rory about Tipping House Estate, about their future, about how she thought that one day soon they needed to move into the House. But as she glanced out of the corner of her eye at him she didn’t want to spoil the moment. It was too perfect. He was just so damned handsome, in his sharp white shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar open, his bowtie still somehow dangling untied around his neck. He caught her looking and grinned. Warm, uncomplicated. The only man she’d ever wanted.

On a warm night like tonight all they needed to do was throw new haynets in and check water buckets. As she pushed the last door firmly shut and breathed in the sweet smell of horse, Rory’s warm hands settled on her waist, his breath against her neck.

She shivered.

‘So,’ Rory stroked a finger lazily down her back, taking the zip with it. ‘How did Todd know where to find you?’

Which was a question that had been on Lottie’s lips since he’d careered back into her life several hours earlier, along with the more important question, why?

But as she turned to face Rory her gaze lingered on a copse of moonlit trees that lay to the east. Nestled behind them was Tipping House Estate, where a far more pressing problem than Todd lay.

‘Hey, forget Todd.’ Warm lips traced a path along her jawbone, his teeth teased at her lower lip.

‘I already have.’

And as her dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in the deserted stable yard she decided all the questions could wait for another day. She gazed up at the inky-black sky, spattered with diamond studs, the moon casting a ghostly glow over the buildings and finally forgot all about all her worries as Rory eased her thighs apart and headed for his final victory of the day.

Chapter 4

‘Morning, babe.’

Lottie, who was concentrating on the mobile phone in her hand as she walked down the stairs, was caught completely unawares by the deep male voice and simultaneously dropped the phone and lost her footing.

The mobile, which luckily was slim and light, shot out of her hands and hit one of the terriers, which was patiently waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, squarely on the rump. With a surprised yelp the dog sprang to its feet, shot up the narrow stairs and completed the job of sending the still half-asleep Charlotte flying.

She landed face first in the crotch of the male in question.

Which was so not where she wanted to be – and opening her mouth to say so could have been seriously misconstrued.

For a moment she froze, not quite sure what to do next. Hoping she hadn’t been noticed was not an option. Nose-deep in a man’s unmentionables was also not an option. Especially when those private parts were not attached to her boyfriend.

‘And there was I thinking you didn’t care any more.’ He chuckled.

As she couldn’t decide where it was safe to put her hands to lever herself up, she settled for slithering to the floor, which was pretty undignified, but safe. Well safe-ish.

Tilly, the head terrier, relieved to see she was still alive, leapt on her thigh with a delighted whimper and proceeded to give her a reassuring kiss, which did nothing at all to help the situation.

Being caught in her Minnie Mouse PJ’s and bare feet was one thing, still having her bed hair and bad breath was another. Crouching on the floor with dog slobber on her face lowered her to altogether new depths. Low even for her.

‘Want one? Or had you got something tastier in mind?’

She looked up into the grinning face of Todd Mitchell, who was waving a bacon sandwich in her direction, and clearly had lots of things in mind - none of them remotely connected to bacon.

Todd in the kitchen eating breakfast was so not how her day was supposed to start.

‘Some knees-up you had last night. Your folk certainly know how to party.’

Lottie did her best to piece together the rest of the evening after Todd’s unscheduled departure, and failed miserably. There was a rather fuzzy memory of spin-the-bottle that probably shouldn’t be thought about too deeply, followed by an award-winning performance from Rory in the stable yard. She probably still had straw in her hair, just to finish off the sophisticated look. And she had a vague recollection of Uncle Dom insisting they had to talk. Whether they had or not was a different matter.

‘You okay, Lots?’

‘What are you doing here?’ She took in the smell of coffee and tried to decide if actually drinking some would make her feel worse or better.

‘Brekkie.’ He waved the sandwich in the air again briefly before taking a large bite. She watched him chew. Mesmerised. ‘Tab brought me over and told me to wait here while she did her horse business.’ It was definitely good when he spoke with his mouth full, made him far less attractive. ‘Good type that Rory, when you get to know him. Makes a mean bacon sarnie.’

Lottie looked at him suspiciously, wondering what kind of male bonding could have possibly taken place over a pan of crispy bacon and when nothing came to mind she rescued her beeping mobile from the dog’s basket before it got chewed up. Uncle Dom, it seemed, had been busy this morning, texting and calling her, which was a bit weird. For him a phone was a functional item to be used only when necessary. Maybe somebody had died. Or she’d done something exceptionally outrageous at the wedding. Or, more likely, forgotten to do something she’d promised.

Had they put all the horses away or had they left some on his front lawn? She was tempted to put the mobile back in Tilly’s basket and hope the terrier ate the evidence.

‘I didn’t mean what are you doing in my kitchen? I meant what are you doing in the country?’

‘Oh, I get you now.’

‘So you’re not in prison then?’ The faint note of optimism was probably just a little bit mean.

‘Let out early for good behaviour.’ He winked.

Laid-back could be good, but it could also be annoying at times. Todd must be the only man on the planet who didn’t think being dragged off a beach by the police was an issue, and who could shrug off imprisonment. Did nothing ever get under his skin?

She’d been to hell and back wondering what was going to happen to him, what it was all about. And it didn’t even bother him a teeny weeny bit. It looked as though he’d just ridden the wave and come to carry on where they’d left off. Except he couldn’t. No way was she ever going to trust a man like Todd again, and anyway she’d moved on. Or, more accurately, moved back – to the life she used to have, except this time it was better. Now she knew Rory loved her. And she felt needed; by him, by her family and by the massive, beautiful estate that plucked at her heartstrings.

But even with the hangover from hell, she couldn’t stay sore at anybody for long. Not even Todd.

‘Going to give me a hug, kiss and make up?’

That was pushing it too far, though. Time to change the subject. ‘Don’t you think she’s too young for you?’

‘Who?’

‘Tabatha.’

‘Tabatha?’

‘The one with the pink knickers, remember?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, no chance of forgetting those pink knickers. Bit young for me to what?’ And grinned. ‘Seriously,’ and for a second the smile did disappear, ‘I am sorry, and I never actually was in prison, you know. We just forgot to post that final divorce thingy, what do you call it? Absolute, decree absolute. Why you Brits have to complicate everything beats me. All that bloody legal stuff.’ She watched as he took another healthy bite out of his sandwich. ‘And would you credit it? My second bloody marriage was never legal.’ He laughed: a loud, healthy laugh that reminded Lottie that her head hurt. In a kind of throbbing, pounding way. ‘These beach weddings on remote islands have hidden benefits. Paperwork’s a shambles.’ He grinned and displayed a good set of perfect white teeth. ‘So hey presto! No probs and here I am.’

Not that she saw ‘here I am’ as ‘no probs’, which took her neatly back to the ‘why are you here?’ question.