Stable Mates

‘This is Cheshire not bloody Essex, we wouldn’t even be able to hack down the lanes because they’d be snarled up with petrol fumes from 4x4s that are only used for the school run, and The Bulls Head would be renamed The Rampant Cow and serve mojitos and turkey twizzlers to the masses.’

Pip laughed. ‘Don’t exaggerate, you sound a right nobby nimby. Anyhow, I’m sure Amanda wouldn’t do anything like that. And aren’t you being a bit selfish? Neither of you have asked how she is, or anything.’

‘How is she?’ Lottie looked up from the piece of hay she’d been frantically tying in knots, her mind still on Billy and what he’d do when he found out. If he hadn’t already.

‘That sounds so insincere Lots, she’s in bits, I mean how would you take it if you woke up and found the love of your life stiff at the side of you? And I mean stiff all over, not just where it matters.’

‘You’re calling me for being insincere and say something like that?’ Lottie dropped the wisp of hay and stuck her hands in her pockets. ‘Do you think he was the love of her life?’

‘Well she was very fond of him, it wasn’t just his wallet, though I’m sure that helped. It was a massive heart attack apparently.’

‘They weren’t? I mean, you know, at it? Do you remember that film where they were and the guy had a heart attack?’

‘I’m off if you’re going to talk films. Here, I’ll take her.’ Rory tugged the lead rope from Pip’s hand.

‘Goldie Hawn wasn’t it?’ Pip grinned. ‘On your way to comfort the grieving widow are you Rory, offer your services?’

‘Well neither of you are interested.’ He gave her ponytail a tug. ‘Maybe she needs a manly shoulder to cry on.’

‘You better shower first, you stink of eau de horse.’

‘Oh, God, you don’t think every man in the village will be making up to her now, do you?’ Lottie was gnawing at the inside of her cheek and looking even more worried than ever, her gaze fixed on Rory, who laughed. ‘It’s not bloody funny.’

‘As neither of you think she likes horses, then I think falling for a man who permanently stinks of manure, is covered in horse or dog hair and spends every waking hour either talking about the four-legged wonders or riding them is not on her bucket list. She’d probably prefer a nice, rich city wanker. Sorry to have to say this, but I think every man that I’ve met in this place falls into that smelly category. Well, every single man within a twenty, no make that thirty, mile radius.’ Pip looked from one to the other and wondered what really worried Lottie more, the fact that Rory might go off to woo the stricken widow, or that her dad could find himself without stables and a yard. But, as seriously sexy and fit as Rory was, she couldn’t imagine the immaculate Amanda falling for his charms.

‘Thank you for the ego boost, darling Pippa.’ Rory gave her a smacker straight on the lips. ‘We can rely on you to bring us down to earth. Love the artistic muck heap by the way.’

‘You noticed.’ Despite herself, Pip grinned. It had taken her half the afternoon to coax the spilling muck heap into some kind of order. And climbing on top of it had left her stinking from sweat as well as horseshit.

‘I thought you were going to see your mum?’ Lottie was staring at her, suspicion lacing the normally clear gaze. ‘Which is why you couldn’t go to the dressage with Rory.’

‘Well…’ She paused. ‘She rang to tell me she was too busy and could I make it next week.’ Which was half true, she had been invited next week, but not instead of today. Today she’d wanted to check out the new arrivals in the village, partly for work and partly because she was curious. And it had been worth missing the sight of Rory being carted unceremoniously through a novice dressage test. Just.

‘So, how did it go?’ She looked at Lottie.

‘You know that Morecambe and Wise sketch—’

‘I’m not that old.’

‘Nor am I, but there are repeats. Every Christmas. The one with the piano, where he says he’s playing all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order? It was like that. Every step, every transition, but not necessarily in the right order. And some of them combined.’ Lottie was fighting to keep her face straight, but gave up the battle when Pip started to giggle. ‘That horse has paces to die for apparently, and Rory nearly did.’ A full giggle attack hit. ‘Honestly, I nearly wet myself, especially when Uncle Dom came up to pass comment.’

‘Shit, wow.’ Pip glanced at Rory and the look on his face set her off again.

‘You pair are so immature, such giggly girls, aren’t you?’

‘Yup.’

He headed across the yard, the docile Flash keeping step as the terriers circled them at a safe distance.

‘Oh, Christ, it wasn’t really that bad was it? Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’ Lottie sobered up. ‘She was a complete cow for the first half, did a brilliant second part and then spotted a hat she didn’t like and left the arena without using the marked exit. Just missed the judge’s car, but nearly annihilated the secretary.’

‘He’s taken it reasonably well though, hasn’t he?’

‘Reasonably, but no way was I going to argue with him over who drove the lorry back. Good job dad didn’t spot him as we drove through the village.’ Lottie grimaced and tried not to think about the fact that they’d had a very close encounter with a large group of ramblers (which Billy wouldn’t have cared about, as he viewed them in a similar light as he did rabbits: destructive and a waste of space), and an even closer shave with a Lycra-clad trio of cyclists who had made a grab for the wing mirror in retaliation (which he would have been bothered about, as it resulted in a swerve that nearly put a scrape down the other side of the lorry).

‘Talking about to die for, I have just got to tell you who I saw today. I mean after I tidied the yard, exercised all the horses and sorted the muck heap, you know in the ten minutes left.’ Lottie just looked at her. ‘Well ask then.’

‘Amaze me, who did you see, Pip?’

‘Tom Strachan.’

‘Tom Strachan?’

‘You know, you do, you have to. Gosh Lottie you really are buried in this place aren’t you? It’s like being on another planet. Tom. He’s a model, and I don’t mean some airy-fairy gay boy, he is hot. Seriously hot. To die for, even by my standards.’

‘And?’

‘He’s moved in, he’s the guy who has rented Blake House. Thomas Strachan is your new neighbour, Lottie, and,’ she put a hand on Lottie’s arm, ‘he’s just got divorced. I’m telling you, while the guys are consoling Amanda, the girls are going to be hot-footing it over to console the man distraught after his wife cleared him out and cleared off. Get your sexy knickers on girl, because we are going to go on a Tom hunt.’

‘But if his wife left him, then he can’t be that hot, can he? Pip?’

But Pip was already heading off across the yard towards her bright pink moped, which was nearly as striking as her mobile phone cover, and with a sigh, Lottie lifted the ramp of the box back up and with a backwards wave clambered up into the cab.

Chapter 3

Lottie had decided, as she rifled through her drawers, scattering undergarments, that she hadn’t actually got any sexy knickers. There were the lacy white ones that had looked very sexy, in an untouched kind of way, when she’d bought them. But now they looked thoroughly touched, well, pawed, and a very unfetching shade of pale grey after being thrown in the wash with her jeans. Which left the mum pants or the bright red thong which she didn’t often wear as she was pretty sure you could see it through the clinging cream show jodhpurs that she’d had on for its last outing. Well, at least that was the theory after she’d had her bum ogled by more than the normal quota of randy riders.

Exactly why Pip had insisted she accompany her along on the ‘date’ she’d arranged with the ‘to die for’ Tom, she wasn’t quite sure, until she pushed open the door of the rustic bar/restaurant and spotted the willowy figure, bob of blonde hair now perfectly arranged around her elfin features, smiling beguilingly at a tall man and a teenage girl. Or rather, she was smiling at the man, and the teenager was scowling at both of them.

She really must get that appointment at the opticians for a sight test organised, Lottie thought as she squinted, trying to bring him into sharper focus. At this distance he just looked like a normal man, which was vaguely disappointing when she’d spent ten minutes wriggling about on the floor trying to get the two sides of the flies of her jeans to at least approach each other so she could force the zip up. She’d been promised a demi-god and been delivered a half decent human as far as she could see. And she’d spent another frustrating twenty minutes smothering her hair with anti-frizz products, and more time than she should have, trying to work out which of her tops was sexy but not too tarty. Which, by her reckoning, was an hour wasted that could have been spent on doing something else. Like working out whether it was worth joining in with the exercise DVD she’d been watching or whether it should be consigned to the maybe drawer, or shagging Rory in a proper bed. Shagging in the horsebox could be fun, if you were pissed, or desperate, or both. But after the sixth time of banging an elbow or knee it lost a bit of its shine. She must be getting old or boring, or both.

Pip was waving wildly at her, even with her suspect sight she could work that one out. She took a deep breath and headed over to them, holding her stomach in (just in case Tom was in fact better looking from touching distance) and trying to avoid the teenager’s gimlet stare.

Close up, Tom looked like he had from the door, nice but slightly disappointing after the build-up. And his daughter, Tabatha, sent out waves of disapproval and boredom as she studied Lottie’s hair, make-up and clothes and dismissed her as not worth another glance.

‘Tom, meet Lottie, she knows absolutely everything there is to know about horses. Her dad is Billy Brinkley, the famous showjumper.’

Teenage Tabatha had a slightly more interested look on her face now, which could have been down to the way Lottie was squirming with embarrassment, or the mention of her father. Who’d been known for jumping more than just poles. In fact she could vividly remember one particularly cringeworthy headline that had caused even the mild-mannered Tiggy to explode, and left him with the label Billy ‘the bonk’ Brinkley for quite a while after. ‘Star rider jumps Poles, Germans and Swedes in bid to win gold’ had met her at the breakfast table after someone had posted a picture on Twitter of three naked female riders, and Billy in the middle, celebrating success in a Jacuzzi, wearing nothing more than his birthday suit. And then there had, of course, been a rival rag which had tried to go one better with a ‘Bonko Billy’ cartoon which involved a medal round his neck and Stetson on his head as he straddled what Tiggy had termed (none too fondly) a ‘big boobed babe’.

During her painful adolescence her father’s name had hung heavy round her neck. He was everything you didn’t want in a parent, over the top, in the newspapers and available to any long-legged blonde who wanted a man to drape herself over. In other words, famous…or infamous. Billy believed in the work hard, play hard philosophy. Luckily, her stern grandmother, Elizabeth, had been a stabilising influence, assuring herself, and everyone else in earshot, that it was just a bit of fun and was what athletes did. The word athlete still made Lottie cringe.

‘And,’ Pip paused for effect, ‘her Uncle is Dominic Stanthorpe, the dressage rider.’

Tabatha looked almost impressed.

‘And she helps Rory Steel out.’ Pip finished her triple whammy introduction and sat back, looking very pleased with herself.

‘You know Rory?’ Tabatha couldn’t disguise the sudden interest in her voice. Rory was definitely more poster boy material than the other pair, who were positively ancient in the world of teenagedom. Lottie nodded, raised an eyebrow at Pip and sat down.

‘So she’d be the absolutely perfect person to help you out and give Tabatha some riding lessons. Wouldn’t you, Lots?’

Lottie looked from one to the other and wished, not for the first time in her life, that she’d insisted on some facts before agreeing to something. Or at least listened if there had been any kind of explanation.

‘Can you excuse us?’ She’d only just sat down, and not had a sip of drink or bite of food, but the ladies loos were calling.

***

‘But I am not a riding instructor,’ Lottie hissed, hoping that no one could overhear, and that the word not had been loud enough.

‘You do the pony club camp sessions.’ Pip was flicking her hair and admiring the effect in the mirror, which was most unlike her. Although the way she was doing it looked practised, so Lottie concluded that it was just a side to her that nobody in Tippermere had been treated to before.

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’ Flick, twirl.

‘Will you stop that?’ Lottie was finding it distracting, and funny.

Pip stopped.

‘One, they can all ride.’

‘Tab can ride a bit.’ Pout at her reflection. ‘Tom said so.’

‘Two, I only do it because I did a deal with Dad – I take it off his hands and then I can use the horsebox whenever I want.’

‘And for whatever you want. Does he know you’ve turned it into a passion wagon? Talk about pimp my ride.’

Lottie ignored her. ‘And three, you’ve only done it to get in his good books. What are you up to, Pippa? I mean he’s not really your type is he? I thought you’d done all that, I thought you said you were sick of primping pretty boys and wanted a down-to-earth man. Or else why did you come here?’

‘I have and I am, but he is pretty.’ Pip sounded wistful. ‘And rich, and caring. Do you know he’s involved in this dog rescue thing?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ She sighed and wondered what else she didn’t know. ‘But you seem to know an awful lot about him.’ And you fancy him.

‘I did an interview with him last year, which is why my ed. gave me a nudge when she heard he was moving here. He needs a friend, Lottie, and I have decided to nominate myself. We’ve got common ground, know the same people.’

‘What if he moved here to get away from “common ground”? Like you supposedly did? He might just want to be with his daughter and desperate dogs. Or he might have more in common with Tiggy.’

‘What would a well-groomed model have in common with tatty Tiggy?’

‘You can be so mean, I’m sure she’s got a very attractive side.’ Lottie grinned. ‘Dogs. That’s what they have in common.’

Pip, sure that the grin meant Lottie was weakening, pushed on. ‘Oh, go on, give it a go. I bet she’s a lovely girl underneath all that black eyeliner.’

‘She’s a bored teenager.’

‘She is horse mad, Tom said. Which is partly why he came here. He is so keen to get her into the pony club and all that, he wants to give her some stability, and I think he’s loaded, you know. He’s so successful, and,’ she moved closer so if there had been anyone in the toilet cubicles they couldn’t hear, ‘the rumour is that he comes from a mega-rich family, apparently. He’ll probably buy her a pony and sponsor you as well.’

‘You’re like a hound moving in for the kill.’

‘Thank you.’ Pip grinned. ‘So, it’s agreed?’

‘No, Pip. Nothing is agreed. I’ll think about it. Now, didn’t you promise me champagne and a pizza?’

‘Look, it’s not really for me, it’s not that I’m after him, but he’s a lovely guy and I reckon I can spin a whole load of work out of this.’

‘So, it’s business, not pleasure?’

‘Well, there’s no harm in mixing it a bit, is there?’ Pip linked her elegant, long-fingered hand through Lottie’s arm and more or less dragged her from the safety of the ladies washroom.

‘And he’s too old for you.’

‘He looks very well maintained to me.’

***

Tom loved his daughter with a strength that was a constant cause of amazement. He’d been brought up in a household where a father considered his duty was done when he paid for the food on the table and showed up at weekends to eat it. The fact that he’d been genuinely interested in his daughter since the day she’d whimpered her way into his life was a totally unexpected bonus.

When he’d married the heartbreakingly beautiful Tamara (as the press coined her), there had been a flicker of hope in his life that had outshone everything to date. Someone finally loved him, cared about the same things that he did, he finally had someone to share his life and future with. And then he’d found out that ‘breaking’ was the key word in Tam’s life, not ‘heart’.

The spectacular wedding that she had orchestrated had been bank-breaking, but he’d agreed. After all, whereas for him, constantly in the spotlight, a quiet wedding in an idyllic location would have been perfect, he appreciated that for her the wedding was a highlight, her moment of glory. And how could he refuse? She was like a beautiful pedigree cat, gorgeous, demanding but loving and cajoling to the point of suffocation. Tamara wanted to be pampered and adored, naively he’d thought that was temporary, not an integral part of her make-up.

The wedding was just the start. When Tam had said ‘I do’, she was launching herself into what she’d always desired – a glamorous lifestyle. The unspoiled beauty wanted to be spoiled, big time. After all, Tom was a sought-after model, he was sent designer clothes daily, and tickets for every movie premiere, theatre performance and nightclub opening. He should have been perfect. They were the most attractive, in demand couple of the decade. They would live a jet-set life and have fun. Or so Tamara had assumed.

He couldn’t blame her for getting frustrated by the reclusive bore he longed to be. Whatever his father had failed to give him in terms of time and loving, he couldn’t avoid passing on his genes. He was a banker, he thought things out logically and planned for the future. And that DNA was passed on to his son, along with his wife’s attractive features and willingness to please. Tom wanted to please his adorable wife, but he couldn’t keep up with the demands. Away from his work he needed downtime, needed to slow down and imbue his life with structure. He wasn’t a rich, good-looking playboy, he was a guy who rescued sick animals and liked a long country walk to help him unwind.

No, Tom couldn’t blame Tamara for falling out of love with him, but he could blame her for hitching up with his manager, fleecing him and then disappearing off to Spain. But out of the whole fiasco there had been a divine gift. Their daughter. And the fact that her mother, his ex-wife, was as disinterested in Tab as his father had been disinterested in him was, as far as he could see, a bonus. True, he did believe that a child needed its mother, but Tamara was no more mature than a sixteen-year-old herself, and her lifestyle choices were not ones he’d want inflicted on any daughter, let alone his. He would never stand in their way if they wanted to spend more time together, but at the moment, from his perspective, the fact that they were in different countries was more of an advantage than a disadvantage.

Coming to Tippermere had been a move he had not consulted his daughter about, and so far she had not been impressed, but he knew he could win her over. The village could be good for both of them. No, not could, would. And whilst he had some misgivings about the media-happy Philippa, he was convinced she was the answer to many of the current questions life posed. The main one being, how to convince his daughter that this backwater was a taste of heaven?

He watched the two girls make their way back to the table. The slim, well-groomed, efficient-looking Pippa who would have blended in effortlessly on one of his shoots. Confident of her own abilities, the type who would manage your diary, massage your ego and add an efficient dose of sex into the mix if you both needed some stress-relief. Lottie looked an altogether different cup of tea. She had the toned body of an athlete and the bronze sheen of a sun lover – he found himself wondering about the presence or absence of tan lines. Sex with Lottie, he’d hazard a guess, would be messy and fun, not that he was going to get involved with anyone out here. And the sudden image of her tapping a whip against her strong thigh brought a shudder that he couldn’t quite place. Formidable and fun were not two words he’d ever put together before, but from the look in her eye, Lottie was the type of girl who could take control easier than she could give it away.

‘Are we going to be hanging here much longer, Dad?’

‘That depends on whether you want to meet some world-class riders or just plod along with the pony clubbers I guess, Tabby. Up to you.’

‘She doesn’t look like a world-class rider.’

Tom bit back the response with a smile. She did to him. ‘Everything okay, ladies? I ordered that bottle of champagne, hope you don’t mind?’

‘Mind? I could murder a drink right now. You have got no idea what kind of a day I’ve had.’ Lottie had the glass to her lips and had taken a greedy mouthful before she had even sat down properly. ‘You’re a lifesaver, but if you really want to win my heart, tell me you’ve ordered food as well. Rory was in such a bad mood he wouldn’t even let us stop to get a burger.’

‘You’ve been with Rory today?’ Tabatha uncrossed her arms. ‘What’s he like? I mean, is he really that fit?’

‘This was before the class.’ Lottie knew she probably shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist flashing her mobile in front of Tabatha, a shot of Rory when he’d been posing on the wagon steps with his toned abs on display. ‘I did make him put a shirt and jacket on though.’ She flicked onto the next picture, which was Rory nonchalantly sat astride Flash, long legs stretched at her sides, feet dangling free of the stirrups, one hand on the buckle end of the reins, the other grasping a cigarette. His last request he’d called it. Lottie actually preferred the picture of him with his clothes on, which worried her a bit. The sun was behind him and his hatless head was a mass of curls, he looked a bit like a swashbuckling hero – minus the sword.

‘Can I see the first one again?’

Lottie reluctantly flicked back to the first picture. He was so gorgeous, and although he played to the crowd, she had a feeling that deep down he wanted to be loved. Properly. But it just didn’t seem to be by her. Not that she wanted that now of course. She was independent, wanted fun and freedom. Definitely.

But she was back in Tippermere. And his bed. She tried to supress the sigh.

Lottie had fancied Rory for as long as she could remember. Forever. And he did fancy her (although of course it had taken him a bit longer to realise), but it had been a jokey, easy-going relationship. Not a ‘maybe this could be forever’ type of thing.

After her disastrous ‘world tour’ as her father called it, she had told herself that Rory was the perfect antidote to her humiliation of being conned by a serial adulterer, but looking at the photo now she had a horrible feeling that she’d never actually managed to fall out of lust and love with him. And never would. God, who in their right mind preferred to ogle a picture of a man like Rory more with his clothes on?

She glanced up and Tom was studying her with a very slight disapproving air. He was probably deciding that she wouldn’t be a good influence on his daughter, that she was more likely to be sharing pictures of semi-nude men than teaching how to do a collected trot.

‘Sorry.’ She could feel a blush spread across her cheeks.

‘No problem. Who am I to say anything about looking at men without their clothes on?’ He smiled, the first genuine smile that the Tippermere residents had seen from him, and Pip, Lottie, and every female member of the restaurant staff that was in range were left in no doubt as to why he made a fortune in front of the camera.

Lottie put the phone down. ‘Why have you come here? I mean it’s not exactly commuter belt is it, if you’re working?’ Mild embarrassment made her voice the questions she would have normally kept politely to herself.