Outsider

Beattie transferred her pan to the simmering plate. She said, ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Oh, but I do,’ Natalie said bitterly. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ve tried my damnedest for Dad, but I’m never going to measure up to the standard he wants—because I don’t even know what his criteria are, and I suspect he doesn’t either.’

‘All the same,’ said Beattie, ‘you mustn’t leave.’

‘You think I’d stay and watch that—that racetrack Romeo help himself to my inheritance?’ Natalie asked fiercely. ‘Over my dead body!’

Beattie said quietly, ‘If you leave now, like this, it could be over Grantham’s.’ She sat down beside Natalie at the kitchen table. ‘We’re not supposed to expose him to any kind of upset—the doctor said so.’

‘He probably wouldn’t even notice I’d gone—until he wanted his letters typed, or found the owners weren’t paying their bills on time.’

‘That isn’t true, and you know it,’ Beattie said roundly. ‘He loves you, Nat, although I admit he has a very strange way of showing it. He has this—fixation about women working with horses.’ She paused. ‘I think one of the reasons he fell in love with me is that I know nothing about the beasts except that they bite at one end, and kick at the other.’ She smiled at Natalie. ‘There were a lot of women after him, you know, who had strong connections with racing, who’d have been able to talk to him about horses in an intelligent manner. Coral LeFevre, for one.’

In spite of her wretchedness, Natalie felt her lips curve in the ghost of a smile. ‘The Black Widow? What makes you think that?’

‘The way she still looks at him,’ said Beattie simply. ‘I know that a lot of your father’s friends and colleagues were horrified when he married me, when there were so many more suitable wives around.’ She thought for a minute. ‘But my attraction for your father was my unsuitability, somehow. We met at a concert he’d been dragged to, and he didn’t mind that I thought the Derby and the Grand National were the same kind of race. He’s never minded it. In a way, I’m part of the same fixation. I’m happy with my music and my cooking, and that makes Grantham happy too. I can’t explain it.’ She gave Natalie a level look. ‘I sympathise with you, every step of the way, but I love Grantham, and I won’t have him upset for any reason, however good. If you really want to leave, wait a few weeks until he’s stronger, and feelings have cooled. You can’t quarrel with him, Nat. I won’t allow it.’

There was a long silence, then Natalie said dully, ‘Very well. You’re right, of course. I’d never forgive myself if there was a row, and it caused—problems.’ She shook herself, and stood up. ‘But I can’t sit at that table with Eliot Lang and eat lunch as if nothing has happened. Make some excuse for me, Beattie, please. Tell them I’ve got a headache, or bubonic plague, or something.’

Beattie groaned. ‘I’ll do my best—but, Nat, your father won’t be pleased.’

Natalie opened the kitchen door. She said, ‘I promise you he’d be even less pleased to hear me tell Eliot Lang to go to hell.’

That, she thought, was relatively mild compared with what she’d really like to say to him, so why was Beattie sitting there looking as if she’d been frozen?

She turned to walk into the hall, and cannoned straight into six foot of bone, sinew and muscle, standing there on the threshold. As unusually strong arms steadied her, she thought confusedly, Andrew? and realised in the same moment that it couldn’t be. Andrew was only medium height and distinctly pudgy. Whereas this man, she thought as she took a hurried step backwards, hadn’t a spare ounce of flesh anywhere.

Her face burning, she looked up to encounter hazel eyes regarding her with no expression whatever.

‘Now, why should you tell me any such thing?’ said Eliot Lang.

CHAPTER TWO

NATALIE WANTED THE floor to open and swallow her, but it remained disappointingly solid, so she rallied her defences.

‘I think that’s my business,’ she retorted, her chin tilted dangerously. ‘Perhaps you should remember what they say about eavesdroppers, Mr Lang,’ She realised his hands were still gripping her upper arms, not too gently, and she stiffened. ‘And will you kindly get your hands off me!’

He released her so promptly it was almost an insult. Then he was walking past her, the thin, tanned face relaxing into a smile.

‘Mrs Slater?’ He held out his hand to Beattie. ‘I’m sorry for this apparent intrusion, but your husband thought you might not have heard Mr Bentley’s car arrive, so I volunteered to find you.’ He looked round him, his smile widening. ‘Not that it’s any hardship,’ he added appreciatively. ‘Something smells absolutely fantastic!’

‘It’s just ordinary home cooking,’ said Beattie with modest untruthfulness, as she shook hands with him. Her candid grey eyes looked him over. ‘You look as if you could do with some.’

He laughed. ‘You could be right. I’ve spent so many years living on starvation rations to keep my weight down, that it’s hard to believe I can now eat as much as I want.’

There was a pause, then Beattie said with slight awkwardness, ‘And this, of course, is my stepdaughter Natalie.’

He turned back towards Natalie. ‘How do you do,’ he said with cool civility.

The swift charm which had bowled over Beattie, it seemed, could be switched on and off at will, Natalie thought with contempt.

She returned a mechanically conventional greeting, then excused herself on the grounds that she had to see to the drinks.

Her retreat was in good order, but when she was safely alone, she found her heart was pounding as if she’d taken to her heels and fled from him.

It was infuriating to realise she had been betrayed into such a schoolgirlish piece of rudeness, but at least Eliot Lang now knew quite unequivocally where he stood where she was concerned, she thought defiantly.

Andrew’s greeting was rather less ebullient then usual, she realised as she took the drinks into the drawing-room. He knew, none better, how desperately keen she’d been to join Grantham as his partner, and she thought she saw a measure of compassion in his gaze, as he swapped genialities with her about how good it was to have her father back again, and how well he was looking.

Gradually she recovered her composure, and by the time Eliot Lang accompanied her stepmother into the room, she was able to meet the rather searching look he sent her with an appearance, at least, of indifference.

She found, to her annoyance, that she was stationed opposite him at the dining-table, although the conversation was general enough to enable her to avoid having to address him directly. Her father was in his most expansive and relaxed mood, making no secret of his delight at the success of his plans.

Naturally, as the meal wore on, the talk turned to racing, and Eliot Lang’s past triumphs, although in fairness Natalie had to admit the subject wasn’t introduced by him, and he seemed reluctant to discuss them, commenting instead with open wryness on his failure ever to ride a Grand National winner.

‘It’s only one race,’ Grantham leaned back in his chair. ‘And that last Gold Cup of yours must have made up for everything.’

Eliot Lang laughed. He had good teeth, Natalie noticed, white and very even. ‘It was Storm Trooper’s race. All I had to do was sit tight.’

‘Don’t denigrate yourself, lad. He nearly went at that last fence, thanks to that damned loose horse. You held him up, and took him on.’ Grantham shook his head. ‘A great win —a truly great win.’

Natalie stole a covert look at Eliot Lang under her lashes, trying to visualise him sweat-streaked and mud-splashed. In the dark, elegant suit, its waistcoat accentuating his slim waist, the gleam of a silk tie setting off his immaculate white shirt, he looked more like a successful City executive.

And he was undeniably attractive, she thought resentfully, if you liked that sort of thing, his good looks only slightly marred by the slanting scar that slashed across one cheekbone.

It was a tough face, the cleft in his chin, and the firm line of his mouth emphasising the ruthlessness and determination which had always been a hallmark of his riding. ‘Fearless’, she recalled unwillingly, had been one of the adjectives most often used by the sports writers.

With a faint shock, she realised he was watching her in his turn, a faintly cynical smile playing round his lips. Natalie transferred her gaze hastily back to her plate, trying to control her confusion.

He probably thought she was another potential conquest, she thought scornfully. Well, he would soon discover his mistake.

Beattie was speaking. ‘After all the success and the excitement, Mr Lang, aren’t you going to find training rather—mundane?’

He smiled at her. ‘Won’t you please call me Eliot? And the simple answer to your question is—no, I’m sure I won’t. I’m looking forward immensely to joining you here at Wintersgarth.’

‘But you’re still quite young to have retired from National Hunt racing,’ persisted Beattie. ‘Grantham says you still had years of winning in front of you.’

He shrugged ironically, ‘Perhaps.’

‘So how could you bear to turn your back on it, when you were still at the peak?’

He was silent for a moment, the straight dark brows drawn together. ‘I suppose it was a question of motivation,’ he said at last. ‘I had a couple of bad falls last season.’ His hand went up and touched the scar. ‘They rather brought home to me that I was over thirty now, and that letting horses stamp you into the mud was not the way I wanted to spend part of the next decade. I had to start thinking about a new career, and as I want to stay with horses, training seemed the ideal answer.’ He smiled. ‘Once I’d made up my mind, it really wasn’t that hard to walk away.’

Natalie said, ‘And will you find it just as easy to walk away from us when you’ve had enough?’

His brows lifted. ‘This isn’t a whim, Miss Slater. It’s strictly business. I’m investing in Wintersgarth.’

‘I’m sure we’re all very grateful,’ she said. ‘Not that we need your money—we’ve always made out financially. But it’s natural I should be concerned about your—er—motivation. After all, you don’t exactly have a reputation for fidelity.’

‘Natalie!’ It was a bark from her father, his face thunderous. He turned to Eliot. ‘I must apologise for my daughter. Sometimes her tongue runs away with her.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Eliot, ‘If she has misgivings, it’s best that they’re aired now.’ He leaned across the table, his hazel eyes boring into Natalie’s. ‘My partnership with your father isn’t just a flash in the pan, Miss Slater. I’m coming to him to learn from his genius, and maybe contribute some skills of my own, and it’s for the rest of my life.’ He added drily, ‘I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit the image you seem to have of me.’

She was furiously aware she’d been cut down to size by an expert.

She said, ‘That’s—reassuring. But you live in the South. Your life has been based there, near the bright lights. Aren’t you going to find Yorkshire quiet and dull?’

‘Even the brightest lights can pall.’ He looked amused. ‘And I was born here, you know, although admittedly it was more by accident than design. My parents were staying with friends during the hunting season, and had totally misjudged the possible time of my arrival.’

Everyone was laughing with him, enjoying the slackening of tension, although the glance Grantham bestowed on Natalie was minatory, promising a tongue-lashing later.

She wished now she’d kept quiet. There was obviously nothing to be gained from confrontation.

‘What will you do about your lovely cottage?’ Beattie asked. ‘Keep it for weekends?’

‘No.’ Eliot shook his head. ‘I’ve already told one of the local agents to put it on his books.’ He paused. ‘But you’re not going to be lumbered with a lodger, Mrs Slater. I’m quite self-sufficient, I promise you, and your husband mentioned something about a self-contained flat over the garages that might be suitable, at least on a temporary basis.’

Natalie said sharply, ‘The flat? Dad, you didn’t!’

Grantham’s florid face adopted a moderately apologetic expression. ‘Maybe I should have talked it over with you, lass, but I’ve had other things on my mind.’ He turned to Eliot. ‘My daughter’s name is Drummond, actually. She was widowed three years ago, but the flat in question was built to accommodate Nat and her husband originally.’

Eliot’s eyes surveyed Natalie’s bare hands briefly, then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Naturally if it’s going to cause Mrs Drummond any distress, I’ll willingly look for an alternative.’

‘Nonsense,’ Grantham said robustly. ‘The flat’s there, and it’s empty. Nat never goes near the place. Anyway, have a look at it, and see what you think.’

Natalie didn’t want to hear any more. She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I won’t have coffee, Beattie. I have to telephone the feed merchant.’ She sketched some kind of smile round the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me …?’

The office was a big, cluttered comfortable room, and it seemed like a sanctuary to Natalie as she sank into the chair behind her desk. She had letters to reply to, messages on the answering machine to listen to, as well as the call to the feed merchant, but for a moment she could deal with none of it. The thought of Eliot Lang taking over the home where her marriage to Tony had started out with such high hopes sickened her. Although she might have felt differently if she’d liked him, she admitted, biting her lip. Or would she?

When she had moved out, to resume life in her old room in her father’s house after the funeral, she’d turned the key in the lock as if she was closing off a part of her life. It had never occurred to her that it might have to be re-opened. They had never needed the flat. The lads had their own block, and Wes had a cottage in the village.

She supposed she should have seen it coming, but she hadn’t …

She shivered, then drew the phone towards her and began to dial the feed merchant’s number. In deference to Beattie’s wishes, she would carry on here until Grantham’s health was assured, but then she would be off and running, she told herself grimly. And she would start looking round to see what jobs were available without delay. Grantham would find he was not the only one who could hold his cards close to his chest.

Her father came into the office half an hour later. She had half expected Andrew and Eliot Lang to be with him, but he was alone. He walked past her into the inner office, which was far smaller, and more luxuriously appointed, and which he kept for entertaining favoured owners.

‘Come through, will you,’ he said over his shoulder, as he disappeared through the door.

Oh, hell, Natalie thought, as she rose to her feet. Now I’m for it! And I swore I wouldn’t upset him.

She picked up the ledgers, and carried them through with her. She said meekly, ‘I thought you might like to see the accounts, Dad.’

‘All in good time,’ he returned. He reached for the big silver cigar box, drew it towards him, then with a resigned air pushed it away again. ‘I feel undressed without them, damn it,’ he muttered, then focused sharply on his daughter. He said grimly, ‘Disappointment is one thing, Natalie, although it’s fair to say you built your own hopes up. I never did. But bloody rudeness and cussedness is another, and it has to stop. Do I make myself clear?’ He paused. ‘I was at fault over the flat business, and I admit it, although I didn’t know you had any sentimental attachment to it. But it’s standing empty, and I’m paying rates on it, so it might as well be let or sold. And there’s no reason why Eliot shouldn’t use it while he looks for his own place. Is there?’

He waited, while she shook her head, slowly and reluctantly.

‘That’s settled then.’ he leaned back in his chair. ‘Eliot’s joining us here, Natalie, whether you like it or not, my girl. We signed the papers after lunch, so you’re going to have to make the best of it, and if you’ve any sense, you’ll get on with him.’ He gave her a dry look. ‘A lot of lasses seem to take to him. No reason why you can’t too, even if he has put your nose out of joint.’

‘Do you really think it’s that simple?’ she asked bitterly.

‘I think you’re making difficulties where there are none,’ he retorted calmly. ‘I’ll tell you something. Eliot’s more than ready to meet you half-way. He’d probably be glad of some company—someone to show him the countryside round here.’

Her lips parted in disbelief as she looked down at him. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘I’m not joking either.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve been living like a nun for the past three years, Natalie, and don’t tell me any different. But you can’t grieve for ever, lass, so why not get out a bit—live a little?’ He smiled. ‘You never know, you might …’

‘No!’ Natalie exploded. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and if wasn’t so nauseating, it would be ridiculous. Your first attempt at matchmaking worked, so be content with that. There’ll never be another. Eliot Lang is the last kind of man I’d ever want to be involved with. His—type revolts me. If he ever touched me—I’d die!’ She stopped with a little gasp, looking anxiously at her father, but he seemed perfectly composed.

‘Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll say no more.’ He picked up a paperweight carved in the shape of a horse, and began to toy with it. ‘But there’s no accounting for taste, I must say. He’s got my Beattie eating out of his hand already,’ he added with a faint grin. ‘But you’re going to be civil to Eliot, and you can start by showing him round the yard—and the flat.’

‘Is that an order?’ she asked huskily.

‘If it needs to be,’ he said genially. ‘Now, off you go.’

Eliot was waiting by the tack room. Leaning against the door, his hands in his pockets, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun, he looked relaxed and very much at home.

‘Ah,’ he said lazily. ‘My guide.’ He looked at the bunch of keys dangling from her hand. ‘Shall we have a look at the flat first?’

She was taken aback. ‘But don’t you want to see the yard—the horses?’

‘I’ve done my homework,’ he said drily. ‘I know what horses are in training here, what they cost, and what the next season’s hopes are. Any more I want to know on that score, I can ask Wes Lovett, when he comes back for evening stables. I don’t want to intrude on his time with his family.’

‘I can tell you anything you want to know.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me, Mrs Drummond, what makes you tick. And why I’m so clearly not the flavour of the month.’

Natalie looked past him, remembering Grantham’s strictures, and measuring her words accordingly.

She said abruptly, ‘You were—a shock. I had no idea Grantham was planning to take on an outsider as a partner.’

‘Then what did you think he’d do? Carry on as if nothing had happened? As if that attack had been a figment of his imagination?’

The note in his voice stung her, and she flushed. ‘No, of course not. But there was an alternative.’

‘What was that?’ he asked. ‘As a matter of academic interest, of course.’

She said baldly, and ungrammatically, ‘There was me.’

There was a long silence. Then Eliot said, ‘Everything suddenly becomes much clearer. Well, well. So you see yourself as a trainer of champion ‘chasers, do you, Mrs Drummond?’

‘Yes, I do. For years I’ve been begging my father to give me a chance—ever since I left school. When he was ill, I thought it was an opportunity to show him that I wasn’t—a useless female, but prove I could run things here.’

‘I see.’ He gave her a meditative look. ‘I’m glad to hear natural concern for his well-being wasn’t allowed to stand in the way of your ambition.’

Her voice shook. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me. Of course I was worried—worried sick. But it wouldn’t have improved Grantham’s chances of recovery if I’d simply—sat back and let the yard go to pot.’

He nodded. ‘And on the strength of that, you expected to be made a partner in equal standing with your father in these stables.’ He gave her a long look. ‘Lady, you’re living in a dream world. You should know, none better, just how many million pounds you have on the hoof in this place. Do you imagine, in the long run, the owners are going to entrust their treasures to the care of an inexperienced girl, however eager to learn? How old are you, by the way?’

‘I’m twenty-three,’ Natalie said stormily. ‘And you couldn’t be more wrong. When Dad was first taken ill, a number of the owners got edgy and started talking about removing their horses, and I talked them out of it. I persuaded them I knew what I was doing. So some people were prepared to have faith in me, even if you and Grantham want to—shut me out.’

He said quietly, ‘Calm down, Mrs Drummond, and take a firm grip on yourself, because I’m afraid I’m going to have to shatter another illusion. No amount of sweettalking from you kept those horses here. Grantham gave me a list of those most likely to waver, and I made it my business to ring them, and tell them what was in the wind. That was what convinced them, darling. Not your well-meaning intervention.’

She tried to speak, to say something, but no words would come. At last she said hoarsely, ‘I don’t believe you.’

He shrugged. ‘As you wish, but Grantham will confirm what I say.’

There was a pause, then he added more gently, ‘But there’s no question of wanting to shut you out, on my part at least. Now, shall we take a look at the flat?’

Natalie felt humiliated to her very soul as she walked in front of him. If her attitude to Eliot had wounded his delicate male pride, then he’d had his revenge in full, she thought wretchedly. At the time, she had thought it was next to a miracle when one owner after another had phoned her back to say that perhaps they’d been hasty …

The flat entrance lay round to the side of the big garage block. Natalie unlocked the front door and stood back. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she said.

Eliot gave her a wry look, seemed as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it, and went up the internal staircase.

Natalie knew an ignominious urge to run away and hide somewhere, while his back was turned. He’d robbed her of everything now, not just the partnership which she recognised would probably never have been hers anyway, but also of her pride in what she had considered her achievements while Grantham was ill.

Oh, it had been cruel of him! Cruel, she thought, her teeth savaging the soft inner flesh of her lower lip. ‘Cruel to be kind’ was one of Grantham’s favourite maxims. Clearly Eliot Lang belonged to the same school of thought.

He was gone a long time. She was thankful that everything had been removed, every stick of furniture, every ornament and keepsake. She would have loathed the idea of him touching her things, using her chairs and table—her bed.

The thought struck her like a blow, her mind flinching from the images it presented, reviving memories she’d thought were dormant.

Tony, she thought wretchedly. Oh God—Tony!

Footsteps coming down the stairs gave sufficient warning for her to compose herself before Eliot rejoined her.

He said flatly, ‘You don’t leave many clues. That place is totally—empty.’ He sent her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Are you Tony Drummond’s widow?’

‘Yes, what of it?’

He shrugged, still staring at her. ‘I should have made the connection before,’ he said, half to himself.

‘Are you—going to live there?’ She had to know.

‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ he said almost casually. ‘As I’m clearly not desecrating some private shrine. And it’s big enough to take some of the furniture I want to bring up from Lambourn.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then everyone’s happy.’

‘A slight exaggeration, wouldn’t you say?’ he drawled. ‘Now I’d like to see the kind of accommodation the lads use. Is that possible?’

‘Of course,’ Natalie said ironically. ‘You’re the boss, after all.’

Eliot Lang shot her a sideways glance, but made no reply.