Kiss and Tell (61 page)

Nodding mutely, she felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

‘This is my stepsister, Beccy.’

‘Hi.’ He smiled tiredly and reached up to brush the snow from his pelt of black hair, his anger finally evaporating. He suddenly looked absolutely shattered, the dissipating adrenalin taking his last reserves of energy with it.

Tash was eager to make amends. ‘We’re about to have a big lunch – some friends and family are here shooting, but they’ll be back soon because of the weather. Please join us.’

He shook his head. ‘Is there somewhere I can just crash out for a couple of hours? The flight’s beaten me. I haven’t slept since Auckland.’

‘Sure – Beccy, could you show Lough the lodge cottage? You know where the keys are, so give him that set. You’ll be sharing with our work rider Rory,’ she said, turning to Lough, ‘but it’s a big cottage – plenty of space.’

‘Haven’t had a lot of that lately.’ He looked more exhausted than ever, but his deep voice lost none of its power as he fixed Tash with a long look. ‘Forgive me. I can’t think straight right now.’

‘Take as long as you need.’

His eyes flashed, searching her face again for more than just the kind smile there. ‘Tell your husband I’ll speak with him as soon as I’m rested.’ Then he turned to Beccy. ‘Lead on … sorry, I missed your name.’

‘Beccy,’ she gulped, not looking at him.

‘Beccy,’ he repeated, and suddenly she felt she had the most beautiful name in the world.

She kept her head down and her hat pulled low over her face as she hastily led Lough to the cottage, terrified of being alone with him for long in case he recognised her under closer scrutiny. She hadn’t
prepared herself for meeting him in person and while it was overwhelmingly exciting, it was also terrifying.

When he had stepped into the stable earlier, full of heat and fury like an erupting volcano, she’d thought she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her head was still spinning, but self-preservation had kicked in. Act normal, her instincts told her. You look nothing like you did in Melbourne. He won’t recognise you. And he thinks that Tash is the one he’s exchanged messages with. You’re just a groom.

He had to quicken his step to keep up. ‘Hang on, my hire car’s back there.’

‘Fetch it later,’ she insisted as she swung through the iron gate and crunched up the front path, leaving a trail of footprints in the virginal snow.

‘Very chocolate-box.’ Lough was gazing up at the little brick and flint cottage with its shingle roof, far removed from the tin-topped cabin he had rented on twenty acres of prime New Zealand horse country, or more recently his temporary accommodation in a succession of cells, interview rooms, cheap hotels and his mother’s Auckland apartment.

‘Yes, it’s quite pretty,’ Beccy spouted, trying so hard to sound different from her Tash phone voice that she was now squeaking like Tweetie Pie. ‘You’ll have to remember to keep the Rayburn and the sitting-room fire lit because it gets seriously cold and the night storage heaters are hopeless. Rory’s room is upstairs on the— Well, it’s obvious. You get the other big room. There’s bedding and towels in the cupboard in the bathroom.’

Not looking at him, she stepped back on the doorstep and thrust the keys in his direction.

As his hand covered hers to take them they both jumped at the static shock that stung at their palms. The keys dropped to the ground. Stooping to retrieve them at the same time, they banged foreheads. Then, to her embarrassment, Beccy’s felt her feet slip in the snow and she tipped forwards, head-butting him again before reaching out to save herself and finding her splayed hand landing firmly in his crotch. His eyes watered with pain.

‘Sorry!’ She scrabbled back, slipped again and landed on her bottom.

Lough held out a hand to help her up. For a moment, as he looked directly in the face of this shy, red-cheeked creature who’d
just accidentally battered his tired body, he started with surprise. ‘Have we met before?’

Shaking her head furiously, she ducked her face away and went into reverse. ‘Never. I’ll leave you to look around. Shout if there’s anything you need.’

Grateful that she obviously wasn’t going to come in and start fussing around, Lough nodded a polite dismissal. The girl scuttled away down the path behind him as he kicked snow from his boots and stepped inside. His new housemate thankfully seemed to be out, so he closed the door on his worries and made his way upstairs, not caring about the cold. One room was clearly occupied, so he made his way across the landing to an empty room with duck egg blue walls, containing just a brass bed, a chest of drawers and a small bedside table. There was a charming oil painting of a horse above the bed – incredibly delicate and accurate. It was a few moments before he realised that it was one of his horses.

He walked to the window, which looked out across the white winter gardens to the main house, only the topmost windows of which were visible over a high wall.

It was all so alien to him, this English country life with its grand houses and long family pedigrees. He knew that was the mainstay of eventing in the UK, but it still came as a shock to him how formal it all was. Tash had behaved like a total stranger, so British and polite. It had really thrown him.

He closed his eyes and groaned. Why had he been so angry? He shouldn’t have taken it out on her, but he just couldn’t stop himself. It was just so strange, seeing her at last. Their secret exchanges felt like a dream, these past few weeks so horrific and surreal.

In a sudden moment of sleepy penitence he pulled his phone from his pocket and texted her.

So muddled up and fucked up being here. Seems unreal. Glad I am here, though.

She texted straight back.
Me too. xxx

‘Me too,’ he breathed, looking up at the little picture of the horse. ‘Me too.’ And he was asleep.

Driving back to Berkshire in the billowing snow with her car boot half open and Lemon fretting on the passenger seat was not Faith’s idea of fun.

‘Lough is going to murder me!’ he said for the tenth time.

Faith ignored him.

Behind her, the rear seats were folded down and a large wheel-barrow and shovel bounced around beneath their bungee straps. Because they were too big to fit in with the boot closed, Graham had tied the boot ajar and cold air was blasting in.

Faith understood that she had only got a token Christmas present this year because her birthday car had been so generous, but had they needed to get something quite so embarrassing? The Haydown mob would laugh themselves hoarse over it; Lemon had certainly had tears in his eyes when she’d pulled off the acres of wrapping to reveal the barrow, which her stepfather had sprayed bright turquoise to match her cross country colours, then customised with Danish, British and Irish flags and slogans like ‘Bottoms up’, ‘Kick on’ and ‘Leap of Faith’. The shovel was similarly adorned. A great deal of care and love had gone into it, but she couldn’t help wishing that they had just given her the new breeches and waterproof over-trousers she had asked for instead. At least it would give Rory a laugh; he hadn’t been in very good spirits lately.

She concentrated on the twilit road ahead, its sludgy grey tracks disappearing away through the snow and white flakes spinning brightly in the headlights, trying not to worry about Rory travelling back in his old banger. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d got his licence back after a ban, and he was an appalling driver.

‘He’ll murder me!’ Lemon covered his eyes and groaned yet again.

‘Oh, c’mon,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not your fault Hugo took his horses out.’

‘Yes it is. They’re my responsibility.’

But, in the end, Lough was still sleeping off his flight in the lodge cottage when they arrived, his hire car parked on the yard where he’d left it, and thickly coated with snow.

A late lunch was still in progress in the house. Lemon and Faith peered through the glowing windows and observed at least twenty at the kitchen table, with various free-range children and dogs milling around.

‘That’s Dillon Rafferty.’ She pointed out a dark-haired figure leaning away from the attentions of a platinum blonde. ‘I might have guessed Sylva Frost would be all over him.’

‘She’s
hot
.’

At this, Faith let out a low snarl. Rory wasn’t among the late lunchers and his car wasn’t back, so she wearily set about skipping out his horses so that she could return to Lime Tree Farm before the weather closed in totally – not that she would mind being snow-bound in Maccombe for a few days; it felt more like home than Lime Tree Farm, although that was set to change from New Year. Once the horses were in full work again the Moncrieffs would need Faith in the team and she’d move White Lies to their Fosbourne Ducis yard too. She was dreading the change and the separation from Rory.

Still gibbering with fear, and casting anxious looks in the direction of the lodge, Lemon started on Lough’s horses.

The Haydown shooting lunch proved riotous fun, despite the strange selection of food on offer. Acting as cook and waitress, acutely aware of her sweaty face and uncombed hair, Tash tried not to feel offended that nobody lifted a finger to help her, nor mind that Sylva alternated between flirting with Dillon Rafferty and turning her laser-beam attentions on Hugo. He seemed mercifully oblivious, far too preoccupied with fuming about Lough Strachan’s arrival. Tash was playing down how angry the Kiwi had been about Hugo hunting his horses, but there was no doubt that fireworks were in store.

‘He can’t just turn up without a bye your leave,’ he muttered now as she leaned past him to offer round the last few home-made chocolate brownies with hot fudge sauce.

‘I think he’s terribly dashing,’ Sophia admitted from across the table. ‘We saw him at the Olympics and he’s the most breathtaking rider.’

‘Jolly talented horseman for a foreigner,’ Alicia agreed loudly, the contents of her hipflask having long since rendered her politically incorrect. ‘Gather he’s a bit of a firebrand, but the best often are.’

‘Is Lough the one you said should have won?’ James asked Henrietta.

‘Hugo won the gold,’ Tash reminded them awkwardly, feeling Hugo bristle beside her.

‘This cake stuff is splendid, Tash,’ congratulated Ben, helping himself to a fourth brownie as he tried valiantly to deflect any tension.
‘Jolly good spread you’ve laid on, especially those tasty little game goujons with the spicy sauce. You must give the recipe to Sophs.’

‘They were Captain Birdseye’s chicken dippers, Ben,’ Sophia informed him in an ungracious undertone.

‘Terrific.’ He looked blank. ‘Better ask him for the recipe then. Any relation to Clarissa Byrd-Sligh?’

Sylva giggled, trying to catch Hugo’s eye again, but he was gazing fixedly at the darkening dusk beyond the window so she settled for smiling at Dillon, who flashed a nervous smile before returning his attention to his plate of cheeses and biscuits. He was sweet, but Sylva found Hugo far more macho and exciting. No wonder Tash fretted about keeping him; he was even sexier than she remembered him at Blenheim. The day had got far more thrilling once he joined the shooting party, and the late lunch was great entertainment as the Beauchamps and their guests chatted and laughed and barracked and gossiped. Nobody wanted to leave, but it was finally forced to break up when Olaf came into the kitchen for the third time, covered in melting snow, to say that he had yet again cleared the front drive with the help of Vasilly and two shovels, but that it would be impossible a fourth time if the snow continued at this rate.

‘Oh, darlink people I must leave you!’ Sylva stood up, blowing kisses.

To Tash and Henrietta’s embarrassment James blew loud kisses back and raised his glass. He was having quite the jolliest Christmas in years.

‘You must come again!’ Alicia warbled from the head of the table, having automatically resumed proprietorial rights as she always did when eating at Haydown. ‘You remind me so delightfully of those gorgeous European girls one knew from noble families that had to flee communism after the war. Lovely gels. So pretty and gay. Always made dreadful marriages.’

‘Touché.’ Sylva beamed at her, having bonded with Hugo’s mother during the shoot. She had a wicked sense of humour, along with the sort of class and connections that money could never buy.

Equally, Alicia thought that the little Slovakian was a complete poppet and planned to cultivate her as a plaything to entertain her friends. ‘Come for New Year. We always have a frightfully jolly party, don’t we Hugo?’

‘Not here,’ Hugo pointed out.

‘Of course not.’ Alicia was sparking up a Rothmans despite horrified looks all around her. ‘It’s a local landowner’s jolly.’

‘Bollocks it is!’ he laughed. ‘It’s the Moncrieffs bash,’ he told Sylva. ‘Very local.’

‘Terribly jet-set,’ Alicia countered winningly, having taken to Sylva big time, especially the strong scent of new money that emanated from her. ‘That lovely Irish actor, Neal O’Thing is always there.’

‘Niall O’Shaughnessy,’ Tash corrected, earning a dark look from Hugo.

‘Do come.’ Alicia batted her eyes at Sylva through the smokescreen. ‘You will be my personal guest.’

‘I’ll check my diary,’ she promised, gathering her shooting waistcoat from the back of her chair and winking at Dillon.

Pretending not to notice, Dillon glanced across at Nell, relieved that the party was breaking up, however much he had enjoyed the day. The greatest surprise had been Sylva Frost. From what little he’d read, he had always assumed she’d be a hideous, fake creation, but at close quarters she was a lot more down to earth yet, paradoxically, a lot more complicated. He liked her directness and obvious intelligence. She was sensual and intriguingly wise.

‘You will call me,’ she insisted now, pressing a card into his palm. ‘We should be allies.’

He nodded, hastily pocketing the card while Nell was looking away before politely standing to take part in the procession of kisses that accompanied Sylva’s departure. Moving in beside him, Nell calmly reached into his pocket, took out the card and flicked it behind her into the open fire. ‘We should have spent the day with your father.’ Her eyes narrowed as she watched Sylva Frost politely kissing her hosts at the door. Another card was pressed into Hugo’s palm as she did so.