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THE BALMY DAYS OF SUMMER stretched long and warm. Hettie left the newly painted doors at Hardacre open to allow airflow through the empty stables waiting for horses to fill them.
She finally called Dave, the handyman, when she ran out of options. With no money left she was unable to finish the yard without his help, but then she found his problem-solving skills and affable presence reassuring. He fixed and mended with a reliable hand and a repartee of dry-witted comments on Hettie’s earlier efforts. Hettie smiled and made endless mugs of tea. She even brought in gratitude biscuits for him.
Anna, her mum, designed flyers emblazoned with Redfern Livery Stables, decorated with an outline drawing of a horse’s head. Imogen ran off hundreds of photocopies. Anju built Hettie a basic website displaying photographs of the scenic paddocks with the stables as a backdrop, the make-do-and-mend repairs artfully unfocused. The tabby cat reappeared but maintained a haughty distance, which drove the dogs frantic. Hettie named her Moggy and put a saucer of cat biscuits high on a shelf in the feed room.
The Melton & Jones Veterinary Practice employed a junior vet, Megan, to relieve Alexander of his clinic duties. She was cheerful, personable and liked by clients, and being left to the farm calls and surgery suited Alexander.
Bert went into hospital to have his hip replaced, so Hettie temporarily took over his duties checking on the youngsters and broodmares in the paddocks. The small cash sum she received for her hour’s work a day bought groceries and dog food. Aware she had been living off Alexander for far too long, Hettie made several attempts to thank him, with promises of future repayment.
Alexander shut her down every time. ‘I like having you here. Don’t worry about it.’
Hettie chewed her lip and went back to her spreadsheet to re-examine the calculations. She waited for the arrival of the local paper and scanned the situations-vacant page for jobs she might be able to do alongside running her yard.
Lockie grew fat on summer grass and idleness. As the weeks passed and his body filled out, he became less wary. He befriended the other horses and stayed with the herd when they grouped around Hettie. She was able to stroke his forehead and to rub his neck with the head collar she now carried with her. The first time she slipped it over his head he tensed. Hettie was scared she had made her move too soon. If he bolted she wouldn’t be able to hold him.
Bert had watched from the fence, leaning on his stick. ‘Take it straight off again before the fella has time to think.’
She did as he said, and Lockie now let her to put the head collar on every day. She decided that when her first livery arrived she would move him to Hardacre and continue his rehab there. It would give her something to do other than staring at empty stables.
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GRACE HANDED TWO DISHES of runner beans to Hettie. ‘You must have an official launch. Redfern Livery Stables! What an achievement. I’m so proud of you.’
‘Thanks, but you might want to hold the praise until I actually make some money.’ Hettie took the serving dishes and carried them through to the dining room.
The Melton clan convened for Sunday lunch again, including Ted and Anju and Celia, installed at the Hall for the last weeks of the summer holidays. Grace had propped open the wide French doors from the dining room to the stone patio and gardens, allowing the summer sun and a soft breeze to wash through the high-ceilinged room. The temptation was too much for the children. Celia coaxed Georgia and Fred back indoors, to their places at the long mahogany table.
James carved the joint of beef, which steamed a mouth-watering aroma from a nest of Yorkshire puddings atop a vintage platter that had belonged to their great-grandmother. Plates and serving dishes passed across the table to a hubbub of chatter, which quieted as they all tucked into the food. Alexander poured more wine, and glasses chinked.
Hettie smiled across the table at him, warmed by her inclusion into this family, contented by good food and mellowed by the soft red Merlot. Alexander’s eyes, so open with love when he grinned back at her, caused her heart to shift a little, gently, like the movement of the lace curtains in the breeze of the open doors.
How lucky she was. The tense anxiety of the last months drifted away with a swell of appreciation. The yard was ready for horses, Lockie became more rewarding day by day, and that gorgeous man sitting across the table was hers. Later, they would go home, to their home, to the Gatehouse. ‘Love you,’ she mouthed at him.
His eyes sparkled. ‘Love you too,’ he mouthed back.
Hettie’s moment of fuzzy ecstasy was interrupted by the chime of a spoon on cut glass. Conversation stuttered as Ted stood up. ‘Anju and I have an announcement to make.’
He beckoned to Anju and took her hand when she moved to stand beside him. A circle of expectant faces turned his way. Georgia climbed off her seat and ran out to the garden, unnoticed. Alexander, forewarned of Ted’s momentous news, studied his apple pie to hide the grin that threatened to pre-empt their announcement.
‘We’re engaged to be married!’ Ted’s face flushed with pride.
The ecstatic clamour brought Georgia back to the dining room.
‘Champagne!’ Grace shouted. ‘This calls for champagne!’
James was dispatched to find some, and Grace went in search of glasses. Congratulatory toasts interrupted excited questions about the when and the where of the wedding and details about the proposal.
Alexander’s little finger stroked the side of Hettie’s hand when their glasses chimed together. ‘Us next?’ he mouthed. Hettie’s eyebrows flew up in surprise, but she couldn’t ignore the tingle of nerves that fired with an unexpected thrill. Had that been a joke? Laughing, she shook her head at the tease.
‘No?’ He pulled down the corners of his mouth in a comical mime.
‘Who knows? Stranger things have happened.’ Hettie grinned. Strangely the idea felt, nice, comfortable, possible even.
Alexander’s attention was diverted by James offering a top-up. Hettie’s thumb circled on the chilled glass of her champagne flute. Family conversation burbled around her, but Hettie’s mind was stunned by the giddying realisation she couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a long time.
The party atmosphere, aided by alcohol, led the gathering to become increasingly noisy. When they carried the last bottle of champagne out to the patio, to savour the final rays of a low-slung sun, Celia quietly herded the children away with the promise of a walk to the woods. Anju, Grace and Hettie sat on the patio steps and talked weddings. The three brothers stood behind them, surveying the gardens and the women, silently toasting themselves on the beauty of their view.
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‘I DO LOVE YOU, YOU know.’ Alexander pulled Hettie close as they sauntered from the Hall, their hands entwined. ‘I don’t tell you enough, and I know I’ve been a moody bastard lately. But I do love you, Hettie Redfern.’
Hettie leant into him, drunk on happiness. ‘I know you do, and I love you too. More than you know.’
They turned at the same time to find each other’s mouths. Alexander’s hand roamed freely across Hettie’s back as their lips and tongues met, tasting and relishing the bittersweet champagne that clung to their breath. Abandoned, lost to their surroundings, they closed their eyes and melted into one another, and the kiss became hungry. Arms clung, hands clasped hair, Alexander’s palm ruched the fabric of Hettie’s dress.
Returning from her walk, Celia quickly changed course and tried to divert her grandchildren’s stares by pointing out the budding conker shells on the ancient horse-chestnut tree. Her ruse was only partially successful. Artie blushed and Georgia demanded a conker, but Fred stood gaping with wide-eyed curiosity that would not be redirected.
Hettie opened her eyes and glimpsed the little group. She flushed with embarrassment, lust and champagne. ‘Ahem. We have an audience.’
Alexander looked over his shoulder and waved at Fred, who waved enthusiastically back.
‘I think we’ll put off kids for a while yet. I’m greedy to have you all to myself, any time or place I want.’ He turned back to Hettie and drew his hand across her ribs, blocking his actions from view with his body, stoking her longing.
She caught his hands in hers. ‘Let’s put them off forever then.’
Her comment was only partly in jest, she lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. ‘I’ve got to check on Lockie and the youngsters, but I promise I won’t be long.’ Leaning forwards, she whispered close to his ear. ‘Be ready when I get back.’
A short, sharp laugh burst from Alexander. He slid his hands down Hettie’s back and clasped her buttocks. ‘Jesus, woman! You have no idea of the spell you’ve put on me.’
Hettie meandered along the track to the paddock, a smile hovered on her cheeks, and she trailed a dreamy hand through the feather grasses growing on the verge, heads drooped heavy with the seeds that would soon be shed to autumn. Both she and Alexander were fairly drunk, but unless she was mistaken he’d mentioned marriage and children that afternoon. He was turning into an old romantic.
She plucked one of the grass heads and brushed its fronds against her collarbone. Maybe she was too. Her heart felt at ease; she was happy. It must be the booze. Since when had she wanted to be a blushing bride? And kids? She laughed at the path her thoughts were taking. She’d never been that drunk.
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ALEXANDER WALKED BACK to the Gatehouse, feeling mildly intoxicated. His stride quickened as he lustily anticipated the remainder of his Sunday spent in glorious sexual adventure.
Home, he kicked off his shoes, and even the sight of an unwelcome gift on the rug from Pig didn’t dent his spirits. ‘God, you’re a menace, pup.’ He cleared up and scratched the puppy behind his ear. ‘When are you going to grow out of this rebellious phase?’
Hettie’s laptop beeped from its position on the table, catching Alexander’s attention. He really ought to take a look at that spreadsheet of hers. He’d been promising to for weeks.
The laptop screen opened to Hettie’s email inbox. A new message from Cynthia displayed across the top.
Alexander clicked on the message and frowned in mild annoyance at Cynthia’s opening paragraph, which demanded Hettie abandon her plans and go back to South Africa. But it had clearly been written in the spirit of an ongoing joke, and anyway Hettie was still here, wasn’t she?
He smiled, just for a second, a pulse of grudging affection towards even Cynthia and her ways, then his eyes moved down the screen, and the next sentence crashed out.
As you tell me you are now ensconced in the Gatehouse (should I call you Lady Melton?) I’m guessing you decided against telling Alexander about your fling. Wise choice. That man has more pride than is healthy in a person...
The words were black and jagged. The muscles in his chest clenched so violently that a physical pain stabbed his heart.
Digger lifted his head, and padded across from his basket to stand at Alexander’s feet.
Alexander’s hands shook as he silently shut the laptop. He rested his head in his hands. Rage, jealousy and betrayal pumped through his blood. He tried to control his breathing, to get a hold on the fury, but the fog was descending.
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HETTIE TUMBLED BACK into the house, sun-warmed and pleasantly merry. The cut of the air in the room and Alexander’s unnatural stillness at the table alerted her straight away that something was very wrong. ‘Alexander. What is it?’
He uncurled from the chair and stood to his full imposing height. When he looked at her his eyes were full of repulsion, his jaw ferociously set.
Hettie took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Pack your stuff and get out.’ The words were almost whispered. ‘Quickly. Now.’
Hettie’s hands began to shake. The tremble filled her chest and squeezed the breath out of her lungs. It slowed the process of thought in her flustered brain. This didn’t make sense. What had happened in the time she’d been away to turn everything so scary? Her eyes flicked to the laptop, looking for explanation. Alexander had been sitting beside it. ‘Alexander?’ Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, tremulous, feeble.
He shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘No, Hettie. No. I’m going out now. Be gone before I’m back.’ He moved towards the door without looking at her again. ‘And take your fucking mongrels with you.’
Hettie’s heart battered her ribs as she opened the laptop. She felt sick as she read Cynthia’s email.
Dear God.
She gathered her stuff quickly because there was nothing else to do. The disgust in his eyes had made that clear. And she’d known, hadn’t she? Known this would be the end. For him, for her. The end of everything.
Tears ran freely, and she didn’t try to stop them. Her heart ached and her head throbbed as she loaded her meagre belongings and her dogs into the back of the Landy. In a last, desperate, hopeless attempt to repair some of the damage, Hettie left a note on the table in the place where her laptop had stood.
I have only loved you, Alexander. Please talk to me.
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ALEXANDER WALKED FOR two hours, head down, jaw clenched against the emotion that threatened to crush him. He fought the urge to rage and shout, to retaliate against the pain. And he thought he was back in control when he returned to the Gatehouse, but the note on the table fractured his restraint.
Lethally, without a sound or word, Alexander turned on the room.
He upended the sofa and booted the coffee table. He saw Dora flee, but even that wasn’t enough to stop him. There was a hole inside him only fury could feed.
She’d been with someone else.
He crashed his arm across the dresser, flinging a framed photograph, shattering a lamp. He punched the wall, and the pain that shot through his arm pricked the insanity.
She’d cheated, taken him for a fool.
Physical pain, real pain; he welcomed its assault. Real pain he knew and could deal with, this... He was a fool. He’d let himself fall in love, and he’d let himself down.
Deflated and spent, Alexander hung his head. Who was he trying to hurt? She wasn’t there.
He made himself look at the room, at the devastation, and his eyes shifted in shame at the damage he had done in the space of a few manic seconds. Thank God she hadn’t been there to see that. Dark thoughts whiplashed through his mind.
She told you she loved you.
She fucked someone else.
His eyes felt dry and gritty, his body heavy. She’d fucked someone else. That wasn’t love.
He found a bottle of whiskey and sank to the littered carpet, his back against the upturned sofa.
Digger trembled in the corner of the room, cowed but standing his ground.
‘I’m sorry, old boy.’ Alexander’s voice caught in his throat. ‘You didn’t deserve that. Not when you’re the only one stupid enough to stay with me.’
He tipped the bottle to his mouth, and set about drinking himself into oblivion.