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FIVE HORSES SHOULD have been easy, but Gregor’s detailed requirements were time consuming. It was full on, seven days a week, with no assistance. Bert often dropped by, but the time they spent talking offset the help he gave. The kittens became time-wastingly cute as they grew more adventurous. The little ginger boy walked with a comically stilted gait. The other two were girls: one a tabby with markings similar to Moggy but the addition of one white ear, and the second a tortoiseshell patchwork of white, ginger and brown. They let Hettie stroke them now, with Moggy supervising from the cistern, but they spat at the dogs with a violence that made Hettie laugh. It was shocking from creatures so cute. Pig scratched at the loo door and finally found a way in. After a rapid exit with Moggy attached to his head he didn’t try again.
Hettie was glad to be busy, back doing what she loved most. Her days started early and ended late: riding, grooming and mucking out; endless sweeping; and evenings spent obsessing over her income and expenses, interspersed with kitten watching. The money flowed out as fast as it arrived, but at least she was making some.
As she became de rigueur with the pony-club set, the phone rang daily, and Grace told her she’d heard mothers bragging at the autumn rally that their children trained with Hettie Redfern. It baffled Hettie, even though she enjoyed teaching the kids, who were fearless and stoic on the backs of their clever and quick-witted ponies. It took her several weeks to work out that Gregor Francis had been the initial attraction. She hadn’t realised he was famous.
‘The Gregor Francis?’ Grace had cried when Hettie dropped his name, prior to which she’d just referred to him as the bloke with the dressage horses. ‘Gregor Francis the celebrity bad boy whose daddy owns half of England?’ Grace’s voice rang with the thrill of it. ‘You cannot tell me you haven’t heard of him!’
‘No, sorry. I can’t say I have.’
‘And he’s here in the Cotswolds! How utterly delicious! There goes another surge in the property prices.’
Gregor and Tiff were indeed now resident in Gloucestershire. He in the mansion, she in the substantial pool house. The Ampneys were abuzz with tales of all-night parties and dark goings on, but Gregor arrived fresh faced at the yard in the mornings. ‘I have to feed the media, darling, much as I might prefer a quiet night on the chaise, with a cup of tea and something dire on the telly.’
And Tiff hadn’t been lying. Working for Gregor was exciting. He was funny, and boisterous like a Great Dane puppy. Having taken to riding late in life his equestrian skills were basic, but his beautifully bred and trained dressage horses, and his own enthusiasm, compensated for his lack of finesse. He failed, however, to hide his horror on returning from America to learn that his horses were being schooled on grass because the arena was dilapidated and full of rabbit holes.
‘I am going to re-surface the arena when I’ve saved enough money. But your horses are so well behaved and balanced, they’re a doddle to school in the paddock.’
‘But in the winter... There will be mud!’ Gregor actually shuddered.
Hettie couldn’t suppress a nervous smile. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Lots of it.’
‘Oh, no. That simply will not do. I’ll build a new arena.’
‘Christ, no! You can’t do that! I don’t know when I’d be able to pay you back.’
‘Darling, I’m disgustingly rich, and spending money makes me happy. I absolutely, utterly, conclusively insist. No arguments.’ He held up his hand and pouted comically. ‘I won’t ask you to pay it back.’
Hettie did argue, for several days, but Gregor wore her down, and within hours of her capitulation Tiff arrived on the yard with a notepad and tape measure to plan the construction of a new arena, bigger, better and vastly more expensive than anything Hettie would have dreamt of creating; and floodlights too, which Hettie had to admit would come in handy as they would allow her to teach through the winter evenings.
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WHEN HER BOYS WENT back to school, Grace started bringing Georgia to the yard while Zofia minded Sophie. Hettie resisted pumping her for news of Alexander, but she fell on any snippets Grace let slip in every-day conversation, and managed to work out that he was back at Draymere, happier and sociable again. Hettie concluded that he was moving on, and reminded herself that she was too.
Grace caught Snoop from the field, so Georgia could sit on him. The little girl hummed tunelessly as she was led around the stables, not too far, because Snoop had to stay in Lockie’s view, or the thoroughbred threw a tantrum.
Hettie sighed. She could see Lockie now, snorting and weaving at the fence. She walked over to him. Lockie shook his head, his over-long mane flicking across his neck.
Since the liveries had come in, her progress with Lockie had pretty much stopped. Bill and Gregor’s horses were groomed and trimmed and exercised, while Lockie was out in the field, finding new ways to amuse himself, which included scaring the workmen who were on the yard to excavate the new arena. Lockie bucked and galloped circuits of the field every time they moved the yellow digger, the same digger Snoop had just walked past without a glance.
The regular drum of his hooves played on Hettie’s conscience. She’d promised him better than this, but the daylight hours were shrinking as her workload got heavier. It was frustrating, but at least both of them were still here. She hadn’t expected that a few weeks ago.
Grace hefted Georgia from Snoop’s back, and rummaged in her pocket for a polo mint to give to the pony. ‘The old boy seems a bit stiff today.’
Hettie pulled her attention away from Lockie, who was thrusting himself at the gate because only Snoop’s rear-end was in his eye-line. The pony did look dejected and every year of his age. Hettie went to look, pulling Snoop’s tufty ears affectionately. ‘He doesn’t look right, does he?’ Snoop didn’t react to her stroking, his head hung low and his eyes looked dull and weary.
She ran a hand down each of his legs, feeling for heat or swelling, her fingers sensing, finding the pulse below his fetlock. ‘What’s up, little man?’ She straightened and turned to Grace. ‘Poor old thing, there’s nothing obviously wrong, but I might call the vet anyway. He’s off colour, he’s old and he’s precious.’
‘Do you want me to speak to Alexander?’
‘No, I can call Tom. I’ve got his number.’
Grace looked at her. Georgia swung from her mother’s hand, impatient to claim her attention, but Grace hesitated before speaking. ‘Alexander adores Snoop. I’m not sure that hearing he’s poorly from Tom would be entirely fair.’
Hettie hadn’t thought of that, or if she had she’d managed to ignore the thought. But Grace was right, of course. Alexander was fearsomely loyal to his animals. He would probably rather she’d dated Tom than have him look at Snoop without his knowing. Her heart gave a sickening thump. So, finally, Alexander would have to speak to her. She could let Grace deal with it, but regardless of who made the call, Alexander would have to come to the yard to see the pony. She’d only be putting off the inevitable.
‘I’ll call the practice, and I’ll ask for Alexander.’
‘Good luck.’ Grace smiled weakly.
‘I’ll pass it back to you if he refuses to speak to me.’
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HETTIE WAITED UNTIL Grace had gone before she made the call. She took her phone and a cigarette around to the back of the stables, so she could concentrate away from the grind of the digger, the shouting of workmen, and the thunder of Lockie’s hooves, which continued despite the fact that Snoop was back in his field. She tapped out the number she knew by heart, and as it rang, she took a ragged breath to calm the pounding in her chest. The receptionist answered the phone with a singsong ‘Melton and Jones.’
‘I’m calling from Redfern Livery, at Hardacre Farm, and I need to speak to Alexander Melton please, about one of our horses.’
‘I’m afraid Alexander is out on calls. Can anyone else help?’
Hettie had to think fast. ‘Not really. Can you get a message to him? You see the horse, well the pony, that needs to be seen used to be his. Tell him it’s Snoop. I think he’d want to be the one to make the visit.’
Hettie cursed her weak vanity as she rushed back to the bungalow to change into clean jodhpurs, before tacking up one of Gregor’s horses. She could ride in the field and keep an eye out for Alexander at the same time.
She was grateful that Gregor’s patient horse didn’t take advantage of her distraction, that his broad back and smooth stride were gentle on the butterflies in her stomach. Her mouth was dry. Part of her wanted to see Alexander so much, but another part of her dreaded this meeting. Would he still look at her with the hatred she’d seen when they parted? Her hands became clammy when she remembered that look. She nudged the horse into a canter, straightened her back and sat deep in the saddle to ride the swaying motion.
She finished riding, washed the horse down and put him away. When the workmen packed up, the silencing of their digger was a welcome relief, the sound of their van leaving, less so. Still no sign of Alexander. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. Maybe avoiding her was a bigger deal than seeing to Snoop.
She was on her way to swap the saddle and bridle for her next ride when he pulled up. The sight of him getting out of the car caused a physical pull in her gut. She forced herself to breathe evenly, and rested the tack she was carrying on an empty stable door. Alexander strode towards her, his glance took in the yard, the horses, the building work. Anywhere but her. Hettie clasped her hands behind her back.
‘What’s the problem with Snoop?’ And still he hadn’t looked at her.
‘He’s stiff and out of sorts.’ Hettie tried to match his matter-of-fact tone, but her mouth was dry and her throat had tightened. ‘It might just be his age, but I thought he ought to be checked out anyway.’
Her heart jangled behind her ribs, and her stomach swooped with hopeless anger. How could he look so bloody stern and detached while her every sense was rioting?
Alexander nodded. ‘Right, I’ll have a look.’
She collected Snoop’s head collar and walked to the field. Alexander followed, but he stayed a few paces behind her. Lockie’s head lifted as soon as he saw them. He galloped to the gate and positioned himself in a blocking stance. Belatedly, Hettie realised her mistake: she was carrying a head collar, and Snoop had already been taken away from him once that day. Lockie wasn’t going to be keen to let her take him again. As she got closer his nostrils flared and he swung from side to side, obstructing the gate and stamping his hooves on the packed earth around it.
Hettie swore under her breath. She opened the gate a few inches and squeezed through the narrow gap her horse’s thrusting chest on the rails allowed. She swung the head collar weakly to try to back him off, but the action upset him more. He snaked his neck and snapped at her.
Hettie’s humiliation burst out as frustration at the horse. ‘Enough, Lockie!’
She couldn’t work out how the hell she was going to get Snoop out of his enclosure, let alone past Lockie’s snapping teeth and through the gate.
Alexander stood back with his hands in pockets. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
She heard him, despite his lowered voice. For fuck’s sake was right. An angry horse and now an angry vet as well. It was all going fucking perfectly.
She lifted her chin and walked on.
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ALEXANDER HAD BEEN about to tell her to stop, about to say that going into the field with Lockie behaving like this was dangerous. He could walk along the fence and climb through to Snoop. He’d been about to suggest that keeping a lunatic-horse next to Snoop was probably why the pony was out of sorts in the first place. But he didn’t have time. He looked at her too late.
His mouth was open as Lockie spun, when the black horse’s back legs shot out. He heard the whack as Lockie’s right hoof hit Hettie’s left thigh, heard her holler, a cry loud enough to make Lockie run off. Alexander ran too, through the gate.
Hettie was moaning, bent double, her hands holding her thigh. ‘Shit, shit, shit, that fucking hurt. You might have to catch Snoop yourself.’
Alexander took the head collar she was holding out to him, but looked at her white-knuckled hand where she gripped the fence. He didn’t like the pallor of her face, and he hadn’t liked the sound that kick had made. ‘Aside from Snoop, do you need an ambulance?’
‘No. I’ll be fine in a minute.’
Alexander wanted to argue. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to the hospital, despite her pig-headedness. A confusion of emotion stopped him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t decide if that would be a reasonable, human response. Seeing her at all was hard enough, seeing her like this—
‘Honestly, Alexander, I’ll be okay. Catch Snoop before Lockie comes back.’
—and now she was saying his name, as if this was normal, as if this wasn’t raw and painful. But her instruction galvanised him. He strode to Snoop’s pen and quickly caught the pony. ‘Lean on Snoop, see if you can walk.’
She tried to comply, grabbing a handful of Snoop’s mane as he passed, but he heard the groan of pain the movement caused. ‘I’ll come back for you.’
He urged Snoop to move faster than a sidle, then remembered guiltily that the pony’s lack of mobility was the reason he was there. Ushering him into an empty stable, he ran back to the field. Lockie was screaming in anguish at Snoop’s disappearance, and heading for the gate Hettie was hanging on to.
He didn’t have time to think now.
Alexander picked her up with as much care as he could, trying not to hear the feral groan of pain his action evoked in Hettie. He carried her out of the field and clanked the catch into place just as Lockie skidded to a halt against the rails.
He paused outside the gate, suffering an awkward jolt of physical recognition. The muscle memory of a familiar body, a recall of other contact. He felt Hettie tense in his arms, and even that slight movement made her moan. ‘You need to go to the hospital.’
He carried her to the lean-to and set her gently down on one of the chairs.
‘I can’t go to hospital. I’ve got seven bloody horses to look after.’
Her refusal caused a flare of frustration in Alexander, which stirred in with the mess of reactions already surging through him, starting with anger at himself for the strength of feeling she could still provoke, and an overwhelming urge to protect her while knowing that his being there was only making things worse.
He ran his hand through his hair. She wasn’t his business, not anymore. It wasn’t his place to argue or to coerce. If she wanted to play the martyr...
He kept his voice deliberately controlled. ‘Your choice, but I think that leg is broken.’ He turned away. ‘If I can’t be of any help here, I’ll check Snoop and get off to my next appointment.’ He waited for her to confirm what she wanted. When she didn’t answer, he left the lean-to, collected his bag from the car and let himself into the stable with Snoop.
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HETTIE FELT RIDICULOUS, splayed on a plastic chair with her leg throbbing like hell, too afraid of causing more pain to even reach for her fags, let alone to follow Alexander.
She was in agony, humiliated. And how the fuck, exactly, was she going to look after the horses? She ticked herself off, in lieu of anyone else being willing to do it for her.
Tentatively, she let the weight of her leg rest on the ground and gritted her teeth until the wave of agony passed. Gripping the back of the chair she pulled herself up on her uninjured leg and stood for a moment. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her leg couldn’t do this to her. She had to be able to work. She managed to drag herself around the table to her cigarettes and phone, lit a fag and called her mum. Then she called Bert and Imogen. Bastard leg.
When Alexander came back she was still gripping the plant shelf. She dragged deeply on her cigarette. ‘What’s the verdict?’
‘Old age, stiff joints, hard ground. Move him somewhere softer, preferably away from that nutter who is wearing him out. Failing that, bring him in on a deep shavings bed for a few hours a day.’
‘The grass is rich on the wetter fields. I worry about laminitis.’
‘It’s a valid concern. I can’t cure old age. Make him as comfortable as you can. Keep him moving. Call... the practice again if you need to. I’ll prescribe some painkillers to keep him ticking over.’
Hettie nodded. She couldn’t even make herself look at him now, and her eyes were stinging with tears she refused to let go. The pain in her leg was intense, and her skin was clammy with sweat, but it was him who was hurting her most. Not even a flicker of affection in his cold hard eyes. It was as if he’d simply switched her off, turned her into nothing.
Her head swam. She badly needed to sit down but to attempt it might elicit his help and she couldn’t bear that, couldn’t feel his cold-hearted hands on her. The absence of love in his touch would break her. She spoke to the window. ‘I’ve called Mum. She’ll be here in a minute.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll wait until she gets here.’
‘There’s no need for you to stay.’
‘Very well. If you’re sure.’
Hettie lifted her chin. She wanted to scream at him to leave. Didn’t he know how ridiculous he was, how utterly pathetic? All of this because of a drunken grope? She didn’t bloody deserve this! How had he stopped loving her so easily?