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HETTIE CANTERED A SLOW circle. The muffled thud of hoof fall on the new rubber surface was satisfying; it was a pleasure to ride on. She eased the horse back to a walk, let the reins slip through her fingers so he could drop his head, and slid her feet out of the stirrups to stretch her aching leg. She rotated her foot as best she could in tight, fitted riding boots, to ease the pinch of tension in her thigh.
It was early still. The low sun picked up a fall of dew on the paddocks, silvering the grass. She patted the neck of the big grey horse; his heat warmed her hand. Hettie breathed in the peace of nature and the yard waking up for the day. She glanced at her watch. Dark mornings lurked ahead, but for the moment the weather was still mild, and she intended to make the most of it. That meant rising early and getting her work done on the yard in time to ride, before the owners and clients disrupted her morning. She swung her leg over the back of the saddle and lowered herself gingerly to the ground, her limp more pronounced as she led the horse back to his stable.
Fiona would turn up soon; ‘yard troll’, Gregor had christened her. She smiled to herself. It fit, and for some inexplicable reason Fiona seemed pleased with her new nickname. From inside the stable she heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. Talk of the devil. She slipped the bridle off the horse’s head.
She walked back to the bungalow to let the dogs out as she couldn’t let Pig run loose while she was riding. He’d developed a habit of chasing smells down to the woods, and Hettie had wasted too many hours recently, searching and failing to find him. He came back eventually on his own, weak and dishevelled, and in need of a bath and cuddles.
She shouted a greeting to Fiona and received a grunt in reply. Neither of them had revisited their drunken bonding session. Troll had been back to her normal barbed self the day after the party, which Hettie found oddly reassuring. Caustic Fiona was familiar; friendly Fiona had been disconcerting.
She made a cup of coffee, fed the kittens and took some painkillers. Three horses still to ride this morning, then a trip with Gregor to look at a little cob he wanted to buy for Tiff. Then teaching, and fields to clear of poop, hay to order, evening stables... and she must get to the vet to pick up Snoop’s medicine. There was Gregor pulling in now. Bert would be here soon, too.
She strode back out onto the yard, grasping her mug in both hands, and braced herself for the day. Onwards and upwards: that was her new motto.
Fiona and Gregor were huddled together, sniggering like kids. Hettie gulped a mouthful of coffee and passed them without breaking her stride. ‘Morning, Gregor.’ She had neither the time nor the desire to join in with their scandalmongering.
‘Mornin’, boss!’ Gregor touched his forehead in mock salutation, and Fiona swung her hair.
Hettie heard the little Fergie tractor start up in the barn behind her. Bert was already here then, and straight to his new favourite job of levelling the rubber surface of the arena. He trundled into sight, the chain harrow clattering along behind him, and waved at Hettie. She smiled and waved back. It was hard to know if it was she or Bert who was more excited by the inviting springy rubber surface that begged to be ridden on – or levelled, apparently. She shook her head. ‘Looks like I’m hacking out on my next ride if anyone wants to join me.’
In the tack room, she wiped the dust from Lockie’s saddle with the sleeve of her fleece. It was time to get back on track with her boy. She would bring him in this evening, when her other jobs were done, and they would start all over again.
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IT WAS LATE IN THE day before she made it to the practice. The Landy shuddered to a rattling halt. Another worry, on top of the cost of hay for the winter months. Hettie shoved the thought away. She had liveries in, and she was teaching all hours. She would find the money somehow.
Ruby was on reception. Hettie suffered a pause of awkwardness before she forced a bright smile. ‘I’m here to pick up Snoop’s medicine.’
She thought she ought to say more, make an effort, but Ruby had turned away before she came up with anything.
‘That will be fifty-two pounds, please.’
Ruby’s smile was as bright as hers had been, but she didn’t notice. She was stumbling over the cost of a box of powders. Alexander couldn’t have charged her last time. She fumbled with her purse. Of course, he hadn’t. She hadn’t had a bill from the vet at all. What with breaking her leg, and Snoop almost, sort of, belonging to Alexander...
Well, she hadn’t even given it a thought. But fifty-two quid!
She had seven pounds and some pence in her purse, plus her plastic. It would have to go on the credit card. She flicked her card down on the desk and crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Weather hasn’t been bad.’
‘No, we’ve been lucky so far.’
Hettie left the building flustered. Weather hasn’t been bad? Was that the best she could think of? Thank God at least her card hadn’t been rejected. She had no idea how much she’d run up on it now, but that was a problem she could put off until another day.
The Melton & Jones Range Rover swung into the car park just as Hettie reached the Landy, and Alexander was at the wheel.
Shit.
She raised her hand in his direction and fumbled with the door, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the party. In fact, she hadn’t seen much of any of the Meltons. Even Grace had been tempted away from Hardacre by the onset of autumn hunting and the cooling weather.
‘How is Snoop?’
Hettie tensed. His voice was so familiar. Three short, emotionless words, yet they slipped into her with a shiver of intimacy. She closed her eyes and forced herself to answer with the same light tone he had used. ‘Well, thank you. Back on form.’
‘Good. And your leg?’
‘It’s okay. How are you?’ She regretted the question as soon as she’d said it. ‘How is Snoop?’ and ‘How is your leg?’, his questions had been polite and specific. ‘How are you’ tilted towards a whole different discussion.
His reply was quiet. ‘I think I’m alright.’
‘You think? You know if you ever wanted, if you ever needed to—’
‘No, I’m fine. And I’m glad you’re getting on.’
Hettie nodded, her throat closing. She had thought, just for a moment, he was letting her back in, but clearly not.
She got into the Landy, and sagged with relief when it started with her first turn of the key and jerked awkwardly out of the parking spot. She would bloody well send Bert for Snoop’s medicine next time.
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HETTIE WAS GLAD TO be teaching that evening. She turned on the floodlights as dusk fell, creating a pool of white light that encircled her and her pupil in their own small world. When the lesson was over she caught Lockie and brought him in from the field.
In the quiet solitude of twilight she brushed his thickening coat, tacked him up and leant across his back. Once, and again, and again, until he stopped fretting and shifting. Then she laid her full weight on him, her hand rubbing his shoulder. No rush to achieve, no deadlines. She would get it right with Lockie, and he would accept her when he was ready.
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APACHE, TIFF’S NEW cob, arrived on the yard with autumn. His sturdy, feathered legs crunched through the leaves that lay in the paddock he would share with Snoop. The kittens skittered sideways, chasing the wind across the yard.
Hettie dug out her woollen hat, and Tiff arrived for her lesson in smart new riding gloves. The loom of colder weather brought a flurry of enquiries to the yard, and when Hettie accepted two more pony-club liveries, she congratulated herself on finally hitting her target of ten full stables. More work and longer hours, but she could pay the bills now.
West-country rain brought mud by the bucketload. Barbours, wellies and turnout rugs were tugged from cupboards. Gutters drummed and gateways puddled. Doris and Pig huddled in the shelter of the lean-to as the kittens retreated indoors.
Gregor didn’t want his horses to go out in the sodden fields, but Hettie fought hard for their right to spend some time outdoors. She won the argument, but only on the condition that Gregor be allowed to put a roof over the new arena.
The hosepipe ran cold water onto muddy fetlocks as she scrubbed horses’ hooves. The workmen came back, the wheels of their vans churning the grass next to the bungalow. Lockie observed their arrival and went back to his hay. Watching him, Hettie forgot to be annoyed by the muddy furrows where her lawn had once been.
Her happiness was short lived.
The local authority wrote to advise that her business rates would go up with completion of the roof.
She shrugged off her dripping Barbour and perched on the stool at her plant shelf. She turned on her laptop and typed the new rates figure in. Rain streaming over the glass obscured her view of the fields, but the numbers on her spreadsheet were painfully clear. She lit a cigarette, and stared at the rivulets of water tracing paths across the window. She shivered.
What the hell would she do now?
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ALEXANDER SAW THE NEW roof rising above the stables as he drove to a farm on the lane that passed Hardacre, where he was retesting for BCG. The farmer, a recalcitrant, hard-working character, had lost too many of his precious herd to the brutal disease already, and his dignity in face of that loss had cut Alexander.
He reached across to the passenger seat and scratched Digger’s head. For the sake of the farmer he prayed today’s tests would be negative. Dora nudged his hand with her nose.
He wondered if he should call in to check on Snoop, as he was passing anyway. He craned his neck to glimpse the yard through a break in the hedgerow.
Was it really Snoop he wanted to see?
He was glad Hettie was doing so well, but she’d looked stressed when he’d seen her, too thin, and in a hurry to get away. From him?
He put both hands back on the steering wheel and hunched forwards as he passed by the yard.
No doubt she was working too much, and her leg could barely have mended properly yet. Hard grind, wrestling with mud and horses, not to mention grappling with that cantankerous Landy and its difficult clutch. He frowned. It wasn’t his business, but how could she afford building work when she’d been laid up for weeks? The Landy had sounded dreadful. If she had money to burn she should buy herself a decent vehicle.
He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and climbed to the crest of the hill where a spread of misted green fields fell away from his view, criss-crossed by hedges and fences and dotted with distant barns. The narrow lane curled downhill in front of him and faded into the fine mist that rested in the valley. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension in them and tightened his hands around the steering wheel.