| |
HETTIE CALLED ON GRACE on Sunday, the day after the ball she hadn’t attended. Like biting on a toothache, she needed to hear all about it. Anju had sent a text asking Hettie to call up as a diversion to the tension between her and Ted. They were talking it through, though the engagement was off (albeit not officially yet).
Grace had asked Hettie if she wanted to join them for dinner. She’d declined, although the smell of the roasting joint was making her mouth water. She rested her elbows on the wooden table and sipped a mug of tea as she watched Grace score the Brussels sprouts before dropping them into a colander. A lot of Brussels sprouts. She wondered if Alexander was coming for dinner, and tensed when she heard a door creak. ‘So, tell me about the ball then.’
‘Oh, you missed a corker! Gregor taught the hunt staff some of his dance moves, and I drank too much.’
‘That’s not like you.’
‘You’ve only known me in my wifely years.’ Another Brussels sprout pinged into the colander. ‘And I had Celia on duty for the hooligans this morning. God bless Granny, I say.’
‘Any gossip?’
‘Bucketloads! Poor Anju wasn’t well though, she had to leave early, and Ted went with her, of course. But you know Fliss Cartwright, don’t you? The tall woman with the loud voice? Well...’ and Grace was off, with a wealth of indiscretions, trysts and misadventures.
No mention of Alexander, which was a good thing, wasn’t it? As long as Grace wasn’t deliberately keeping his name out of the conversation, because no doubt Fiona would be keen to share the next time she saw her.
Hettie laughed and gasped and made more tea when Anju joined them. Grace dispatched the sprouts and started on the carrots. Anju sank down at the table and groaned into her hands.
Hettie set the mug of tea down in front of her, and tried not to be miffed that the one year she’d stayed away from the ball they’d all gone on a bender. ‘Heavy night?’
‘Yes. A mistake.’
‘Such a shame you missed the dancing, Anj! Gregor’s floorshow made me laugh so much I wet myself. And we had paparazzi in the grounds, Hettie! Can you imagine? James had to go and chase them off.’
‘Really? I wonder if they were at my place as well. They might know Gregor keeps his horses there.’ Hettie pinched a carrot off of the chopping board and bit into it. ‘Someone left a gate open last night, but I’m bloody sure I shut it.’
She hadn’t been able to shake her unease from the previous evening, and it hadn’t helped when she’d found the gate to the paddock swinging on its hinges this morning. She would have to speak to Tiff about security. They couldn’t have reporters skulking about on the yard.
Anju gulped a mouthful of tea and sighed with appreciation. ‘Alexander should be grateful the paparazzi didn’t get to see his floorshow. I’m guessing Ruby won’t be joining us for dinner?’
Hettie looked at Grace, who had suddenly become intensely focused on the carrot she was peeling. ‘What did he get up to? You might as well tell me, Grace. Fiona surely will.’
‘It was nothing. A row, Ruby stormed off—’
‘After throwing a drink in his face! Well earned I expect.’
‘Oh, Anju, you don’t know that.’
‘No, sorry. It’s the hangover talking.’
Hettie left when Grace put the potatoes in the oven. She didn’t want to risk running into Alexander, not on the morning after the ball. The ball he’d been to with someone else. They’d had a row. What had he been up to? She wrapped her scarf tightly and shoved her hands into her gloves.
Whatever it was, it was none of her business.
––––––––
ALEXANDER FELT HIS phone vibrate again. He didn’t slow his stride. Calf muscles burning, one muddy trainer slammed in front of the other, uphill, through the woods, his footfall only softened by the damp leaves on the ground. Digger put a pheasant up, and a jackdaw heckled them. The cold air he dragged into his lungs seared his chest. He pushed up the sleeves of his hoody and drew his forearm across his eyebrows to wipe away the sweat.
Fuck this. Not content with chucking her wine in his face, Ruby was still going at him. Attack by text, and what the fuck had he done wrong? He’d picked her up, she’d looked nice and he’d told her so... He stopped at the top of the bridleway, slithery mud under foot, and dragged in more air. Digger and Dora panted on the ground next to him.
She’d turned on him before they got to dessert, and he was damned if he knew why. Riding some hobbyhorse about being his rebound lay. On and on, no matter that he denied it. Had he done something wrong? He’d lost patience in the end, he’d admit to that. When he’d asked if she wanted to dance, and she’d said only if there wasn’t anyone else he’d rather be dancing with.
His phone buzzed again. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the list of texts and dropped it back again. It was all so fucking Essex it was laughable. Or it would be if it weren’t giving him a headache. He’d call her later, make his peace.
Maybe self-service shagging was the answer after all.
He started to run again, placing his feet, but slipping on the downhill anyway. The irony was that he had been faithful to Ruby, hadn’t touched another woman. Alexander picked up his pace when the land levelled out. He glanced at the timer he’d set on his watch. Gregor was an exhibitionist. Entertaining, but he couldn’t see him as a match for Hettie. Surely not. It had been strange, her not being there, and a lot of people asked after her. He looked at his watch again as he ran through the garden gate.
––––––––
ALEXANDER WAS AT THE Hall, tucking into Grace’s roast when the terminal text arrived on his phone. This isn’t working. If you can’t be bothered to answer my texts, I’m done with us.
‘A call-out?’ Celia asked.
‘No, I’m off duty.’ He picked up his knife and fork and carried on with his meal.
––––––––
HETTIE HUNG THE CURTAINS on Sunday afternoon, standing on the back of the sofa to reach the pole. Kitten found a new game: leaping up to swing from the drapes she was trying to fix into place. ‘I’m glad I didn’t pay for them.’ She climbed down and rubbed a pull in the Liberty fabric.
They brightened the room, anyway, and shut out the murky dusk and the splinters of sleet and rain hitting the glass.
––––––––
JULIAN WAS WATCHING the rain, trying to decide if he would abandon his evening walk today. Lucy had encouraged him to get out for some exercise now that his leg was healing, but she’d wondered aloud why he went in the evenings, after it got dark. He laughed, lit a fag and opened the window a crack. She didn’t like him smoking in the house, but she was out at the minute and this was his room. Stupid cow. She’d come over all guilt and sympathy when he’d told her he wasn’t up to facing the villagers yet. And then she’d bought him that fucking bird book, to go with the binoculars he’d ordered. Hunting binoculars, they were. Cost him an arm and a leg. Night vision, the lot. Still, best to let her think what she wanted to think. She wasn’t the brightest.
He reached for the binoculars now, opened the window wider and leant across the sill to flick his fag end onto the flat garage roof below.
––––––––
HETTIE’S TEACHING EASED off in the week before Christmas. Festive preparations and the end of school term distracted her clients. Gregor flew off for Christmas in Dubai, and Tiff went home to Manchester. The builders came, looked at the ground and cheerfully got back in their vans. Weather’s too wet to make a start; see you in the new year.
Peace settled on Hardacre.
Zoe and Hettie worked through their chores in comfortable routine, and took their morning break in the bungalow kitchen. Damp coats and muddy boots steeped in the porch while they clasped mugs to warm their hands and talked through the jobs for the day. It was hard to leave the bungalow, shrugging back into coats and retrieving warm but still-damp gloves off the radiator. The wind whipped at the door and rain drummed on the roof as they shoved their feet into cold riding boots.
Hettie opened the door to face the weather. She ought to buy a tin of Quality Street to brighten December coffee breaks. Maybe some Baileys as well.
––––––––
THE PRACTICE SLOWED down too, with only emergencies and essential appointments during Christmas week. A carefully planned schedule allowed the vets and nurses some family time. Alexander volunteered to cover the calls on Christmas and Boxing Day. Ewan had Clare and baby Charlotte, Megan and Tom had to travel. Ruby handed her notice in.
––––––––
ZOE HAD CHRISTMAS DAY off. Hettie was planning to do the least she could get away with, and then go to her mum’s for Christmas dinner. Bert had said he would pick her up and bring her back, so she could have a drink.
––––––––
THE DAY DAWNED GREY, but the rain had stopped. Three Christmas stockings hung on Hettie’s fireplace, one each for Doris, Pig and Kitten. Hettie had laughed at herself for indulging in daftness, but they made her sitting room look jolly, and her pets joined her on the sofa when she opened them. Christmas carols played on the radio as Doris and Pig played tug-of-war with the orange netting the stockings had been made of. Kitten looked at the fluffy mouse Hettie dangled in front of her, and then clawed her way up the curtains. Hettie stood up. ‘Right, gang. This won’t get the yard done.’
A Christmas stillness sat over the countryside. In the quiet pause of the day to come, Hettie imagined the excitement building behind front doors as children tumbled out of bed to see if Father Christmas had been.
The gate to Hardacre Paddock was swinging open again.
It was bothering Hettie now. Three times in the past week she’d found it like that, and it didn’t make sense. It worried her that kids might be fooling around at night, but she hadn’t heard anything, and the dogs hadn’t barked.
She pulled the gate closed with a clang, tied it shut with some bale twine she had in her pocket, and reminded herself again to speak to Tiff in the new year, when the madness of Christmas was behind them.
––––––––
A WARM FUG OF ROASTING turkey filled her mum’s kitchen. Anna wore new earrings, which Bert had bought her, and Nat was peeling potatoes. Simon handed Hettie a glass of Prosecco. ‘Now this is a new tradition I could get used to.’
Natalie grinned at her, over her shoulder. ‘To celebrate the bump, Mum and Bert and your new business. Even if I can’t drink it myself!’
‘May our good fortune continue!’ Simon raised his glass and a chorus of ‘cheers’ hailed the sentiment.
––––––––
BERT DROVE HETTIE BACK to the yard after dinner to sort out the horses and dogs quick-as-they-could before returning. But Victor, one of Gregor’s warmbloods, was circling his stable, dropping his head and pawing the ground. Hettie felt underneath his rug. Her hand met with claggy sweat curling his coat. Colic, she and Bert decided.
‘I’ll have to stay and keep an eye on him.’
‘Aye. I’ll stay with you.’
‘You bloody well will not! This is your first proper Christmas as part of the family. You should be with Mum.’
Bert rubbed his chin, and Hettie drove on with her argument. ‘I can call if I need you. Get yourself back, Bert. I’ve eaten so much I’ll be happy to slob on the sofa and watch Christmas telly. I’ve got the dogs and Kitten, and you know me, I’m happy with my animals.’
‘You’ll call me?’
‘I promise.’
––––––––
SHE TOOK VICTOR’S TEMPERATURE and changed his rugs. Then she built up the shavings bed around the walls of his stable in case he tried to roll, and took away his hay net. ‘Good timing, Vic. I’d better tell your dad.’ She scratched the big horse behind his ears.
Gregor wasn’t picking up his phone, and Hettie had no idea what the time was in Dubai. Tiff answered on the second ring.
‘Hettie? Everything alright?’
‘Victor’s got a bit of a tummy ache. Nothing to panic about, and I’m dealing with it, but I haven’t been able to get through to Gregor, and I thought one of you ought to know.’
‘Have you called the vet?’
‘No. I don’t think it’s a job for the vet, not yet anyway. I’m keeping an eye. It will probably pass.’
‘Call the vet. I know you can deal with it, but I also know how Gregor is with those horses. He’d want the vet out.’
Hettie dialled the vet, slightly uncomfortable to be calling them on Christmas Day with a mild case of colic but reminding herself that her loyalties lay with her client and the horse, not with whichever vet she was about to drag away from their family. A recorded message, a mobile number, for emergencies only.
She keyed in the number quickly, before she could think about it. Please let it be Ewan or Tom... ‘Alexander. I’m sorry to disturb your Christmas, but we’ve got a case of colic.’ She could hear the Melton kids in the background, the burble of conversation.
‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
She led Victor around the yard while she waited for Alexander. The big horse was looking fresher, improving as they walked. So much better that Hettie almost cringed when Alexander drew up. Victor raised his head, and pricked his ears forwards in a perky fashion.
‘This one?’
‘Yes. Sorry, he’s picked up a lot in the last twenty minutes. I might have wasted your time. The owner wanted me to play safe.’ Hettie felt heat creeping across her chest.
Alexander opened his bag and pulled out a stethoscope, ‘Well, let’s find out. Happy Christmas, by the way.
‘And to you, Alexander.’
‘Nice-looking horse.’
‘Yes. One of Gregor’s.’
‘Ah. Well, we must keep Gregor happy, but there’s not a lot wrong with this boy.’
The flush reached Hettie’s face. ‘He worries about his horses, but I’m sorry if I’ve called you out for nothing—’
‘You haven’t. If I’m honest, I was glad to escape the madness for a while. Hyperactive kids and overfed adults... You’ve not spent the day on your own?’
‘No, no. I’ve been at Mum’s. Bert ran me back to do the horses, and then I found Victor stressed.’
‘Well, he’s not stressed now. Don’t give him any food tonight. Check on him for the next few hours. Call me if it recurs.’ Alexander packed his equipment and snapped the bag shut.
‘Can I offer you a cup of tea or anything?’
He looked at his watch, hesitated. ‘I probably ought—’
‘Of course. Thanks for coming out.’
She took Victor back to his stable, heard the car pull away, brushed the wood shavings off her smart Christmas trousers and walked back to the bungalow.