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HETTIE PULLED THE DUVET cover over her head. She really had slept for hours and hours.
This wouldn’t do, the dogs must be busting, and she must speak to Zoe and Nat. She should have done that yesterday. She closed her eyes. It felt safe here though, tucked in her duvet cocoon. She groped for her phone on the bedside table and pulled it under the covers. Missed calls from her mum, from Nat and Alexander. And one from Caroline Thanet. Hettie curled on her side, but it was no good. She desperately needed to pee now, and she realised with some surprise that she was ravenously hungry.
Doris and Pig flew out the door when she pulled it open. She shut it behind them. There were client cars already parked outside, and she could hear the students and grooms on the yard. She’d have liked to go and see Lockie, but that would mean running the gamut of questions, and she wasn’t ready yet. There was a note on the kitchen table:
Called in to make sure you were ok, your mum and Nat were worried. I told them you were sleeping it off. A x
Hettie sighed, and put some bread in the toaster. Her phone was ringing again. ‘Hi, Mum. No, I’m fine. I just slept like the dead...’
Three slices of toast and three phone calls later, Hettie dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She’d asked Zoe if she wanted to try jumping Lockie today. It would be a good diversion for both of them, although, to be fair, Zoe had sounded quite blasé about the whole court thing.
So maybe it was only her who’d had a total meltdown. In front of Alexander.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t told him she didn’t want him there, so if he’d heard stuff he couldn’t handle that was his problem, not hers. She supposed she’d have to talk to him eventually. They were meant to be a team... She grimaced as she shrugged her arms into her bright red gilet and pulled on her leather boots.
The only person judging you badly is you.
Did he think she was the village idiot? She’d been here before, so she knew people were judging.
It was hard, watching Zoe as she sat on Lockie’s back, which was right where Hettie wanted to be. Even if Lockie’s first jump, which was enthusiastic to the point of recklessness, only confirmed her decision not to ride him at the moment. She felt a pang of nostalgia for recklessness though. Oh, to be on his back, galloping over the newly cut stubble fields, with the rush of air stinging her face, and her thoughts drummed away by the thrill of pounding hooves.
She ignored her mobile, which was buzzing like a gnat in the pocket of her gilet. Why couldn’t anyone leave her in peace today? She hoisted a blue and white pole from the side of the arena. ‘Someone’s in high spirits. Maybe we’d better trot a few poles before we try that again.’
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SHE WENT TO HER MUM and Bert’s for lunch, which had the double bonus of a cooked meal and a delay in facing Alexander who would no doubt show up at the bungalow again. She’d talk to him tomorrow, when she was back at work and life was returning to normal.
Nat was still at the cottage. ‘I heard you knocked them dead in the courtroom.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Alexander. He came back to wait for me after he’d taken you home.’
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IT WAS THE TALK OF the village, of course. Julian Greaves had gone down for seven years and been placed on the sex offenders’ register. The news moved stealthily in Chinese whispers that stretched and twisted the story.
‘It will only last until Gregor’s next party,’ said Grace, trying to reassure Hettie.
‘I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I do. I’m glad Zoe had the sense to use the screen.’
‘... and we’ve got Fiona’s ball to look forward to, of course.’
‘Oh God, don’t remind me.’ Hettie rested her chin on her hands, her elbows propped on Grace’s kitchen table. A summer ball with half the village there – just what she needed right now. She’d be sitting on Gregor’s table, between Philip from Radio Cotswolds and Justine from Home and Country. She had Gregor to thank for that little treat and instructions from the Troll to flaunt the new cleavage she seemed to have grown at the old men on the corporate table.
Hettie didn’t plan on flaunting anything. Although, on second thoughts, maybe it would be a service to the village if she gave the gossips the evidence they were looking for. Impossible, anyway. She’d never been good at flaunting, not without the aid of a bottle of vino, and Sprog had put a stop to that. ‘Are all of you lot going?’
‘Ted and Anj are in Majorca, and Celia’s minding the kids, so we’ve got a table with the practice staff. I still can’t think why you’re not sitting with us and Alexander.’
‘Because we’re not a couple.’
‘You’re having a baby, and you see him every day...’
‘I see him every day because we’re having a baby.’ She would have liked to have said they were a team, but in truth, they weren’t very team-like right now. She couldn’t forget the look on his face that day in the courtroom, and he’d accused her of blaming him for thoughts he’d never had. They’d get through it. They’d got through worse.
The thought stole into her mind, and she was rather taken aback by it.
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THE HARDING RESIDENCE, rather grandly named Serendipity House, was known as Harding Towers by the locals. Several ambitious extensions had been added on to the original modest dwelling. The immaculate gravel drive arced in front of a mock Tudor façade and circled a tiered water fountain. Parking valets hovered, accepting the keys of Jaguars, Mercedes and Range-Rovers. Hettie pressed her foot down on the Landy’s accelerator and avoided the valets by driving past on the other side of the fountain. She found the parking area in a field behind some tennis courts. Gregor had offered to bring her in his yellow Lamborghini, but he’d gone on early, and she’d refused to be on parade as part of the reception committee.
Hettie hitched up the bodice of her dress as she rounded the front of the building. It really was impossible, wearing high heels on gravel. Alexander was standing outside. Damn, she’d forgotten how good he looked in a tux. She smoothed the front of her blush skirt, and he nodded at her.
‘I saw you turn up in a cloud of diesel. Can I walk you in?’
‘If I’ve got to go in, I suppose it might as well be with you.’
‘You look beautiful, by the way.’
‘Suitably village temptress?’
‘Well, you’re tempting me.’
She felt some of the tension leave her shoulders as she linked arms with him. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a bottle of vodka stashed in that suit have you?’
‘No, I’m just pleased to see you.’
She barked a laugh and shook her head.
He grinned back at her. ‘That’s better. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to laugh.’
Inside, the house was sleek and open plan with marble floors and a glass balustrade on the long, galleried landing. Alexander rested his hand on Hettie’s thickening waistline. She could feel the heat of his touch through the fabric of her dress.
Bill, Fiona, Gregor and Mrs Harding (nobody seemed to know her Christian name) were in the hall, greeting guests. Gregor sported a tartan tuxedo.
‘I’m loving the suit,’ Hettie said, when he leant in to triple kiss her.
‘But look at you, darling! Sparkling like a diamond on the arm of your centurion!’
‘Sparkling like a Zircon on the arm of Nero,’ Fiona cut in.
Hettie grinned. ‘Piss off, Fi.’
Gregor threw up his hands. ‘You see! You look so delicious you’ve made our Fi spit like the troll she is!’
Alexander’s hand tightened on Hettie’s waist.
Fiona pursed her lips, but she didn’t shrug off the arm Gregor dropped around her shoulders.
Hettie glanced back as they walked to the dining room. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if those two are an item.’
‘Let’s hope so. A perfect match made in perdition.’
Imogen had styled the dining room in an opulence of pink and blue sashes and garlands, floral arrangements and overdressed tables. They split up to find their respective seats.
The meal was endless. Course after course arrived in front of her, and Hettie washed it down with so much juice she had to get up twice to pee, which at least gave her a break from making polite conversation with Philip and Justine. It didn’t help that she could hear the laughter coming from the Melton table, and Clare was there with Ewan. They waved at each other as she came back from her second trip to the loo. Philip’s chair, next to Tiff, was empty, so Hettie slipped into it. She ignored Fiona’s hard stare, and she didn’t move when he came back.
Fiona’s speech was surprisingly moving. Hettie and Tiff got the giggles in the middle of the auction. Fiona glared. Hettie pushed her chair back with relief when the last item had sold. ‘God, I must stretch my legs. I reckon I’ve eaten twice my weight in food.’
Tiff leant towards her. ‘Come over to the vets’ table with me first. I want an in with Tom.’
Hettie swung her head in surprise. ‘Tom? Vet Tom?’ She peered over her shoulder. ‘Tiffany! Do you fancy him?’
‘Serious case of the hots, ever since he came out to look at Apache.’
‘Bloody hell, we’d better get you over there then.’
Hettie wasn’t sorry to change tables. She sat down beside Grace and Clare, who had both reached a level of tipsy that made them tricky to keep up with sober. The room felt stuffy now. Tables were being moved away from the dance floor, and the disco had its pulsing lights turned on.
Alexander pulled his chair closer to hers. ‘How’s it going then?’
‘I’m hot, overfed and drowning in orange juice. But, on the plus side, unlike that bloke over there, I haven’t just blown three grand to spend a day on a boat.’
‘A luxury yacht, in the Med.’
‘My mistake. Well done Fiona, though. She must have made some serious money tonight.’
The disco struck off with a club anthem. Hettie looked across the tables at the number of white-haired diners, and wondered if that was the best of choices.
‘Are you dancing?’
‘It might shake the food down I guess, but I need some fresh air first.’
Alexander walked with her out to the garden. The night struck cool on her shoulders.
‘Do you want my jacket?’
‘No, it’s lovely. Fresh.’
Stone steps led them down to a paved path that wound through the garden of Serendipity House. The silence they walked in was comfortable enough, but they kept a decent space between them. Hettie trod on the lawn at the edge of the path, and the dew quickly soaked through her sandals. She crossed her arms in front of her body. The air smelt of harvest, mown grass and roses. The dull thud of the disco carried from the house behind them.
‘So, are you happy with Greaves’s sentence?’
She could tell by the hesitance of his voice, and the way he slipped his hands, too casually, into his pockets, that he was broaching the subject because it was still a thorn between them. She tried to temper her flare of annoyance, but she was fed up of hearing Greaves’s name, and this wasn’t a subject she trusted Alexander with now. ‘I’m glad it’s done, and I’m happy he’s locked up. That’s it, subject closed, it’s over with.’
‘It isn’t though, is it?’
Hettie stopped on the path, and half-turned back to face Serendipity House. Her fingers tightened on her elbows, and she shivered involuntarily. Alexander shrugged off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. The tenderness of his gesture made her feel unexpectedly fragile. She blinked hard against the sting in her eyes. ‘If we’re going to make this work, it’s over as a subject between us.’
She saw the muscle in his temple shift. ‘You’ve misjudged me.’
‘Welcome to the club. I’m going back inside now.’
He caught her arm as she turned. ‘And you’ve misjudged me again if you think I’m going to let this go.’
‘Alexander, I am not going to talk about this.’
‘Then just listen.’ His arm moved around her back and he pulled her close to his chest. His fingers threaded through her hair. ‘Please.’
Hettie’s breath quickened. She was taut in his embrace, but she didn’t pull away. She closed her eyes. His chest was warm beneath the starched white shirt. Tears pricked again. How easy it would be to give in to this, to crack open her heart and let him back in.
Until the next time he glimpsed the side of her he didn’t love, and they both crashed back against the history that dogged them.
‘I don’t know what you saw in my face in that courtroom, but if you thought it was judgement that’s my fault for judging you badly before. But I can honestly swear that all I felt for you in there was awe and pride and so much love it was all I could do not to punch that barrister.’ His shoulders shifted with the weight of his exhalation. ‘I can’t make you trust me on this, but that is every word of the truth.’
Hettie let her head rest against him and his hand cupped it there. Her voice wavered in her throat. ‘I wish I could believe you, Alexander, but I don’t think I can.’
The shriek of a barn owl cut through the darkness, followed by a fainter, answering call.
‘It’s okay, I can wait.’ His lips brushed her hair. ‘You trusted me before, and you let me into our baby’s life. Whatever happens, I’ll always be thankful for that.’
Hettie’s arms stole from under the jacket he’d wrapped her in and slipped around his back.
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NATALIE’S BABY ARRIVED at the end of August. Lily Anna weighed eight pounds, three ounces, and her delivery had been straightforward enough.
Hettie cancelled her scheduled lessons and headed for the station. She navigated the platform with a big bunch of flowers and a clutch of helium balloons that jostled and bounced in every direction when she had to run for the train. Her journey on the crowded London Underground was complicated by the unwieldy gifts, but the sight of her struggles did manage to raise a few smiles from fellow travellers. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling when she passed the gift shop in the hospital foyer, displaying new-baby balloons; and the ward sister took the flowers, because they weren’t allowed on the maternity ward. But none of that mattered when she saw her sister and the tiny hump under a pink cellular blanket in the Plexiglas bassinet.
Lily Anna’s face was rosy on the white cotton sheet, her button nose tilted and her lips pursed in sleep.
‘Blimey, Nat. You’ve only gone and made the cutest baby in the world.’
Hettie held her niece and watched as a world of expressions shifted and dappled Lily Anna’s face. The darkest of eyes peeked from below paper-thin lids for the briefest of moments. Her downy cheeks bunched with the effort.
They talked about Nat’s labour and Simon’s amazement at his new daughter. ‘It knocks you for six, Het, it really does; meeting them for the first time.’
Hettie could believe that, she was pretty much knocked for six by Lily herself, and all she’d done was turn up and hold her. She stretched in Hettie’s arms, one dinky foot appearing from the folds of the blanket. Hettie rubbed the tiny toes between her thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m glad our kids will grow up together.’
‘Yeah, cousins. We never had cousins, did we?’
‘Not that we knew of, but there could be some out there.’ Hettie nodded her head at the window next to Natalie’s bed.
‘I’m thinking of tracking Dad down.’
Natalie’s statement broke Hettie’s study of Lily’s foot. ‘Really? Why, after all this time?’
Natalie smiled. ‘You’re holding the why. He’s Lily’s grandfather.’
Hettie shrugged. If that was what Nat wanted, it was up to her. It was different for her, after all. Nat had known their father for a few years. He hadn’t hung around long enough to get to know Hettie. She looked back at Lily, positioned across the tight bump of her soon-to-be cousin. As far as Hettie was concerned, it was the people who stuck with you that mattered. Their mum, and Bert, her friends. And Alexander, she supposed, because, whatever else he’d done, and regardless of what he really thought of her, at least she knew he’d always be there for Sprog.
Hettie treated herself to a cappuccino and a cheese baguette for the journey home. She nursed the coffee on her lap as the train clattered through the countryside. The greens outside were muted by fading light. There were patches of rusty leaves on some of the trees now, and the earth had already been turned in harvested fields.
Maybe she’d feel differently about their father when Sprog was actually here. Right now she worried that Nat was setting herself up to get hurt. He’d let them down before. What if he didn’t want to know Lily? Hettie felt a fierce flare of protective anger. If the bastard snubbed her niece... She lifted her paper cup and tipped the last dregs of tepid coffee into her mouth. She had to stop overreacting like this. Maybe he was a normal bloke who’d made some mistakes. Maybe he even regretted his choices, and here she was, cooking up a whole scenario of what she would do to him if he didn’t step up. Chances were that Nat wouldn’t find him, anyway.
Hettie rested her hand on Sprog and her head on the synthetic seat. She closed her eyes, and the gentle rock and regular clack of the train lulled her into dreamy reflection. Who was she to judge, anyway? She’d made enough of her own dodgy life choices.
She smiled as Sprog moved inside her. If Nat did find their dad, she vowed she would make herself give him the benefit of the doubt before she wrote him off. Which was more than she was giving Alexander.
Her eyes flicked open again.