The woman said nothing, glowering at the floor.
Realising now that she must be one of the help, Nell reached in her bag and pulled out a couple of twenties. ‘Make sure the little blonde girls are exhausted,’ she said, pushing the notes into the woman’s hands.
They were pushed right back. ‘Get lost,’ she whispered, her accent so thick that it was a while after she’d turned and walked away that Nell realised what she’d said.
At
last
, Sylva had her moment. She had waited months for this and had rehearsed it many times over Christmas, drilled by Mama to get it absolutely right first time.
When Tash made the introduction to Dillon Rafferty – discreetly filmed by Sylva’s documentary team, who were lurking behind the Christmas tree – Sylva had Zuzi at her side and Hain under one
arm. She smiled at him with such lovely, natural, engaging warmth (practised endlessly in front of the mirror at home) that the air around her practically glowed and it wouldn’t have surprised anyone if small animated birds hadn’t twittered down from above to form a sweetly singing halo about her head.
Dillon had a daughter to either side, both of whom were eyeing Zuzi hopefully.
Close up, he was less charismatic than Sylva had hoped, and far shorter. Despite the trademark stubble and piercings, he had a baby face and shy expression. Newly accustomed to Castigates’s exciting height, breadth and ruggedness, Sylva found Dillon disappointingly diminutive. The smile when it returned fire, however, was quite devastating.
‘I gather we are almost neighbours these days,’ he said.
‘Yes, I have a house in the Lodes – a place to escape with my family.’ She introduced Zuzi who, already briefed by her aunt, obediently led Dillon’s daughters away to play.
Dillon was pulling faces at Hain, who gave him the benefit of his giggly laugh, laying a pink cheek on his mother’s magnificent chest and looking up at the stranger through the longest, lushest lashes available to any toddler – creating an effect far better than Sylva could have hoped to achieve herself. Mama had insisted Kor be kept away because, just as his little brother had inherited his actor father’s flirtatious charm, Sylva’s older son had his footballer father’s belligerent tendency to kick strangers.
The plan worked like a dream: Dillon was at their mercy. By the time one of Sylva’s nannies appeared at her side to unobtrusively whisk Hain away, his eyes were quite lost in her face.
‘Let’s shoot,’ he said in a sexy undertone.
For a moment, as their blue gazes played together, Sylva thought her tactics had been so successful that he was suggesting they both leave inconspicuously by a back door, but then Dillon turned to follow their hostess who was trying politely but firmly to herd them all to the shooting brake, much as she encouraged young horses up a horsebox ramp.
Gathering her shooting party together, Tash hoped that Hugo would get back soon. He’d promised to come and find them after he returned from the meet. It was just a walk-up family shoot, a traditional part of any Beauchamp Christmas, and so there were no
beaters or organised drives – more of a big ramble with guns, but with only Alf and Vasilly around to help and so many guests she knew she’d still struggle to control it. At least only experienced shots got to carry guns. She had an unpleasant feeling of trepidation, as though something truly calamitous was about to happen.
She cast a worried look across to the horizon now, knowing the snow wasn’t far away. The Cotswolds had already been dusted with it when they had left, according to Dillon.
‘Oh, I love snow,’ Sylva said excitedly as she clambered into the brake, making sure Dillon got the full benefit of her perfectly shaped rear in the skin-tight plus twos. ‘It reminds me of my home. So romantic.’
‘Ah yes, the reindeer and sleigh-bells of old Amersham,’ Nell muttered, hopping in behind and making sure she was wedged between the little Slovak and Dillon. Just like Tash, she had a very nasty premonition that something bad was about to happen, and she was going to do her damndest to stop it.
The Haydown family shoot was surprisingly fruitful. They bagged Mallards and snipe by the huge trout ponds; gundogs sent up pheasant and partridge from the copses; and Ben even claimed a brace of woodcock.
The impromptu arrival of Hugo’s mother with a houseguest almost caused carnage when Alicia took a few random pot-shots at a telegraph pole and brought down her own phone lines, but as her houseguest pointed out, ‘you never answer the damned thing anyway’.
His aim improving all the time, Dillon was having a superb afternoon and felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, despite Nell sulking and Sylva Frost’s rather overpowering presence with her camera crew’s lens constantly trained on him. When he politely requested that they stop, they reluctantly acquiesced and Sylva was profoundly apologetic: ‘I forget they are there these days, but of course your private time is very precious.’ To her credit she was a
crack shot – far better than any of the other women there – and single-handedly accounted for five brace of pheasant and a couple of crows.
Increasingly petulant at the sight of her lover lapping up the attentions of an orange-tanned bimbo, Nell set about flirting to make him jealous, but mistakenly chose Tash’s affable but dim brother-in-law Ben Meredith, who had absolutely no idea what was going on and, assuming that she really
did
want his advice on how to handle that ‘terribly big gun’, started to bore her rigid on good shooting practice.
By the time Hugo joined them, still in his breeches and stock, but now teamed with Dubarry boots and a big tweed shooting jacket thrown over his shoulders, the party was marching out of Pinnock’s Copse. He made a beeline for Tash.
‘Who let Mother join in?’ he asked in horror as he spotted Alicia waving a gun around, Beefy panting eagerly in her poacher’s pocket while the Bitches of Eastwick cowered behind her.
‘I can hardly have her removed,’ Tash pointed out.
‘When’s Rory getting back?’ he asked in an undertone as they moved on towards the edge of the old forestry that usually provided great cover and rich pickings for the fattest, laziest pheasants. ‘I could use his help on the yard. Beccy’s on her own.’
‘No idea – sorry.’ Tash had more pressing concerns as she handed him her gun. ‘You take over: I’ve got to take a car back to the house to rescue lunch. The dogs ate two of the game pies, so I need to raid the freezers and improvise like mad.’ She kissed him on the lips to stop his bark of protest.
Moments later, Hugo had spotted a late pheasant lifting from the safety of the copse, and claimed it before any of the others could even lift their guns.
It started to snow properly as Tash drove back across the estate, big flakes whooshing towards her windscreen.
Back at the house, the children were having a riotous time dashing in and out of the tall glazed doors to catch the snowflakes, impatient for enough snow to fall so they could make a snowman.
Tash kicked off her boots at the back door and headed straight across the rear lobby to the old pantry that housed the two big chest freezers, pulling a big bag of local sausages from one, followed by
two huge plastic pots of the chicken soup that Henrietta always brought with her when she visited, and which Tash and Hugo always forgot to eat.
Holding them in place with her chin, she teetered precariously into the kitchen and then stopped in the doorway.
A man was standing with his back to her, thick black hair full of snow. His shoulders were as wide as rower’s, his hips as narrow as a jockey’s. Just above his collar, on the back of his tanned neck, she could see the black edge of a tattoo. She knew instantly who it was.
‘Ohmygod, Lough Strachan! You’re here!’
As he turned to face her, his black eyes smouldering like coal, a slow smile widened across his face, a smile so exultant it seemed to heat the room.
His voice seemed as deep as a blue whale’s call as he dipped his head apologetically. ‘Sorry it took me so long.’
Tash found her smile matching his, genuinely delighted to find him so warm. The Devil on Horseback had ridden in at last, but with sunshine rather than hellfire.
‘Welcome.’ She hastily dropped her frozen spoils on the kitchen table and went to shake his hand. Hers were icy from clutching sausages straight from the freezer, his as warm as toast. As he pulled her towards him to land a kiss on her cheek, Tash was caught by surprise and tilted her face the wrong way, so he ended up practically sucking her nose. He smelled deliciously of aftershave and mints. Turning pink, Tash backed away, her nose damp and her face glowing.
‘You’ve caught us on the hop – there’s a shoot here, and it was the big meet this morning, so we’re all over the place – oh!’ She suddenly remembered that Lough’s horses had gone in place of Haydown ones. ‘Actually, I should mention something straight away …’
As she tried to explain the last-minute switch she got the impression that he wasn’t listening. His eyes were focused on her face, but they had a faraway look. She guessed he must be feeling quite jetlagged. ‘Boxing Day meets are really just a procession,’ she told him, ‘so the horses did no more than stand about, trot out of Marlbury and have a quick canter across a couple of fields.’
Lough’s dark gaze was fixed on hers.
‘You’re even more beautiful than I remember,’ he said suddenly.
Tash gaped at him, wondering if he’d been drinking a lot during
the flight, but guessing he was just a typical eventing roué. He was certainly nothing like she’d expected, having heard he was rather moody and tongue-tied.
‘Beccy will be washing off your horses now. You’ll want to see them, I’m sure. Or would you rather have a cup of tea or coffee first? Something to eat?’
He said nothing, staring at her for what seemed like forever.
Tash was secretly dying to get her sausages in the oven and start defrosting the soup, but it seemed rude to whisk about like Delia Smith when he had just arrived and was being so nice to her. She edged towards a cupboard to fetch out a roasting tray.
‘You must feel terribly out of sorts getting here after so long in … er … transit,’ she fudged, turning away, knowing she needed Hugo alongside to tackle the topic of his arrest. ‘But it’s just lovely to have you here now.’
He watched her long neck bending as she stooped down to reach to the back of the cupboard. ‘Nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be,’ he said softly.
‘Sorry?’ Tash was clattering through the baking trays.
‘“All You Need is Love”, remember?’
‘Oh, right. Super.’ She looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled awkwardly, finding him incredibly nice but rather odd. ‘I’ll just get this food on then I’ll take you out to see your horses. I’m sure Hugo gave them a fun morning out.’
The mention of Hugo’s name seemed to snap him out of his reverie. ‘Out where?’
‘At the Boxing Day meet, like I told you. He took my niece, Lotty. She’s on the Pony Club dressage squad, so is a super jockey.’
Lough’s eyes narrowed. ‘They took
my
horses?’
His deep voice was a rumble of thunder now, the coal eyes burning like furnaces.
She nodded nervously.
‘Where the fuck is Lemon?’ he raged, turning to storm back outside.
Abandoning her frozen sausages, Tash dashed after him.
Beccy was in a stable applying leg wraps to Lough’s rangy bay mare Tinks when she heard raised voices approaching outside.
Every nerve ending on her body tightened as she took in the New
Zealand accent, the growling bass notes and the obvious anger. ‘I get here after all these months of shit to find my head lad is missing and your fucking husband has taken my top two horses out for a day’s sport!’
Tash sounded out of breath, her voice further away. ‘Oh Christ, I know it seems unforgiveable, but—’
‘Too right it’s unforgiveable. I’ll bloody kill him.’
‘We had no idea you were coming!’
‘Don’t fucking lie, Tash.’
Beccy crept to the back of the stable as the voices grew closer.
‘We’ve been expecting you for weeks, of course,’ Tash was saying, ‘but we had just that one call and suddenly it’s Christmas. Lemon said nothing. I didn’t know you could fly here from New Zealand on a bank holiday.’
‘The plane was scheduled to land on Christmas Eve, but it developed a fault and we got grounded. I spent Christmas Day in Hong Kong.’
‘How awful for you.’
They had reached the block where his horses were stabled. Beccy could hear him walk into the stable beside hers, greeting the grey Rangitoto who was now hosed off and wrapped in warm rugs, pulling on a haynet and apparently very happy after his short morning’s entertainment.
‘Hey boy, how’s my superstar?’ His voice was soft now, and she stifled a sob of fear and excitement as she remembered it speaking to her late at night, talking to her from thousands of miles away. Now it was so close, her ears filled with the sound of her own rushing blood.
She shrank back further into the shadows as Lough loomed over the door, a silhouette of such broad-shouldered, wild-haired heroism that she thought her heart would stop beating. When Tinks let out a whicker of recognition right beside her she almost fainted with fright.
With a click of the bolt he stepped inside and approached the horse, running a hand along her neck and pulling affectionately at her ears as he cast an eye over her. Her mane was still curled from its plaits and her coat damp from being washed down, but she looked a picture of good health, eyes bright and contented, body gleaming and fit.
Lough made clicking noises under his breath as he fished in his pockets for mints, clearly incredibly moved to see her again.
His sheer physical presence was incredibly intimidating, although he wasn’t that big; maybe an inch or two shorter than Hugo, and smaller-framed despite the amazing shoulders, yet it was as though a tornado had blown into the yard, sending up the snow and melting a path in its wake.
Then he suddenly spotted Beccy cowering behind the mare.
‘Thanks for looking after her for me.’