Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (11 page)

‘It was too late in a way,' I say, thinking of the debt that Ryan has racked up on my behalf. I'm too embarrassed to admit that I didn't keep on top of our finances. I didn't discover until too late that he'd cleared the money from our joint account. I started getting letters from the electricity and gas companies to inform me that the direct debits weren't being paid. The bank won't close the account until the overdraft has been paid off, and I can't persuade Ryan to repay half of the money. He's always got some excuse and now he's avoiding my calls completely. It's a worry I don't wish to share with Robbie.

He half turns his horse to face me as we reach the foot of a long hill. Nelson is on his toes, snatching at his bit and tossing his head.

‘How about a gallop? I'll beat you to the telegraph pole.'

‘We'll see about that,' I call back, as Rafa dances on the spot in anticipation.

He counts, ‘One, two, three, go.'

And we're off!

I lean forwards like a jockey, standing up in my stirrups and letting out the reins as Rafa goes from 0 to 60 in seconds – okay, I'm exaggerating. It's probably about 30 or 35, less than a racehorse. For a while he's ahead of Nelson, but as we approach the top of the hill, his lack of fitness begins to tell, and I become aware that Nelson is gaining on us. I give Rafa a squeeze with my legs. He responds, lengthening his stride and fighting Nelson off. Nelson moves up again, his nose level with Rafa's shoulder, then his neck, and we're past the pole.

Laughing, I start to pull up.

‘I make that a dead heat.' Robbie grins as he lets Nelson relax into a walk, holding the reins at the end of the buckle.

‘No way. Rafa won it by a nose.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘I know so,' I say, determined to have the last word.

The dogs catch up with us and we move on, the horses puffing and blowing lightly, our clothes drying in the sun, as we return to Wisteria House, where Robbie says goodbye.

‘I hope I haven't bored you. I don't normally open up to people like that, but you're easy to talk to.' He reaches out and touches my thigh, sending a shot of electricity right through me. ‘That was fun. We'll have to do it again.'

‘Thank you for showing me around.'

‘Anytime.'

‘Wish Maisie a happy birthday from me.'

‘Will do.' He doesn't seem in any hurry to ride away just yet, as if something is holding him back. ‘Oh, I know what I was going to ask you. I've spoken to Jack about that pony you told me about. I've arranged to go and have a look at him sometime. Maybe you could come with me. I thought you might like to see how he's getting on.'

I'd love to spend as much time as possible with you, I want to say, but I stick with, ‘Yes, I'd love to catch up with Paddington.'

‘Okay, I'll be in touch. I'll see you soon – I can't remember when you're next booked to come to us to get some shoes on the new mare.'

‘That could be interesting,' I say, sighing inwardly.

‘She'll be fine. I'll be there – I'm sure we can do it between us.'

I smile wryly. I reckon he will bring her round with his caresses and sweet-talk. I know I'd soon succumb to them if he was inclined to try out his moves on me.

‘Bye, Flick. Don't be sad about the race – maybe you'll beat me next time.'

‘I
did
beat you. I told you. By a nose.'

He rides away as I turn into the drive. I smell of river water, and horse, and my hair is sticky under my hat, but I don't care. Robbie might have called me ‘matey', but he's also noticed that I am a woman. Whether or not he's been deliberately playing it cool, he failed to disguise his appreciation of my figure. He isn't entirely as he appears, I think. Like the river, he has hidden depths.

On Tuesday, I have time to shoe Rafa first thing in the morning before I head off to attend to some horses at the local riding school. I like to keep busy. It takes my mind off the thought of having to get shoes on Diva. Considering how she behaved with Kerry the other day, even picking up her feet will be a challenge. Most horses are happy to be shod, but I've met a couple who could only be done under sedation from the vet. I hope Diva isn't going to be like that.

I turn into a driveway, signposted ‘Letherington Equestrian Centre'. I pass between a field sectioned into small paddocks with electric tape, and a warehouse-style shop called Tack 'n' Hack where I suppress the urge to stop and have a look because there's bound to be something, the latest horsey gadget or gizmo that I just have to have, although I can't afford it.

I drive on past a barn, through a car park, and on to a yard that's bordered on three sides by breeze-block and tile stables. It's tidy, but not spotless, with straw scattered about and a few weeds growing up in the cracks in the concrete, but the horses appear fit and well cared for. A brown one, with a white star on his forehead and a Roman nose that reminds me of my boss, looks over one of the doors, and a dapple-grey mare is tied up outside another. I jump out of the truck.

‘Good morning,' I call, bringing a middle-aged woman marching across the yard towards me. Dressed in a cream blouse and tan jodhpurs, she has wide hips and a booty to rival Kim Kardashian's.

‘I'm Flick.' The horses touch noses and squeal.

‘You're the farrier.' She looks me up and down. ‘I'm Delphi.' Her hair is streaked blonde and tied back, her complexion tanned and lined. Her accent is decidedly posh. ‘I don't like chopping and changing because it's unsettling for the horses, but Mel's reassured me that you know what you're doing.'

‘Where shall I start?' I ask.

‘Willow needs a trim – all she does is a little light hacking. Dark Star is for refits all round – he's an eventer.' She waves towards the mare and the brown horse. ‘They belong to one of our local GPs, Nicci Chievely. We call her the galloping doctor.' Delphi hardly pauses for breath. ‘Then there's one of my dressage horses for a new set. And, as you're here, if you wouldn't mind having a look at one of the school ponies – she's lame and I don't want to bother the vet unless I have to.'

I can't help wondering if I'm going to be here all day.

‘One of my apprentices will be round to help you in a while. I can't stop, I'm afraid. I'm taking a lesson in a few minutes.' She strides away, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in the air behind her.

I turn to the grey mare.

‘Willow, let's have a look at those feet of yours.'

I spend the rest of the morning with Delphi's apprentice, Katie, a girl of nineteen who aspires to become an elite dressage rider, the next Charlotte Dujardin. She fetches me the other horses and provides me with a chipped mug of orange squash and soggy digestive biscuits. It's quite pleasant on the yard, apart from a few annoying flies. Mindful of Mel's instructions about taking payment at the time, I walk through into a second yard of cob-and-brick buildings, where the riding school ponies are stabled, and find Delphi in the indoor school beyond. She's finished the lesson and her pupils are running up their stirrups and leading their mounts away.

She takes me into a dark tack room where the air is thick with the scent of leather, saddle soap and camphor. She squeezes between the rows of saddles and bridles to reach the old desk in the far corner, on which there is a heap of paperwork. She takes a cheque from one of the drawers and counts out some cash from a biscuit tin.

‘Mel doesn't accept cheques,' I say as she tries to hand it over.

Delphi frowns. ‘Nicci
always
pays by cheque.'

‘Thank you.' I take it, accepting that this is another of the exceptions he forgot to tell me about. ‘Let me know if there are any problems,' I say, squinting as we move back into the sunlight.

She gives me a look. ‘I hope that won't be necessary.'

Me too, I think, but I always mention the possibility. It's all part of the service.

‘I'll see you in two weeks' time.' I checked the diary earlier – Delphi has a regular slot every other Tuesday.

‘You mean Mel won't be back in harness by then?' she says sharply.

My heart sinks because I thought I'd won her round.

‘He's had major surgery. He won't be back to work for at least twelve weeks.'

‘Oh dear, I thought he was putting it on. I shouldn't have made such a scene when I found the girls rubbing liniment into his loins the other day.' Delphi snorts with laughter, sounding much like a horse. ‘I'll see you again soon.'

I drive to the Saltertons' next, arriving at about lunchtime. The dogs walk across to greet me, their tongues lolling with the heat. I look around for Robbie. He and Dillon are in the arena with a group of horses, and Kerry is looking on from just inside the gate. I wander over to watch.

‘Hi,' I say.

‘Oh, hello,' Kerry says. ‘Come and see the experts at work.'

‘How is it going?' I ask. Robbie and Dillon, both dressed in dark breeches and yellow T-shirts with the Eclipse team logo across the front, are cantering around the arena in opposite directions, Robbie standing on Nelson's back and Dillon on Scout's. Each has a bay horse moving alongside. The sight gives me goose bumps.

‘They're practising a new routine.' She smiles wryly. ‘It isn't going too well.' She points towards Robbie, who carries a trailing whip, not to punish, but to guide the horse beside him; except that the horse has other ideas, spinning away from Nelson and attaching himself to Dillon's pair of steeds. Robbie and Dillon pull up.

‘That's Turner,' Kerry says. ‘He's a lovely horse, but not the brightest.'

‘Let's pair him up with Scout this time,' Robbie suggests.

‘It's a bit of a pain,' Dillon argues. ‘Scout's always worked with Dennis.' Dennis is a bay horse who is part of the team.

‘But Turner is very friendly with Scout.'

‘They are field buddies,' Kerry says.

‘Let's try it,' Robbie says. ‘It's always better to work with a horse, not against him. It would save embarrassment later. Can you imagine him doing that in front of the paying public, let alone the TV producer and his associates?'

‘I think we should stick to our guns,' Dillon says. ‘What use will Turner be if he won't work without Scout to hold his hand? He needs to learn to be completely independent.'

‘He hacks alone,' Kerry points out.

‘That's all very well, but how will he react on set if some actor who's had a crash course in riding is on his back and he sees Scout in the distance?' Dillon says. No one responds. ‘Yeah, exactly.'

‘We'll work on that,' Robbie says. ‘In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to swap for the sake of the new routine.' He glances towards me, as if aware of me for the first time. ‘Hello, Flick. I'll be ten minutes.'

‘That's fine,' I say. ‘I'm in no hurry.' I'm not in a rush to shoe Diva, although I know I'll feel a lot better when I've finished.

Robbie tosses the whip to his brother and they canter around the arena again. Turner seems more relaxed in his new pairing, matching his stride to Scout.

‘That's better,' Kerry observes. ‘It's pretty stressful, running a successful stunt team, and I sometimes wonder if we'll ever get it right. Perhaps I should try a show-jumping yard for a quieter life.'

‘Would you prefer that?' I ask.

‘Not really. At least, I don't think so.' She grins. ‘Maybe I'll get a chance to be on the telly as an extra. It's my belief that you can always replace one stuntman with another, but you can't do that with a groom. Robbie and Dillon couldn't do without me.'

‘I suppose not,' I say.

‘It's me who makes sure that everything is prepared before we leave for these events. It's me who remembers to black out the little patch of white on Scout's chest so that he matches Nelson, and it's me who checks that there's enough fuel in the horsebox the day before.' She moves to the end of the gate and picks up four head-collars that are hanging from the post. ‘Are you done?' she calls.

‘That's enough for now,' Robbie calls back. He jumps down from Nelson's back, landing lightly on his feet.

‘I'll put them away then,' she says.

‘Thanks, Kerry.'

‘I'll give you a hand,' Dillon says, stepping across from one horse to the other and sliding off over Turner's rump.

Robbie moves to the gate and vaults over the top as Kerry catches the horses.

‘I thought we might have to cancel,' he says. ‘Kerry couldn't catch Diva in from the field earlier, but Dillon and I managed to round her up. She isn't nasty, just maligned and misunderstood.' He smiles ruefully. ‘I expect that's what they all say.'

‘Owners do tend to see their horses through rose-tinted spectacles.' I smile back, glad to be back in his company. He changes the subject. ‘I wondered if you could spare the time to go and see this pony, then have a quick bite of lunch before you shoe Diva. What do you think?'

‘Yes, that would be great. I'd love to.'

‘Come with me then,' he says, and I follow him across the yard and jump into the Land Rover that's hitched to the trailer.

The wolfhounds watch us go, their expressions forlorn.

‘The dogs don't look very happy,' I observe.

‘They don't like being left behind.'

‘How was Maisie's party?'

‘I survived it. That's about all I can say.' Robbie grimaces. ‘I was in hot water because I forgot to buy party bags. For a while, I was the worst dad in the world.'

Not for long though, I think, watching him smile fondly as he drives along the lanes towards the Sanctuary.

‘So, what's it like so far, trying to fill Mel's shoes? Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say trying to fit them …'