Keeping the Peace (23 page)

When Jack did appear, he looked tired and grumpy.

‘Morning,’ he grunted in reply to Pippa’s greeting and shut himself away in his office.

For once, his abruptness evoked sympathy in her. What personal hell was he putting himself through?

She glanced down at the box canvas leaning against her desk drawers, trying to sum up the courage to intrude on Jack’s dark mood. Perhaps a hot drink would help ease things along, she thought, getting up and heading for the kitchenette.

With difficulty, she knocked on Jack’s door a couple of minutes later, a cup of tea and the canvas in her hands.

‘Tea to warm you up,’ she said as she entered. ‘How are you doing?’

Jack looked up from his computer, his expression pained and Pippa guessed he’d received some pretty unpleasant emails to his personal address.

‘Like Santa’s forgotten me this year,’ he replied. ‘What have you got there?’

Pippa placed his mug down on a coaster and fingered the canvas nervously.

‘It’s the painting I did of Black Russian and the other horses working in the snow. I finished it a few days ago, but didn’t get a chance to give it to you.’ She turned the painting round and held it up for Jack to inspect. She heard him catch his breath.

He got up and skirted the desk, his eyes never leaving the picture.

‘I’ll understand if you don’t want it anymore. I know it might not be the happiest painting to look at now,’ Pippa babbled when he didn’t say anything.

Jack traced his finger down the fluid muscular outline of the dark bay horse in the lead, almost bursting out of the canvas against the contrasting pale background. He frowned and shook his head.

‘No. It’s perfect. It’s a great tribute to Black Russian.’ He sighed and let his hand drop. ‘God, he was some horse.’

Pippa bit her lip at the emotion in his voice.

‘I want you to have it,’ she blurted.

Jack’s brows knitted in confusion.

‘I mean as a gift. I don’t want to be paid.’

He stared at her then shook his head again, this time more vigorously.

‘No, this was a commission. You need the money. Of course I must pay you for it.’

‘No, Jack, please,’ she persisted. She held the picture out for him to take. ‘It’s the least I can do. I feel so bad over his death. Please take this as a gift.’ She tried to smile. ‘Santa hasn’t forgotten you.’

Jack took a step back, leaving her to hold the picture. He walked away and threaded a hand through his hair.

‘No, Pippa. I can’t,’ he said, turning to face her again.

She gazed at him, confused, searching for an explanation.

‘But why?’

Jack looked at her, his steely eyes intense.

‘I can’t accept this as a gift. I haven’t got you anything. I didn’t even think to get you anything.’ His eyes darkened as she became more bewildered. ‘Exchanging Christmas presents is what friends and family do. I – I’m your
boss
.’

With a stab of torment, Pippa realised she’d crossed the line. She’d made the mistake of caring too much. She swallowed with difficulty, embarrassment mingling with the hurt. She bent down and leaned the painting against the desk, trying to mask her feelings. She couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘Yes, of course you are. There you go then.’ She kept her gaze down, hiding behind her auburn curls and hurried towards the door.

‘Pippa,’ Jack called after her.

She ignored him.

‘
Pippa
!’

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore that tone. She stopped, unwilling to face him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice gentler. ‘You understand though, don’t you?’

She set her expression and looked back at him. To give him his due, he didn’t look that comfortable either.

‘Yes, I do.’ She stepped out of the office, clicking the door shut behind her.

What had she been thinking? She was beginning to scare herself when she couldn’t come up with a definitive answer, especially as Jack’s abrupt clarification of their relationship had impacted on her so forcefully. Everything he said was true. He was her boss, nothing more. All the small allowances like trips onto the Gallops and this art commission and his following her home last night meant nothing more than general goodwill.

As she sat back down at her desk, she chided herself for forgetting that. She wouldn’t make that mistake again in a hurry.

Emmie walked into the office at lunchtime, making Pippa jump up and rush round her desk to console her, her own jumbled feelings at once put aside. The girl’s drooping posture and sad eyes were more befitting to someone who had lost a close family member.

Emmie attempted a brave smile, but in the face of Pippa’s obvious concern, her lower lip trembled and her eyes glistened with tears. She tried to wave away Pippa’s support.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to be a burden,’ she whimpered.

‘Nonsense. You’re never a burden.’

Emmie sagged and allowed herself to be hugged.

Pippa felt a hard lump swelling in her throat as she felt the distressed sobs of the stable lass buffer against her.

‘I loved him so much,’ Emmie croaked. She stepped out of Pippa’s arms and folded her hands against her chest. ‘My heart feels like it’s breaking.’ She gulped. ‘I never understood the – the magnitude of that expression until now.’

Pippa hugged her close again, rubbing her back in comfort.

‘You probably think I’m being silly,’ Emmie sniffed. ‘Maybe I am. He was just a horse. But not to me. To me he – he was my best friend.’ She choked as a new wave of sobs shuddered through her.

Pippa’s eyes filled with tears as she realised the enormity of the girl’s grief. The horses outside weren’t just animals or products of their work. They were friends, companions, confidantes and were just as capable of invoking love in a person as any other human could.

‘I know,’ she replied into Emmie’s shoulder. ‘And it’s not silly at all. In fact, it might be considered silly if you weren’t upset.’

Jack’s office door opened, interrupting her. He started to say something then noticed Emmie weeping onto Pippa’s shoulder. For a long moment, he watched them, his expression guilt-ridden before quietly closing the door again.

When the tears started to subside, Pippa felt Emmie’s body straighten as her composure reasserted itself.

‘I’m sorry,’ Emmie apologised again. She gave Pippa a weak smile. ‘I didn’t mean to cry like that. What I really came in for was to let you know that I don’t think I’m going to make it this evening for the drinks do.’

‘But Emmie, it might make you feel better. It might take your mind off things,’ Pippa reasoned.

Emmie shook her head.

‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

Pippa rubbed the lass’ shoulder.

‘It’s okay. Go home and watch
Something About Mary
or
When Harry Met Sally
. Those are my two cheer-up movies.’

Emmie smiled, this time stronger and wiped her swollen eyes with the back of her sleeve.

‘I’ll see if Blockbusters have them,’ she said.

Pippa tilted her watch towards the light as the last member of staff wheeled their bicycle out of the yard. It wasn’t even seven o’clock. She looked glumly at the rows of unopened drinks still lining the table in the tack room and the bowls of snacks hardly touched. With a shrug, she set about repacking the bottles of beer. Hopefully, the dingy off-licence in Helensvale’s back-end might give them a refund for the three untouched crates.

After heaving the crates onto the backseat of her car, Pippa locked up the empty yard and headed back to the car park with a heavy heart. Of the fifty odd members of Aspen Valley staff, only a handful had stayed on for their Christmas celebrations.

Had she expected any more though? The mood of those who had made the effort was subdued and was more like a bad wake than a Christmas party. She hadn’t known them very well and her attempts at making light conversation had been stilted and forced. Jack hadn’t come, but he’d told her beforehand that he was meeting Dan Cameron to discuss their ‘situation’.

Pippa’s loyalties were torn. Jack had a commitment towards his staff and should therefore be present at the party. On the other hand, he also had a business to run and Dan Cameron was still very much a part of that, Black Russian or no Black Russian. Despite her earlier promise not to take a personal view on Jack’s circumstances, Pippa hoped Dan wasn’t meeting him to tell him he was removing his remaining horses.

She was further upset by the absence of Finn. She’d relied on seeing him at the yard, a cheerful face amidst the gloom to lend his support. But even he hadn’t bothered to pitch up.

Pippa’s feelings spiralled south as she drove through the dark narrow lanes towards Helensvale. As well as the party being a resounding failure, it also meant she’d be home early and would therefore not have any excuse not to call Ollie like she’d promised.

What would they say to each other? She knew the inevitable was looming. The pleasure their relationship had once strived on was just a faraway memory. In her mind’s eye, their happier times were almost sepia-coloured they were so distant. The optimistic belief that their ‘rough patch’ would be temporary was fracturing. It seemed every time she returned to London, those cracks became even more cavernous. She wasn’t happy in their relationship. Ollie obviously wasn’t either. Why didn’t he break up with her then?

Pippa sighed as she pulled up in front of a small restaurant a little way down from the local off-licence. She switched off the engine, still deep in thought. She didn’t want to live a lie, but neither did she want to be the one to shatter this fanciful dream she and Ollie had created. She hated breaking up. She remembered how she’d cried for days on Tash’s shoulder when Dean Mason had broken up with her when she was fifteen because she’d refused to have sex with him. After that, the only other long-ish term relationship she’d had she’d broken off because she had met Ollie. On that occasion, Craig, the dumpee, had cried. She didn’t expect Ollie to cry, but still, why did she get to be the bad guy?

Pippa frowned, suddenly aware, as she was sitting in her car, of a familiar face inside the restaurant in front of her. Through the window, his sandy blond hair fell across his furrowed forehead as he nodded at his companion seated opposite. The thick burgundy curtains were partly closed and Pippa craned her neck to see who was dining with Aspen Valley’s newly appointed number one jockey. The frosted window blurred the person’s face, but Pippa could make out long blonde hair and a tailored blouse.

Was this Finn’s mystery partner?

If it was, then judging by his expression, it wasn’t a particularly romantic evening they were sharing. The woman slid something across the table towards him, her elegant fingers capped with dark red nail varnish. She stood up and Pippa’s mouth dropped in surprise. Melissa Mardling swung her Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder and sauntered away from the table and out of sight.

‘No way,’ Pippa breathed. Surely not. Melissa was dating Jack. Would Finn be so stupid as to have an affair with his boss’ girlfriend?

She shook her head.

He wouldn’t be that careless nor that conniving. Besides, he’d always given Pippa the impression that Melissa wasn’t one of his favourite people either. Had he been saying that to throw her off the scent perhaps?

Theories whirred round Pippa’s brain as she continued to stare, mouth agape, at Finn. He was looking down at a piece of paper – the bill maybe, which Melissa had pushed towards him.

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Melissa obviously wasn’t a cheap date.

B
ack at Hazyvale, Pippa opened the fridge, not particularly hungry, but in need of something to distract her. Even though she’d spent most of her working life in restaurants, she was far from adventurous when it came to cooking, well aware of her past efforts that she was more than capable of giving herself food poisoning.

She was just considering chicken risotto when her mobile phone trilled from its usual resting place on the windowsill. She grabbed a half-finished tub of potato salad and went to answer it.

Her thumb paused above the answer button when she saw the caller ID. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the worst.

‘Hi Ollie,’ she said in a tentative voice.

‘Hey Pippa!’

Taken aback by his cheery greeting, Pippa’s spoon halted in mid-descent towards the creamy potatoes.

‘You okay?’ she asked. She considered whether he’d been drinking, but dismissed it immediately. Ollie was not a happy drunk.

‘Not bad, not bad. How is everything with Dan Cameron?’

A frown passed over her forehead. Maybe with her emotions running high when she’d abandoned him in London, she’d misread the situation. Perhaps she’d been too hasty with her supposition that she and Ollie were about to break up.

‘Um, not the greatest. Black Russian, as you know, died. Rhys broke his leg. Jack’s meeting with Dan this evening,’ she replied.

Ollie chuckled.

‘First name terms now, eh? Next time you speak to him, make sure you pass on my condolences.’

Her frown deepened in confusion.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Listen, Ollie, I’m sorry for walking out on you like I did. I know how much you were looking forward to Rich Holden’s party. It was selfish of me.’

‘Don’t worry, Pippa. I went anyway. Rich was well impressed that you knew Dan Cameron.’

‘Well, I don’t really
know
him, Ollie.’ She bit her lip. With Ollie obviously trying to make amends, it probably wasn’t the best plan to start contradicting him. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘Yeah,’ he enthused. ‘When I said we had a racehorse, it was a surprisingly popular topic. Rich said he was thinking of getting into racing. Peace Order is going to win the Grand National, right?’

‘Peace Offering,’ she corrected. ‘He’s got an entry in the race. Obviously I can’t say whether he’s going to win it or not.’

‘You’ve got to be in it to win it.’