Kiss and Tell (110 page)

‘We’ll go out the back way – I’m sure one of the nurses will volunteer to wrap you in bandages if you want a disguise,’ she said smoothly, smiling at Rory and patting his hand. ‘I had to see my dar-link riding instructor for myself and make sure he’s going to pull through.’

‘Oh, I’ll never shtop pulling, trusht me,’ he joked weakly, noticing that one of the porters had put his arm round the door frame and was discreetly trying to take a photograph with his mobile phone. ‘Ish it like thish every time you two go out together?’

‘We don’t go out.’ Dillon had also noticed the camera, and went to close the door.

‘Staying in is the new going out,’ Sylva said brightly. ‘We like to spend as much time as possible with our children, which is why Dillon is now heading to Malibu to see his girls – again.’ The last word had such weight that Rory almost heard it land. ‘And I am going home to have a lovely naked swim. I use the pool at the Abbey,’ she told him in an undertone, stroking his arm as though
he was a comforting lap dog. ‘Indigo is very generous now I am family.’

‘She musht be.’ Rory yawned, amazed that Sylva was let loose within reach of a legendary lothario like the Rockfather, let alone encouraged to go skinny-dipping in his pool. No wonder Dillon was looking so stressed out and hang dog. He shot him a sympathetic look.

But Dillon was too busy munching Rory’s sugared almonds and flicking through the photographs Faith had printed to notice. ‘Which of these horses is mine?’

‘Most of them.’ Rory stifled another yawn, now struggling to stay awake.

‘Where’s the one with the heart-shaped star? I liked that one.’

‘He’sh not competing again yet. He’sh only supposed walk out for an hour a day, but every time Hugo getsh on Heart takes off for the hills like a rocket. He’s been held back sho long that all he wantsh now is to run as fasht as he can, like the Gingerbread Man.’

‘I know the feeling,’ Dillon muttered, glancing at his watch. ‘We must go.’

Sylva kissed Rory again, this time on the lips, her naughty smile reappearing at last. ‘It has been
so
lovely to see you, darlink, looking so handsome and brave. I will think of you as I swim. Pass my kisses on to Tash and to handsome Hugo, too.’

‘I think the kiss of life might be more appropriate right now.’ Rory closed his eyes and waved them off. Wiped out from talking so much to so many people, he fell asleep within seconds and was so shattered that he barely stirred when Faith called by just before visiting time was over to bring him the latest issue of
Horse & Hound
.

‘Beccy’s thrilled because there’s a bit in it about her winning her section at Tythercombe, calling her Hugo’s new protégée,’ she told him.

‘I’m Hugoshpottygee,’ he mumbled, eyes closed.

‘You’ve graduated now,’ she assured him, helping herself to a sugared almond. ‘And you were far easier to pottygee train than Beccy. She drives them mad, always riding against orders.’ She admired the huge Oddford Organics hamper taking up most of his bedside table. ‘So it’s true Dillon and Sylva visited you earlier. The nurses are all banging on about it.’

‘Youknowitshtrue.’ His voice was more slurred than ever, and barely audible because he was drifting off again: ‘And why’dyoucallmeavegetable?’

‘I did no such thing.’ She looked indignant. ‘I just said you were in a bad way.’

But Rory had fallen asleep again.

‘I rest my case.’ Faith sighed, planting a farewell kiss on his cheek. ‘Lettuce pray for a swift recovery.’

Chapter 73

Less than a week after the Beauchamps returned from Germany, Tash took Beccy to an unaffiliated local trials where they entered two newly purchased ex-racehorses in pairs competitions with an older schoolmaster, a classic Hugo trick for schooling inexperienced horses across country. Leading the way on Mickey Rourke, Beccy took off far too fast both times leaving Tash totally out of control as her little ex point-to-pointers bolted along behind thinking they were racing between the flags again.

‘What d’you think you’re playing at?’ Tash gasped as she pulled up after the second round. ‘I said slower this time.’

‘I was practically trotting.’ Beccy glared at her. ‘Any slower and the spectators would have overtaken us.’

Tash found Beccy even more impenetrable now that she’d been let loose at a few more competitions as a member of the team. She thought she knew it all.

‘Her head grew way too big while you guys were away,’ Franny told Tash in confidence once they’d unloaded the horses that afternoon. ‘I’ve kept her in check as best I can. She’s a talented rider, I’ll grant you that, but she’s way too random.’

Tash was impressed with Franny. She was running a tight ship, had galvanised the army of local helpers into a much more structured shape to run the yard and was getting Beccy, at long last, to work reliable hours.

‘Don’t get me wrong, she works hard,’ Franny said, being already very fond of Beccy. ‘But she hasn’t got any sense of routine.’

‘It gets results,’ Beccy replied airily when confronted about her lack of discipline. ‘I’m riding on air. I love competing, Tash.’

Tash couldn’t deny that her stepsister seemed happier than she had seen her in weeks, but her mood swings were alarming and she never followed team orders.

The next day, they fared equally badly at an entry-level affiliated event near Cirencester, held in the pouring rain. Having schooled a six-year-old round, Tash came back to warn Beccy that the going was very slippery and she must go slowly, only to watch her belting along like a lunatic and almost paying the price as the horse skidded into the bottom of a ditch. By some miracle of honesty and distant pack-pony heritage, it climbed out and scrabbled over the roll-top fence beyond it to get home inside the time and finish third in its section.

When Tash told her off Beccy was unrepentant: ‘Look how well the horse did!’

‘He’s a baby. He needs confidence, not scary near-misses like that. We’re trying to nurture careers here, not get quick glory.’

Beccy sulked all the way home, where Hugo was waiting, his mood equally blackened by spending all afternoon with wealthy prospective owners who had treated their visit Haydown like a National Trust house and garden tour and had bought nothing.

‘The only one they were remotely interested in was Heart,’ he complained as he helped them unload. ‘He’s only just back in ridden work – and still technically leased out.’

‘That ends soon, though,’ Tash pointed out. They hadn’t heard from Nell Cottrell in months, although Dillon still picked up the horse’s bills.

Hearing this, Beccy perked up a little. She adored Heart, who was by far the best looking horse at Haydown and whose caged fury from months of box rest she fully understood. He shared her wanderlust. Now that he was being ridden again she longed to know what it felt like to sit astride all that beauty and power.

‘Perhaps I should persuade James to buy him for me,’ she wondered aloud. She’d recently begun petitioning her stepfather to honour his promise to buy her a horse again.

Hugo didn’t dignify this with a response, but Tash stopped beside her in horror, her arms full of tack. ‘No way. We can find you something much more suitable when you’re ready.’

‘That’s my decision.’ Beccy smarted, feeling hurt again.

‘Well, if Daddy’s paying, it should really be his decision,’ Tash pointed out carefully as Beccy’s eyes stabbed into her face, the subject of her stepfather as tricky to navigate as ever. ‘You’ll need a horse that will really look after you. But right now you need to learn more control.’

Beccy resented being talked to like a child in need of a safe first pony. ‘Lough says I’m brilliant,’ she boasted. ‘I’m getting better and better, he says.’

‘Was he there today?’ Hugo demanded.

‘No!’ Tash shook her head, looking cornered.

‘I’m allowed to have my own friends, you know.’ Beccy eyed them both for reaction, like a rebellious teenager with her warring parents.

Hugo glared at her for a moment and then, to her surprise, his expression relaxed and he laughed. ‘Of course you are. You’re a grown woman, Beccy. Just don’t bring him home with you. As for horses, let’s see how you do at Barbury. If you impress us as much as you have Lough, we’ll have a word with James about getting you something of your own to compete.’

‘Heart?’ she asked hopefully, knowing the horse would be cheap now he carried a history of injury.

‘Don’t push your luck.’

Tash said nothing, but her look of horror registered with Beccy, who realised that the Beauchamps would now go away and have an argument about it.

That night she lay awake, regretting her hypersensitivity and desperation to impress. She’d overridden and then overreacted when Tash criticised her. If that wasn’t enough, she’d bragged about Lough, which was like throwing a petrol bomb through a window these days. There was a time when Hugo simply saying ‘you’re a grown woman, Beccy’ would have made her feel sexy and empowered, but now it just made her aware of her wasted life. She knew that her crush on Hugo was in its death throes. The thought of him and Tash splitting up frightened her more than ever, especially if Lough was involved.

She pulled a pillow over her head and tried hard to blot out the memory of Lough saying that he loved Tash after Badminton.

The jealousy that gnawed at her bones had changed too. At the peak of her crush on Hugo envy and hate had been inseparable.
Now a strange metamorphosis had taken place. Telling Tash about her father had spun her on her axis, the centrifugal force so strong that all those mixed emotions had separated out: the resentment and enmity, the years of secrets and lies. Since that day a quite new emotion had settled on the surface of Beccy’s consciousness, one that she was reluctant to embrace, yet which stubbornly refused to go.

Like a rare fruit tree finally coming into bloom after years of lying dormant, she now felt a deep, grateful love for her stepsister bursting out of her. It was a heart-openingly invigorating sensation that she could no longer deny. Tash cared for her and shared her passions more than anybody else in the French family, and Beccy loved her for it. The only problem was, everybody else loved Tash too. That felt wrong, very wrong, especially when one of them was Lough.

Insomnia gripping her as it did so often, she fired up her laptop and headed for her favourite horsy internet sites. On the biggest eventing forum she read a long thread puporting to be about the British team’s Aachen disaster, but was clearly a thinly disguised excuse to speculate about the state of the Beauchamps’ marriage. Within the sport, they remained for ever Burton and Taylor.

‘Same old, same old,’ Beccy muttered miserably to Karma. She was about to click on to another of her favourites when she spotted the post from someone with the username Shadowfax:
Hugo’s notorious. You should hear what he got up to in the hayloft at Penny and Gus Moncrieff’s New Year’s Eve party. Now *that* would get Tash phoning a divorce attorney faster than Zsa Zsa Gabor.

Face flaming, Beccy sent Shadowfax a private message, using her forum name Beauch-Babe:
Who are you?

He was online and sent a message straight back.
A friend.

Not of mine
, she replied, terror mounting.

He deserves it.

Please, please stop this.
Cold sweat beading her brow, Beccy reached for her phone with a shaking hand to text Lemon for the first time since they’d split up.

Is it you?
She pressed send.

He didn’t reply, but seconds later Shadowfax logged off.

Why?
She texted again.

No reply.

Wide awake, Beccy made herself a cup of green tea and texted
Lough, with whom she’d had no contact since they’d bumped into one another out hacking. She’d made tens of false starts since then, but this time she didn’t hesitate:
Can’t ride the devil off my back, however fast I go.

His response wasn’t exactly reassuring, but it nevertheless made her feel better. It just said
Touché.

The following week, the Beauchamps’ big lorry headed for the wide open spaces and stunning views of Barbury Castle trials, high on the Marlborough Downs.

A firm favourite with the Beauchamps, the trials boasted some of the most beautifully built and presented fences in eventing, and incredible spectator viewing because it was possible to see more or less the whole course from any one point.

Beccy was hopelessly excited. With classes ranging from novice to three-star, all the famous faces from the eventing world were going to be there, including Lough, who had hit a winning streak and was competing half a dozen new rides, deputising for injured riders or satisfying fickle owners who wanted to try him out mid season.

The Beauchamps had taken a big risk in entering Beccy for the novice section which, far from what its name suggested, was a big step up from the entry-level classes she had been competing in. As they walked the cross-country course in early morning sunshine Tash gave her guidance at every fence, and repeatedly reminded her that this was a serious challenge requiring her to stay focused and keep her exuberance in check, that there was no leeway for wild riding.

Beccy knew Tash meant well, but she wished she’d shut up and let her get on with it. She was only relieved her mother wasn’t there to add to the pressure. Tash had tried to persuade Henrietta and James to come along, pointing out the great views and proximity to Benedict, but they were yet again golfing in Portugal.

‘These galloping fillers still take a bit of jumping,’ Tash was saying as they walked up to an inviting brush fence.

Beccy didn’t even look at it because she’d spotted Lough walking the course ahead of them with a bunch of fellow New Zealand riders. Behind them, Hugo had spotted it too and called Tash back to talk to the Moncrieffs.

Beccy rubbed her sweating palms on her breeches and swallowed fur balls of fear. She was going to show Lough and the rest of them just how good she was.

From the start, it was obvious that Beccy was overfaced, even though she refused to admit it.