Kiss and Tell (26 page)

‘The pop star wants to buy The Fox, as long as you agree.’

Even though Tash longed to disagree as loudly as possible she managed to bite her tongue, partly because Hugo sounded so impossibly excited and partly because at that moment Cora pushed the loose harness clip up her nose and got it stuck.

‘He’ll really pay all that money?’ she asked as she tried to extract the plastic prong from the screaming toddler’s nostril.

‘And he wants to lease Heart so Rory has a Burghley run.’

Clip removed, Cora looked thoroughly put out and tried to ram it in again.

‘No!’ Tash wailed on both accounts.

‘It’s okay,’ Hugo said cheerfully. ‘There’s a condition to the sale which might solve our work-rider crisis.’

Five minutes later Dillon turned as a jolly voice halloed from beneath the courtyard archway and Tash rolled into view, pushing a vast three-wheeler double buggy with tyres like a Range Rover, swathed in insect nets and sunshades. She was still sporting the baseball cap and kinky surgical stockings with Dubarrys, but had
ditched the bonking reindeer sweatshirt for a pretty smock in shades of turquoise and cinnamon, the diaphanous layers of which couldn’t quite hide the fact that she had failed to correctly re-clip her nursing bra and one breast was swinging inches lower than the other.

Unaware, Tash hailed everyone cheerfully. In the front seat of the buggy Cora was making choo choo train noises, waving a pheasant feather and kicking her feet around while behind her the satiated, contented newborn slept beneath his protective canopies.

‘Congratulations – you have just bought a superstar!’ She kissed Dillon on the cheek, hoping that he wouldn’t spot that she’d been crying. She turned hurriedly to her friend. ‘I had no idea you were here, Pen! You two have met, I see.’

‘And we’re getting along famously.’ Penny gave the buggy a wide berth and kissed Tash on the cheek. ‘You look bloody amazing for a woman who had a ten-pounder cut out through the emergency exit a few days ago.’

‘You’ve had a baby this
week
?’ Dillon gasped. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I made you run around after all those horses.’

But Tash waved away his apologies. The man had just agreed to spend a fortune on a Haydown horse. It was the easiest sale they’ve ever made, and by far the biggest. Hugo insisted it was the only way to keep the house and business alive and she was forced to agree. It was a lifeline and it had come in the nick of time. She’d do a hand-stand, backflip and roly-poly for Dillon now if he asked, although it might take several hours and a lot of painkillers.

When she had walked away earlier, wishing she’d never see him again, a million pounds had seemed an abstract concept, beyond anything she could readily conceive. Now that it was real she could see her own hypocrisy at work as she felt suddenly devoted to him, her trust for all their futures – Hugo, her children, Haydown and Fox – lying firmly on his shoulders. Such was the power of money, she guessed. Yet there was really something incredibly likeable about Dillon Rafferty, for all his razzmatazz and unconventional impulse purchases. He fitted in here.

He was now greeting the children like an indulgent uncle, admiring Amery before stooping to entertain Cora with silly faces and noises. The little girl shrieked with appreciation, giving him her feather and reaching out to be picked up. Dillon taught her how to
high five until she laughed with little huck-huck titters every time his hand hove into view.

He was the least starry rock star Tash could imagine. Hugo’s ghastly army of horse-owning City hedge funders and investment bankers had been far more spoilt and demanding. Dillon had just bought a horse for a million pounds and nobody had even offered him a cup of coffee, but he was mucking along like an old chum.

‘Would you like your new horse put away now?’ she asked, embarrassed that Beccy was still riding his million-pound asset and apparently getting some free coaching from Gus into the bargain.

‘No, let them finish whatever they’re doing,’ he said vaguely, still entertaining Cora and not at all interested in the The Fox. ‘I remember when my girls were this age. It’s so special.’

‘You must miss them when you’re apart.’

‘Like my arms and legs have been severed.’

Leaving him and Cora bonding gleefully over a game of peekaboo, she turned back to Penny again. ‘Happy anniversary. We bought you a present, but it’s in the house. It’s a teapot.’

‘Thanks. All this china. You’d think they’d celebrate twenty years with something less breakable, wouldn’t you? After two decades one hurls dinner settings at one’s spouse as a matter of course. You wait and see. You and Hugo are practically still on honeymoon.’ There was a bitter edge to her voice. ‘Bronze this year isn’t it? Eighth? I always remember that one because our eighth anniversary was the World Championships and Gus and I won team bronze together. Seemed very fitting.’

Tash struggled to remember. ‘That’s next year. It’ll be seven years in November.’

‘Ah! Wool. That’s why they call it the seven-year itch. That, and all the knitting for those ankle biters you keep producing. Talking of which, congratulations yourself.’ Her eyes ran from Amery to Dillon and then back to the newborn, resplendent in the merino wrap that made him look like Yoda. ‘He’s … sweet.’ Penny gave her a stiff pat on the back. Then she winked. ‘Baby’s quite cute too.’

‘Shhh.’ Tash stretched her eyes.

‘I can’t believe you’re selling Fox,’ she whispered, far happier talking horses than marriage or babies.

Tash shrugged, unwilling to say anything about her real feelings in case she cried.

‘The team selectors will go ape-shit, especially with Snob gone too.’

Tash was suddenly even closer to breaking down.

‘Come here.’ Penny gestured her into a hug, as rare a gift as a kiss from the Pope. ‘You’re all full of baby tears and nonsense and I’m so glad to see you. You look superb.’

‘I still look fat and pregnant.’

‘A much underrated state of beauty, I’ve always thought,’ Penny squeezed her tight.

Tash smiled into her friend’s sweet-smelling, greying hair. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. It seems for ever since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed you.’

Before Penny could answer, Gus had vaulted the arena gate and was bounding between them. ‘Tash, old thing. At
last
!’

Thinking that he was about to bestow the requisite congratulatory kiss, Tash offered up her cheek with her big smile still spread like happy bunting across her face and her arm gesturing automatically towards Amery. Gus remained one of the men she most longed to please in life, along with Hugo, her father and her old art teacher Prof Long. But he had already turned back towards the arena to point at Beccy. ‘Tell me, is that or is that not a one hundred per cent improvement?’

Beccy, puce in the face, was riding for her life, aware that she had an audience that would never be repeated – a four-star international rider, two former four-star riders and a rock star … not to mention her niece, sleeping nephew, Beetroot and a fascinated collie with one wall eye.

‘That looks good,’ Tash agreed. ‘Really bloody good. BLOODY GOOD!’ she yelled at Beccy, making Dillon almost fall over the buggy. What was it with these horsy people? He had played stadiums night after night and had nothing close to their lung capacity. All that bellowing across the fields made for amazing voice projection. They should train as town criers.

On the far side of the rails Beccy went an even deeper shade of pink with delight. This was turning out to be one of the best days she could remember.

Chapter 12

Gus downed most of the two bottles of vintage champagne Tash brought up from the cellars for an impromptu celebration. Penny, who hardly ever drank except when hunting and had already had her fill over lunch, kept Dillon company sipping orange juice.

Watching the 1986 Taittinger slide down Gus’s appreciative throat, Dillon mourned the loss of a beautiful vintage on an unworthy recipient. He could imagine its taste, the texture of briny little bubbles popping on the tongue, the blast of rising surf in the nose and throat, and the glorious aftertaste. The thought, and desire, made him almost deaf to Gus holding court about horses, training and the season’s results thus far.

Dillon could have read the signs of adultery even if it hadn’t been for Penny’s tip-off. The man had made three trips to the loo already. He was either in possession of a very weak bladder or – judging from the beeps emanating from the downstairs cloakroom when Dillon passed the door en route to answer his own phone – he was having a predictable, predictive, adulterous text chat.

Dillon’s call was from Faith, desperate to know how things were going.

‘So? Did you buy him?’ she asked excitedly.

‘I think so,’ he said listlessly, the head-rush of his enormous purchasing power already dissipating.

‘Ohmygodthatisocool!’ she blurted, hardly inspiring confidence that he’d been wisely advised.

‘I bought another one,’ he told her because he knew her reaction would cheer him up again.

‘Tell me!’ she panted eagerly.

He smiled into his handset. ‘Called Corridor.’

‘Cœur d’Or?’ She knew instantly. ‘Hugo almost won Badminton on him this year. No good. Rory won’t be able to ride him.’

He paused for a moment to make sure he’d heard that right. ‘He’s a stunning horse.’

‘Stunning,’ she agreed. ‘Mad brain. Pulls like a charging rhino, jumps like a stag. Seriously scopey.’

‘That’s the one. They call him Heart here. He’s entered in Burghley. Nell really wants Rory to go there, and Hissing Sid’s lame.’

‘Snake Charmer,’ she corrected. ‘His stable name’s Sid.’

‘Rory can ride Heart at Burghley. I want to treat Nell. Get more involved, like you said, yes?’

Waiting for her to answer, he watched a white stripe forming across the very blue sky overhead as a jet made its way towards the horizon.

But to his surprise, Faith said, ‘I think Rory’s more precious than your girlfriend’s dirty weekends.’

He didn’t realise that she’d hung up on him until his phone, still pressed to his ear, suddenly started ringing again. ‘Hello. Faith? Did you get cut o—’

‘It’s Nell, not your little teeny-bopper.’ Her voice was tight with anger. ‘I take it
she’s
the reason your phone has been going straight to voicemail for the past ten minutes? Are you still in Paris?’

‘No, I’m in Berkshire, buying a horse.’ He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and feeling a twinge of pain where the barbell had scratched his eyebrow.

Nell was incandescent with rage. ‘Talk about keeping the Faith! You’ll be setting her up in her own flat soon.’

‘It’s for her boyfriend.’ He closed his eyes, wondering why all they did was fight these days.

‘Rory is no more Faith’s boyfriend than you are mine!’

‘Meaning?’

‘Oh get lost.’

‘Nell, don’t be like this … Nell? Nell, are you there?’ There was a chime in his ear. Yet again he had been hung up on. A text had winged its way from Faith.
I am ungrateful cow. Rory lucky to have you. Nell too. You have a good Heart. Fxx

Feeling bucked up, he reread the message several times.

‘Oh, sorry – you’re about to make a call,’ a voice said cheerfully behind him.

He turned to see Tash with the jug of orange juice, clearly on a scout to check where he had got to.

‘No, I’ve finished.’ He smiled at her, holding up his glass for a refill. ‘Thanks.’

‘God, it’s getting punishingly hot – true bikini weather.’ She straightened the jug and looked out at the swimming pool blue sky, then glanced sideways as he pocketed his phone. ‘I keep losing mine. One minute I’ve got it, the next it’s gone.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Mobile phone. I’m quite hopeless. I was getting through at least one a month so I’ve stopped bothering with them. It drives Hugo mad. He conducts half his life via hands-free; I can’t even send an email or a text.’

‘You’re not the unfaithful sort, then?’ he said, admiring her breasts through the smock, remembered how Fawn’s small cleavage, a silicone-free anomaly in her native Hollywood, had been quite amazing when she was breastfeeding the girls.

‘How d’you mean?’ Tash was secretly rather cheered to be getting a boob-leer from a handsome man so soon after giving birth.

‘Technology is the secret envoy of the twenty-first century,’ he proclaimed in his cockney-Irish accent, that familiar voice rendering everything he said poetic. ‘Where illicit lovers once wrote love letters on parchment and tucked them into chinks in walls to be collected, we now use email and text as tools of adultery. Perfect for arranging trysts.’

‘I think Hugo would prefer me to just text him his start times, or the business card pin number if he’s forgotten them,’ she pointed out.

‘Of course.’ He flashed the trademark smile.

Suddenly Tash lifted her head like a hound, able to hear the diesel grind of the engine long before it became audible to Dillon.

‘That’s Hugo!’ Her face lit up, mismatched eyes luminescent, making Dillon realise how incredible it would be to be loved like that. ‘I’ll fetch more champagne from the cellar. He won two of his sections today with horses I broke in, so I’m almost as excited as I was by his gold medals last week.’

Dillon’s first impression of Hugo Beauchamp was that he was very tall, very handsome and very, very posh. He was also furiously angry, blue eyes blazing as he marched into the house wearing a Mogo T-shirt, dusty white breeches and knee-length socks even more garish than Gus’s.

‘What fucking idiot landed that chopper on Flat Pad?’

‘The same fucking idiot that just bought your best horse,’ Dillon held out his hand to introduce himself.

Hugo shook it, handsome face unapologetic. ‘Could you get it moved? It’s parked on the boys’ graves.’

Thinking ‘the boys’ had to be close relatives – possibly even younger siblings or, God forbid, the couple’s own children lost in infancy – Dillon was about to fall on his sword of apology when he caught sight of Beccy waving an arm at him.

‘It’s all right,’ she told him in a tipsy stage whisper, her face now damson, ‘Bod and Snob were just horses.’