Kiss and Tell (72 page)

But as more days passed, their transatlantic phone calls remained horribly stilted and full of practical detail, from her blow-by-blow accounts of dealing with emptying the muck heap and poulticing a hoof abscess, to his long-winded and enthusiastic descriptions of training sessions with Janet Madsen that she wished she could be a part of. But they wanted to keep hearing one another’s voices, even if they weren’t really coming up with what needed to be said. When they did, it inevitably led to conflict:

‘How are the horses?’

‘Great. We hacked up to Jester’s Copse today. The blackthorn blossom’s out already.’ She’d been joined yet again by Lough, who predictably blanked her chatter about the good sloe gin to come. Now she simply had to talk to Hugo about her worries: ‘I think Lough’s very lonely.’

‘So? He’s a loner. Leave him be.’

‘I think I should socialise him.’

‘He’s not a hound puppy.’ Hugo sounded annoyed.

‘He needs to meet other people involved in the sport here.’

‘He’ll meet plenty once the season starts.’

‘We have to keep our profile up too, Hugo. We need to make the owners feel loved. You’ve been away so much since last autumn that some of them will be wondering what we look like. At least let me invite them to visit, and introduce them to Lough.’

‘And let him steal them off us?’

‘Why should he want to do that? We’re all on the same team now.’

‘He has no scruples. Look at his reputation. He sailed very close to the wind in New Zealand, believe me. He’s untrustworthy.’

After they rang off, Tash found the house especially lonely, the children asleep and the paperwork beckoning. The evenings seemed interminable.

She’d stopped thinking of the computer as a fun distraction. Its
screen lay as dark as the television in the snug most nights; she preferred real company. But Beccy had become more withdrawn recently, acidic little Lemon unsettled her and Lough was even more intimidating. The big, regular suppers for family, friends and staff were becoming a distant memory.

Despite Hugo’s disapproval, her social conscience hung heavy. Lough was forking out good money to be based at Haydown and had diligently paid off all his back rent upon arrival, so she felt she owed him more of a return. She could be introducing him to useful contacts during this traditional quiet time in the eventing calendar, when riders partied, hunted, hitched, hatched and holidayed. Networking Lough was a task that would improve her current social life, too; she and Hugo had piles of invitations propped up on the mantelpiece in the hall, but Tash was reluctant to go to anything alone. It seemed ridiculous to ignore the company on her doorstep.

Defying Hugo’s advice, she decided to offer Lough another peace offering, a savoury olive branch this time, its fruits pressed to oil and used to create something more appetising that Lemon and Beccy could enjoy too.

When he next hijacked her on one of her solo hacks she turned to him with a determined smile. ‘I’m going to cook all of us supper. Just because Hugo and Rory are away, it doesn’t mean Haydown has no team spirit. It’s much more fun to share food with other people, and I don’t feel I know you at all yet.’

But Lough’s reaction was even more frosty than usual.

‘You know me,’ he muttered into his collar, which was turned up against the chill. Then he kicked his horse into a smart trot and Tash found her youngster cantering and crabbing excitedly alongside, any further conversation rendered impossible as her nerves gripped at her chest and her hands closed in to tight, defensive fists on the reins, making the horse fight for his head. It took all her concentration to remember to breathe and hang on tight until they got back to the yard, where Lough immediately handed his reins to Lemon, who was waiting with his next horse ready, before riding off to the furthest sand school.

Left with a sweating horse and a hammering heart, Tash cursed him under her breath and decided Hugo was right; it wasn’t worth the effort.

*

But, to her surprise, Lough was sitting on the dog-eared sofa in the kitchen when she came down from putting Cora to bed that evening, leafing through the latest issue of
Eventing
magazine. His hair was still wet from a shower and he’d dressed in smart brown jeans and a cashmere sweater.

Still in her filthy breeches, knee-high spotty socks and one of Hugo’s ancient sweaters, Tash hastily poured two massive gin and tonics and apologised for being so disorganised. She was far too polite to point out that her supper invitation had been a general plan, not specifically for that evening, and besides that his reaction had made her think he preferred eating alone. Now he’d caught her wholly unprepared.

She fought an urge to rush out to the stables flat and beg Beccy and Lemon to join them and liven up the atmosphere a little; she could see Faith’s little yellow car parked alongside Beccy’s and knew it had the makings of a fun night, but Beccy wasn’t answering her mobile, and abandoning Lough to go and recruit more guests looked terribly rude. But Lough in isolation was very hard going.

It was soon patently obvious that he didn’t do small talk off a horse any more than he did mounted as Tash chattered nervously about the season ahead, about Hugo’s news from America and about horses that she was working. He responded in monosyllables, if at all, watching her from beneath those dark brows as she chopped onions and fried then off, tripping over the dogs.

‘It’s only chops, I’m afraid.’ She scraped the onions to one side and dropped in two chunky cuts of Berkshire pork from the farmers’ market. ‘If I’d known you were definitely coming I’d have defrosted something better.’

‘You invited me to supper.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She felt silly, and also ridiculously nervous, as though she’d willingly invited a predatory animal into her house.

‘About time, too.’ He looked up at her, his big dark eyes impossible to read.

‘Sorry – yes, very rude to be so antisocial, but with Hugo in the States …’ Red-faced, she fetched potatoes from the larder and began peeling them over the sink. ‘It’s such bad timing that he and Rory went away so soon after you got here, just as you’re settling in. But of course we had no idea when – if – you’d get here in the end.’

‘You know why I couldn’t come.’

Tash turned, peeler aloft, head to one side. She had never fully got to grips with the details of Lough’s arrest and detention. ‘I’m not sure I
do
, to be honest.’

‘I’ll tell you some time.’ He stared at his fingers, which were badly chapped from long hours outside and the nails bitten right down.

Tash nervously opened a bottle of Marlborough red, her own fingers clumsy on the foil. She should have listened to Hugo. The man was a bad-tempered misanthrope. She should never have invited him in.

The wine seemed to loosen his tongue a little, however, and he outlined his plans to enter a few modest one-day trials to settle his horses as well as competing at the bigger pre-Badminton three-star CCIs. ‘I’m going to lease a box so I can get about independently.’

‘You’re part of the team here. You can travel to competitions with us.’

‘I prefer my own company.’

‘We all muck in together,’ she said carefully, ‘there’s no room for modesty or ego.’

‘Are you competing this season?’ He looked across at her.

‘I’ve got no choice.’

His dark eyes were on her face, not quite catching her eye but focusing on the seed pearl stud in her left earlobe.

‘Then you need help.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

His flat, laconic voice had a strange thread of emotion woven through it when he spoke, addressing his own hands with passion: ‘You’re in trouble, Tash. You have a lot of talent and that doesn’t go away, but when your nerve goes it’s dangerous in our sport. You look a mess out there. Believe me, I’ve been there big time.’

‘Really?’ She was fighting to keep the sarcasm from her voice, deeply hurt despite the fact she knew he was speaking the truth.

‘Yeah, I’ll tell you about it some time.’

That was obviously his line to avoid any lengthy inquisitions.

‘I’ll get you through it,’ he offered.

‘That’s really kind, but—’

‘It’s not a suggestion.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘It’s a guarantee.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled nervously, certain Hugo would disapprove. But in truth she badly needed help. ‘I sometimes feel I’ve forgotten how to ride these days.’

The voice was gruff and flat, rendering the quotation unrecognisable: ‘Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

He looked at his hands. ‘It’s easy.’

‘I do hope so.’ She stood up hurriedly, realising she’d forgotten to put any vegetables on to boil.

Lough watched her crossing the room. ‘Tash, why are you doing this to me?’

‘Doing what?’

‘I know you said you’d deny everything, but we’re alone now. Hugo’s thousands of miles away. We don’t have to pretend any more.’

She was too busy digging around in the fridge for supplies to concentrate. ‘I’m not pretending anything.’

‘C’mon. You opened your heart.’ His deep voice held sharp flints of irritation as well as the heat of affection. ‘We’re birds of a feather. What’s changed? Help me out here: I’ve been drowning since I arrived.’

For a moment Tash wondered if this was some elaborate wind-up, and that Lough shared Lemon’s bizarre sense of humour after all. But one glance over her shoulder told her that this was no joke as his big, dark eyes burned holes into her face.

Carrots and broccoli hugged tightly to her chest, she dashed to the sink, her mind racing as she tried to figure out why exactly he thought they were birds of a feather. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, alone with him in her big, silent house, the children sleeping upstairs. She could see the lights on over the courtyard – the Czechs and Beccy and her gang, all just out of earshot if she screamed.

She shuffled along the kitchen surface with her colander of rinsed veg and selected the biggest chopping knife to slice them down to size.

‘Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said carefully.

‘The phone calls. The texts.’ Anger was rippling through his soft words now, building pressure. ‘I risked my liberty to keep in contact with you. I thought you felt the same in your prison, too.’

Tash stopped chopping. ‘I can’t send a text, Lough – not without referring to the manual. Ask anybody.’

‘Bullshit!’ He exploded, standing up.

‘It’s true,’ she bleated, keeping a firm hold of the knife handle.

He marched straight past her and started pacing up and down in front of the window, a caged panther pressed up against its bars. ‘You said you needed rescuing. You said you were unhappy. You begged my help.’

‘I did no such thing!’

He pulled a mobile phone from his back pocket and started punching its buttons. ‘
You keep me sane; I wait up all night to hear from you; You have the key to me
.’

‘What’s the caller’s number?’ Tash demanded.

‘Yours. The one you gave me.’

‘When?’

‘The first time I phoned to say I was coming. You’d just had your baby and said you were bored and all alone.’

‘I definitely didn’t take that call.’

‘Well who did?’ He sounded disbelieving.

She thought back, raking her memory. It was the day that Dillon Rafferty had dropped in by helicopter and life at Haydown changed completely; the day they learned Lough was coming. ‘Beccy spoke to you,’ she remembered.

‘
Beccy
?’

‘What’s the number?’

But he pocketed his phone again. ‘Forget it.’

‘I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow,’ Tash promised. ‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation.’

‘No,’ Lough insisted. ‘You stay out if it. This is between me and her. I’ll sort it.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for the wine. I’ve lost my appetite.’

Left alone, Tash fed the burned chops to the slavering Bitches of Eastwick before locking all the doors and retreating upstairs for a bath, terrified that she’d just lifted the lid on Pandora’s Box. She wanted to somehow warn Beccy, but she didn’t want to embarrass her, especially when she had her friends with her.

An hour later, in another shouted conversation from a sand school in Florida, Hugo had a badly timed change of heart: ‘You’re right about Lough. We need to get him a social life. Get some locals over, and owners. Introduce him to Lucy and Venetia, the Stanton girls and all the hunting lot …’ He started outlining plans that could
keep Tash busy every night for weeks, entertaining most of their contacts, and especially any ravishing single women they knew. She supposed it would at least enable her to spread the word about the surprise party for Hugo’s birthday.

‘I’ve already asked the Moncrieffs to help you out,’ he told her. ‘Gus can take my place, and Penny will chaperone Lough so that you can concentrate on hosting. She’ll make sure he meets the right people.’

Tash knew she was being stage-managed, but the thought of having a social life again delighted her.

In the stables flat, Faith stifled yawns as her two companions fell about with unbridled laughter. That evening, Beccy had persuaded Lemon to dress up in drag to see if he’d have more chance of attracting a man if he dressed as a woman. The verdict was a resounding no. He looked like Donatella Versace. But the little Kiwi groom clearly loved the fake lashes and bling, singing along to Lady Gaga with a hairbrush as a microphone and Beccy providing backing vocals.

‘I wanna take a ride on your disco stick …’ he howled as he minced past, stooping to shimmy in front of Faith. ‘C’mon, join in, Eff!’

Faith might be almost a decade younger than her friends, but she found them incredibly juvenile at times. They were bunny-hopping side by side now the song came to a close, hands on crotches, re-enacting the video. These days, with Rory in America and the Moncrieffs utilising her more at Lime Tree Farm, time spent at Haydown thrilled her less, and Lemon and Limey were becoming increasingly bitter and twisted. The two had grown very close since New Year, she noticed, with Beccy acting as the ever-more straight man to Lemon’s camp vitriol. That struck Faith as unhealthy, but she was very sensitive to how much Beccy had regained confidence since the Moncrieffs’ party and didn’t want to undermine that. Faith had expected Beccy to be withdrawn for weeks, yet she seemed to have blossomed, which was in reverse proportion to her own flagging energy as she found her party cherry-popper with Lemon increasingly regrettable.