The Country Escape (40 page)

She sat up in bed in the early hours, heartburn still raging, knowing she had to kiss
him.

Kat thought about kissing Dougie a ridiculous amount the following day, her lips seeking out her fingers, knuckles, wrists, pen lids, cup rims and the tops of the dogs’ heads at regular intervals, like a live wire needing an earth.

She rode straight to the Eardisford yard that evening, far too early, but to her frustration Dougie was already sitting on Worcester, who let out a rumbling whicker of recognition when Sri bounded in.

As they trotted out through the arch, their stirrups clattered together, knees bumping. Kat looked across and saw it mirrored in his eyes, the deep blue come-on between the dark lashes,
the kiss in waiting, just needing its signal.

‘We already have a wager on you riding the Bolt,’ he reminded her, as they cantered along the tracks to Duke’s Wood. ‘What shall we lay on
me
doing it?’

‘Each other?’ She said it without thinking, then blushed crimson.

‘Are you flirting?’ His smile was a country mile wide.

‘Of course not,’ she said, uncomfortably aware that
even her ears were puce.

Reining back to a walk as they reached the edge of the woods, he looked remarkably florid-cheeked too, eyes bluer than ever.

Kiss, kiss, kiss
, Kat’s brain screamed, as they moved closer together through the forestry gate. She turned as he did, hat peaks clashing, mouths a breath apart, just as Sri let out a furious squeal and kicked out at Worcester before
napping away.

‘She’s rampantly in season,’ she apologized breathlessly, knowing Sri wasn’t the only one.

‘Better keep her behind.’

He was issuing instructions over his shoulder, which she hardly took in, outlining the plan that he would set off on a timed run of the whole route and she would follow but drop out at the lake. Kat listened to his voice, loving its clipped huskiness,
remembering the catch when he’d told her a truth and said, ‘I want to kiss you right now.’

Even redder-faced, she followed Dougie up to the far corner of Duke’s Wood, the derelict folly that traditionally marked the start of the Bolt, where Sri ruined Kat’s attempts to get close enough for a good luck peck on Dougie’s cheek by squealing, cocking her tail and squirting at a mortified Worcester.

‘You ready?’ Dougie checked.

No, Kat wanted to yell. I need to kiss you! But for the first time it struck her that he was genuinely uptight at what he was about to do. He checked his girth, a muscle slamming in his cheek, eyeing his watch. The last time she’d seen him look so tense was in the parade ring at the point-to-point. It’s a big deal, she thought. The Bolt is scary stuff.
Even Dougie Everett is daunted.

‘If you fall back, don’t worry,’ he told her, cheek muscle still drumming, his eyes serious. ‘The gates are all open and there’s no livestock, but watch out for hay baling.’ He unclipped his helmet harness and pulled it from his head to rake his hair back from his eyes. ‘At the lake, if your blood’s up and you’re close behind, follow us through, but for God’s
sake shout and let me know so I look out for you, and if you’re more than a few lengths behind or feeling uncertain, wait for me there. Take your helmet off a moment – there’s something under it.’

‘What?’ She pulled it off, shaking her head.

Bareheaded too, Dougie kicked Worcester alongside, braving Sri’s hormones, and reached out and drew her towards him. ‘This.’

As the lips
landed on hers, Kat was aware of shifting beneath her, but whether it was the horse or the earth moving, she couldn’t say. There were more squeals and a grunt, the jangling of bits and clashing stirrup irons, and she felt Dougie’s arms tighten around her, his kiss harden, his weight supporting her as she was lifted out of one saddle and on to another, laughing as she kissed and scrabbled herself
into place. And then she was sitting astride Worcester in front of Dougie, facing the wrong way, kissing her heart out. Her mouth, her eyes and her soul so full of Dougie that she thought she might burst with happiness.

‘This isn’t flirting,’ he breathed, as they finally broke apart, his mouth brushing against her upper lip, her cheeks and then her ears, which made her shriek with a shiver
of delight. ‘This is kissing. It’s entirely different.’

She laughed, as their foreheads pressed together, eyelashes tangling, and she remembered the night she’d stared out to the lake and imagined them swimming it together. This was like her vision, she decided, only she was floating on air, not water.

Their mouths drew together, hungrier now, this time unable to break apart as their
kisses deepened, fingers through hair, hearts and groins roaring for more.

Oh, God, I’ll be making love on a horse in a minute, Kat panicked, as Dougie’s fingertips traced her throat, her chest-bone, the curve of her breasts where her nipples were as hard as pea-shooter ammo. His lips chased his fingers down while she arched back, ecstatic under his touch.

‘I’ll hold you to your
wager if I ride this.’ He kissed the shelf of her breastbone. Then his mouth found hers again and Kat knew she’d never been kissed so exquisitely in her life, or wanted to drag someone into a derelict folly so badly.

The village quarter bell had rung twice. They were losing the light. Eventually they pulled apart again and he reluctantly helped her down to go and catch Sri, who had thrust
her head through one of the folly’s glassless windows.

Clipping her helmet back on, Kat mounted and awaited the signal. She felt totally fearless. Bring on the lake, she wanted to shout. I can walk on you now.

Blowing her a kiss, unable to stop smiling, Dougie pressed the stopwatch button on his clunky wristwatch and charged into action, Kat flying in his wake. He was riding Worcester
because he knew that he wasn’t the fastest conveyance and would be closer to Kat’s speed when she took the challenge, making it easier to gauge how realistic the time was to achieve.

It was a warm, muggy evening without a hint of a breeze and Worcester was already puffing hard as they reached open country beyond the woods, his sides drenched in sweat. As always, the sound of Kat laughing
cheered horse and rider on, hard on their heels, shouting for him to go faster before she mowed them down.

Riding the hormone-fuelled Sri, Kat was in danger of being totally run away with as she sat out some back-flipping bucks that would have propelled her into orbit just a few weeks ago. Worcester was positively ponderous in front as Sri jigged all over the track behind, pinging up her
back legs. They careered along field margins and through freshly cut hayfields, Dougie navigating the route he’d plotted so carefully in recent weeks.

‘Let’s see how good you’re getting at ducking.’ He turned to the woods.

Having totally forgotten the route, Kat only realized he’d disappeared into the trees when Sri swerved dramatically to plunge after him. Worcester was groaning
and snorting with every stride now, the evening heat hard to bear.

‘He’s exhausted!’ she yelled after him, crouching low on Sri’s neck as they gave chase into the shadows.

‘Ride the Bolt to the end and you’ll really feel an exhausted horse beneath you,’ he shouted back over his shoulder. ‘Trust me, this chap is fresh compared to that, and he’s not hunting fit yet.’

‘Hunting
for what exactly?’ demanded a furious voice, as a balaclava-clad figure stepped out in Worcester’s path. ‘The wild Kat?’

Worcester stopped dead, eyes boggling at the unlikely sight of a camouflaged vigilante with white-tipped hair wielding a camcorder.

Cannoning into the ample brown bottom blocking their path, Kat and Sri parted company. As she flew towards a tangle of tree roots,
Kat realized it was Russ in front of them. She also realized that she hadn’t done up the chin strap of her helmet properly and it was whizzing in the opposite direction.

At the time of her fall, Kat thought she was taking everything in. Landing was a bit of a blur, as were the ensuing few hours, but she distinctly remembered telling everybody her name, date of birth, the current
prime minister and the nine times table to prove her alertness. Not that anybody seemed impressed, just telling her to lie still because there was blood coming out of her head. There was talk of air ambulances and a lot of shouting.

She saw Dougie’s lovely blue eyes coming in and out of her vision, saying reassuring things that she later couldn’t remember. And there had been more shouting.
Quite a lot of shouting, mostly Russ’s distinctive deep deer bark with its Bristol accent. Not that she remembered a word he’d said. That was the funny thing about concussion. You thought you had a memory of what had happened and then –
poof
. Gone.

Dougie had his satellite phone pressed to his ear, cursing the signal cutting out.

‘I’ve got my eye on you, Everett!’ Russ raged, videoing him with a camcorder. ‘I know your game!’

Ignoring him, Dougie crouched beside
Kat. ‘Are you still okay?’

‘Eight times nine is seventy-two.’ She nodded, smiling up at him lovingly.

‘Leave this to me, Kat.’ Russ loomed over them. ‘He knows what game I’m talking about.’

‘Is this about the cricket?’ Dougie suggested, trying to dial out on the phone again.

For a moment Russ was nonplussed – the mention of cricket always acted like a stun-dart on him
– but then he squared himself up and snarled, ‘This is definitely
not
fucking cricket.’

‘Soccer, rugby, ping-pong, Pictionary?’ Dougie muttered distractedly, holding up the phone and wondering whether the trees were blocking the signal. He didn’t want to leave Kat. She was repeating David Cameron’s name in a worryingly rapturous fashion now.

Bear-like Russ growled under his breath,
‘Little boys play with bows and arrows.’

‘Archery’s a sport, not a game.’ Dougie pulled off his waistcoat to put under Kat’s head.

‘It’s July the twentieth,’ she said gratefully.

‘It is a
blood
sport when the super-rich get to play Robin Hood in the woods,’ the Bristol accent shouted. A camcorder zoom closed in on Dougie’s face with an electronic whirr. ‘Except in the Eardisford
Estate they won’t be stealing from the rich to give to the poor. They’ll just shoot anything that moves, won’t they, Dougie Everett?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dougie muttered, patience snapping as he looked over his shoulder to find a lens inches away.

Russ was doing a strident voice-over now. ‘Seth – a.k.a. Arjan Singh, an IT dotcom billionaire – has bought the
Eardisford Estate specifically to entertain some of his most powerful global contacts, of whom many are shooting-mad Anglophiles, and a select few take their hunting a lot more seriously than that. Seth has no personal interest in field sports, but he knows how to provide the best game platforms in the world. It’s what made him rich in the first place. Only this one is real, and the “game” is protected
wildlife being hunted illegally.’

‘All hunting on the Eardisford Estate will be done strictly within the law,’ Dougie said authoritatively, turning back to brush Kat’s hair gently from her face and check her pupils, which were still worryingly dilated.

‘George Osborne,’ she said seductively.

‘Is that the law that’s different for private packs?’ Russ was raging. ‘The law that
says you can shoot your prey with arrows? Chase Mumbai’s slum kids around with dogs?’

‘I think he was joking about that bit,’ Kat muttered groggily, adding, ‘Nine times nine is eighty-one.’

Dougie looked down at her in disbelief. ‘Did you tell him all this?’

But Kat, deathly pale with blood trickling from her nose, only managed the home secretary and nine times three.

‘Kat’s been reporting back on all your conversations, Dougie,’ Russ moved to her other side and checked her pulse, still videoing, ‘but I think the time’s right to pull her out from undercover work. Anything else just wouldn’t be cricket.’

‘Undercover work?’ Dougie repeated carefully.

Russ put a protective hand on Kat’s limp arm. ‘We both have the sanctuary’s best interests at
heart. Safeguarding our animals and the wildlife here is paramount. Nobody trusts you, Dougie.’

‘Clearly not,’ Dougie said tightly, looking down at Kat again.

‘Twentieth of July,’ she murmured again, green eyes glazing. She was paler than ever, incredibly fragile and beautiful. Just a few minutes ago, Dougie had tasted those lips. Now he wasn’t sure he believed a word that had come
out of them. He looked at her as though through thick sheets of glass, trust sliding away. She was Snow White in a casket. Another prince could kiss her to wake her up.

‘Nick Clegg,’ she said, in a bright voice. ‘Dodgy.’

Anger evaporating, Dougie slid his hands beneath her and picked her up, carrying her back out of the woods so that he could call for help. He buried his face in
her hair as he walked, breathing in her sweetness.

‘I told you the truth about my job, Kat,’ he said quietly. ‘Double-cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘What truth is that exactly?’ demanded Russ, videoing in hot pursuit.

When Dougie didn’t answer, he started a breathless voice-over again, interspersed with curses as he fell over tree roots. ‘The Animal Liberation Posse has
heard on the nod that the Eardisford gamekeepers are briefed to expect a VIP guest any day. The estate will be on a major security clamp-down. We think it’s wild-boar hunting. They’ve been tracking the sounders all week.’

‘I know nothing about this,’ Dougie snapped, setting Kat down on a grassy bank and gratefully dialling out from his phone.

‘Of course you bloody know!’ Russ was
pointing the camera at him accusingly, relishing his undercover exposé. ‘You’re part of the team organizing it. You’re the bowman.’

‘Fuck off,’ Dougie muttered, then, hearing the outraged voice at the other end of the line, quickly apologized. ‘Not you, Dair. I need your help.’

Russ was watching him closely, his voice dropping to David Attenborough gorilla-observation whisper as
he told the camera, ‘Everett is on the phone to the estate manager, Alasdair Armitage, who is in control of all illegal hunting at Eardisford. He will no doubt bring heavies to force me off the estate at gunpoint.’

‘Can you or one of the keepers get transport down here?’ Dougie spoke into the phone. ‘Kat needs to go to A and E.’

‘Kat has been injured in the line of duty, possibly
deliberately,’ Russ told the camera in his breathy undertone.

Kat was complaining groggily that she didn’t want to go to hospital. ‘I am perfectly okay, see?’ She sat up, gripping the ground to either side. ‘I’m Katherine Mason. It’s July the twentieth, I’m holding up two fingers, or it could be four – six even.’ Her eyes crossed as she focused on them and then, blinking hard, she groaned
and clutched her head.

‘For God’s sake, lie down again,’ Dougie ordered, worried she was about to pass out. ‘You’re going to hospital whether you like it or not.’

‘I’m definitely not marrying you if you’re going to boss me about like that,’ she grumbled. ‘Or is the proposal off now you know I’m a spy?’

The camera zoom whirred frantically.

‘Shut up, Kat,’ Dougie breathed.

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them the bit about you coming to Eardisford to trick me into marrying you so I have to leave the farm.’ She looked at him blearily, totally disoriented, one pupil noticeably bigger than the other. ‘Russ is right. I have been injured in the line of duty. My heart’s been broken. That was the most amazing kiss of my
life
but it’s just all an act for you, isn’t it?’
She looked away tearfully and spotted the camera at last. ‘Shit.’ She gave it her big smile, her green eyes glazed. Then she groaned and lay down in the grass.

‘I think you should go.’ Russ gave Dougie his bear growl, towering over him.

‘I’m not leaving her like this.’

‘You come near her again and there’ll be a village lynch mob out.’

Dougie looked at him furiously.
‘I’m going nowhere.’

‘You want this on YouTube?’ Russ switched the little camera to play, flapping out its touch-screen and jabbing his finger on the thumbnails. Images of Dougie round the estate on horseback, cycling with his hounds, riding with Kat and letting loose a few arrows from Worcester, who he was training for stunt tricks to entertain guests.

‘Do what you like with it,’
Dougie muttered, checking Kat again. She’d closed her eyes and was muttering her way through times tables again.

‘And this one?’

‘They’re otters.’ Dougie identified the creatures on screen impatiently. Then the picture swung around to show the mill house through the trees, its windows illuminated at dusk. The footage had been taken back in late spring when bluebells had surrounded
it. The camera zoomed in on one window where Dollar, lithe and naked, was riding up and down on what at first appeared to be large dildo poking from an ornamental clock, but Dougie recognized was in fact himself shot from a strange angle. The picture swung around again with a lot of rustling and then resumed from a higher angle so that Dougie’s blond hair and laughing face could be seen.

‘You fucking pervert,’ he hissed at Russ, glancing anxiously at Kat, but her eyes were still closed.

‘It gets better.’ Russ fast-forwarded to Dollar pointing a handgun out of the window at the two Lake Farm lurchers and Trevor the peacock. Moments later Dougie appeared outside, shouting his head off about roasted peacocks with apricot stuffing and how to get hold of illegal handguns.

Dougie felt a sickening lurch of
déjà vu
. His reputation had been severely rattled by some very compromising CCTV footage once before. ‘This proves nothing,’ he muttered.

‘Leave. Kat. Alone,’ Russ hissed.