A Country Scandal: a sexy, scandalous page-turner

by Sasha Morgan

  ‘Well, she probably wants to forget the whole thing. I think she was feeling rather bruised at the time.’ He took a sip and looked around the garden. Changing the topic completely, he asked where Zac was.

  ‘He’s inside snoozing.’ She eyed Nick carefully. His arms were crossed and he repeatedly tapped his foot against the chair leg. Was she imagining it, or did Nick look a touch uncomfortable?

  ‘I went to visit Ted,’ Nick said, sitting back in the deck chair, finally relaxing.

  ‘Oh, how is he?’

  ‘Better. Not sure if he’ll manage on his own, though.’ Nick looked genuinely concerned. His eyes clouded over, looking into the distance. Despite Finula’s obvious dislike of him, Megan could see a real compassionate side to Nick. He was a vet – surely that must mean he was a caring person? She studied his face. He had a flawless tanned complexion; obviously his work kept him outdoors a lot.

  He noticed her looking at him and smiled. ‘Like what you see?’ he asked, giving her a cheeky grin. Megan laughed, a little embarrassed. If she did, she wasn’t about to admit it.

  Chapter 14

  Dylan swung his Jeep into The Templar car park. He’d booked in for a few days before the races at Newmarket. Racing was as much a mental sport as it was a physical one and he always followed the same pattern before a big race meeting. He would take time out in a hotel, or somewhere away from home to focus his mind. Although his house was nearby on the edge of Treweham village, it was too much of a distraction, with family and friends popping in and the phone constantly ringing. People knew where he was and felt free to visit any time. Normally that wouldn’t bother him, but before a race it was different.

  He knew he had to apply himself and look after his body properly. This included a strict diet and exercise regime. He had private coaching at the gym to maximise the strength in the key muscles in his legs, lower body and core area. He knew how upper strength body was crucial to control his horse better. Regular cardio exercises kept him lean and light, while his stringent, low-fat food intake ensured the ideal weight before weighing in for a race. Dylan was constantly checking the scales before racing; he took it very seriously, almost to the point of paranoia. However, it was this meticulous routine that had put Dylan where he was, Champion Jockey. Racing was a game of starts and probabilities, but in Dylan’s eyes it was also about commitment and the absolute burning desire to win at all costs. Basically, Dylan Delany worked hard and played hard. He was a winner in both disciplines.

  Carrying his cases through the pub, he was greeted by Finula. ‘Ah, Finula, you look stunning as ever.’

  ‘Whatever. Right, you’re in room four as requested, rear of house. Do you want a hand with those?’ She looked at his cases.

  ‘No. I wouldn’t expect a delicate thing like you to carry my luggage. You could show me to my room, though.’

  ‘You know where it is, Dylan,’ she replied drily.

  ‘Well… perhaps keep me company—’

  ‘Hands off my daughter, Delany,’ that firm, Irish voice of Dermot’s thundered behind him, making Dylan jump.

  ‘Ah, Dermot, good to see you,’ he tried to smooth the situation over, but Dermot was having none of it as he picked up one of the cases and nodded towards the stairs.

  ‘This way, Delany. I’ll show you to your room.’

  Finula stifled a giggle as she watched Dylan hastily follow behind. He’d never change, she thought, always the same silver-tongued charmer. At first she’d been flattered by his attention, until quickly realising he was like that with all females. Now she just rolled her eyes and let him get on with it. Dermot, however, would not tolerate anyone flirting with his daughter, especially someone like Delany, whom he classed as an overconfident Casanova. Sure, he was a good jockey, which was to his credit, but Dermot knew he used his position unscrupulously with women and didn’t approve, taking particular exception when this included his own daughter. It amused Finula no end the way her dad terrified Dylan, making him act so jumpy and out of character. Moments later Dermot returned to the kitchen where Finula was preparing that evening’s vegetables. Giving her a piece of paper, he spoke with sarcasm.

  ‘These are his lordship’s requirements.’

  Finula took the paper. She’d been expecting this, understanding his routine from previous visits. The list contained the meals he required over the next few days – chicken and vegetable risotto, noodles with beef and green beans and salmon and boiled rice. All low calories. She knew he’d be drinking nothing but water, so had left two bottles in his room, rather than the usual tea, coffee and shortbread. Once you cut through all the shallow flattery and saw past the false bravado, Dylan was actually a nice guy. It was just a case of not taking him too seriously. Finula had got used to the banter between Dylan, Seamus and Tobias as they were regulars at The Templar. All the locals in the pub had wanted to watch Dylan racing, so Finula had organised a large-screen viewing. Dermot had begrudgingly agreed to it, as it was good for business and brought the village together.

  Dylan lay on his bed, with his hands behind his head in contemplation. He’d dearly love a crack at that feisty redhead Finula, but there was little chance of that with her father constantly watching over her like a guard dog. He smiled to himself, wondering what kind of father he’d make. Probably more protective than Dermot. He knew what kind of men were out there – he was one of them. What was the saying? You can’t kid a kidder. The thought of him with children was an unfamiliar one. Never once had he considered settling down and starting a family, but why not? Most of the jockeys he knew had wives and children. He puzzled himself with his train of thought. What could have prompted it?

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in!’ he called.

  ‘I’ve just come with some more bottled water.’ Dylan looked at the dark-haired beauty and sat up immediately.

  ‘Thanks. Could you leave them on the table?’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘You’re new here, aren’t you? What’s your name?’

  The girl smiled. ‘Yes. I’m Megan.’

  Dylan moved towards her, looking her up and down with appreciation. Wasn’t this the girl that had turned Tobias’ head? He could see why.

  ‘I’m Dylan, pleased to meet you.’ He held his hand out. She shyly shook it.

  Chapter 15

  It had been two weeks since Megan had taken in Zac. Together they had forged a strong friendship. Basically the black Labrador followed her everywhere. Dermot had allowed Megan to bring him to work and most mornings they would trot along the lane, side by side to The Templar, where Zac would settle by the open fireplace waiting patiently for Megan to finish her shift, whilst being stroked and patted by the customers. He was proving to be quite an attraction and Zac relished the attention.

  That bright April morning Megan was busy helping Finula prepare the lunches, chopping vegetables, slicing fruit and washing salads. She couldn’t help but notice how quiet Finula was, missing the usual chatty banter they shared.

  ‘Finula, is there something wrong?’

  ‘No, not really.’ She bent down to open the oven door and a hot wave of air blew back at her. Squinting, she checked the baked potatoes were browning nicely. Megan’s thoughts turned to what Nick had told her the other day about him and Finula. Suspecting Finula’s mood was to do with Nick, she decided to broach the subject.

  ‘Fin, why didn’t you tell me you and Nick had been an item?’

  Finula turned sharply. ‘We’ve never been an item.’

  ‘Oh, but he said—’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure he says quite a lot,’ interrupted Finula hotly, ‘and most of it’s crap.’

  Taken aback by her tone Megan decided not to push any further. Obviously the two shared some history and it wasn’t her business. What was unsettling was the effect Nick had had on Finula. She’d never seen her so agitated.

  Realising how sharp she’d sounded, Finula wanted to ease the awkward silence. ‘Found yourself a plasterer yet?’

  ‘Not yet.�
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  ‘Do you want me to ask Tobias, see if he can recommend anyone?’ Not wanting to offend, seeing as Finula was obviously trying to help, Megan agreed. Inside she was reluctant, but then again, she really did want the walls plastered, eager to get at least one room finished. The last few days had gone so quickly. She’d visited Ted in hospital. Megan had been touched when he genuinely seemed pleased by her visit and he’d smiled sweetly when she had given him a bottle of her gran’s elderberry juice. She had assured him that Zac was absolutely fine and missing him. Ted had chuckled. Then, looking rather serious, he had told her that he didn’t want to return to his cottage.

  ‘Oh, Ted.’ A lump had formed in Megan’s throat. The thought that he would no longer be her next-door neighbour had saddened her, although she completely understood his dilemma.

  ‘It’s the old ticker, you see.’ He gently thumped his chest with a shaky fist. ‘Not sure I’d feel safe on my own now.’ His watery eyes blinked. ‘They’re putting me in a home.’ He coughed and looked out of the hospital window.

  Megan wanted to cry. Swallowing, she cleared her throat. ‘Don’t worry about Zac. I’ll have him.’

  The old man’s face lit up. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course. To be honest I was dreading having to give him back.’ They both laughed.

  ‘Thanks, Megan. You’re a good lass.’ Ted’s eyelids twitched and he closed his eyes. He was tired and it was time for her to leave.

  ‘Bye, Ted,’ she whispered, and placed her hand over his frail, pale one, in which a blue vein bulged from the drip he was attached to. She checked his chest was still rising and falling, then quietly left the ward.

  ‘You’re needed at the bar, Meg!’ Dermot broke her thoughts, making her jump. Quickly she washed her hands, removed her apron and hurried behind the bar, leaving Finula with her own thoughts, whatever they might be.

  As on most days, the hours passed in a flurry of serving drinks, taking food orders and scurrying back and forth from the kitchen. Late in the afternoon Megan collected Zac, who was lying by the large inglenook fireplace, tail wagging when he saw Megan had come for him.

  ‘Come on, old boy, time to go home.’ Zac got up and leant into her legs for a stroke. He really was a lovable dog, she thought fondly, scrunching under his ears, which he loved.

  Together they leisurely wandered home. Megan pushed hard on the front door of her cottage, which was still sticking – another job to sort out. She made herself a sandwich and sat at the kitchen table, flicking through various interiors magazines, looking for inspiration for her own revamp. The chintz floral curtains she’d been admiring reminded her to go and retrieve Gran’s sewing machine from the loft.

  She finished her sandwich and headed for the attic opening in the hall. She used the long pole, which stood in the hall corner, to unhook the latch to the loft hatch. Stepping back, she waited for the folding ladder to whizz down to the ground. Coughing as the dust settled, she climbed up the ladder and put on the light switch just by the side of the entrance. She smiled as she recognised all the attic’s contents, an archive of family memorabilia, each telling a tale of its own. Her doll’s cot, which had been Mum’s, with its chipped red paint and dusty covers, ancient brown suitcases packed with goodness knows what – old clothes, she suspected. The old-fashioned hairdryer, which had a nozzle and bonnet, made Megan giggle at the memories of using it. Yellow, mouldering newspapers and magazines lay scattered randomly. Then something she hadn’t seen before caught her eye. A vintage tin box lay in the middle of the attic floor. Frowning, Megan climbed fully into the loft and reached down for it. It was a rusty, old lilac tin with Parma violets engraved on the lid, and had obviously contained Gran’s perfume years ago. Just as she picked it up, Megan heard a crack, and she saw that her foot had gone through the plaster between the roof joists. Hell, she’d been so engrossed with her find, she’d let her foot sink into the floor. Great, now an indent of her footprint would show on the sitting-room ceiling – another damn job.

  Cursing, she took the tin and, forgetting the sewing machine, started to climb slowly back down the ladder, only to hear someone knocking on the front door. This would be Finula, no doubt, wanting to talk after their conversation earlier.

  ‘Come in, it’s open!’ Megan called, still climbing down the ladder. On hearing several attempts at Finula pushing the door, Megan shouted, ‘Harder! The door’s sticking!’

  As she reached the final rung on the ladder, clasping the tin box, the door thrust open with force, making her lose balance and topple in surprise. ‘Ahh!’ She landed on her bottom, startled to see those mocking green eyes staring down at her.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Megan struggled to move.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Tobias bent down and helped her to stand. His strong arms eased her up. He smelt fresh, with a tinge of sandalwood, and again she admired his glossy black hair.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ She patted the dust off her jeans, looking hot and flushed.

  ‘Finula tells me you need a plasterer,’ he smiled, putting his hands inside his navy quilted jacket.

  ‘Yes, I’ve stripped the walls in there,’ she pointed towards the sitting-room door, ‘and half the plaster came off. Not to mention the ceiling.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve just put my foot through it, up there,’ she added drily, pointing towards the loft.

  ‘Ah, let’s have a look.’ Tobias made his way through to the sitting room, his tall frame and broad shoulders dwarfing the small cottage. Gazing round, he took in the grey, crumbling walls. Then he turned his head upwards towards the ceiling to see the clear outline of her footprint. ‘Oh dear.’ He turned to grin at Megan.

  ‘I know, I was engrossed and stepped off the joist.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘This.’ She held up the lilac tin.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just found it lying in the middle of the attic floor. It was as though it was put there deliberately.’

  ‘So you were meant to find it?’

  ‘Maybe.’ They both looked at it curiously. Megan went to the nearby table and put it down. The lid was rusty, but she forced it off. She could feel Tobias behind her. The back of her neck tingled. ‘Photographs…’ she quickly flicked through them, ‘and letters, too.’ She unfolded one of them. ‘They must have been written years ago.’ The paper was thin and yellowed with age. The letters were written in fountain pen, neatly with defined loops. Old sepia pictures depicting images of a young couple laughing, linked arm in arm, looked back at her. Each photo told its own story: a trip to the seaside, trouser legs rolled up, paddling in the shallow pools with the sun shining in their eyes; another of them leaning against a mossy tree trunk, surrounded by bluebells. A carving of the initials ‘G & E’ appeared behind them, deep in the tree. Happiness exuded from the two of them so that it was almost tangible. Megan instantly recognised one of the photos. It was Gran sitting on a haystack, dressed in her land girl overalls and polka-dot headscarf. The last picture was of a young soldier in uniform looking very smart, but solemn. On the back was written, ‘To my darling Gracie, love always, E.’ Megan drew in a jagged breath, not sure what to make of it all.

  ‘You OK?’ Tobias asked gently. He was still standing patiently behind her and didn’t want to pry. At the same time he didn’t want to appear indifferent when this was obviously a big deal to her.

  ‘I think so. Just puzzled.’ She finally handed him the last picture. ‘Read the back.’

  ‘To my darling Gracie, love always, E.’ He turned it round to look at the image of the soldier, staring gravely ahead to face the monstrosities of war at such a young age. ‘Is this your granddad?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Obviously sweethearts before she met him.’ Then looking closer at the face of the soldier, he narrowed his eyes, then looked at Megan, then back at the photo. There was a poignant pause.

  ‘Perhaps it’s better if I left you to read them alone.’ Tobias tac
tfully backed away.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll put them away.’ Megan quickly got a grip on herself.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ Putting the letter back in the tin, she sat down by the table. ‘I’ll read them later.’ She stared into space, not quite knowing what she’d just uncovered.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’

  Megan shook her head, ‘Yes, sorry, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘I’ll do it, you stay there. You look rather pale.’

  ‘I think I’m in shock,’ she agreed.

  Moments later Tobias entered the sitting room with two strong, black coffees. ‘This’ll put some colour in your cheeks.’ He pulled a silver hip flask from his jacket pocket and emptied its contents into the two mugs. Winking, he handed her one.

  ‘What’s in that?’ she laughed.

  ‘Just a hot toddy. It’ll do you good.’

  Megan knocked back a mouthful and nearly choked. The potent liquor stung the back of her throat, then ran warmly down her body, soothing before finally hitting her stomach.

  ‘It certainly has a kick to it,’ she gasped.

  Tobias was grinning. ‘Yes, it tends to hit the spot.’ She started to giggle. Her nerves had been jolted and the alcohol was taking effect quickly. Tobias gazed around the room. ‘So, should I get my man on the job?’

  ‘Your man?’ She chuckled at the expression.

  ‘Plasterer. Remember, that’s why I’m here?’ he stared, bemused at Megan’s shoulders shaking with laughter. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, it’s me. I’m not used to hot toddies,’ she wiped her eyes, ‘and one way or another it’s been quite a day.’

  ‘I know.’ Tobias looked straight into her face, suddenly serious. ‘Listen, don’t worry about the walls, or the ceiling. I’ll sort it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The relief to have a helping hand was enormous.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Tobias replied.