by Sasha Morgan
24
‘Hey, Tracy, look at this!’ Gary called.
‘What is it?’ His wife came to look over his shoulder at the letter he held.
‘It’s from them telly people, you know, the ones doing the documentary about the village.’
Everyone living in Treweham couldn’t fail to notice the television crew’s presence. Certain villagers had been affronted that they hadn’t been directly asked to be involved, especially when they heard who had been selected to be interviewed. Now it looked like the Belchers were to be approached next. Gary whistled. Just wait till the shooting club hear about this, he thought, picturing their faces when he told them he was going to be on the telly.
Gary and Tracy Belcher’s lives had changed dramatically when they had won three million pounds on the lottery over nine months ago. Being a young, working-class couple from Lancashire, they had chosen to move from their Northern roots and settle in the Cotswolds, having honeymooned there and fallen in love with the area. It seemed like fate was lending a helping hand when the Gate House had suddenly come on the market, just as they had begun their search of the area. Despite the Gate House being a Grade II-listed building and having rustic, period charm, it was the location that proved the main pull for Gary and Tracy. For the Gate House was set in the tranquillity of the Treweham Hall estate, far away from any prying eyes. Privacy had been key for the Belchers, particularly after having received threatening letters demanding a share of their money – or else. In the end, Gary and Tracy had had no choice but to relocate, far away from their ‘friends’ who had started to take advantage of their fortune.
Gary had settled immediately and, he being a larger-than-life character, his affable, good humour had gained him many friends at the local shooting club. The stiff, refined set in tweeds and waxed jackets found Gary-from-the-North rather amusing. They would chuckle into their hip flasks as Gary regaled them with stories and anecdotes with animation; and of course, he had money. In many ways he was an enigma to them. Gary had been inundated with various invitations, not just to shoot dinners, but select drinks parties, where inevitably he would supply the entertainment. He was hilarious and once he had downed a few pints, any inhibitions he may have had totally vanished.
Tracy, however, was a complete contrast to her husband, and she suspected that maybe people were laughing at Gary, not with him. She didn’t like the way their northern accents were often mimicked, and therefore had chosen to say as little as possible. As a result, Tracy was considered shy, especially compared to her loud, gregarious husband. It had taken a while for Tracy to get accustomed to the high life, having worked in a care home since she was eighteen. She found it hard to adjust to being a lady who lunched. It was boring. More importantly, it was idle, and totally went against everything she believed in. Tracy had a hard-work ethic and had been thought very highly of in the care home where she had worked. In the end, she decided to offer voluntary service in the local home for the elderly just outside Treweham village. Not only had it given her purpose, but she had met a lovely bunch of people whom she felt more in tune with than the pompous, mickey-taking set at the shooting club.
Tracy took the letter from Gary and read it. Should they agree to be interviewed, or not? After all, the reason why they had moved here in the first place was to keep a low profile. But when she voiced her concerns to Gary he just laughed.
‘We’re hardly likely to receive any begging letters here, Trace.’
This, she had to concede, was true. Gone were the days when those around them stared with envious eyes, eager to get hold of their money.
‘Go on, it’ll be fun,’ coaxed Gary, putting his arm round her. ‘What have we to lose?’
‘Hmm… all right then,’ she relented. It couldn’t do any harm, could it?
25
Dylan drowsily opened his eyes. The painkillers he’d been taking had dulled most of the agony in his chest, but had left him in a permanent state of weariness. Dylan wasn’t used to keeping still. He was a doer, always on the go, especially as the training yard was still in its infancy, which meant he had been running at full pelt, with very early starts, long, strenuous days and late night finishes. He felt riddled with guilt that Flora was now handling the bulk of running the yard, due to his incapacitation. Thankfully, Tobias had kindly lent them two grooms from the Treweham Hall stables, which had alleviated some of the workload.
Dylan sighed again, watching the early dawn gradually emerge through the bedroom curtains. He desperately longed to saddle up and canter through the sunrise, feel the fresh air on his face and the warmth on his back. This was the longest stretch he had been without riding and he missed it terribly.
He turned his head to look at Flora, lying peacefully asleep next to him. She was an angel, he thought, his heart swelling with love. He watched her chest gently rise and fall. He admired her soft, young flesh, her blonde waves spread across the pillow, her delicate eyelashes and rosebud lips.
Flora had fussed and spoilt him ridiculously since he left hospital, and he had revelled in it, lapping up all the attention. Well, it had been a while since anyone had showed him this much interest, hadn’t it? He was going to milk it for as long as possible. Flora had been a bloody good trouper, coping with the yard as well as nursing him. However Dylan, being Dylan, had urges. He was in dire need of some TLC, and not just the Florence Nightingale kind either. Knowing his acrobatics in the bedroom were somewhat limited at the moment – he could barely move without searing pain shooting through him – he coughed quietly. Flora stirred, having not allowed herself to fall into deep sleep in case Dylan needed her in the night. His hand covered hers.
‘What is it, Dylan?’ she whispered. ‘Do you need your painkillers?’
‘Hmm… no.’
‘Oh.’
‘Flora?’
‘Yes?’
‘Er… would there be any chance of a blowy?’
There was a moment’s pause. ‘Dylan! You’re supposed to be recuperating!’
They both fell silent, then Flora started to giggle uncontrollably, making Dylan join in, then stop instantly as it hurt too much. After a few minutes Flora turned on her side to face him. He looked into her eyes with adoration.
‘Thanks, Flora, for everything.’
She understood him. It was one small sentence, but it carried so much. He was thanking her for much more than just looking after him. Flora smiled mischievously and turned back the bedcovers to reveal Dylan’s bruised and broken body. Despite his injuries he was still in fantastic shape. Flora’s gaze ran over his wide shoulders, dark chest, strong arms, muscled thighs to his enormous, pulsing erection. Dylan caught his breath as she lowered her face to kiss the dark hair running down below his stomach. She hovered over the tip of his shaft, teasing him with butterfly kisses round his hips. He groaned and shifted slightly. Still Flora tantalised him with light kisses, then finally she allowed him satisfaction as her lips covered his throbbing end and her tongue circled the sensitive nib. Dylan let out a cry of ecstasy as her mouth sucked and released him.
26
Sebastian woke feeling tired again. Back at home, in Treweham Hall, meant being looked after very well. He’d had a healthy, balanced diet (even cutting out alcohol), plenty of exercise and early nights. Yet despite this he still felt completely knackered. The other day he’d stumbled and almost tumbled down the long, sweeping stairway. Deciding to play it safe, he’d rung the family doctor and arranged an appointment. Perhaps Dr Giles would prescribe a course of vitamins? He certainly needed something to pick him up out of this lethargy.
Sebastian flung back the covers and put on his dressing gown. He was starving and wanted to make his own breakfast this morning, rather than have Henry bring it to him in an hour on a silver tray. He entered the quiet kitchen and quickly made himself toast and tea, before any of the staff arrived to scurry about their duties. Taking his breakfast, he made his way back to the stairs, when he noticed Megan wandering through the corridor w
ith Zac.
‘You’re up early,’ he commented with raised eyebrows.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she replied. ‘Just about to do the same.’ She nodded towards his hands.
‘Come through to the drawing room when you’ve done,’ he invited, whilst whistling to Zac. Zac followed, wagging his tail. Soon Sebastian and Megan were both sitting munching warm, buttered toast and sipping Earl Grey tea.
‘Still being sick?’ asked Sebastian, watching Megan eat with gusto.
‘Not every morning now,’ she replied with a weak grin.
‘Oh, darling, has this pregnancy been so frightfully awful?’
Megan couldn’t help but smile to herself. Her brother-in-law was such a character, a true thespian, using flowery vocabulary, peppered with ‘darling’ and ‘frightfully’.
‘It’s not so bad,’ she assured him. ‘It’ll be worth it.’ She patted her bump, which seemed to be getting bigger by the day.
‘I’m sure it will,’ agreed Sebastian, and looked into the distance.
Megan eyed him thoughtfully. She noticed his hand quiver slightly as he lifted his cup to take a sip. He looked pale and drawn.
‘Sebastian, are you feeling all right?’
He appeared startled by the question for a moment, then sighed. ‘Not really. I’ve not been sleeping very well lately.’
Megan nodded. ‘Is there anything worrying you?’ she tentatively asked. Megan wasn’t accustomed to seeing Sebastian so subdued. He was usually the life and soul of the party. It felt strange, seeing him so downcast. He paused, as if considering the question.
‘Just tired, that’s all.’ He gave a tight smile and bent down to stroke Zac, lying at his feet.
*
Megan wasn’t convinced and said as much to Tobias later that evening whilst they were snuggled up together on the settee.
Tobias had been to see Dylan that afternoon. They’d discussed the short-term plans for the yard whilst Dylan was still recovering. Tobias had been impressed by Flora, not only by her ability to manage the business so well, but with the love and care she was showing Dylan. He’d watched him lap it all up with a wry smile. Then the image of his friend’s still body being stretchered into an ambulance flashed through his memory and he shivered with dread. Thank God that was Dylan’s last race. He’d been lucky never to have experienced something that frightening before. Now he was listening to Megan’s concern over his brother.
‘What do you think’s wrong?’ He looked into his wife’s troubled face and stroked the side of it. She was more beautiful with every passing day. Pregnancy gave her complexion a rosy glow and made her eyes shine. Her figure was swelling with his child and he couldn’t possibly love her more.
‘I’m not sure. Do you think Nick Fletcher’s been on the scene again?’
Tobias let out an impatient sigh. He’d wish that man dead in a heartbeat, the trouble he’d caused his brother, not to mention Finula.
‘It’s highly likely. He does live in the same village, after all.’
‘I wish Sebastian would meet someone special.’
‘So do I, Megan. So do I.’ Tobias leant forward and kissed her softly on the lips.
27
‘They’re here!’ called Gary, peering out of the window, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. Tracy was a little more restrained. Whilst she had agreed to be interviewed, she still felt a touch anxious. Not for the first time, Tracy wished she had some of her husband’s enthusiasm. Life must be so much more enjoyable if one can breeze through it without a care. She often envied Gary’s joie de vivre and was left feeling like a wet lettuce in comparison.
Truth be told, Tracy had been happier before winning the lottery. A part of her felt guilty owning so much, without having earned it. But there was no turning back now. Even if by some miracle Gary agreed to go back home to Lancashire, it wouldn’t be the same. They wouldn’t fit in. Things had changed. Tracy remembered the look on her so-called best friend’s face when she told her she was moving away. She’d wanted to believe it was because Sharon would miss her, but deep down she knew the real reason for her crest-fallen expression. No more gravy train: Tracy was going and taking her money with her.
‘Shall I get the door?’ Tracy asked, watching Gary fidget impatiently by the window.
‘No, no, I’ll get it.’ He sped off into the hall. Tracy went to the window and watched Gary march down the pathway to greet their visitors. There was a slim, attractive woman with long, brown hair, a middle-aged man carrying a camera, and a young, trendy-looking man wearing faded jeans and a combat jacket, who was also carrying some form of equipment. She grinned to herself, watching Gary pump everyone’s hand enthusiastically.
‘This way, come through!’ called Gary, ushering them through the hall and into the lounge. The film crew weren’t expecting the rather brash interior, with its gaudy abstract artwork glaring from the walls on large canvases, and the floors covered with thick shag-pile carpet. A huge plasma television stood in the corner, opposite a black, leather sofa. Not what one would imagine for a listed gatehouse.
Tracy stood waiting for them, nerves starting to edge in. Choosing to appear smart but casual, she had opted to wear red Capri pants and a white and red striped shirt. She had finished the outfit off with red ballet shoes. Tracy cringed when she realised Gary still had his slippers on.
‘So,’ he slapped his hands together, ‘sit down, make yourselves at home. Do you want a brew?’ There was a pregnant pause, until Tracy intervened.
‘A cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ smiled the lady with long hair. ‘Let me introduce the team.’ She turned to the two men standing next to her. ‘This is Len, our cameraman, and Jamie, the runner. I’m Viola.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ returned Tracy, her stomach beginning to tighten. ‘I won’t be long.’ She hurried into the kitchen to put the kettle on. As she was busying herself with making the tea, the sound of Gary’s laugh boomed through the doorway.
‘So, in the blink of an eye, I went from stacking freezers at Iceland, to moving into the Gate House on the Treweham Hall estate!’ she heard him exclaim.
Tracy decided to use the hostess trolley instead of a tray, in case her nerves got the better of her and she dropped it. She’d picked up the trolley in a local vintage shop because it reminded her of the one her gran had had years ago. Unfortunately, the casters squeaked a bit, making her feel somewhat self-conscious wheeling it into the lounge.
Luckily she didn’t see Jamie suppressing a giggle, the image of Julie Walters’ Mrs Overall springing to his mind.
‘I’ve made some parkin,’ Tracy smiled, leaving everyone staring at her in wonder. Gary’s laugh echoed round the room again, making Jamie jump.
‘It’s ginger cake!’ Gary cried. ‘Nobody’s heard of parkin round here, Trace.’ He winked in his wife’s direction.
Viola managed a feeble laugh. ‘Oh, I see. Yes, please, we’d love a piece of parking cake, wouldn’t we?’ She looked at Len and Jamie, who nodded their heads willingly.
After the niceties were over, Viola explained the procedure. Gary and Tracy were to relax and enjoy the experience, just answer a few simple questions and appear as natural as possible. ‘Easy-peasy,’ she encouraged with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Tracy noticed.
‘Bish, bosh, bash,’ replied Gary, rubbing his hands together again.
Tracy wished he’d stop doing that, suddenly finding it highly irritating.
Len set the camera in place. Jamie was adjusting the lights, standing on tripods, to Len’s requirements. He then held a huge, furry microphone near to Gary and Tracy. Viola took out her clipboard and cleared her throat.
‘Sound check,’ Len said.
‘Testing one, two, three,’ answered Viola, ‘testing one, two, three.’
‘Good to go,’ said Len.
Jamie’s hand moved closer to Tracy and Gary with the microphone.
‘Well, what a lovely
home you have,’ beamed Viola.
‘Thanks,’ said Tracy with a smile.
‘We’d all love to know, how does it feel, living on the Treweham Hall estate?’ she asked in clear, concise tones.
Gary jumped in. ‘Smashing. All this space is a far cry from where we came from, innit, Tracy?’
‘Yes, we’re very fortunate to be living in such a beautiful part of the country.’
‘What brought you to the Cotswolds?’ enquired Viola.
‘We came into money—’
Gary was interrupted by Tracy. ‘Yes, and we decided to return to Treweham after honeymooning here a few years ago.’ She didn’t want Gary to talk about their unpleasant experience back home. ‘When we saw the Gate House was up for sale, we couldn’t resist it.’
‘Is that why you paid over the odds for it?’ asked Viola innocently.
Gary and Tracy stalled. Had they overpaid for it? They didn’t like being ripped off – who did? But being made to look foolish made it worse.
‘Well, we paid the asking price,’ Gary finally replied. His voice was quieter, calmer now.
‘The price Lord Cavendish-Blake asked for it?’ Viola still spoke matter-of-factly.
‘We didn’t like to haggle,’ Tracy answered.
‘You mean you felt uncomfortable?’
‘Well… you know…’ Gary stumbled.
‘Do you find Lord Cavendish-Blake intimidating?’ Viola pressed.
‘He’s… a bit…’ Tracy tried to explain.
‘Yes?’ Viola responded quickly.
‘Well, maybe he was a bit standoffish at first. We invited a few people round when we first moved in.’