The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights

by Sarah Lefebve

  She steamed ahead and Tom hurried to keep up.

  ‘I kept in touch with your mother for a brief time after they moved, and I know that despite your father’s intention to leave everything behind she held on to a few mementoes. That photograph is one of the few she kept, and I’m sure you would have seen it when you were tiny.’

  ‘It did seem familiar when I saw it, when I arrived here.’

  ‘What brought you to Tippermere, Thomas? Why here?’

  Now that was the million-dollar question. What the hell was he doing here? It was something that had niggled at him more and more lately. ‘I honestly don’t know. I thought I just picked it at random; a nice country village away from London but with motorway links, you know, the standard commuter-belt bollocks.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I’m beginning to wonder. Ever since I got here I’ve felt like a target for manipulation. Have you and Pip thought about hiring out your services to the mafia?’

  Elizabeth laughed and actually, Tom decided, looked quite pleased with herself.

  ‘That picture of you and Amanda was taken not too far from here.’

  ‘Was it?’ Tom racked his brain and couldn’t uncover anything that gave him a hint. ‘It was some charity do, I think.’

  ‘It was, held at the local golf and country club.’

  ‘It was just an engagement I was booked for. You get shoved in a car and then deposited at the other end. For a long time I hadn’t a clue where I was or where I’d been. And that,’ he looked rueful, ‘was on the days when I was relatively sober and clean.’

  ‘Your mother wanted you to see this place, to know your history, but of course your father was dead against it. So she made sure your name made its way onto the guest list.’

  ‘I vaguely remember that we were supposed to stay over, but Tamara was ill.’ He tried to remember more, but nothing came. It had been unimportant at the time, there was no reason to remember. ‘But that wasn’t why this place stood out. In fact, I think a lot of the reason was because of Rory Steel. Tab even had his picture on her phone and I think spotted him in Country Life or some magazine like that…’ When he thought about it, it had been Tab who had spotted the village as she flicked through her horsey magazines. Tab who had known that these few square miles were crammed with equestrian expertise.

  ‘And why do you think your daughter is so fixated on that particular rider?’

  ‘Sexy? Young and dashing?’ Tom shrugged. He couldn’t for the life of him see why teenage girls went soppy over horse-riders.

  ‘When those complimentary tickets came your way for Olympia, Rory and Lottie were sitting just yards away from you and your impressionable daughter. They were there to support Billy, but if you were a teenage girl and one of your long list of heart throbs was sitting within touching distance, probably smiled at you, I’d imagine he’d go to the top of the list, wouldn’t you?’ She patted his arm. ‘Now I wonder who sent those tickets to your agent?’

  ‘Hell. You’re saying it was Mother, aren’t you?’

  ‘I think she just wanted you to see the place, to find some of the pieces of the jigsaw. She didn’t want to just bury the past, hide it from you.’ She chuckled. ‘But of course she could have never imagined that Marcus would drop dead and you’d get drawn into all this. You really are the cat amongst the pigeons.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Tom struggled to understand the ramifications of his desire to bury himself in the countryside, to align that with the position he now found himself in. ‘Feline is better than feral I suppose. So, what did you mean, earlier, when you said I can influence the future?’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to see it destroyed, lost forever, do you?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Do you think it’s your destiny, Folly Lake Manor? Do you think you’ve come back here because you want it, if you could afford it, that is?’

  ‘Hell, no, I really didn’t know. Well, I hadn’t realised…’

  ‘Good, that’s what I thought. It isn’t your destiny, but it is someone else’s.’ Elizabeth linked her arm through Tom’s and thought how wonderful it was when a plan came together. ‘Let me tell you a little story.’

  ***

  ‘You are kidding?’

  Tom just raised an eyebrow. He constantly swung between thinking that Pip was actually quite nice and a feeling that ranged from mild dislike to fear. ‘Kidding about what?’

  ‘You haven’t actually read that letter?’ Pip was in the house, had gone through to the kitchen and was messing around with coffee cups. ‘Sorry, I am absolutely dying for a drink, you have no idea the rush I had on to get all those stables skipped out so that I could come down here.’

  ‘How do you know I haven’t read it?’ Tom had wandered after her and wondered if maybe a girl like her needed a much firmer hand.

  ‘Elizabeth told me.’

  ‘What is this, the Tippermere terrorist organisation?’

  She grinned and raided the biscuit tin. ‘I am absolutely famished. Honestly, Tom, you are such an idiot.’

  ‘He’s a dork.’ Tabatha had wandered in unnoticed and had the fridge door open.

  ‘Shouldn’t you two be working?’ Maybe he should just give in and let them walk over him, it would make life easier.

  ‘Lunch break.’ Pip spoke through a digestive biscuit.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought dork was an in-word these days.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ Tab, armed with a can of cola and a handful of biscuits, was already heading for the lounge. ‘But nor are you. I thought it suited you.’ And then she actually grinned, which confused him for a moment.

  ‘You’re spending too much time together.’ He looked from one to the other. It was good and bad, but which carried the most weight he wasn’t quite sure yet.

  ‘So where is it?’ Pip, who had given up on the biscuit barrel and moved on to a chunk of cheddar she had found in the fridge, sat down expectantly at the breakfast bar.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The letter?’

  ‘I haven’t got a—’

  ‘It’s on the table in the hall, Dad.’ The voice carried through from the lounge and Tom wondered if it was an idea to shut the door, but there again, what harm could it do? Tab seemed to be growing up fast, and if she had a fraction of her mother’s genetic make-up (which she had), then what he didn’t tell her she’d find out by other means if she was interested. He was still musing over this when Pip returned with the letter.

  ‘How could you not read it?’

  ‘I got the gist from Tamara, and what difference does it make?’

  ‘I don’t believe you, how could you not? Can I?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ He took the mug of coffee, which had been unceremoniously dumped in front of him.

  ‘I think Elizabeth’s right. He’s not actually threatening you, I think he’s almost apologetic. In fact,’ she scanned the page again, ‘it’s almost like he’s embarrassed but too macho to admit it.’

  ‘You’ve managed to get a hell of a lot out of a one-page letter, a bit like when you have to analyse a poem at school.’ She glared at him, but he decided now was the time to stop the various women that surrounded him from taking his good nature as a green light for bossiness. ‘They come out with all this crap and deep meaning, and how the hell do they know? Maybe the poet just liked the words, or was pissed, or just rambling. Like I appear to be.’

  Pip raised an eyebrow at the outburst, then turned her attention back to the letter. ‘I think he was shocked that you turned up in the papers and were standing outside Folly Lake Manor. Elizabeth said it was his pride and joy; he was obsessed by the place, and so it must have been a shock, mustn’t it?’

  He stirred the coffee slowly.

  ‘Mustn’t it?’ Pip was not to be put off. Something he should have known by now. ‘Seeing you just standing there.’

  ‘So what was he doing reading the local rag, eh? In Australia?’

  ‘Well the story did get beyond the l
ocal rag, I mean, even if you’re not big news these days, Marcus was, and David is. And Elizabeth reckons that he keeps an eye on what you’re up to.’

  ‘Does she now? Have you women really nothing better to do than speculate about my father?’ He helped himself to a cookie, which just proved he was wound up as he’d had a lifetime ban on sugary snacks since starting up his modelling career and been warned they would ruin his skin and send him into middle-aged spread before he was thirty.

  ‘Elizabeth said your mother rang her.’

  ‘Really?’ He stopped the stirring abruptly. His father he had never really missed, but his mother had been different. She had tried to keep in touch, even though she hadn’t approved of his marriage, but it was difficult. An intermittent contact made difficult by time differences and work, and the fact that she wouldn’t call if she thought Tamara would answer. And as time went on, their relationship seemed to become more strained by the distance between them, by his refusal to talk to his father and, he guessed, by his father’s refusal to talk to him. Working as a go-between could never have been easy. And he realised now that the more successful he’d become, the harder it had probably been.

  But he’d not spoken to her for months, and something had stopped him telling her that they’d moved. After all, there was never any chance that she would pop in. It wasn’t an issue, and it would have meant admitting that he’d ditched the life he’d created, that he’d run away to bury himself in the peace of the countryside.

  It surprised him that she knew where he was. It surprised him more that she had kept in contact with Elizabeth. How on earth his parent’s marriage survived he had no idea. They seemed to have no clue about what the other was doing.

  ‘You don’t talk to your father at all, do you?’

  ‘Not for years. Apparently he hadn’t spent all that money on my education for me to just fritter it away on a silly notion. He said he’d disown me if I didn’t get my act together and concentrate on a proper career, so I saved him the trouble.’

  ‘Ouch. Maybe he didn’t mean it?’

  ‘Like he didn’t mean to ban home visits if I didn’t get good grades? Like he didn’t mean to stop my allowance the day I signed my first modelling contract and joined a load of “ponces” one step away from being a call boy? He said I needed a wake-up call, said he didn’t owe me a living.’

  ‘You’re tougher than you look, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not tough, Pip. But I do know how to look after myself. I never finished my degree because of him, but it did mean I had to make a success of what I’d chosen to do, so I guess I owe something to him.’

  ‘But what about your mother?’

  ‘They have a very traditional marriage, and although he didn’t ban her from seeing me or anything ridiculous like that, just the distance made it difficult. And when I was younger, I guess I just thought she should have tried harder.’

  ‘I don’t think I ever want children. It must be hell – all those expectations.’

  ‘On both sides.’ Tom’s tone was dry, but Pip reckoned he’d lightened up. And he really was quite adorable, like a lost puppy who’d got tired of digging a hole and was wondering whether or not to flop.

  ‘I heard that.’ Tab’s voice echoed through from the lounge, her mouth full of biscuits, from the muffled edge to it.

  Pip grinned, dropped the letter and then straddled his thighs, tugged gently at his full bottom lip.

  ‘I don’t thi—’

  ‘Shh, she’ll hear.’ She rocked her hips, felt his cock harden in response. ‘Fancy a bit of no-strings-attached wild sex?’

  ‘You are a hussy.’ He was laughing at her, not quite sure if she meant it. But she did. Pip was done with talking and solving problems. And Tom was cute. Which was just what she wanted at the end of a frustrating morning. She slipped her hand between them, unzipped his flies. ‘You can’t…’

  ‘Watch me. That’s half the fun of it, risking getting caught.’ He was in her hand, getting harder with every stroke of her fingertips. ‘Or rather feel me.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ Tom looked into her eyes, which stared straight back at him, and shook his head. ‘You’ll be the death of me, woman.’

  ‘What a brilliant way to go.’ Short skirts and no knickers had seemed a good plan to Pip when she’d popped to the loo earlier, and she was right. One wriggle of her hips and he was inside her, his face tightening as he slipped into her wet channel.

  ‘Christ.’

  Pip grinned, one hand on her clit as she eased herself up and down. ‘Come.’ She’d been on the verge the moment he was inside and she could see he was fighting it, a gentleman to the end. But that one word tipped him over the edge. He bucked his hips, surged deeper inside her, his fingers curling round, digging into her waist. And as her body tightened around him, her clit throbbing against her fingers, Pip closed her eyes. And she would have loved to have just seen Tom, but it was Mick that filled her head. Stripped to the waist, dark eyes burning into hers as he told her to leave Tom alone.

  Chapter 22

  ‘Where’s your passport?’

  Lottie looked up from the smelly foot she was putting a poultice on.

  ‘Sorry?’ She looked up at the mare, then back at Rory. ‘She doesn’t need her passport, she’s not going anywhere.’ Paperwork was a nightmare with Rory around. Knowing every one of his horses needed a passport was one thing; being able to locate them was another. To Lottie it would have made sense to keep them in one place, but however hard she tried to keep to the plan, late nights and long days weren’t conducive to organisation and paperwork. Getting back from an event at midnight, with a tired horse and an elated or depressed Rory, usually meant that sorting the lorry was the last thing on their minds. Until they were packing it to go to the next competition.

  ‘Not the horse, you silly moo, you, your passport.’

  Lottie dropped the horse’s foot down slightly more abruptly than she’d intended and wondered if it was her that was going mad, or Rory. Not that he looked mad; he actually looked quite sexy with his open-necked checked shirt and clean jeans. And he was grinning, slightly self-consciously.

  ‘Any idea where it is? We can’t find it. And why are you doing that, I thought I asked Pip to?’

  ‘She doesn’t like it; the stink makes her feel like throwing up. And before you even think about saying it, no, you can’t ask Tabby.’

  ‘But we’ve got to go. I did tell you, and she bloody knew.’

  Rory, Lottie decided, was acting very strangely. It was probably because he hadn’t got any competitions lined up for the weekend. And he was dressed like he was off out.

  ‘What are you up to?’ She eyed him suspiciously. According to a recent quiz she’d completed in Cosmo, he was either about to dump her (unexpected), having an affair (unlikely) or about to propose (impossible).

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Those are the words that are most likely to convince me you’re up to something. What are you after? And why—’ She’d picked up the yard brush, and was about to ask why he was all dressed up with nowhere to go (well, nowhere as far as she knew).

  ‘Don’t start brushing the yard, woman. Give it here.’ Which shocked her into silence. She could never, ever remember Rory stopping her working, well, apart from the time he’d thrown her over his shoulder, dumped her in an empty stable and pretended to ride her to victory after she’d teased him about falling off. It was quite a long time ago, but it still made her feel hot. All he had to do since that day was gather her hair up in one hand so that the cold air touched the back of her neck and a shiver of expectation ran through her. Shameless hussy were the words that sprung to mind, but she didn’t care. ‘Go and get changed, we’re going out.’

  ‘Oh, I love it when you’re firm.’

  ‘I suppose I could put you over my knee and spank you, but,’ he glanced at his watch. Which was odd, as he hardly ever wore one. Apart from when he was competing and needed a timer. ‘But we haven’t got time, please L
ots, shift your arse.’

  ‘Okay.’ She pushed the stable door shut and gave him a quick kiss, because he looked gorgeous and hassled. ‘Get changed into what?’

  ‘Just normal clothes.’

  ‘But for what? For the pub, shopping, you know it does matter.’

  ‘We’re having a couple of days away.’

  ‘There’s an event you forgot to tell me about?’ She racked her brain for some entry on the eventing calendar that she’d somehow forgotten. It came up blank.

  ‘No. Look, if you must know, your friends ganged up on me and said if I didn’t understand you I should take you—’

  ‘Are you two gassing all day, or will we be getting off? And shouldn’t you be getting changed, treas? Not that you don’t look gorgeous as you are, but you’re cutting it a bit fine.’

  ‘Are you coming too, Mick?’

  Now she was confused. And even more when the car horn blasted across the yard and made her jump. Pip grinned and gave it another blast.

  ‘Will you lot stop pissing about, we’re going to be late.’ In denim shorts that showed her slim legs off to perfection, and a halter-neck top that showcased tanned shoulders, Pip looked more festival than three-day event type of weekend away.

  ‘Okay, who is going to tell me what’s going on?’ One of the terriers, alerted to the possibility of a fun outing, was already in Mick’s pickup, front feet on the steering wheel, and seeing Lottie put her hands on her hips, it yapped out for reinforcements. The other two came hurtling across the yard, a stick between them, which very nearly sent the passing Tab into the air. With the timing of a true showjumper, she jumped just as the convoy came through, unfortunately forgetting that she had a running hosepipe in her hand, which shot a stream of cold water straight in Mick’s direction.

  Lottie tried not to laugh, but one look at the horror on Tabatha’s face and she couldn’t hold it back any longer.

  Mick shook his head, drips of water spraying over his shirt. ‘The Jack Terror trio aren’t bloody coming.’