Keeping the Peace

by Hannah Hooton

  ‘How’s your car?’ he asked, raising his voice above the noise of the kettle.

  She grimaced in reply.

  ‘I’ve got it back now. It needed a few things done to it like removing the dent on the front bumper and something about realigning the wheels or some such like. At least it’s working again.’

  ‘Did it cost a lot?’

  Pippa shrugged and handed him his tea.

  ‘It means I can’t fix the kitchen cupboards or buy any paint until next month, but what can you do?’

  Jack sucked his teeth in deliberation.

  ‘Do you – er – need an advance? We can do that, you know, if you’re in trouble.’

  Pippa hesitated, recognising a more forgiving side to Jack’s nature struggling to surface. She smiled and shook her head.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m sure I can cope for another couple of weeks. Personally, I blame it on Take That,’ she said, walking past Jack back into the Reception.

  ‘Take That?’

  ‘Yeah, if that CD I was listening to hadn’t been skipping then I might have had more of a chance.’

  Jack chuckled.

  ‘Send them the bill Ask them to Reach Out.’

  Pippa looked back in surprise.

  ‘Blimey, I’m impressed, Jack. I didn’t think you would know who Take That was, never mind know one of their songs.’

  Jack gave an awkward smile and looked at his feet.

  ‘Comes from having a fanatical teenage niece,’ he explained. ‘She came to stay for a couple of weeks a while back while my brother and his wife went on holiday. All she ever listened to was bloody Take That. Drove me insane.’

  ‘So I take it you won’t want their CD as a Christmas present?’

  Jack grinned.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I am running low on coffee coasters, after all.’

  Pippa shook her head and laughed. She wandered over to the window and gazed out. She blew on her drink, misting the glass.

  ‘The Gallops look beautiful with the snow covering them,’ she murmured.

  Jack joined her, standing behind her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, also means we only get to use the all-weather gallop. Can’t take the horses jumping on ground like that.’

  ‘How’s Peace Offering doing?’

  Jack gave a half-hearted shrug.

  ‘Okay, I suppose. All going well, he’ll be ready to run again in two or three weeks’ time.’

  ‘God, it takes so long,’ Pippa mused, turning back to the view.

  ‘Some horses take longer to recover than others. Don’t forget he had quite a hard race at Ascot.’

  ‘Hmm. How are the horses that ran over the weekend? They must have had a hard time of it at the Trials.’

  ‘Dust Storm is pretty stiff. We’ll give him a few days to recover. But Dexter’s bouncing around, looking for more hurdles to jump.’

  Pippa noticed the satisfaction in his voice.

  ‘He won, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yep, he’s going to give Black Russian a run for his money next season when he’s no longer a novice.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Emmie’s going to have her loyalties torn.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She looks after them both. Black Russian is her baby. She was more pleased when he won the Champion Hurdle at Cheltenham last season than Dan Cameron was.’ He shook his head, smiling at the memories.

  The phone rang, interrupting their conversation.

  Pippa looked out of the window one last time and heaved a sigh.

  ‘I have to paint that,’ she murmured to herself before turning away.

  ‘Pippa,’ Jack stopped her. He glanced at Hazyvale Dawn on the wall. ‘What if I take you up onto the Gallops to watch the horses work in the snow? Would you be able to paint that?’

  Pippa forgot about the telephone.

  ‘Really? You’d do that for me?’

  Her enthusiasm made Jack hesitate.

  ‘I’ll pay you for it,’ he said. ‘Like a commission. Maybe that’ll soften the blow from your car repairs.’

  Pippa tried to bite back the smile radiating from her face. She squeezed her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from hugging Jack.

  ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked.

  Jack nodded, his expression becoming business-like once more, as if his generous nature had outstayed its welcome. He motioned to the phone.

  ‘You’d better get that.’ His more familiar frown settled on his forehead. ‘I should go do some work.’

  He set off abruptly for his office, leaving Pippa tingling with excitement.

  ‘Aspen Valley Stables, good morning,’ she carolled into the telephone receiver, more chirpily than usual.

  Jack brought the Land Rover to a juddering halt three-quarters of the way up the Gallops. They sat in expectant silence, watching the distant speck of horses and riders preparing for their exercise at the base of the hill. The dark blobs against the white landscape blurred as the snow settled on the windscreen until the wipers cleared their view again.

  ‘I suppose you want to get out and watch?’ Jack said reluctantly.

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Very well.’ He turned and reached onto the backseat. ‘Binos for you,’ he said, handing her a pair.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, they crunched over the frozen ground to the running rail and held their binoculars up to their eyes. Pippa could feel the snow seeping into her shoes, numbing her feet. Her fingers burned against the icy textured metal of her field glasses. The four blurry blobs at the bottom of the Gallops suddenly became alive as she focused the lenses and she squeaked with excitement as they set off towards them. They were headed by a dark bay horse, his head, tucked into his chest, half-hidden by an encasing black blinkered hood.

  ‘Black Russian, right?’ she said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jack replied, his voice distracted as he followed the horses’ progress. ‘Can you name the rest?’

  Pippa scanned the others: two chestnuts and another bay.

  ‘Spurwing Island, Leopard Rock and, um...’

  ‘Bold Phoenix,’ Jack provided. ‘Very good. I told you you’d know them all soon.’

  Pippa laughed.

  ‘Eventually.’

  They lapsed into silence, Jack concentrating on his horses’ performance, Pippa studying them with an artistic eye. A smile spread across her face as more details became apparent – the flapping multi-coloured saddle-cloths, the riders with the goggles fastened and helmets lowered, their startling red Aspen Valley jackets ballooning behind them as the rushing wind caught inside them. Black Russian, at the head of affairs, snorted with every stride, his forceful blows channelling two distinct plumes of mist from his dilated nostrils. The moistened air was whipped away, swirling, by his chasing stablemates. Their hooves, beating a dull drum which rode up the rise on the wind, flicked up snow and sand in savage disregard.

  Pippa’s creative brain whirred. The defined lines of the horses and riders were softened by the constant snowfall. Their misty breaths blurred the strapping, shuddering muscles. Her love for oil paints was overridden with the knowledge that a softer medium would be needed here. The washed-out sky blended with the ground and she considered whether watercolours would be a better option.

  She moved from foot to foot, undecided, as the horses loomed larger. She lowered her binoculars to take in the entire landscape with the horses cutting their path through it. The undulations of the valley threw some of the glistening white into shadows of grey and purple. The divets left behind by the galloping horses lay in a churned passage of bruised pale blue snow, sprinkled with tan, like cinnamon dust on cappuccino froth.

  Yes, watercolours, but using pastels as well to build depth into the horses’ steaming bodies.

  The horses thundered past, their hindquarters propelling them forward, but their speed kept in check by their poised riders.

  Pippa found herself wishing she knew how to ride, just so she could experience the feeling of such accumulated stre
ngth.

  ‘So much power,’ she breathed.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jack agreed.

  Pippa glanced at him, surprised as she hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud. Jack continued to watch the horses, letting her study his profile, unaware.

  Tash isn’t far wrong, she found herself thinking. She couldn’t help but imagine what medium she would use to paint Jack. He stood tall and broad across the shoulders, his raised collar lining his strong jaw. Against the bright contrast of the background, his dark hair fused with his black jacket. His features were rugged, and Pippa knew she would use oils to capture the raw cheekbones and jutting chin.

  She chewed her lip as she tried to decide what skin tone he had. How the hell did he manage to get a tan in winter, she wondered idly?

  He turned, catching her watching him.

  Pippa was thrown off-guard.

  The pupils of his eyes had contracted against the glare of the snow, revealing more iris, its shades of blue more astounding in the wintery brightness. Cornflower blue? Maybe, but no, she decided. There was more to them than that. Cerulean? Not quite –

  He raised his eyebrows in question when she continued to stare at him, compelling Pippa to refocus.

  ‘Um, thanks for this,’ she said, gesturing with a vague hand.

  ‘Did you see enough?’

  For a frightening moment, she thought he meant of him, but then realised he was referring to the horses.

  ‘What? Oh, yes! Perfect. I can’t wait to get started.’

  Jack grunted in acknowledgement.

  ‘Come on, let’s get back inside before you get hypothermia.’ He nodded towards her with a faint smile. ‘Your lips are turning blue.’

  His mention of the cold brought reality rushing back to her and she noticed for the first time since she’d got out of the Land Rover just how bitter the weather was.

  ‘Good idea,’ she said. She turned back to the vehicle, but with a cry of alarm, she felt her ankle twist beneath her as she stepped in a hidden rut. Jack reached out to break her fall, his reflexes as sharp as his temper. Grasping his arms for support, she felt a volcanic flush burn up her cheeks and over her ears as her hormones instinctively approved of the hard muscles she could feel beneath his jacket.

  ‘Sorry,’ she croaked.

  Jack’s misty breath faded as he stopped breathing, suddenly aware of their awkward hold on one another.

  ‘You okay?’

  Pippa nodded fervently.

  ‘Yes.’ She let go of his arms, clumsily dusting the snow from them. ‘Just practising my drunken Christmas party stumble.’

  Jack raised a smile at her attempt to diffuse the atmosphere.

  ‘Just so long as you’re not practising the drinking right now,’ he replied.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wrapped in her dressing gown and slippers, Pippa tip-toed across the dark bedroom, dimly lit by the street light outside the window. She put two steaming mugs of coffee on the bedside table.

  ‘Ollie,’ she whispered, giving the mound cocooned in duvet that was Ollie a gentle shake. ‘Ollie, wake up. It’s Christmas!’

  The mound grunted and snuggled deeper into the warmth of their bed.

  ‘Come on, Ollie. It’s time to open presents.’

  ‘No,’ he mumbled into his pillow. ‘Don’t have time. They need me in Trauma Two...’

  Pippa giggled and switched on the table lamp.

  Ollie sat up, startled.

  ‘Wha-?’

  She laughed.

  ‘It’s Christmas Day, Doctor Fletcher. You don’t have to go into work today.’

  Ollie looked sheepish.

  ‘I was dreaming we had a mass casualty and you suddenly appeared in the ward and told me we had to open Christmas presents.’

  Pippa chuckled and swept his messy fringe away from his forehead to give him a kiss.

  ‘Merry Christmas. Here’s some coffee.’

  Ollie shivered audibly as he emerged from his cocoon to take his drink.

  ‘Christ, it’s cold. Get back into bed.’

  ‘Let me go get the presents from the lounge then. We can open them in here,’ Pippa said.

  Excitement, like little bubbles of champagne, popped and fizzed in her chest as she gathered the modest bundle of colourfully-wrapped presents into her arms and skipped back into the bedroom. She spread the gifts at the base of the bed and hurried back under the covers beside Ollie. Her enthusiasm was contagious and Ollie hugged her close, kissing her temple and beaming at her.

  ‘Here, you first,’ he said, reaching out for his present to Pippa.

  She flexed her fingers in anticipation as he handed her a clumsily-wrapped rectangular present. With her tongue cinched between her teeth, she teased the elf-decorated paper open. Inside was a Lee Child novel and three DVDs. She giggled when she noticed he’d forgotten to take the 3 for 2 label off one of them.

  ‘Thank you,’ she cooed, kissing him. ‘I’ve never read any of Lee Child’s books. I’ve heard he’s very good.’

  Ollie smiled back, looking smug.

  ‘My pleasure. I thought a different type of book would be good to broaden your horizons. Plus I haven’t read his latest book. What have you got for me?’ He looked in expectation at the small jumble at their feet.

  Pippa retrieved another present and handed it to him. Ollie took it and tore at the wrapping greedily. Inside were two silk shirts and a bottle of cologne. He held up the green shirt to admire then smoothed it against his torso.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘Brings out the colour of your eyes.’

  He nodded in satisfaction and picked up the cologne to read the label.

  ‘Armani Code. Are we both trying to broaden each other’s horizons this year?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I usually wear Versace Eau Fraiche.’

  Pippa frowned to herself as Ollie uncapped the bottle. Did he? She hadn’t been able to remember his favourite brand when she had gone shopping in Bristol so rather than ringing him up to ask and ruining the surprise, she had smelt them all until she had found the right one. Maybe the two had similar smells, she decided.

  As soon as he squirted a little of the scent into the air, Pippa realised her mistake. The fragrances were nothing alike. But instead, it was almost as if Jack had walked into the room.

  ‘Hmm,’ Ollie gave his approval.

  Pippa swallowed hard.

  ‘Let’s see what else we’ve got!’ she exclaimed, grabbing the closest present. ‘Here, open this one, Ollie! It’s from your parents.’

  Ten minutes later, fifty pounds wealthier in department store vouchers and with a new bookshelf worth of gifts, Pippa and Ollie relaxed back in bed to finish their tepid coffee. Ollie happily started on Pippa’s new Lee Child novel, while she leafed through the DIY for Dummies book Tash had given her, trying to ignore the lingering scent of her boss’ cologne hanging in the air and cursing herself for her stupidity.

  How could she have made such a blunder? It looked like she had got away with it, but what would happen if Ollie ever met Jack? Would he realise they were wearing the same cologne? Did men notice those sorts of things? The potential situation made Pippa giggle nervously.

  Wait until she told Tash.

  The following day, Ollie was almost hyper with excitement at the prospect of going to Rich Holden’s Boxing Day party. He had informed Pippa that only the elite were invited so they should both be very grateful to have made the guest list. The more he enthused about the A-list party goers, the less Pippa wanted to go.

  Ollie walked into the lounge where she was lying on the sofa. He held up the two shirts she had given him the day before.

  ‘Which one?’ he asked, holding each against him in turn.

  ‘They’re both nice,’ Pippa said, tearing her attention away from the television. ‘I like the green one best. It really brings out the colour of your eyes.’

  Ollie pulled a face as he deliberated.

&
nbsp; ‘Yeah, but the blue one would look better with my grey trousers. I’ll go with the blue. I wonder if I should wear a suit. What do you think?’

  ‘What?’ Pippa turned her head towards Ollie without taking her eyes off the screen.

  ‘I said I wonder if I should wear – Pippa, you’re not listening to me! What are you watching, anyway?’

  ‘The one fifty at Kempton. It’s the big Boxing Day meeting today. We’ve got the favourites in the two main races. Virtuoso in the King George VI Chase and Black Russian in the –’

  ‘Pippa!’ he interrupted her. ‘We’ve got to be at Rich’s place at six. You’re not even dressed yet! You don’t have time to watch the racing.’

  ‘I just want to see how Virtuoso and Black Russian do, then I’ll get ready,’ she said, attempting a placating smile. ‘We won’t be late, I promise.’

  Ollie closed his eyes and shook his head. Marching back into the bedroom, Pippa could hear him muttering mournfully,

  ‘What has that bloody horse turned you into?’

  She turned back to the television only to find the race had ended. With a sigh, she heaved herself off the sofa and went in pursuit of Ollie. She found him flicking through his wardrobe. She wound her arms around his waist from behind and planted a kiss on his tense neck.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Black Russian runs in the next and Virtuoso’s race will be over by three thirty. After that, you have my undivided attention and I promise not to speak another word about horses.’

  Ollie turned around to face her, still looking annoyed, but with a trace of forgiveness visible.

  ‘Okay. Only if you wear that red number tonight that you wore on my birthday.’

  Pippa camouflaged a grimace with a forced smile. The number he was referring to was more suited to summer-wear. It was a lovely dress, she was the first to admit, and very sexy, but she would freeze in it.

  ‘Deal.’ She kissed him to seal it before returning to the lounge.

  The racing presenter was interviewing Jack and Dan Cameron, Black Russian’s owner, before the next race.

  Fumbling for the remote, she turned up the volume to hear the conversation. It felt a little peculiar sitting in the London flat with her boss’ voice booming around it, debriefing the viewers on his horse’s chances.