It’s very quiet, too quiet for me. I Skype Sarah on my iPad, but she can only chat for ten minutes because her hubby has dinner ready on the table.
‘He’s such a hero,’ she sighs. ‘He’s spoiling me to bits. I’m planning to be pregnant for ever.’
‘You’re incredibly lucky.’ I watch her stroke her baby bump. She’s tall, slim and elegant, with shoulder-length dark hair and hazel eyes. Her white embroidered loose-fitting shirt contrasts with her tan.
‘I know.’ She frowns. ‘This sounds bad, but I’m glad it didn’t work out between you and Ryan. You weren’t right for each other.’ She cocks her head. ‘David’s brother is back on the market …’
‘Oh no.’ I met him at their wedding. I made a horseshoe especially for Sarah and David, a good-luck charm decorated with ribbons and flowers. David’s brother is decidedly geeky and wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other.
‘You aren’t going to let one bad experience hold you back for the rest of your life? I know it’s made you wary of men, but you can’t let it go on for ever. I hate the idea that you’re letting Ryan win.’
‘It isn’t about winning and losing.’
‘I think it is. He’s made you lose your self-confidence – when it comes to men, I mean, not in general.’
‘He’s made me question my judgement. Ryan took me for a ride, so to speak, and I’m not prepared to let that happen for a second time.’
‘David’s brother is a lovely man.’
‘I’m sure he’s very sweet, but he isn’t my type.’
‘Remind me, Flick. What is your “type”?’
An image of Robbie Salterton on a big black stallion comes galloping into my head, sending my ex-boyfriends, including Ryan, running for cover. I wonder how good the picture is at Sarah’s end, if she can see me blushing, but I’m reassured by the fact that the detail is poor. She looks as if she’s been airbrushed – I can’t see the blemish on her chin that she acquired on a cross-country course when she came to grief as we did a pairs class on our ponies.
‘I’m not sure now. Tall, outdoorsy, blue eyes, brown hair. Must like horses.’ I smile. ‘I’m getting carried away. I don’t need a man. I need to sort out my finances first.’
‘First? So there is hope then?’
‘Maybe a little,’ I admit.
‘How is that going?’ Sarah asks. ‘Have you managed to reduce the amount you owe?’
‘Hardly.’ I shrug. ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in debt.’
‘I wish you’d accept a loan from us.’
‘I couldn’t. It’s very kind of you, but I’m not going to replace one loan with another, and my dad’s always told me never to borrow from friends.’
I change the subject to a less painful, less controversial topic. ‘How was your scan the other day?’ I don’t really need to ask because I saw the pics on Facebook, but I want to show Sarah that I’ve been thinking of her. Her face lights up as she gives me an update on the baby’s health and how many times she feels it – I should say ‘her’, because we know she’s a girl from the scan – kick in a day. She talks about how hard it is to choose the right antenatal and parenting classes, and the difficulties of choosing a suitable name without offending anyone. She’s going to be a fantastic mum. I love to see how happy she is. It makes me happy too.
I hear David calling her in the background.
‘I’d better go,’ she says. ‘Keep in touch.’
‘Will do.’ I sign off and stare out of my bedroom window, where Rafa is having a moment, cantering and bucking around the paddock in the cool of the evening.
I can’t wait to ride out with Robbie at the weekend. I’d love to have time to chat and get to know him better, whether or not it leads to anything else. I’ll be spending a lot of time with the Saltertons and their horses this spring. I just hope the new mare behaves herself when it’s her turn to be shod.
Chapter Five
Wet Shirts and Hidden Depths
It’s Sunday morning and I could sleep for hours. I’m physically exhausted from working from eight in the morning to six or seven at night, including Good Friday and most of Saturday. It turns out that Mel has let his business slide, postponing visits until the horses’ shoes are almost falling off, and he’s expecting me to get it back on track. I’m not complaining, though. I’m loving the challenge and the pretence of being my own boss.
However, I’m already wondering how long I’ll be needed here. Mel was in hospital for five days. He came home with painkillers and a string of physio appointments, and determined to be walking without sticks within three weeks. It sounds selfish, but I’m hoping he doesn’t rush back too soon.
I drag myself out of bed and peer out between the curtains. Rafa is waiting at the gate. I throw on some clothes and head downstairs. I’ve missed breakfast with the family. Louise is in the kitchen, closing the zip on a cool-bag.
‘Morning, Flick. We’re off to see friends today. They have a caravan at Talysands and we’re going to have an Easter egg hunt on the beach.’ She smiles. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Have a lovely day.’
‘I’m hoping that it’ll take Mel’s mind off the after-effects of his op,’ she goes on. ‘Anyway, what about you? Have you any plans?’
‘I’m going for a hack with Robbie.’
‘Oh …?’ Her voice rises and her eyebrows seem to hover in question, as if she’s waiting for me to tell her more. Her eyes glint with a hunter’s sense of closing in on their prey. ‘He’s rather gorgeous, isn’t he?’
‘I hadn’t really noticed,’ I mumble. ‘Come on, you can’t be the only unmarried – or married, for that matter – woman who isn’t swooning at his feet. A handsome stuntman galloping around the countryside in tight breeches – what’s not to like?’
Indeed, I think to myself. I just wish I knew how he saw me: as a girl or one of the lads?
‘I’d better go. Mel and Ash are waiting in the car. Have fun.’
I say goodbye to Louise and grab some breakfast before doing my make-up, adding lip-liner and matte pink lipstick to show Robbie that I can do feminine. I select a pale blue V-necked T-shirt to reveal some cleavage, and close-fitting off-white jodhs that emphasise the length of my legs. On my way outside, I pull on a pair of long black leather boots to complete the look. They’re a little tight around my calves, but today I choose style above comfort.
When I bring Rafa up from the paddock and pick out his feet, I notice that he’s due for shoeing soon. I brush him, tease out the knots from his mane and tail, and tack him up. Hearing the sound of a horse’s hooves coming up the lane, I put on my hat, tighten the girth, and lead him across to an upturned bucket where I spring into the saddle.
‘Hi,’ Robbie calls from the gateway. ‘Your escort awaits.’
‘I’m ready,’ I call back. I slip my feet into the stirrups and collect up the reins as Rafa moves away, keen to meet up with a fellow equine. I’d prefer him to have the company of other horses all the time, but I can’t afford to turn down free livery. He whickers at Nelson, but Nelson doesn’t take any notice.
‘Not surprisingly, my horse is more interested in female company.’ Robbie smiles as he fiddles with the lead rope that’s tied around Nelson’s neck – for emergencies, I assume. ‘Like me,’ he adds, but I think he’s talking generically, not referring to me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, thanks. How about you?’ I’m not sure what to say, whether we’ll have enough topics in common to continue a conversation, or whether we’ll ride along in silence.
‘It’s been an okay few days.’ He turns to whistle at the wolfhounds, who are dawdling with their noses in the hedge, before we ride down the lane, side by side. He’s wearing jeans today, short boots, and another flowing shirt with ruffles down the front and ripped sleeves.
‘What’s with the shirt?’ I ask. ‘I thought it was a costume for your stunts.’
‘It was the only clean top I could find. I haven’t got round to
doing the washing.’
I smile at the idea of a dashing stuntman doing something as ordinary as the laundry, but Robbie seems subdued, as if he’s preoccupied. I wonder why? Is it the TV contract? Is it something to do with Maisie, or his love life? I don’t feel that I know him well enough to ask.
As we approach the pigs’ field, Rafa starts to snort and skitter across the lane. Robbie moves to the inside and I keep pushing forwards, and we’re past the gate before he knows it.
‘He’s a quick learner,’ Robbie observes. ‘Now that we’re heading towards the river, do you fancy taking the horses for that swim?’
I hesitate.
His eyes crease at the corners. ‘Don’t tell me he won’t go into water.’
‘I used to ride him in the stream back on the farm, and we’ve done water jumps before.’
‘What’s the problem then?’
‘Won’t we get wet?’ I glance down at my clothes, my best jodhs and leather boots.
‘Well, it does seem likely.’ His tone is lightly sarcastic. ‘I always leave my saddle and boots on the bank. If you don’t want to swim, you don’t have to, but the weather is perfect for it. Nelson loves the water.’
I don’t want to spoil his fun. I’d forgotten that he’d mentioned swimming.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ I say.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure …’ He’s right about the weather. It’s unseasonably warm for the first weekend in April.
We continue down the lane into the valley and on to a clinker track with trees and bushes running along each side.
‘This is the old railway line. We’re getting closer to Talyton St George. You can just see the church and the new bridge from here.’ He points through the trees. I stand up in my stirrups, catching a glimpse of the river and the town. Nelson pulls up sharply. Rafa almost bumps into his behind.
‘We go right here. There’s a ditch a few strides after the turning,’ Robbie says. ‘Don’t worry – it’s tiny. Follow me.’ Nelson is off at a brisk canter before I can ask exactly what he means by ‘tiny’. Rafa plunges and I have no choice but to go with the flow, hanging on as we fly between the trees, ducking branches and keeping my toes in tight to his sides. Nelson takes off over a gaping hole in the ground and lands the other side. Rafa grabs the bit between his teeth and springs off the edge. He arches his back and leaps across to reach the other side and, by some miracle, I go with him.
The track opens up on to a wide-open space, where Robbie pulls up and waits for me to join him.
He’s laughing. ‘I don’t know how you stayed on just then.’
‘Me neither.’
We walk across a field, past a flock of sheep with their lambs, until we reach the river bank where we continue away from the town. Rafa spooks at an elderly man who’s fishing under an umbrella.
‘That’s Nobby Warwick,’ Robbie says when we’re out of earshot, ‘church organist, village drunk and poacher. Dillon and I used to wind him up when we were hanging around down by the river, meeting girls, drinking …’ He grins. ‘I’ll never let Maisie come down here with friends – I know only too well what my brother and I used to get up to. Anyway, it means I know all the places where the river’s deep enough for swimming.’ He pulls up a few strides further along the bank and points to the water. ‘This is Dead Man’s Pool – so-called because someone drowned here.’
I gaze into the murky depths as he continues, ‘A highwayman held up a stagecoach on its way to London. He made off with the loot, but the locals caught up with him. He abandoned his horse and ran into the valley, which was shrouded in mist. He fell into the river with jewels around his neck and gold coins in his pockets, and drowned. They never found his body.’
‘Maybe he got away,’ I suggest.
‘It’s said that if you look down you can see his limbs among the roots of the trees over there.’
‘Ugh, that’s horrible.’ A shiver of fear runs down my spine as I picture the highwayman’s arms and legs, pale and rotting away under the water.
‘You’re as bad as Maisie. It’s only a story.’ Robbie jumps off, loops his arm through the reins and unfastens Nelson’s girth. He sweeps the saddle off his back and places it on a log beside a hummock of grass. He removes his hat and starts to strip slowly out of his shirt.
Time seems to stand still as he lifts the hem up to reveal his lean figure. The contoured muscles of his belly are covered with lightly tanned skin, and the smattering of dark curly hair that starts at his bellybutton fans out across his chest. He tugs the shirt over his head and throws it across the saddle, turning away for a moment so I can see his hard muscular loins above the waistband of his denim jeans.
I grow lightheaded at the sight of him, and it crosses my mind that I could actually faint like a romantic heroine, and he could catch me in his arms and hold me against his naked torso, and recognise that I am a member of the opposite sex. But I wouldn’t take advantage of my feminine wiles like that, would I? Not unless the situation became absolutely desperate …
Robbie whistles for the dogs, who trot up and sit on guard beside his belongings.
‘Are you coming in?’ He kicks off his boots.
‘Of course.’ I dismount and remove Rafa’s saddle, leaving it beside Nelson’s, before I look around for something that I can use as a bootjack.
‘Come on then, matey,’ Robbie says, his tone a mixture of amusement and impatience.
‘Matey?’ I exclaim.
‘We are mates, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, but …’ That sounds like something he’d say to his brother, or one of his male friends. ‘Oh, never mind.’
‘Hurry up,’ he goes on.
‘Just a minute.’ I try catching the heel of one boot with the toe of the other and dragging it off. I have a go at forcing it off by pushing it down with both hands, but there’s no way. My calf is firmly stuck. I look at the water. I can’t contemplate wrecking my beautiful boots. I turn to Robbie. ‘Um, this is embarrassing …’
‘I’ll give you a hand.’ He unties the lead rope from around Nelson’s neck and lets the end dangle from his noseband.
‘Are you sure that’ s—’
‘It’s fine. I’ve taught him to ground tie – that’s why I carry a rope.’
‘I’m impressed. I’m not sure I could trust Rafa.’ Keeping a firm hold on the reins, I sit down on the log beside the saddles as Robbie kneels at my feet, which is exactly where I would want him in different circumstances: bowed down in worship at my supreme womanliness.
I offer him my foot.
He wraps one hand around the toe and one around the heel and pulls sharply, taking me by surprise and tipping me backwards. I grab at the log and cling on, laughing.
‘How did you get these bloody things on in the first place?’ Robbie’s laughing too. ‘Are you sure they’re even yours?’
‘They’ve always been a bit on the tight side.’ My face is burning and it has nothing to do with the heat of the sun. I’ve started work and muscled up since I bought them.
Robbie tries again and, eventually, the boots come off. He rests his hands briefly on his hips as I remove my socks.
‘Are you ready now?’
‘I think so.’ I stand up and mount my horse from the log while he vaults on to Nelson. Rafa follows Nelson down the bank to a gently shelving beach of pebbles and red sand. Nelson enters the water and drinks. Rafa follows suit, lowering his head and burying his nostrils as a kingfisher flies past with an iridescent flash of blue. I cling on to his mane as he splashes with his front foot.
Robbie rides into the deeper water until Nelson is swimming; only his ears, eyes and nostrils, and his tail streaming behind him, can be seen above the surface of the dark pool in the riverbed.
‘Flick, come on in,’ he yells, leaning forwards on his horse’s back.
‘It looks cold,’ I say, hesitating.
‘It’s a little chilly, but you soon get used to it.’
I send Rafa
out into the pool. Suddenly, he loses his footing, and we’re both in the water. I gasp in shock, but it’s refreshing, exhilarating, exciting … As Rafa swims upriver, I slide off his back and let him tow me through the hot and cold currents of water. A fish leaps out and falls back in again, and a pair of ducks skim across the surface. I begin to relax. I’ve been so focused on my problems, on putting on a good show for Mel’s clients, that I’ve almost forgotten how to have fun.
Robbie brings Nelson alongside.
‘It isn’t so bad, is it?’ he says, heading towards the shallow water.
‘It’s great,’ I agree, following him.
We ride up the bank and jump a small woodpile at the top before returning to where the dogs are snoozing beside the saddles. As the sun warms my body, I become aware that Robbie is staring at me, his brow furrowed. I glance down at my top. It’s stuck to my skin, my bra clearly visible, and everything underneath looking decidedly perky. Keep looking, I think. I am a woman.
His lips curve into a smile before he turns away, his gaze following a group of teenagers who are strolling along the path towards us with their mobiles and a rucksack.
We tack up and put our boots back on. Robbie slips into his shirt.
‘Normally I’d suggest we could ride back via the pub, but I promised I’d take Maisie riding this afternoon,’ he says as we trot in the direction of the old railway line. ‘It’s her birthday.’
‘I didn’t realise. You should have said you wanted to spend the day at home with her.’
‘She’s with her grandparents today – not Mum and Dad, Carla’s parents. She’s due back later for a birthday tea.’ I’m not sure how to react because I recall that, if it’s Maisie’s birthday, it must also be the anniversary of her mother’s death. ‘Mum’s made a cake – in the shape of a princess – and I’ve bought her a doll that she wanted for her present.’
Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage Page 7