They rode out the back way and straight on to the hills, climbing steeply through the woods for the first ten minutes before emerging on to the green hilltop and turning on to a wide mud track.
‘All right?’ Ed asked after a while, looking back at her.
Kate was not entirely comfortable. ‘She keeps throwing her head up and down,’ she said. She had narrowly missed a couple of painful – and probably bloody – bangs on the nose. ‘And she won’t let me take up her mouth at all.’
‘It was a bad habit she had when we got her,’ he said, halting Graceland so she could catch up with him. ‘Hanging behind the bit, and letting her hocks trail. Probably ridden by someone heavy-handed, who hung on to her mouth. I thought we’d broken her of it, but I suppose she just isn’t getting ridden enough, and she’s reverting to her old habits.’ When she was beside him, he moved Gracie on again so they were riding side by side, and looked her over critically. ‘Your leg is slightly too far forward,’ he said. ‘Move your seat an inch further forward, and draw your lower leg back an inch. That’s better. Now push your heels down, and use your seat to drive her on to the bit.’ Kate obeyed. ‘Any better?’ he asked after a moment.
‘A bit,’ she said.
‘It’ll be easier at the trot,’ he said. ‘She’s not paying attention. We’ll trot for ten minutes or so and that’ll steady her and bring her head down.’
He called to Jocasta, who had wandered ahead of them, and put Gracie into a trot. Henna jostled and flung her head around, wanting to race, but as Ed increased the pace to an extended trot, allowing Kate to drive her on, she found she couldn’t overtake, and settled down to a lovely, long, ground-eating pace. They passed Daphne, who laid his ears back in annoyance and made a swiping pass of his teeth at Kate’s leg, and she heard Jocasta cry, ‘Woo-hoo!’ as she put her pony into a canter to keep up.
And magically, after five minutes of fast trotting, Henna’s head had come down, her hocks had come under her, and she was going as straight and steady as a line drawn with a ruler; Kate could feel her mouth, and felt in control again. Looking ahead between the pricked red-gold ears, she felt a great surge of happiness.
Another five minutes and the pace had become the long, easy, relaxed stride that covers miles and can be kept up for hours. Ahead of her, Ed posted in his saddle to Gracie’s smooth pace; Jocasta and Daphne had dropped back but were still in sight. Finally Ed put his hand up, slowed to a collected trot, then a walk, and halted Gracie across the path, looking back with what was almost a smile.
‘That looks better,’ he said as Kate reached him and halted.
‘It is better,’ she said, leaning forward to slap Henna’s neck in approval. The mare blew out percussively through her nostrils, but stood quietly, though alert and ready. ‘That awful head-tossing has stopped. And she’s on the bit.’
‘I can see. You two look very good together. How do you find her paces?’
‘Lovely, now she’s settled down.’
Jocasta came up to them at a canter, Daphne with his ears back and a very savage look on his face at the idea that any other equine could be at the head of the ride. ‘You look brilliant together,’ she called out to Kate. ‘All that red hair! I didn’t realize you rode so well.’
‘Nor did I!’ Kate laughed. ‘It’s been years since I was on a horse. But I suppose it comes back to you. I’ll be stiff tomorrow, though.’
‘Oh, that soon wears off,’ Jocasta said, and to Ed: ‘Are we going to do some jumping? There’s that track down Badger Coombe with the tree trunks and the stream at the bottom, and the walls on the other side.’
‘Yes, OK,’ Ed said, ‘as long as there’s some serious hill work afterwards. We’re not supposed to be enjoying ourselves.’
‘Kate is,’ Jocasta pointed out.
‘Are you all right, jumping?’ Ed asked.
‘If it’s not too high. I used to do cross-country, back in Dublin.’
‘Ah! Well, this is just the same sort of thing – a woodland track, downhill, and a few natural hazards.’
‘Lead me to it,’ she said, with a happy grin. Henna turned her head to look back at her, and the eye seemed good and kindly. ‘I think she likes me,’ she said.
‘She likes being out,’ Ed said, and then seemed to realize that was not very flattering. ‘But she’s going well for you, so she must like you, too.’
It was great fun, slithering and wiggling down the steepest part of the track, cantering where it was flatter, jumping the fallen tree trunks – which had obviously been trimmed and positioned specifically for riders – and a couple of laid hedges, then bursting out of the woods at the bottom, jumping the fast-running, stony little brook, and galloping uphill on the other side on open ground, over several drystone walls and a couple of jumps made of straw bales. They pulled up at the top to breathe the horses, and Kate said, ‘That was terrific. She jumps like a stag.’
‘Yes, she’s got quite a pop in her,’ Ed said.
‘Daphne was brilliant too,’ Jocasta said quickly.
‘Yes, he was,’ Kate said. ‘He clears everything by miles.’
‘You weren’t watching,’ Jocasta objected. ‘How would you know?’
‘I looked back several times, and when you were coming up the hill I thought you were going to overtake us.’
‘That’s what the ponies do best,’ Jocasta said smugly. ‘Running uphill. They’re made for it. Close to the ground, not like those long-leggedy beasts.’
They were standing next to a low wall on the other side of which was a tarmac road, and the sound of shod hooves on the hard surface heralded the arrival of another horse. Round the bend came a big, heavyweight grey, and Jocasta exclaimed, ‘It’s Neptune!’ an instant before the rider was revealed to be the Brigadier.
‘Hello, Harry,’ Ed greeted him, as he halted beside them, on the other side of the wall, and, incorrigibly polite, lifted his cap to Kate.
‘Lovely day for a ride. Hello, Jocasta. That pony of yours is going well.’ His eyes came back to Kate. ‘I was watching you as you came up the hill. You look as if you’ve been riding that mare for years.’
Kate patted her. ‘I’m loving it. She feels wonderful.’
‘She goes well for Kate,’ Ed put in.
‘So I see. You ought to ride her at Buscombe,’ said Harry. ‘Give the locals a run for their money.’ He grinned. ‘I get tired of seeing the same old names in the slot year after year.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ said Ed ironically.
‘Not you, of course,’ said Harry with a sidelong smile. ‘But I wouldn’t mind seeing Mrs Murray knocked off her pedestal. She was infernally rude to me out hunting last season, when she thought Neptune was in her way at a bullfinch.’ He patted his mount. ‘My old boy likes to take a good look at an obstacle, but he never refuses. How’s Graceland going?’
They talked for a bit about the chances for various contestants, most of whom Kate didn’t know, and then Henna sneezed, and Ed said, ‘We’d better be moving along. Don’t want the muscles to get cold.’
‘See you at Buscombe, then,’ Harry said in farewell, and, looking at Kate, ‘and you with a number on your back!’
‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that,’ Kate said, laughing.
Back at the stables, Kate offered to rub down Henna, since Bradshaw was doing Graceland. ‘I’m sorry, I have to dash,’ Ed said. ‘I have a meeting.’
‘I’m happy to do it. I’ve had a wonderful time, thank you so much.’
He paused. ‘Look, what Harry said – wouldn’t you like to ride Henna in one of the classes on Monday?’
‘I couldn’t possibly,’ Kate said, surprised. ‘I’m sure he was only joking.’
‘He wasn’t. And I’m not. You ride quite well enough, and she goes well for you.’
‘Out for a hack, yes, but not point-to-pointing.’
‘You’ve done cross-country. That’s harder. Pointing is faster, but the nice thing about Buscombe is that the course has got a b
it of variety about it, a bit of up and down, so it’s not just a slamming gallop round a course, like at Cothelstone, say. The pace won’t be so fast. And you don’t have to try and win.’
‘Just as well!’ Kate laughed.
‘I’m serious,’ Ed said, and he looked it. ‘I’d like her to have the experience. And I think you’d find it fun. Look, we could put in a couple of days’ practice, Friday and Saturday. You’d feel completely at home with her by then.’
Kate was running out of excuses. And she certainly liked the idea of competing: it gave her a bit of the old thrill she remembered from her teenage years. Plus, the thought of two days practising with Ed, one on one, monopolizing his attention, was very sweet.
‘But I don’t have any riding clothes,’ she said, the last objection. ‘I can’t ride in jeans.’
‘You said “can’t”, not “couldn’t”,’ Ed said with his almost-smile. ‘That means you want to.’
‘All right, I want to. But the clothes are a problem.’
‘Not at all. We can borrow some for you. Camilla’s maybe. She’s a bit taller than you, but you’re about the same build. Or I think Susie Orde’s about the same size as you. I promise you, finding clothes to fit you won’t be a problem. There are hundreds of spare sets floating around. Will you do it?’
‘Do what?’ Jocasta asked, poking her head out from the stables. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘Kate, riding at Buscombe on Monday.’
Jocasta’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘Oh yes! Epic! You will, won’t you, Kate? You and Henna – what a team!’
‘It looks as though I’ll have to,’ Kate said.
‘I’m glad,’ said Ed, and looked it. Kate wondered why it mattered to him, but was happy anyway to have lightened his day by agreeing.
‘I thought you were in a hurry,’ Jocasta said to him, as he lingered, looking at Kate with satisfaction.
The mood broke. His face shut down again in seriousness and he said, ‘God, yes, I am. Sorry, I must dash. Can you be here at ten tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate, and he was gone.
Fifteen
She had entirely forgotten the painted words, until she parked her car in front of her house again, and saw the grey undercoat covering her front door. It made her heart sink a bit, and took some of the shine off the day.
She heaved herself out of the car – she had stiffened up in the short drive back – and hobbled up the path, aware also that she had some interesting chafes on her legs where the seams of her jeans had rubbed. There was a good reason that jodhpurs and breeches were made they way they were. It would be a relief to have some proper riding trousers for the practice tomorrow, if Ed was as good as his word.
She was in the bathroom anointing her wounds with Savlon when she heard someone knocking on the door below, and a moment later Jack’s voice calling, ‘Hello! Anyone at home?’
‘Just a minute!’ she called back. She pulled up her jeans and inspected herself in the mirror. Her hair was wild, and she grabbed the hairbrush and raked it through, even while telling herself she didn’t have to look nice for Blackjack any more. Still, a girl had her pride.
When she came down the stairs, he was standing just inside the open door (she was getting to be a real local, not locking it when she came in). He was staring at it, but as soon as she appeared he stared at her instead and said, ‘You are a sight for sore eyes! Please tell me you haven’t had lunch yet. I’m starving, but even more than food, I’m starving for company. And I still haven’t taken you to the Ship Inn yet.’
‘I really ought to—’ she began.
He slapped his brow. ‘Oh, God! Please don’t tell me you ought to do some work! After taking most of the day off to go riding with my brother and sister, the least you can do is give me a little bit of your time. Or do you want to be the cause of sibling rivalry?’
‘Far from it,’ she said.
‘Right, then. Come with me. Come now. No arguments.’
‘I ought to change. I’m all horsey.’
‘Nonsense. You will illuminate any company just as you are. And I like the smell of horse.’
‘Well, let me at least wash my hands,’ she said with a laugh. She dashed upstairs, washed her hands and face, and at lightning speed changed her jeans and T-shirt for a clean pair and a nicer top.
When she got downstairs he was staring at the door again, and said, ‘Is it my imagination or is there something written on this door?’
‘I’ll tell you about it over lunch,’ she said.
The Ship Inn was genuine Tudor, all beams and thatch, but with discreetly done additions and a large car park out at the back attesting to its popularity.
‘It’s a long way from the sea to be called the Ship,’ Kate observed as they parked.
‘That’s the old country way of pronouncing “sheep”,’ Jack said. ‘All the old inland pubs called the Ship, or variations thereof, are really about sheep.’
‘That explains a lot,’ Kate said.
He was evidently well known there, for he was greeted in a friendly manner as they went in, and Kate was given a quick, interested scrutiny. The inside was beams and different levels, like the Oak, but much posher, with everything rubbed down and waxed, brass lamps with acid-embossed glass shades, and curtains and seat cushions in muted tones of oatmeal and faded rose.
They were shown to a table in an odd little alcove with a leaded window. The other people they passed, Kate noted, looked very well-to-do, and were conversing in quiet, cultured voices. Her jeans suddenly felt very wrong, but everyone was too polite to look up as they passed, so she hoped she had gone unnoticed.
The waiter gave them menus and left them to peruse. The food was a notch fancier even than the Blue Ball, which she had thought fancy enough, and she tried not to notice the prices for fear of a heart attack. There was obviously a lot of money around in this part of the world. Even as she thought that, she thought falteringly of Ed trying to make the books balance and the estate viable – and here was Blackjack, spending like a sailor, and her helping him! But she couldn’t back out now, so she might as well enjoy herself, if she could.
But there was something to be said first. When they were alone she cleared her throat and said, ‘Before we order, and just in case you change your mind about buying me lunch, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ he said, but with a grin that showed he wasn’t worried.
‘I’m afraid you were seen last night.’
The grin was wiped off. He tried to look puzzled, but it didn’t work. ‘Seen?’ he said feebly.
‘With a pneumatic blonde in Coco’s wine bar. Someone was kind enough to pass on the information to me.’
‘Oh,’ he said, thinking furiously. ‘Oh, that was just someone I was interviewing for a job.’
‘I’m not sure what sort of job involves intimate body searches,’ Kate said. He opened and shut his mouth without finding any words. She laid a hand on his. ‘Look, it’s all right. I’m not upset or anything. You’re entitled to go out with anyone you want. I only thought I’d better tell you before you lashed out on an expensive lunch for me.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said, looking disconcerted.
‘Nothing to say,’ Kate said. ‘You and I – there was never anything in it really, was there? We just had a couple of nice meals together, that’s all.’
‘But I really, really like you,’ he protested.
‘And I really like you.’
‘You do?’ He seemed surprised, which she found oddly touching.
‘Yes, I do. So we could be friends, perhaps? If you’d like that?’
‘I’d like that.’ He managed a smile. ‘Though I can’t promise not to try and take it further.’
‘You don’t need to. A friend is something I need at the moment. But are we still having lunch?’
‘What kind of a cheapskate do you take me for? Choose what you like. And let’s have
some champagne, to show there are no hard feelings.’
She laughed. ‘Being your friend obviously has its perks.’
So she chose warm salad of calves’ sweetbreads with ceps, cauliflower, almonds and white truffle, followed by Parmesan breaded guinea fowl kiev with oyster mushrooms and tarragon linguine. Jack went for lasagne of Dorset crab with a cappuccino of shellfish and champagne foam, and thinly sliced loin of Mounsey Farm pork with baked quince, bacon-wrapped prunes and sherry.
The champagne came and they toasted each other silently and drank. There was a faintly awkward pause as they recalibrated their responses to each other. Then he said, ‘Oh! Your front door – tell me what happened.’
So she told him the story, such as it was. ‘Darren next door said it was probably just some drunk yoofs coming out of the pub,’ she concluded.
‘But—’ he began, and then checked himself.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It occurred to me, too. If they were just passing, where were they passing to, given that mine is the last house in the street and there’s nothing but open moor beyond me? And how did they happen to have a can of paint and a brush with them? But I really don’t want to think someone deliberately came up the road to play a prank on me. I’d sooner not consider that. So I’m going with the drunken yoof explanation, however implausible.’
Jack was looking upset. It touched her to think he cared that much. Perhaps she had been too hasty in redefining their relationship. ‘It’s horrible,’ he muttered. He seemed to pull himself back from thought. ‘I hate to think of anyone doing a thing like that. Making you feel unwelcome.’ He frowned quite fiercely. ‘I’ll find out who did it,’ he said. ‘I’ll get to the bottom of it.’
She touched his hand. ‘You’re very sweet to worry about me. Thank you.’
He folded his fingers quickly round hers. ‘I’m not. And I don’t deserve your thanks. But—’ He managed a wavering smile. ‘If I’m your friend, it’s the least I can do.’
Kate's Progress Page 19