Well Groomed

by Fiona Walker

  ‘Christ!’ He covered his eyes and headed back towards the house. ‘I can’t bear to watch.’

  Tash felt her face flame. She knew that her riding was abysmally shabby at the moment, but it didn’t make the humiliation any the less. She was also aware that, despite his cynicism, Gus was extremely concerned about her. He’d already bawled her out earlier that week, telling her that for someone who had more talent than any pupil he’d ever worked with, she was currently displaying the riding skills of a dead antelope strapped across a pack pony’s shoulders. It was the first time he’d ever admitted she had talent at all.

  She watched as Ted bounded into the ring to haul up the wing for her, cackling loudly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tash, it’s not the winging that counts, it’s the taking part!’ he hooted.

  ‘Thanks,’ she muttered glumly.

  Later on Snob was in no mood to mooch around the lanes idling a few hours away. He was fit and primed and overexcited because one of Gus’s mares was in season. As a result, he left Tash up on the ridgeway five miles from home, and she was forced to call in on the Haydown yard en route back to the farm to beg a lift to search for him.

  She hoped to God that she encountered Stefan or one of the grooms. The thought of bumping into Hugo with her red, unrested eyes, greasy hair and nervous spots appalled her. She had battled and battled to keep him to the back of her mind this week, not altogether successfully. Images of Hugo and Lisette entwined like two sleek, spoiled cats, writhing playfully in his huge, archaic bed, haunted her. Yet lately, her thoughts about him had turned unhealthily quixotic too. She’d needed a fix to stop her cracking up, and she had been hitting the imagination juices almost as often as Niall had been hitting the bottle.

  One of the things that was keeping her sane throughout this nightmare was a silly, crazed fantasy which she clung to in the worst moments of free-fall panic, like a refugee child clutching a bright bobbing balloon while the city around her was being razed to the ground. In her most escapist moments, she let herself dream that Hugo would save her from her predicament. She’d started imagining a scenario in which he leaped up during the wedding ceremony, just as the registrar was asking the guests whether they knew of any reason for the marriage not to take place.

  ‘Yes!’ he’d drawl. (He always drawled in her fantasies, she noticed. And his hair was always wind-swept – even indoors, as though there was an electric fan on the go.) ‘I do!’

  At this point all the guests would turn, gasping, to face him, and he’d stride up the aisle (wearing his dressage breeches usually) to take her hand.

  ‘Tash is one half of my beating heart,’ he’d drawl more softly, his voice hoarse with love, blue eyes devouring her face. ‘And without her by my side for the rest of my life, I’ll have no heart to live. Sorry, Niall mate.’ At which point he’d whisk her into his arms and carry her from the room to Niall’s intense relief and her father’s apoplectic fury.

  Her mind fully occupied by this fairytale, Tash walked into the location shoot in full swing.

  The place was crawling with film types, indulging in the usual tea-swigging from plastic cups, huddled chatter and clip-board waggling. There were several equipment lorries, plus over a dozen vans and cars parked randomly on the drive, and Hugo’s front lawns were scattered with huge tripods holding powerful film lights like great mutant lollipops.

  She could not even get through the front gates as the team was frantically filming establishing shots before they lost the light. A minion with a walkie-talkie hustled her away as officiously as a royal body-guard, and she had to run on through the narrow Maccombe lanes and then half a mile into the countryside to Hugo’s back driveway. Trudging along the pitted mud track, her ribs pinched with a stitch now, she suddenly spotted him in a nearby field, pounding Bodybuilder around in circles over the dusty tracks of an old sand school. Flame-faced from running and drenched in sweat, she ducked behind a spindly hawthorn bush and caught her breath so that she could leg it past without being seen. But it was as though a great elastic band was pulling her eyes towards him again and again.

  Creeping closer to the railed fence that divided them, Tash paused to watch through the hawthorn leaves, revelling in the skills of horse and rider. Bod was as supple as a snake, twisting and flexing under Hugo’s effortless control, his sleek, black body glistening in the sun like crude oil being poured around the ring, red nostrils arched in two angry blazes of colour like second eyes, muscles taut as they flexed in tight constraint beneath the drum-tight black skin. In many ways, the horse reminded her of Snob – he had the same explosive temperament, endless stamina and determined, hell-bent will. Like Snob, he was as heavily built as a Mercedes, exquisitely proportioned and as brave as a lion. Unlike Snob, he was utterly obedient to Hugo’s every whim.

  Feeling deflated, Tash slipped away before Hugo could notice her and, keeping her head ducked below the hedgerow, wandered up the long track to the yard.

  Stefan was one of the first people she saw, lounging on an upturned feed bucket and smoking an illicit cigarette, which had Hugo been around, he would have been hosed down for. Hugo smoked like a chimney, but would not condone a fag within fifty yards of his stables.

  ‘Tash darling – he’s here!’ Stefan bounded towards her on long thin legs.

  ‘What?’ She looked around in confusion, taking in several comely girl grooms eyeing her thoughtfully, and Hugo’s head girl, Jenny, grinning broadly as she led a tall, ugly bay from the stalls building, her curly hair confined beneath a knitted rasta cap.

  ‘Snob.’ Stefan took her arm and led her to a distant stable. ‘He trotted straight through one of the film crew’s establishing shots of the house and started to eat geraniums out of one of the poncey hanging baskets they’ve put up.’ He laughed. ‘We stuck him in here – guessed you’d turn up if you had any sense. Which reminds me . . .’ Leaving her at the door, he headed into the tack room to use the phone, looking up a number on the wall-board above it.

  When he returned, Tash had already reacquainted herself with a still very surly Snob, and having checked his miraculously unscathed legs for heat and cuts, was assessing the damage to his tack – which only amounted to some broken reins and a lost knee boot.

  ‘He get a bit stroppy on you?’ Stefan asked, sliding his dark glasses up on to his blond head.

  Tash nodded, listening as a distant tannoy announced silence on set.

  ‘Is it hell with them around?’ she asked, noticing that a large screen of fake hedgerow had been erected where the yard normally faced on to the house and garden beyond. It meant they were entirely concealed from filming and also acted as a sound-barrier to cut out any chance of a whinny disrupting an exterior scene. To the right, Hugo’s old pony paddock, known unromantically as Flat Pad, was littered with yet more vans and trailers, their windows glittering in the sun. It looked like a very smart New Age camp.

  ‘Murder,’ Stefan agreed. ‘Now come with me to giggle at them over a coffee while we wait for Hugs – he says he’ll be here in a minute. He asked me to call when you poled up.’

  ‘But I—’ Tash looked flummoxed.

  ‘He has his mobile with him,’ Stefan explained. ‘He was the only one who could catch that chestnut bugger of yours. He caused chaos out there – there were camera-men running for their lives. David Wheaton’s livid. He says your horse has wasted acres of film.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Tash covered her eyes. Niall would be even more eager to sell him off now.

  ‘When Hugo took Snob away from the carnage,’ Stefan was saying merrily as he led her the back way to the house, through the unused and overgrown metropolis of potting sheds and hot-houses, ‘Niall was out there denying all knowledge of him. Said he’d never clapped eyes on the horse before, which confused everyone as Snob kept chasing him for Polos.’

  Inside Hugo’s kitchen a lot of strange film types were milling around, along with Alicia, who had her pug, Gordons, in her arms and was grumbling that ‘that cad Wheaton’ ha
d told her to ‘eff orff’. She was wearing full make-up and a brand new wax jacket complete with matching hat, despite the heat.

  ‘I have to walk purposefully, Tash,’ she explained. ‘I thought this garb would add to my character.’

  Alicia had been allotted an ‘extra’ role as a rather grand local who could be seen walking her dogs around the estate at various points in the film. As such even Gordons – who was so evil-tempered that he was known to all but his mistress as Thug – was given a small role.

  Together they had become a regular fixture in the tatty library which had been transformed into an actors’ green room with a coffee percolator, tea urn and trays of nibbles. Taking full advantage of the excellent caterers, Alicia had behaved like a true film star all week, swanning in and out of the house in Gloria Swanson fashion, demanding constant attention, and endearing herself to no one. Niall had told Tash that they’d been sacked after Thug had bitten the sound engineer, third assistant director and two camera-men.

  ‘I thought she’d been fired?’ she whispered to Stefan as Alicia marched around the kitchen practising her ‘walk’.

  ‘She was, but she kicked up such a stink that David re-hired her,’ Stefan giggled. ‘Said she was deliberately trying to sabotage his film. She kept looming up behind hedges with a pair of secateurs and a big smile whenever they were shooting an exterior scene. He obviously decided she was safer in than out.’

  Tash found herself smiling for the first time in ages. It was such a relief that Stefan was being nice to her again – he had been terribly frosty since the night of her birthday, but today he was bouncing around in the old, familiar, leggy puppy way, eyes rolling as he described the worse aspects of the house’s being used as a film location.

  ‘Hugo and I are living out of the attics and this kitchen – he says it reminds him of being back at school, but I swear there are mice up there.’

  ‘I thought Lisette was staying here?’ Feeling a great, red blush stain her cheeks, Tash looked around the kitchen nervously, but the chattering film-types were all jeans-wearing techies.

  Stefan shook his head and stifled a laugh. ‘Christ, no! She’s booked into the best hotel in Marlbury.’

  ‘But aren’t she and Hugo an item now?’ Tash went an even deeper scarlet. The Lime Tree mob were convinced that Lisette had at last hooked Hugo, but a tiny little prayer kept Tash’s day-dream alive – albeit on a respirator and fading fast.

  ‘Shhh!’ Stefan rolled his eyes towards the nearest gaggle of filmies, who thankfully hadn’t heard. ‘Why do you ask? Has Niall let something slip?’

  ‘Niall’s let everything slip this week,’ she said sadly.

  ‘He’s really excited about the wedding, isn’t he?’ Stefan opened a fresh bag of coffee with an indulgent sniff.

  ‘He what?’ she bleated.

  ‘Everyone here’s talking about it.’ He grinned, starting to spoon out grains. ‘Niall keeps the crew entertained during the breaks with descriptions of all your mother’s extravagant arrangements. I had no idea it was going to be such a grand affair. He seems to have invited practically everyone from the cast to the reception already.’

  ‘He has?’ She almost fainted, her stomach churning with fear.

  ‘Cheers! are going to have a field day with all those celebrities milling about getting smashed on champagne,’ Stefan went on cheerfully. ‘Talk about shooting reels.’

  She smiled weakly. Right now the only thing she wanted to shoot was Niall.

  Just as she was settling down to an eye-wateringly strong black coffee as only Stefan could make it, Hugo strolled in, his t-shirt drenched with sweat, breeches grass-stained and hair wild from removing his crash hat and running his gloved hands through it. That hair! Tash gripped her coffee cup tightly. She was fighting an urge to race across the room and leap on him like a waggy-tailed dog. Down, girl, she told herself furiously. He’s sleeping with the enemy.

  ‘Hi, there.’ He grinned easily. ‘You finally caught up with him then?’

  ‘Yup,’ Tash croaked, looking him in the eyes and finding to her terror that she was sinking. ‘He’s a bit tetchy today – the heat, I should imagine. How’s Bod anyway?’ She looked away, breathless from gabbling her words.

  ‘He’s bloody marvellous.’ Hugo eked half a mug of coffee from the pot and settled beside his mother who was re-doing her make-up at the table. He leaned well away from Thug who was grinning menacingly. ‘He’s going so well at the moment he scares me,’ he went on happily. ‘Christ, I wish I could find another like him. The old bugger’s knocking on – he should be rolling around in clover by now if only I could get a deputy.’

  ‘I thought he was only eleven?’ said Tash in surprise.

  For a moment Hugo’s eyes seemed to harden, the blue developing its frost-bitten chill.

  ‘He is,’ he said levelly. ‘But I need to bring on another top horse pretty soon or I’m in deep shit.’

  Tash thought briefly about Surfer, but said nothing. Hugo’s enthusiasm was too rare and too ebullient to be dampened. She already had a feeling she’d just said something wrong, although she had no idea what.

  ‘So you’re confident for Badminton?’ she asked, shifting her coffee mug around like mad on the table to earth her nerves. Being so close to him was giving her the shakes now. She felt like a dieting chocolate addict, deprived of her fix for weeks, suddenly finding a family-sized Galaxy bar dangling around in front of her.

  He shrugged. ‘One never wants to tempt fate, but I guess it’s our last crack at it together, and I’ve never denied I’ve wanted to win it more than any other. You?’

  Tash shook her head. ‘I’m not sure it’s going to be my year – both my entries are a bit stale right now. Snob’s all over the place.’

  ‘How’s Mickey?’ he asked calmly, apparently unaware of her turmoil.

  ‘Great.’ Tash tried to get a grip on herself. ‘He’s still a big baby, but he’s trying to listen at long last. I think his time with you really helped him mature,’ she added guiltily.

  ‘Glad I was of use.’ Hugo sounded narked.

  ‘Oh, you were!’ Tash realised how insensitive she was being with a great, guilty gulp. Hugo had given her the ride back, after all, even if he had told her afterwards that it was just to help Gus out. ‘He’s much more – um – together now. And far fitter. You should see him. He’s looking terrific.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll pop in on him and say hi tonight.’

  Tash closed her eyes. She had forgotten about Zoe’s dinner party. When Niall had told her about it, she’d been horrified that he’d accepted on her behalf, but it had paled into insignificance compared to the rest of her worries. She now wondered if it was too late to develop twenty-four-hour ’flu.

  ‘I always look forward to Zoe’s meals,’ Hugo was saying lightly. ‘She seems to go completely deranged when it comes to buying the ingredients; it’s the one thing in her life she doesn’t quite have under control. Gus says it’s her way of cooking the books – apparently she thinks up the steamiest scenes for her erotic novels while she’s slaving over a hot stove.’

  ‘That’s so cute!’ Stefan hooted in delight. ‘No wonder her recipes are always so hot.’

  ‘She calls them her aphrodizzy spells,’ Tash said weakly, her face starting to colour. Feeling horribly shy at the conversational line, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Hugo at all and found, rather alarmingly, that she kept catching Alicia’s eye.

  ‘I gather there’s something of a party going on at the farm tonight,’ she said jealously.

  ‘You would be invited, Mother,’ Hugo muttered, ‘but the Moncrieffs are frightened that Thug will eat one of their Badminton hopes as a horse d’oeuvre. He tried to savage one of Gus’s brood mares the last time you visited, if you recall.’

  ‘I could leave him behind,’ Alicia grumbled. ‘And don’t call him that, Hugo. His name is Gordons. That charming Lisette gel said he had star qualities today.’ She pressed her lips to the little dog’s head a
nd he almost took her hand off.

  ‘Dog Star qualities.’ Hugo smiled at Tash. ‘I should be flattered, Mother. It means she’s taking you Siriusly at last.’

  Tash, who was desperate to know more about what was going on between Lisette and Hugo, realised that her opportunity was almost knocking her heart out of her chest. She took a deep breath.

  ‘It’ll be the first time I’ve seen Lisette since your birthday party,’ she said leadingly and scoured his face for give-away signs of passion, but he looked the same as ever – beautiful, laser-eyed and utterly dead-pan. He possessed the most guarded face she had ever encountered.

  ‘Oh, I think you’ll still recognise her,’ he said dryly. ‘Sally’s coming tonight too, apparently – the last I heard, she was monopolising Lisette’s mobile phone trying to persuade Matty to get a biodegradable babysitter for those brats of theirs and drive down here this evening.’

  ‘Sally’s here?’ Tash was surprised. In all her recent panic, she had forgotten that her sister-in-law was working on the film.

  ‘Has been for almost a week,’ Hugo murmured, the uncut sapphire eyes becoming icy once again, voice laced with its old mockery. ‘Christ, you really aren’t interested in your fiancé’s day job, are you?’

  Tash squirmed, her gaze glued to the table which, she now noticed, was covered with dark, wet splashes from her recent coffee-cup shuffle. She wanted to scream out the truth at the top of her voice – tear outside and dance around, rampaging through Hugo’s beautiful gardens yelling that she wasn’t going to marry Niall at all, they weren’t going to honeymoon in the Cayman Islands or dance to ‘Unchained Melody’ at the reception or any of the other ludicrous stories he’d been drunkenly spouting this week to get himself into character. She wanted the crew to film every second of her doing so. In close up, spots, greasy hair and all. But if she did that, she would wreck Niall’s career, blow Bob’s horrific plan sky-high and lose any hope of keeping hold of dear, difficult Snob who – for all his ridgeway gallivanting – was more precious to her than a whole Moonie sect’s worth of multiple weddings. Instead she watched her coffee spills sinking slowly into the scrubbed wood of the table, disappearing into it along with her nerve.