‘The adoption dragon came by yesterday and loved everything,’ he gushed. ‘We really can’t thank you enough.’
A hundred and fifty thousand was a good start in Flora’s book. Especially now that she wouldn’t be marrying Mason and would have to rely on her own savings for security, at least for now. It bothered her that being poor again was probably the part of calling off her engagement that upset her the most. What did that say about her? That she’d never loved him? That she was venal, a gold-digger, no better than Henrietta and her cronies, sniffing around Mason for his money?
No. That’s not true. I did love him.
But I loved the security too.
Flora had even briefly considered selling Mason’s engagement ring rather than returning it to him before deciding it was beneath her dignity. Still, the lessons of her childhood, and what it meant to lose everything, ran deep. Mason had been Flora’s rock, her provider. The cold, hard truth was that losing that was at least as terrifying as losing him.
Pulling on her boots, she opened the front door and took her coffee outside, letting the crisp morning air jolt her awake.
‘Flora!’
Barney, looking fresh-faced and perky beneath his tartan woolly bobble hat, was walking Jeeves along the lane.
Flora hadn’t seen Barney since breaking up with Mason, but she assumed he knew by now. Swell Valley gossip was a ruthlessly efficient machine.
‘How are you?’ He walked over to the garden gate. ‘I heard what happened.’
Flora came up the path to greet him. ‘I figured.’ She smiled. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Really?’ Barney tried to look concerned, but it was hard to remove all traces of elation from his face. With the American boyfriend out of the way, he might finally stand a chance with Flora. ‘I would have come over sooner, as soon as I heard. But I didn’t want you to think I was …’ He paused, embarrassed. ‘I thought you might want to be alone for a while.’
‘Thanks.’ Flora touched his arm gratefully.
He glanced curiously at her outfit.
‘You’re going riding?’
‘Hunting, actually.’ Flora pulled an eek face. ‘Henry invited me and Seb’s lent me a pony. They thought it might take my mind off things.’
Barney’s face clouded over.
Shit, thought Flora, blushing. She’d forgotten how vehemently Barney disapproved of blood sports.
‘I’d better be going,’ he muttered, reaching down to clip Jeeves back onto his lead.
‘Don’t be angry,’ said Flora. She didn’t know why, but the thought of Barney being mad at her seemed terrible right now. ‘I know how you feel about hunting. I’m not into it either. Henry just thought it would be a good distraction.’
Barney’s frown deepened. Hunting wasn’t just something that he ‘wasn’t into’. It was cruel and wrong, and he hated everything about it. And had done since he’d been a small boy. People being cruel to people was bad enough, but cruelty to helpless, innocent animals turned Barney’s stomach. He wanted to think better of Flora. The fact that Henry Saxton Brae had encouraged her to do this, and that she’d let him, only made it worse.
‘I really don’t care what Henry thinks,’ he snapped.
To Flora’s dismay, he hurried away.
Thanks to the good weather, the meet was packed. By ten o’clock a large throng of riders, followers and general hangers-on had gathered up at Wraggsbottom Farm and were busy chatting, eating and fortifying themselves on Gabe and Laura Baxter’s home-made cider before the off.
Henry rode casually over to where Lucy Smart was standing, struggling to tighten the girth on Hermione, a beautiful but flighty grey mare Richard had bought her as an anniversary present only last month.
‘Let me help you,’ said Henry, vaulting off his horse with the lithe grace of a gymnast.
‘It’s OK. I can manage,’ said Lucy. But Henry was already beside her, his fingers brushing against hers on the leather strap. Leaning against her as he yanked the girth tighter, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’ve missed you.’
Lucy closed her eyes, pushing hard against any residual feelings of longing. ‘I’ve told you, for God’s sake, Henry. Richard—’
‘He can’t see. No one can. I need to see you, Luce—’
‘Ah, Henry, there you are!’ Seb trotted over towards them, resplendent in his red master’s jacket and antique 1920s hard hat.
Lucy and Henry shot apart like repelling magnets. Lucy swiftly mounted Hermione. Henry slipped off his jacket and held it in front of his groin to disguise his enormous erection.
‘Come and help me with Flora, would you? She’s getting panicky about Ned bolting.’
‘You put her on Ned?’ Henry laughed.
‘You said she needed a gentle horse,’ said Seb, defensively.
‘Gentle, yes. I didn’t say a dead horse. Does she know how old Ned is? She’ll be lucky if he breaks a trot all day.’
‘Well, quite. Anyway, do come and calm her down. We’ll be off in a minute and I don’t want her chickening out.’
‘No,’ said Henry, giving Lucy a meaningful look over his shoulder. ‘No chickening out.’
Vaulting back up into the saddle, still carefully positioning his jacket to hide what was left of his hard-on, Henry rode off after his brother.
Today, he decided, was going to be a wonderful day.
Barney Griffith watched from his bedroom window as the hunt thundered across the Downs. He’d moved his desk up here from the study, in the hope that the view might inspire him to produce better material for his novel. Or, at any rate, to produce some material. In a fit of mid-book panic a few weeks ago, he’d ended up deleting more than a third of the material he’d produced so far, leaving him woefully behind his self-imposed deadline of 1st July for delivering the manuscript. If he didn’t knuckle down soon, he’d be forced to admit that he had, in fact, wasted the last year entirely, fannying about taking photographs and failing miserably to make any headway with Flora Fitzwilliam.
Is that her? he wondered, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes in an attempt to zoom in on a petite figure on a lumbering black horse towards the back of one of the last groups of riders. Without binoculars he couldn’t be sure.
Sighing heavily, he rubbed his eyes and forced himself to go back to his typing. He didn’t know why he felt so depressed. Clearly he’d overreacted this morning, about Flora going out with the hunt. Was it the hunting part that bothered him, or the fact that Flora had gone out at Henry Saxton Brae’s suggestion? It really was beyond Barney, this hold that Henry seemed to have over all these women who were in every way his superior. Sure, the guy was good-looking. But didn’t being a total arsehole count for anything at all? At least Eva was principled enough to stick to her guns and not go out hunting, whatever Henry thought about it.
Ploughing on with the scene he was writing, Barney finally managed to push all thoughts of Flora, Henry and Eva out of his mind when he suddenly heard a horrendous, piercing scream. It wasn’t a short, sharp cry of pain, but a long shrieking howl of terror. Leaping to his feet, Barney opened his bedroom window. The hunt had moved on, out of sight and earshot. But a lone rider exploded out of the woods and across the field above Barney’s cottage at a terrifying speed. Slumped forward, her feet out of the stirrups, clinging on to the neck of her grey horse for dear life, the rider was screaming in panic as her horse bolted out of control towards the hedge at the top of the hill. It looked as if the horse was bleeding from its right flank and the rider’s fear was clearly exacerbating the animal’s panic.
Just then Seb Saxton Brae, instantly recognizable in his red coat and with his master’s horn hanging at his side, tore across the field towards the grey. Standing in the saddle, whipping his own horse for all he was worth, like a Grand National jockey in the home straight, he was gaining on them, but not fast enough. Barney watched frozen in horror as the grey lurched ever more urgently towards the top of the field, where the hedge loomed up, an impenetrable tangle of
briars and bramble bushes.
‘Pull up!’ Seb was yelling. ‘Pull up!’
But the woman on the grey either couldn’t hear him or couldn’t do what he asked.
Barney gasped as, with a split second’s hesitation, her horse suddenly launched itself into the air. With a superhuman effort, Seb made up the last few yards between them and jumped after her, his perfect, event-rider form and control in direct contrast to the woman on the grey, who clung to her mount like a rag doll, still screaming.
After that everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The grey’s forelegs flailed beneath it in the air like a cartoon character that has run off a cliff but doesn’t realize the ground has disappeared. Miraculously, they cleared the top of the towering hedgerow. They’re going to make it, thought Barney. But then there was another scream and a hideous thud as one of the grey’s hind legs clipped Seb’s head, knocking him off his horse like a bowling pin. Seb’s horse sailed on into the next field as if nothing had happened. But the grey had been knocked off balance, twisting grotesquely, its rider still attached, before both disappeared from view on the other side of the rise.
Barney watched, stunned.
Seb’s horse raced away across the next field. Seb lay motionless at the foot of the hedge. The grey and its rider seemed to have evaporated completely, swallowed up by the earth and the deathly silence that now descended.
Grabbing his phone, Barney ran downstairs and out of the door, throwing himself over the gate, into the field and sprinting up the slope as fast as his legs could carry him.
Henry cantered into Brockhurst Woods after the pack, his heart pounding with exhilaration. The cold wind on his face, the wild, excited baying of the hounds as they neared the end of the chase, and the thought of meeting Lucy later all filled him with a primal thrill that made the hairs on his forearms stand on end.
All at once he was surrounded by huntsmen and riders. ‘Fantastic!’ A flushed Santiago de la Cruz was suddenly beside Henry, patting him on the shoulder.
‘That was bloody good work by the whips at the end,’ agreed Gabe Baxter, weaving his way through the throng of riders to join them. ‘What happened to Seb, by the way?’
‘No idea,’ said Henry. ‘Last I saw him was when we came past Coggins Mill.’
‘Not like our illustrious master to miss the finish,’ said Gabe, taking off his hard hat and wiping his brow with his sleeve. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.’
‘Is it over?’ Flora asked, sweat pouring down her face after a long day spent trying to goad the elderly Ned into any sort of action.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Henry, admiring the way Flora’s bosom rose and fell beneath her white cotton shirt. ‘Good day, wasn’t it? Did you have fun?’
‘There’s been an accident!’
Everybody turned around. Penny de la Cruz, her white dress covered in mud and her tangled hair billowing in the wind, ran towards Santiago and Henry. Her Land Rover was parked by the gate, door open, engine still running.
Santiago went white. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Lucy Smart …’ she panted. ‘And Seb.’
‘What about Seb?’ Kate Saxton Brae rode over to see what all the commotion was about.
‘Barney saw it,’ said Penny. ‘Lucy’s horse bolted, apparently, tried to take some enormous hedge back at Fittlescombe. Seb was trying to stop her. They’re both down.’
‘Oh my God!’ Kate gasped.
‘Barney called an ambulance,’ said Penny. ‘And Richard Smart’s there already.’
Her eyes were welling with tears. One look at her face told Henry it was serious.
Turning around, he jabbed his heels into his horse’s side and thundered back in the direction of the village at breakneck speed.
Santiago put his arm around a shaking Kate. ‘Come on. Seb’ll be OK.’
‘I’ll drive you down there,’ said Penny.
Nodding wordlessly, Kate followed her to the car.
Henry reached Fittlescombe just as Seb was being lifted into the ambulance. Lucy’s horse, the grey whose girth he’d tightened just hours earlier, was sprawled on the ground dead, its neck broken at an almost ninety-degree angle. It was a ghastly sight, but Henry’s gaze was fixed on Sebastian. He was in a spinal brace and he wasn’t moving.
‘I’m his brother!’ Henry vaulted off his horse and ran towards the vehicle. ‘Is he conscious?’
‘No,’ said one of the paramedics, putting a comforting hand on Henry’s arm.
‘Is he OK?’ Henry looked at Sebastian’s face in horror. The entire left side had been pulverized, and was a mess of blood and bone. His right eye was open but glazed. ‘Is he … he’s not dead?’
‘No. He’s heavily sedated,’ said the paramedic. ‘But we need to get him to hospital right away. You can come with him if you like, but we have to go now.’
Henry climbed into the back of the ambulance, resting his hand numbly on Seb’s.
‘What about the other rider? The woman?’ he asked, belatedly. ‘My brother was trying to stop her horse when it happened. Did they take her to A&E first?’
The paramedic signalled to the driver they were ready to go. As he jumped in and began closing the doors, Henry started as he caught sight of Richard Smart standing by the hedge like a statue, staring into space. Another ambulanceman was trying to talk to him, putting a blanket around his shoulders, but Richard didn’t register at all.
‘I’m afraid she died, sir,’ the paramedic told Henry.
The doors closed and they drove away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Do you want me to drive?’
Eva stood next to the car while Henry loaded her suitcase into the boot. She was on her way to Sweden for her cousin’s wedding. She and Henry had been supposed to attend together, but when Eva had asked him last weekend if he was still coming, Henry had looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
‘Don’t be silly. I can’t possibly leave Seb. Or Richard.’
Eva felt like saying that it had been three weeks since the accident that had rocked the valley to its core. That Seb’s doctors had confirmed he would make a full recovery. That Seb had Kate to take care of him. And that Richard was still so poleaxed with grief over Lucy’s death, he wouldn’t notice whether Henry went away for one weekend, any more than he’d notice if the moon turned purple. But she didn’t. Since the hunt tragedy, Eva had learned to avoid any sort of confrontation with Henry. Not because he overreacted, but because he didn’t react at all. She might as well stand and scream at a statue for all the response she got.
‘Henry?’ She tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Hmm?’
‘I said I can drive if you like.’
In sweatpants, UGG boots and an oversized J.Crew hoodie, Eva looked comfortable and relaxed, if a little tired. Henry hadn’t come to bed till almost three last night, breaking her sleep, something that was becoming a pattern. Henry, by contrast, looked like the walking dead, in the same jeans and Labatt’s beer sweatshirt he’d been wearing for the last three days. His hair was dirty, his face unshaven and his gaze fixed, as usual, on some mysterious point in the middle distance.
‘I’m fine to drive,’ he said, closing the boot. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eva. Taking her life in her hands she added, ‘Have you had a drink today?’
Henry’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Eva, grabbing the keys out of his hand and sliding into the driver’s seat. She didn’t want to miss her plane. ‘We’ll get you a coffee at the airport before you drive back.’
The roads around Hanborough were clear – the scrum of reporters and TV crews who’d descended after the accident had finally moved on – and it wasn’t long before they reached the M25. Henry spent most of the time staring out of the window.
‘I wish you’d talk to me,’ said Eva, keeping her eyes on the road. ‘You can, you know.’
Hen
ry sighed. ‘There’s nothing to say.’
Eva bit her lip. She tried not to take it personally, but it was hard. Of course Lucy Smart’s death was awful, and it affected all of them. And Richard was Henry’s best friend, so perhaps that added to the worry. But from the way Henry was acting, staggering around in a daze, neglecting his business, his relationship, the works at Hanborough – everything, you’d be forgiven for thinking that he was the one who’d just lost his wife. The only person who seemed able to reach him at all was Flora. Which also upset Eva, although at the same time she was grateful for Flora’s help.
‘Please talk to him while I’m gone,’ Eva had begged her yesterday. The two women had been strolling in the castle grounds, talking. ‘See if you can find out what’s at the bottom of all this.’
‘I’ll try,’ Flora said awkwardly. ‘But I suspect he’s just in shock. He really doesn’t confide in me much, you know.’
‘Well, he doesn’t confide in me at all,’ said Eva, unable completely to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘Just do what you can.’
They drove the rest of the way to Heathrow in silence. At Terminal 5, Henry unloaded Eva’s bag. To her surprise, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I do love you.’
It was the first affectionate thing he’d said to her in weeks. Eva was shocked by how much relief she felt. ‘I love you too,’ she said, hugging him back tightly. ‘Talk to Flora, Henry. Talk to somebody.’
Kissing him on the cheek, she turned and hurried towards the check-in.
Henry got back into the car, relieved to be alone. He stopped at the first service station to buy a cup of coffee. It tasted bitter and unpleasant, and reminded him how hungry he was, although at the same time he didn’t feel able to eat. But he drank it anyway.
He would stop in at the hospital on his way back and visit Seb. Henry hated hospitals. He hated the smell of disinfectant and floor polish and the institutional atmosphere, all of which reminded him of prep school, and he never knew what to say when sitting at someone’s bedside. Especially Seb’s. But it was one of the few things that assuaged his guilt, just a little bit. Going through the motions of being a ‘good’ brother. Doing something he actively disliked for somebody else’s sake, as a tiny penance for the huge wrongs he’d done, that could never be undone.
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