The Country Escape

by Fiona Walker

  ‘There you go. Dinner between non-flirting suitors is an entirely nutritional event. You need to eat.’

  He wandered deeper into the house, framed in the sunset, looking around the tatty sitting room. The Tantric corner had been cleared away behind the sofa again. There would be no more Ravi Shankar in Lake Farm this summer. Russ still came and went occasionally to tend his rescue cases, leaving big piles of foraged food, occasionally releasing one of his wildlife victims or adding another, but he was free-ranging so widely now, he was almost feral.

  Seeing no evidence of co-habiting, Dougie cheered up. Feeling the sexual energy crackling in the room, Kat started to panic in much the same way she did when faced with the lake.

  ‘Truth or dare?’ he said, as he so often did, admiring the photograph on the windowsill of Kat and Dawn in their graduation outfits.

  ‘Truth,’ she said quickly, unable to face another piggy-back ride.

  He stood silhouetted against a red-stained window. ‘I want to kiss you right now.’

  Kat couldn’t speak, her belly so full of marauding electric butterflies she almost expected to lift up in the air.

  But instead of making a move, he stooped to say farewell to the dogs and headed for the door. ‘We’ll do a timed run at the end of the week.’

  ‘I don’t think I can swim the lake yet.’

  ‘I can. I’m riding it first. I’m the stuntman, remember. Start eating properly.’

  Early the next morning, a Waitrose delivery van rattled into the Lake Farm yard, its driver shaking from the trauma of battling through the woods, gates and ford, but grateful for the detailed directions that had been supplied with the order, without which there would have been no hope of supplying Kat with fresh ready-meals, fruit, veg and an array of deli products that made her want to kneel down and worship the fridge all day.

  ‘Thank you!’ She greeted Dougie ecstatically in the lime avenue that evening, indigestion raging from bingeing on artichoke hearts, sun-blush tomatoes and stuffed vine leaves.

  ‘All vegan,’ he pointed out proudly.

  ‘I’m not a vegan, Russ is, only he’s not living with me any more. I eat anything. I just tend to forget to buy anything to eat. But I’ve eaten all your food so fast I can hardly breathe.’

  At that moment, Dougie felt something painful in his chest, a small harpoon blade. The first deep cut of love.

  Kat had such raging indigestion, she posted her slowest times so far and was furious with herself. It was only much later that night, as the heartburn failed to shift, that she realized it was something else. Something far longer-lasting and harder to deal with.

  ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’ She tipped the dogs off the bed as she trailed downstairs to eat the luxury dark vegan chocolate currently in the fridge.

  Soon coasting on a huge chocolate fix, she lay wide awake for hours, contemplating Dougie and his quest to make her ride the Bolt, his joke proposal, his love of hunting hounds and his sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm for life, open air and thrills. None of it added up to her idea of a dream man, yet it had triggered an ever more volatile chemical reaction inside her, bubbling effervescently around her dancing organs and raging heart. She was falling wildly in lust and love, and all without the aid of a single dinner date, Tantric chant, dirty movie or kiss.

  She sat up in bed in the early hours, heartburn still raging, knowing she had to kiss him.

  Chapter 47

  Kat thought about kissing Dougie a ridiculous amount the following day, her lips seeking out her fingers, knuckles, wrists, pen lids, cup rims and the tops of the dogs’ heads at regular intervals, like a live wire needing an earth.

  She rode straight to the Eardisford yard that evening, far too early, but to her frustration Dougie was already sitting on Worcester, who let out a rumbling whicker of recognition when Sri bounded in.

  As they trotted out through the arch, their stirrups clattered together, knees bumping. Kat looked across and saw it mirrored in his eyes, the deep blue come-on between the dark lashes, the kiss in waiting, just needing its signal.

  ‘We already have a wager on you riding the Bolt,’ he reminded her, as they cantered along the tracks to Duke’s Wood. ‘What shall we lay on me doing it?’

  ‘Each other?’ She said it without thinking, then blushed crimson.

  ‘Are you flirting?’ His smile was a country mile wide.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, uncomfortably aware that even her ears were puce.

  Reining back to a walk as they reached the edge of the woods, he looked remarkably florid-cheeked too, eyes bluer than ever.

  Kiss, kiss, kiss, Kat’s brain screamed, as they moved closer together through the forestry gate. She turned as he did, hat peaks clashing, mouths a breath apart, just as Sri let out a furious squeal and kicked out at Worcester before napping away.

  ‘She’s rampantly in season,’ she apologized breathlessly, knowing Sri wasn’t the only one.

  ‘Better keep her behind.’

  He was issuing instructions over his shoulder, which she hardly took in, outlining the plan that he would set off on a timed run of the whole route and she would follow but drop out at the lake. Kat listened to his voice, loving its clipped huskiness, remembering the catch when he’d told her a truth and said, ‘I want to kiss you right now.’

  Even redder-faced, she followed Dougie up to the far corner of Duke’s Wood, the derelict folly that traditionally marked the start of the Bolt, where Sri ruined Kat’s attempts to get close enough for a good luck peck on Dougie’s cheek by squealing, cocking her tail and squirting at a mortified Worcester.

  ‘You ready?’ Dougie checked.

  No, Kat wanted to yell. I need to kiss you! But for the first time it struck her that he was genuinely uptight at what he was about to do. He checked his girth, a muscle slamming in his cheek, eyeing his watch. The last time she’d seen him look so tense was in the parade ring at the point-to-point. It’s a big deal, she thought. The Bolt is scary stuff. Even Dougie Everett is daunted.

  ‘If you fall back, don’t worry,’ he told her, cheek muscle still drumming, his eyes serious. ‘The gates are all open and there’s no livestock, but watch out for hay baling.’ He unclipped his helmet harness and pulled it from his head to rake his hair back from his eyes. ‘At the lake, if your blood’s up and you’re close behind, follow us through, but for God’s sake shout and let me know so I look out for you, and if you’re more than a few lengths behind or feeling uncertain, wait for me there. Take your helmet off a moment – there’s something under it.’

  ‘What?’ She pulled it off, shaking her head.

  Bareheaded too, Dougie kicked Worcester alongside, braving Sri’s hormones, and reached out and drew her towards him. ‘This.’

  As the lips landed on hers, Kat was aware of shifting beneath her, but whether it was the horse or the earth moving, she couldn’t say. There were more squeals and a grunt, the jangling of bits and clashing stirrup irons, and she felt Dougie’s arms tighten around her, his kiss harden, his weight supporting her as she was lifted out of one saddle and on to another, laughing as she kissed and scrabbled herself into place. And then she was sitting astride Worcester in front of Dougie, facing the wrong way, kissing her heart out. Her mouth, her eyes and her soul so full of Dougie that she thought she might burst with happiness.

  ‘This isn’t flirting,’ he breathed, as they finally broke apart, his mouth brushing against her upper lip, her cheeks and then her ears, which made her shriek with a shiver of delight. ‘This is kissing. It’s entirely different.’

  She laughed, as their foreheads pressed together, eyelashes tangling, and she remembered the night she’d stared out to the lake and imagined them swimming it together. This was like her vision, she decided, only she was floating on air, not water.

  Their mouths drew together, hungrier now, this time unable to break apart as their kisses deepened, fingers through hair, hearts and groins roaring for more.

  Oh, God, I’ll be making
love on a horse in a minute, Kat panicked, as Dougie’s fingertips traced her throat, her chest-bone, the curve of her breasts where her nipples were as hard as pea-shooter ammo. His lips chased his fingers down while she arched back, ecstatic under his touch.

  ‘I’ll hold you to your wager if I ride this.’ He kissed the shelf of her breastbone. Then his mouth found hers again and Kat knew she’d never been kissed so exquisitely in her life, or wanted to drag someone into a derelict folly so badly.

  The village quarter bell had rung twice. They were losing the light. Eventually they pulled apart again and he reluctantly helped her down to go and catch Sri, who had thrust her head through one of the folly’s glassless windows.

  Clipping her helmet back on, Kat mounted and awaited the signal. She felt totally fearless. Bring on the lake, she wanted to shout. I can walk on you now.

  Blowing her a kiss, unable to stop smiling, Dougie pressed the stopwatch button on his clunky wristwatch and charged into action, Kat flying in his wake. He was riding Worcester because he knew that he wasn’t the fastest conveyance and would be closer to Kat’s speed when she took the challenge, making it easier to gauge how realistic the time was to achieve.

  It was a warm, muggy evening without a hint of a breeze and Worcester was already puffing hard as they reached open country beyond the woods, his sides drenched in sweat. As always, the sound of Kat laughing cheered horse and rider on, hard on their heels, shouting for him to go faster before she mowed them down.

  Riding the hormone-fuelled Sri, Kat was in danger of being totally run away with as she sat out some back-flipping bucks that would have propelled her into orbit just a few weeks ago. Worcester was positively ponderous in front as Sri jigged all over the track behind, pinging up her back legs. They careered along field margins and through freshly cut hayfields, Dougie navigating the route he’d plotted so carefully in recent weeks.

  ‘Let’s see how good you’re getting at ducking.’ He turned to the woods.

  Having totally forgotten the route, Kat only realized he’d disappeared into the trees when Sri swerved dramatically to plunge after him. Worcester was groaning and snorting with every stride now, the evening heat hard to bear.

  ‘He’s exhausted!’ she yelled after him, crouching low on Sri’s neck as they gave chase into the shadows.

  ‘Ride the Bolt to the end and you’ll really feel an exhausted horse beneath you,’ he shouted back over his shoulder. ‘Trust me, this chap is fresh compared to that, and he’s not hunting fit yet.’

  ‘Hunting for what exactly?’ demanded a furious voice, as a balaclava-clad figure stepped out in Worcester’s path. ‘The wild Kat?’

  Worcester stopped dead, eyes boggling at the unlikely sight of a camouflaged vigilante with white-tipped hair wielding a camcorder.

  Cannoning into the ample brown bottom blocking their path, Kat and Sri parted company. As she flew towards a tangle of tree roots, Kat realized it was Russ in front of them. She also realized that she hadn’t done up the chin strap of her helmet properly and it was whizzing in the opposite direction.

  At the time of her fall, Kat thought she was taking everything in. Landing was a bit of a blur, as were the ensuing few hours, but she distinctly remembered telling everybody her name, date of birth, the current prime minister and the nine times table to prove her alertness. Not that anybody seemed impressed, just telling her to lie still because there was blood coming out of her head. There was talk of air ambulances and a lot of shouting.

  She saw Dougie’s lovely blue eyes coming in and out of her vision, saying reassuring things that she later couldn’t remember. And there had been more shouting. Quite a lot of shouting, mostly Russ’s distinctive deep deer bark with its Bristol accent. Not that she remembered a word he’d said. That was the funny thing about concussion. You thought you had a memory of what had happened and then – poof. Gone.

  Chapter 48

  Dougie had his satellite phone pressed to his ear, cursing the signal cutting out.

  ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Everett!’ Russ raged, videoing him with a camcorder. ‘I know your game!’

  Ignoring him, Dougie crouched beside Kat. ‘Are you still okay?’

  ‘Eight times nine is seventy-two.’ She nodded, smiling up at him lovingly.

  ‘Leave this to me, Kat.’ Russ loomed over them. ‘He knows what game I’m talking about.’

  ‘Is this about the cricket?’ Dougie suggested, trying to dial out on the phone again.

  For a moment Russ was nonplussed – the mention of cricket always acted like a stun-dart on him – but then he squared himself up and snarled, ‘This is definitely not fucking cricket.’

  ‘Soccer, rugby, ping-pong, Pictionary?’ Dougie muttered distractedly, holding up the phone and wondering whether the trees were blocking the signal. He didn’t want to leave Kat. She was repeating David Cameron’s name in a worryingly rapturous fashion now.

  Bear-like Russ growled under his breath, ‘Little boys play with bows and arrows.’

  ‘Archery’s a sport, not a game.’ Dougie pulled off his waistcoat to put under Kat’s head.

  ‘It’s July the twentieth,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘It is a blood sport when the super-rich get to play Robin Hood in the woods,’ the Bristol accent shouted. A camcorder zoom closed in on Dougie’s face with an electronic whirr. ‘Except in the Eardisford Estate they won’t be stealing from the rich to give to the poor. They’ll just shoot anything that moves, won’t they, Dougie Everett?’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dougie muttered, patience snapping as he looked over his shoulder to find a lens inches away.

  Russ was doing a strident voice-over now. ‘Seth – a.k.a. Arjan Singh, an IT dotcom billionaire – has bought the Eardisford Estate specifically to entertain some of his most powerful global contacts, of whom many are shooting-mad Anglophiles, and a select few take their hunting a lot more seriously than that. Seth has no personal interest in field sports, but he knows how to provide the best game platforms in the world. It’s what made him rich in the first place. Only this one is real, and the “game” is protected wildlife being hunted illegally.’

  ‘All hunting on the Eardisford Estate will be done strictly within the law,’ Dougie said authoritatively, turning back to brush Kat’s hair gently from her face and check her pupils, which were still worryingly dilated.

  ‘George Osborne,’ she said seductively.

  ‘Is that the law that’s different for private packs?’ Russ was raging. ‘The law that says you can shoot your prey with arrows? Chase Mumbai’s slum kids around with dogs?’

  ‘I think he was joking about that bit,’ Kat muttered groggily, adding, ‘Nine times nine is eighty-one.’

  Dougie looked down at her in disbelief. ‘Did you tell him all this?’

  But Kat, deathly pale with blood trickling from her nose, only managed the home secretary and nine times three.

  ‘Kat’s been reporting back on all your conversations, Dougie,’ Russ moved to her other side and checked her pulse, still videoing, ‘but I think the time’s right to pull her out from undercover work. Anything else just wouldn’t be cricket.’

  ‘Undercover work?’ Dougie repeated carefully.

  Russ put a protective hand on Kat’s limp arm. ‘We both have the sanctuary’s best interests at heart. Safeguarding our animals and the wildlife here is paramount. Nobody trusts you, Dougie.’

  ‘Clearly not,’ Dougie said tightly, looking down at Kat again.

  ‘Twentieth of July,’ she murmured again, green eyes glazing. She was paler than ever, incredibly fragile and beautiful. Just a few minutes ago, Dougie had tasted those lips. Now he wasn’t sure he believed a word that had come out of them. He looked at her as though through thick sheets of glass, trust sliding away. She was Snow White in a casket. Another prince could kiss her to wake her up.

  ‘Nick Clegg,’ she said, in a bright voice. ‘Dodgy.’

  Anger evaporating, Dougie
slid his hands beneath her and picked her up, carrying her back out of the woods so that he could call for help. He buried his face in her hair as he walked, breathing in her sweetness.

  ‘I told you the truth about my job, Kat,’ he said quietly. ‘Double-cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘What truth is that exactly?’ demanded Russ, videoing in hot pursuit.

  When Dougie didn’t answer, he started a breathless voice-over again, interspersed with curses as he fell over tree roots. ‘The Animal Liberation Posse has heard on the nod that the Eardisford gamekeepers are briefed to expect a VIP guest any day. The estate will be on a major security clamp-down. We think it’s wild-boar hunting. They’ve been tracking the sounders all week.’

  ‘I know nothing about this,’ Dougie snapped, setting Kat down on a grassy bank and gratefully dialling out from his phone.