The Country Escape

by Fiona Walker

  ‘I think I’ve just taken a fatal shot,’ she said, in a small voice.

  He engulfed her in another earthy hug. ‘I was afraid of that.’

  When Dougie drove back to the mill house in a hurry, having forgotten the car charger for his flat-batteried old mobile phone, he saw Kat and Badger Man still canoodling beyond the woods and was quite tempted to put his foot down and drive over them. Instead he executed a bad three-point turn and shot off towards the village call box instead. On the passenger seat beside him, Quiver threw up.

  Russ let go of Kat and peered at the retreating tail-lights suspiciously. ‘There’s something very odd going on. I need to liaise with the Bristol lads. If Everett’s on to us, we’ll need to change tactics and move into deeper cover.’

  ‘Dougie’s refused to hunt,’ Kat said proudly.

  He shook his head. ‘That’s just a pile of crap they’re putting out to wrong-foot us, like the rumour about professional cricketers on the estate team. Have you ever heard the like? Illegal hunting’s one thing, but nobody in their right mind would try to pull that stunt at a village match. It’s all propaganda, see. We must rise above dirty tricks like that.’

  ‘What about the rumour that Dougie was being paid to get me to marry him?’ Kat eyed him warily through the dark. ‘Who spread that, Russ? They’re baying for his blood in the village.’

  ‘Where there’s smoke there’s fire, Kat.’ He stooped down to pick up the pile of post she’d dropped. ‘He said he came here to slay dragons. Dragons breathe fire, and so does this village.’

  Fire is Dougie’s biggest demon, thought Kat, unhappily.

  Chapter 58

  ‘We went to spy on the party at the main house!’ Dawn burst into the Lake Farm kitchen. ‘It’s so funny, Kat, full of hired guests. You okay? Have you been crying?’

  Curled up on the sofa with two loudly snoring lurchers and unopened post scattered around her, Kat was about to sob that, yes, she had been crying her heart out because she knew she was hopelessly hooked on Dougie Everett, who was too busy shagging glamorous Porsche-driving women against windows to give a stuff, when she saw Dair standing behind her friend, flat cap at an unusually jaunty angle.

  ‘I invited Al back for a coffee.’

  ‘Al?’ Kat pressed her palms quickly to her puffy eyes and wandered into the kitchen, where Dawn was fetching mugs down from a shelf and Dair was lounging against a worktop.

  ‘I like Al,’ he insisted, in a lusty, infatuated way that hinted he’d agree to be called Catkin Bunnywinkle if he thought he might be invited to stay the night.

  ‘I like Al a lot too,’ Dawn cooed.

  Kat felt another lurch of panic-stricken regret that she had failed to acknowledge her own thunderbolts until they had started to hurt too much to ignore, by which time Zeus had moved on. Now she was cornered in a kitchen with Mr and Ms Pheromone.

  Dair glanced at his watch and grimaced. ‘I’ll have a half-cup. I must be away soon. I’m up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ Dawn giggled.

  Listening to their flirty laughter, Kat thought of Russ’s nets and chewed her lip anxiously, busying herself by fetching cat food to put out for the yowling masses in the yard, then went out to check the animals one last time.

  Vaughan Everett was blisteringly unsympathetic when his son told him the full truth of what was going on. Feeding pound coins into the slot in the old-style red call box in Eardisford that was photographed by tourists more than it was used, Dougie tried to ignore the smokers outside the pub peering at him as his father gave him short shrift.

  ‘Frankly, it’s nothing I hadn’t guessed,’ Vaughan barked. ‘Seth’s probably justified in wanting the Myttons hung out to dry.’ He chuckled at the inadvertent joke. ‘The Everetts weren’t much better behaved in British India, I fear. They still aren’t, judging from your recent behaviour. What the fuck did you think you were doing taking on a job as a gigolo?’

  ‘I am not a bloody gigolo!’ Dougie shouted, noticing too late that one of the pub smokers had shuffled up, pretending to read the parish notice-board so he could listen in.

  ‘You were prepared to marry for money, Dougie, which, one assumes, includes consummating the union. There are very few degrees of separation between that and tapping on a car windscreen asking for business.’

  ‘I’d never stoop as low as that!’ raged Dougie, then hung his head as he remembered that, in a previous life, he’d stooped very low indeed, fully prepared to sleep his way to the Hollywood A-list a honeymoon suite at a time. Now it seemed it was payback time.

  ‘I suggest you get out as quickly as you can,’ Vaughan advised, in his clipped voice. ‘I’ll get a legal adviser to look at your contract as a matter of urgency. Just keep the family name out of it, whatever you do. In fact, keep your trap shut about everything. This isn’t an anecdote for a chat show.’

  ‘I can’t leave her here.’

  ‘I’m sure she can look after herself. Didn’t you say she was Russian combat-trained? The woman sounds frankly dangerous.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Dollar. I’m talking about Kat, the girl who runs the sanctuary.’

  ‘The one you’re supposed to marry? Well, there’s a very obvious solution to that, assuming your contract is as watertight as you say.’

  ‘What solution?’ he asked desperately, noticing that a small crowd was looking at the parish notice-board now, feigning fascination with the church cleaning rota.

  ‘Offer to split the million if she marries you. You can buy yourself out of the contract and she can set up somewhere new. At least you both get something out of it.’

  Dougie knew that Kat was unlikely ever to forgive him, let alone play along and split the profits – she was far too straight and stubborn – but his father’s advice made him see that she deserved his total honesty. If Badger Man still had her heart, he could at least earn her respect.

  Watched closely by the crowd, Dougie rang off and flew outside to his car, no longer thinking straight, his head full of apologies, escape plans and blind fury.

  He drove straight to Lake Farm, the Land Rover bouncing crazily over ruts and potholes, Quiver taking refuge in his lap.

  When he swung through the gates into the farmyard, he almost drove straight into the back of Dair Armitage’s Range Rover, which was parked outside. Dougie didn’t need to get out of his own car to see the shadow cast from the kitchen window, the silhouette of a couple kissing passionately.

  ‘Christ, she has a bloody stable of us on the go,’ he muttered to Quiver, under his breath.

  Fury and jealousy burned in his veins as he threw the car straight into reverse.

  Hearing a car driving away at speed as she came back from checking the horses in the field, Kat assumed it was Dair leaving, but when she walked around the side of the barn into the farmyard, she saw the Range Rover still parked there. Dawn and Dair were framed in a curiously old-fashioned Bogart and Bacall clinch in the kitchen window.

  She wanted to hang back to give them a little more time together, but the dogs had already rushed inside so there didn’t seem much point in pretending she wasn’t back. She followed them in, grateful that conservative Dair – hugely flustered to be caught kissing – made lots of throat-clearing I’m-leaving-now noises and put his flat cap back on.

  Having waved him off, Dawn bounded inside, sobered up by copious coffees and a breathtaking clinch, eager to dissect the whole whirlwind romance with Kat and to broach an urgent new dilemma. ‘Apparently Seth is hosting two Bollywood parties tomorrow night – the commoners in the tent and a full-on maharaja’s banquet in the main house with actual royalty invited. Oh, Kat, Dair’s asked me to be his guest. Please say if you’d rather I didn’t go. I promise I won’t mind. My loyalty is to you. Oh, God, you’re crying. Really, I won’t go. We’ll have a girls’ night in. Please don’t cry. I’ll stay with you.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ Kat mopped a stray tear as she moved through the sitting room
to the windows overlooking the lake and stared out at the house, its windows glowing. She was trying very hard not to break down. ‘I went to the mill house earlier tonight. I saw Dougie through the big windows there. He was…’ She screwed up her face with the effort of saying it out loud. ‘He was having sex with Dollar.’

  ‘The eighties pop duo?’ Dawn was too astonished to stop and think.

  ‘Dollar is Seth’s personal assistant.’ Kat swiped away another tear, lower lip trembling. ‘Apparently they’ve been an item all along.’

  ‘And that’s how big a problem?’ Dawn asked carefully, already guessing the answer. She’d predicted Dougie Everett would be a romantic dilemma long before Kat had.

  Kat stared at the lake. ‘If a drip of water is a normal problem, my Dougie problem is that lake. He’s partying with her up in the big house now.’

  ‘Gate-crash!’ Dawn urged the old daredevil Kat. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll transform you. You’ll never get in looking like that. We are going to make you look like a million Dollars.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not in a party mood.’ She mustered a brave smile.

  ‘Of course you are. Fight for him, Kat! Dawn knows best. I swam the lake, remember, so I’m allowed tell you what to do. Let’s get to my magic makeup kit.’ She headed for the stairs. ‘Follow my lead.’

  Kat headed rapidly for the door. ‘You’re right!’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dawn squawked. ‘You can’t do this in old jeans.’

  ‘You’re right again.’ She stripped down to her bra and knickers and ran outside.

  ‘Oh, fuck, she’s truly lost it now.’ Dawn hurtled after her, yelling, ‘Kat, do not gate-crash that party in your pants!’

  Kat ran along the jetty, not allowing herself to think. She was going to conquer the lake. It was as simple as that. This time, she would take on her nemesis and win.

  Checking Usha was well out of range, she set her focus on the far bank and imagined Dougie was there, laughing, daring her to do it. She would swim straight to him, beating her own triathlon personal best, skimming across the lake’s black surface as lightly as a water boatman. When she got there, she would climb out and push the deceitful bastard straight in. He might have her heart on a pike, but she was going to prove she could do this without him.

  Taking a deep breath, she dived in with a loud belly-flop.

  Igor was enjoying a quiet cigarette on his balcony, staring across the parkland to the magnificent silver crescent of lake and the wooded, moonlit hills beyond, excited by the sport that their dark bulk held in store for the following morning. He spotted a figure moving in the water. Another rusalka! He hurried to fetch his binoculars for a better look. This one was a redhead, but no less glorious than the first. It was an omen, he was certain, an omen that became even more propitious when he turned to listen to a rattling sound coming from beneath one of the huge trees in the park and spotted a stag of near-mythical beauty stepping out into the moonlight and raising his head to display antlers like petrified oak.

  He had started to like this estate very much indeed. If tomorrow’s sport lived up to expectations, he would stop at nothing to add it – and its rusalki – to his private collection.

  Kat felt empowered with every stroke, the fear pushed ever-further behind her, her anger helping her power through the water. She could hear Dawn whooping behind her as she crossed the lake in less than a minute, her feet finding the solid gravelly base before she waded out to the grassy bank to do a victory dance and punch the air, so ecstatic she threw in a cartwheel, which pitched off sideways into an ungainly forward roll that left her sitting on the grass, staring across the perfection of the moonlit park.

  She gasped in delight as she saw the stag silhouetted against the rising full moon, its magnificent antlers now full-branched.

  Super-charged, Kat swam back, not feeling the ache in her muscles or the burning in her lungs. All she was aware of, with every stroke, was the shedding of the fear she’d bolted around herself for so long.

  Dawn helped her on to the jetty and hugged her tightly, tearful with pride and relief.

  ‘Mind your dress – I’m dripping wet.’ Kat warned, her teeth chattering, although she was laughing too much to notice or care. She pushed her wet hair back from her face. ‘That was the best craic ever. Why didn’t you tell me how much fun it was?’

  ‘I was terrified when I did it,’ Dawn admitted. ‘But you were always the daredevil, Kat. That was bloody fantastic to watch. If the Dougie Everett problem is that lake, you just swam straight through it.’

  ‘Dougie who?’ Kat shook back her hair in an arc of drips and headed towards the house.

  Dawn could tell she was putting on a brave face, but she loved her spirit. The old Kat she knew and loved was definitely back in business.

  Chapter 59

  ‘Dougie, yaar! So glad you showed, man!’

  It was an unexpectedly warm welcome, given that Dougie had arrived at the party as most of the guests’ cars were streaming away along the parkland drive towards the Hereford road.

  Wearing a skinny T-shirt and jeans, his raven hair slicked back and a doe-eyed beauty hanging off his arm, Seth beckoned him through his cathedral arch of a front door, calling off the security guards who had been trying to bar Dougie’s way. ‘I tell you, people have no staying power round here. In Mumbai, we party all night. Come and talk me through the cricket strategy. What’s this I hear about you disapproving of the guys I brought over?’ Waving the girl away, he thrust out an arm to give his shoulder-dislocating handshake before steering Dougie towards his inner sanctum. They crossed a huge panelled and galleried hall as big as a tennis court, newly restored marble floors gleaming beneath a baronial chandelier, the shipped-in celebrities and society beauties drifting around like birds of paradise in an aviary. There was, Dougie noted gratefully, no sign of Dollar.

  ‘Igor has gone to bed,’ Seth told Dougie, with obvious relief, as he led the way along a dark-wood corridor. ‘He takes his hunting seriously. I’m the same about cricket, yaar.’ He mimed a few strokes, then swept his hand in front of his chest like an umpire calling a boundary four.

  ‘You’re in to bat third on Sunday,’ Dougie said stiffly, finding his bouncy familiarity disconcerting.

  ‘Great! I’m well out of practice, man, but I was a shit-hot attacking batsman in my day so I hope the old magic’s still there. You heard about my internationals?’

  ‘I’m well aware of them,’ he said, feeling like Blackadder accompanying an enthusiastic Prince Regent. ‘Are you taking part in the hunt tomorrow?’

  ‘No way. I hate early starts, yaar. I’ll join them for lunch. I’m sending Doll out with them at dawn. She only needs four hours’ sleep and likes guns, so I’ve packed her off to bed early to mug up on her Russian hunting slang. Man, was she sulky about it. At least I get my morning run this way. Always do ten miles.’

  ‘You’ll have a beautiful day for it.’ Dougie was alarmed by his own voice, so obsequiously sardonic-manservant. He’d be whipping out a handkerchief and twirling it with a rakish bow any minute.

  ‘Can’t stand fresh air. I use a machine. We’ve had part of the cellars converted for a gym. It’s all climate-controlled so I can match it to my optimum atmospheric temperature, humidity and oxygenation.’

  ‘The fresh air here’s pretty high grade,’ Dougie assured him. ‘Probably best in small doses, if you’re not used to it. Would you prefer us to move the cricket match indoors?’

  Seth shot him a speculative look, aware that he was being teased but enjoying the dry English-butler delivery too much to be annoyed. Then his face split into a wide smile. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll try running outside tomorrow. Gotta acclimatize before the match. What do you think of the old place? Looks like a film set, doesn’t it? It’s not really my thing, but it’s a great weekend party crib for now.’ He looked at the panelling, its edges notched from centuries of servants’ trays bumping against it. ‘Tomorrow night, this place
will be full of Indian dancers. I know Dollar put you on the VIP list.’

  Relaxed and chatty, he seemed a million miles from the private and enigmatic power figure Dollar protected so fiercely. He guided Dougie through secret passages of the house – a vision of no-expenses-spared glossy restoration and carefully concealed gadgetry – talking him through the fibre-optic cables, fingerprint recognition and deeply buried eco-heating.

  ‘It’s stunning.’ Dougie admired discreet control panels disguised as artwork.

  ‘Takes ten cleaners to keep it mint. Ridiculous, man. I prefer minimalism. You should see the Mumbai crib – looks like a tower block outside, but inside it’s all straight lines to infinity. Beautiful, yaar.’