by Sasha Morgan
‘A date? Who with?’ Dylan tried to sound casual, while inside he was burning.
‘No one you know.’ Flora, in turn, was at pains to sound equally nonchalant.
‘No worries, I’ll soon get you back safe and sound.’ Like fuck he would. There was no way he was bringing her home early to spend the evening with some other bloke. And just who was he, anyway? Flora, without realising it, had played right into Dylan’s hands. Instead of trying to avoid a situation, she had intensified it. Dylan was a born winner, refusing to lose anything or anyone he had decided was his.
He pulled up outside her house. Flora saw him through the window, grabbed her bag and left the house. ‘All ready?’ he smiled, those blue eyes twinkling with anticipation.
‘Certainly am,’ she beamed up at him. She looked so young and excited, he wanted to grab hold of her. Nobody had come close to making him act this way. Then it suddenly struck him: was she too young, too naïve for him? She was only twenty, while he was thirty. Was that too old? Then another brooding thought crossed his mind. How old was the guy she was supposed to be meeting tonight? Slamming the car into gear, he gripped the steering wheel and set off.
It took just over two hours to get there. Two large barns were packed to the rafters with every item they could possibly need, and it was hard to know where to start.
‘We’ll both make lists, then compare. You start here, I’ll go next door,’ instructed Dylan. He had switched to professional mode instantly.
Flora nodded and set off down the first aisle. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a couple of women turn to look in his direction, obviously recognising him. Dylan didn’t notice, even though one of them deliberately crossed his path and smiled. He was clearly on a mission and oblivious to any attention. This surprised Flora, assuming he would never miss an opportunity. After an hour she had completed her list and set off to meet Dylan next door. He was there, assessing saddles. His face held a concentrated, studious look.
This was a side she’d not seen: the serious Dylan. Gone was the blasé playboy. She stood back and watched him some more. Again she saw one or two people double take when passing him, but still he was unaware. Then a little girl with her mum stopped and asked him for his autograph. Crouching down to her level he signed the pony-riding book she had just purchased, making her jump for joy. He ruffled her hair before they both thanked and left him. How sweet, thought Flora, and her heart began to warm, cracking the frozen solid ice protecting it.
Then he saw her, smiled and beckoned her over. ‘What you got?’ He looked across at the piece of paper with her scribbling on.
‘Let’s go for a drink.’ She pointed towards the small coffee shop in the cobbled courtyard.
‘Good idea.’ He put his hand on her back and guided her out. It felt so natural, like they were a proper couple. But they weren’t, Flora reprimanded herself, they were here on business.
Sitting opposite each other with coffees, Flora showed him her list. It was almost identical to the one Dylan had in his mind. She watched his eyes dart across the paper. Again, he looked intense. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who had appeared in a trashy kiss-and-tell newspaper article. He raised his head to look at her. ‘This looks fine: more or less what I had in mind. Good girl.’ He immediately cringed: did that sound patronising? Again his thoughts were darkened by the age gap between them.
‘So, where are you going tonight?’ Was she blushing?
‘Er… not sure yet.’
He narrowed his eyes. Was she bluffing? In any event, she wouldn’t be back in time, that was for sure.
Feeling scrutinised, Flora quickly changed the subject.
‘What about the horse feed?’
‘Already sourced that.’
‘How many horses are we aiming to train?’
‘At least ten, to start with. I’ve got a few contacts from Tobias, plus I’ve been approached by someone looking to train two horses.’
‘Who?’
‘Some businessman whose wife owns the horses. I’ve arranged to meet them this week.’ Flora looked impressed. ‘You have been busy.’
‘I intend to make a success of this.’ He looked straight at her. She could feel herself melting under his piercing blue gaze. Swallowing, she turned away. How was she going to cope working day in, day out with him? He was deliberately applying his charisma and they both knew it.
After another hour of finalising their list, Dylan set off to open an account and complete the order. Flora couldn’t resist checking out the country clothing while Dylan was gone. Half an hour later and he returned with a broad smile. ‘All done. It’ll be delivered next week. Thanks for your help today.’ Again his hand found her back and together they walked to his car. Flora looked at her watch. It was three o’clock. She should be back early evening. Dylan turned the key, but the engine wouldn’t start. He tried again, still nothing. He turned to her, frowning.
‘Why won’t it start?’ she asked.
‘Not sure.’ He turned the key once more, but there was no life in the engine. ‘I’ll have to ring for help.’ He looked across at the pub on the roadside. ‘Fancy going for a drink till they get here?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ She got out of the car whilst Dylan made the call on his mobile.
After two large white wines, Flora was beginning to unwind, letting her guard slip a little. She didn’t mind Dylan resting his arm along the back of her shoulders as they sat huddled together in a dim, snug alcove. Dylan was on orange juice, but made sure Flora’s glass was always full. He loved the way her cheeks flushed rosy with alcohol.
‘Let’s order something to eat,’ he suggested, after hearing her stomach grumble. He went to the bar and collected two menus. Flora was starving and the wine was starting to take effect. They both opted for the steak and ale pie and settled down for another drink. Flora detected yet again one or two people turn to peek at Dylan.
‘Don’t you ever get sick of it?’ She tilted her head to one woman openly staring.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose it comes with the territory.’
‘Especially if you’re wearing Racer,’ she giggled. He looked at her and smiled.
‘It’s good to hear you laugh again.’ She stared back and for a moment their eyes locked. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Hadn’t you better let him know?’ Flora frowned. ‘Your date?’
‘Ah! Yes.’ Fumbling for her phone she scrolled down to the first male name she came to – Ben. Then her hazy, fuddled brain told her to text him.
Sorry can’t make tonight. Send, there done it.
Dylan watched carefully. So she hadn’t been bluffing. Who the hell was Ben? A minute later there bleeped a response. Quickly hiding it from Dylan’s sight, she turned to read the message:
?
But then her brother would wonder what she meant. Dylan huffed inwardly, frustrated at not being able to read her message.
‘Everything OK?’ He tried to sound concerned.
‘Fine.’
‘Good. I’ll just check on the car, they should be here by now. You stay here, finish your drink.’ He strolled to his car, reconnected the battery and drove it to the pub to collect Flora.
Chapter 46
‘So you’re leaving?’ Finula asked, crestfallen. Megan’s face creased with concern.
‘Oh, but I’ll still be a regular here at The Templar.’ It hurt to see Finula’s disappointed expression. ‘I’ll still help out, when I can,’ she tried to appease.
‘I doubt you’ll have time. Sounds like you’ll have your hands full working with Tobias.’ Finula gave a sly grin and Megan chuckled.
‘He does work at full pelt. He intends to have Treweham Hall opened in two weeks’ time. Then there’s the old stable block conversion well underway. The guy never stops.’
‘Goes like a train, eh?’ She gave Megan a nudge, making her blush.
Just on cue, Tobias walked through the pub door carrying a parcel. The
two of them quickly smothered their giggles.
‘Hi, Fin.’ He put the parcel down on the bar and kissed Megan. ‘I’ve a present for you, Miss Taylor.’
Megan’s face lit up with surprise. ‘For me? What is it?’
‘Open it and find out.’ Finula pushed the parcel nearer to her, eager to see its contents. Megan ripped open the brown paper to uncover a box. Taking the lid of it, she saw two stacks of postcards, her painting of Treweham Hall printed on them.
‘Tobias! It’s my painting, look.’ She took a postcard out and passed it Finula.
‘Cool! Look, they’ve even got your signature in the corner,’ Finula cried.
‘Oh, Tobias, they’re wonderful.’ Megan put her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek. Laughing he put his arm round her waist.
‘So you like them, then?’
‘I love them!’
‘We’ll be selling them in the gift shop. They’ll make great souvenirs.’
Finula watched them. Her two good friends made a perfect couple. She was so pleased, for each of them; but when would it be her turn? Feeling a little awkward, she made an excuse to leave them alone.
‘Megan, I’m going away for a few days.’ Tobias suddenly looked quite serious. Her eyes searched his face.
‘Why? Where are you going?’
‘I’d rather not say at the moment, but I’ll explain everything when I get back.’
The feeling of foreboding came creeping back like an old enemy. She withdrew from his hold.
‘Megan, please.’ He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked quietly.
‘Nothing to worry about, honestly,’ he insisted. ‘It’s just for a few days, then I’ll be back.’ She looked at him, wounded and confused. It killed him to see her like this. ‘Please, trust me.’ He pulled her back into his arms and hugged her tightly.
*
Tracy had had a busy morning. Reading that magazine article had fired her imagination and she was on a mission to restore some purpose in her life. She had researched the nearest care homes in the area and volunteered her services, explaining that she had previously worked in a home and had all the necessary checks and paperwork in order. She had also contacted the manager from her former job and had arranged for a reference to be emailed. It felt strange talking to him, almost like another world, and in many ways it was.
‘Hi, Tracy, nice to hear from you. How’s things?’
How did she answer that? Well, winning millions, living in a Grade II listed house in the Cotswolds and having nothing to do but lunch and shop with other rich women hardly seemed appropriate.
‘Fine, thanks, Alan. I’m applying for volunteer work in local care homes and would really appreciate a reference from you.’
‘No problem. Good for you. I’m sure you’ll be a great asset.’ She was truly touched. A lump formed in her throat. In that instant she could easily have run back home, to normality, to where she belonged.
‘How’s Alf?’ Her voice cracked with emotion.
‘He passed away, Tracy, two weeks ago.’ Tracy closed her eyes. There was a few seconds’ silence. Swallowing, she thanked him again and said her goodbyes. Feeling more determined than ever now, she put the phone down and said a prayer for Alf.
*
‘Come on, have a dip Celia. The water’s fine!’ Beatrice was sporting an aqua-blue swimsuit, matching the colour of the cruise liner’s swimming pool. It looked wonderfully cool and refreshing against the relentless heat, but Celia refused, propped up in a deck chair reading Agatha Christie in her T-shirt, Bermuda shorts and Jesus sandals. ‘It’s so revitalising, you should try it!’ called Beatrice again, wishing not for the first time that her sister would learn to let go and perk up.
‘I said I’m fine as I am, thank you,’ came the stilted reply from behind the cover of And Then There Were None. If only, thought Celia, wishing, not for the first time, her sister would learn to leave her in peace and calm down.
Her thoughts turned to the first night of the cruise. Beatrice, as usual, had soaked up all the attention thrown her way, chatting and laughing with the captain, who had made such a fuss of her. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t every evening he’d find himself sitting next to a titled lady. Then the way that brigadier chap had latched on to her, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. Not to mention how that Johnny foreigner, Carlos whatever-his-name was, had her jiving in the middle of the dance floor, making complete fools of themselves. Celia had seen it all, sitting at the dinner table, wearing her floral forget-me-not dress and a deadpan expression.
‘She’s great fun, your sister, isn’t she?’ gushed the captain.
‘An absolute hoot,’ replied Celia drily.
Then her sister couldn’t fail but to attract attention playing deck shuffleboard, cheering others on and whooping with delight when she’d won. Typical. Beatrice always won. Celia had immersed herself in the newspaper. However, she did push the boat out one afternoon and attended an origami class, but soon found that tedious and somewhat pointless. Tonight was to be a theme night: ‘Murder and Mystery’. Beatrice had chosen to be Lady Macbeth and planned to wear a long floaty dress with a silk cape and tiara. Whereas Celia had plumped for her tweed suit, thick tights and brogues, in an attempt to resemble Miss Marple.
‘Oh, that’s better!’ Beatrice had emerged from the pool and was drying herself off. Droplets of water splashed Celia’s book. Tutting, she wiped them away. ‘Good book, dear?’
‘Everyone gets killed off, one by one,’ Celia informed her, her eyes never leaving the page.
‘It’s being so cheerful that keeps you going, Celia.’
Chapter 47
Dylan surveyed the mansion before pulling into the driveway. Whatever this businessman did, it paid well. It was a new build, flat roofed, with tall angular walls and great sheets of glass for windows. A balcony ran round the top half, giving panoramic views of the rolling countryside surrounding it. He could see the edge of a stable at the back and a swimming pool glistening in the sunshine. What a pad, he thought. More to the point, what potential clients to have. This man’s pockets evidently ran deep. Dylan parked his car at the front and knocked on the wide, wooden door, which had a strip of glass running down the middle. He could make out a slim figure of a woman coming towards it. She pulled the heavy door open and smiled.
‘Hello, you must be Dylan.’
They say first impressions count. Dylan took one look at the woman before him and sensed money, class and sex appeal. He returned the smile and held his hand out.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Tait.’
She shook it and purred, ‘Please, call me Samantha.’
He clocked the huge diamond on her hand. Samantha Tait had long, thick dark hair that tumbled in ringlets past her shoulders. She wore a short, coral sundress with spaghetti straps, showcasing an ample cleavage and long legs, which Dylan’s eyes homed in on like radar.
‘Come through. I was just making coffee.’ She led him through a vast open-plan lounge, all white sofas and glass tables, into the kitchen area, which had glossy white units and was clinically clean. A percolator was boiling with fresh-ground coffee. Samantha click-clacked her way over the tiled floor in sequined mules. ‘How do you like it?’ She stared at him. Dylan paused. ‘Your coffee?’ she added, with a playful grin. Was she flirting with him?
‘Black, no sugar, thanks.’
She turned back to make the drinks. Dylan rested his gaze on her slender figure.
Passing his coffee over she explained, ‘I’m afraid my husband’s had to go away on business, last minute.’ Dylan paused again: would this mean a wasted trip? ‘But don’t worry, I’m sure we can come to some agreement.’ She eyed him up and down, making him a touch uncomfortable. Normally he would relish such an opportunity, but this was different: it was business, not pleasure. Then again, Samantha was extremely attractive and clearly in good shape, judging by her toned body and brown, silky
skin. The wedding photographs dotted about the place told him she was much younger than her middle-aged husband. Dylan would put her at early thirties.
‘Could I see your horses?’ he asked, trying to sound as professional as he could.
‘Certainly, this way.’ She then led him out of the patio doors to the rear of the house. The garden stretched back for miles. The stables were newly built and housed three horses.
‘Cleo I’ve had for years,’ she said, pointing to the end stable. A black horse’s head leant out of the door. ‘These two we bought last year. We’ve recently moved from my husband’s home town in Ireland,’ Samantha continued, showing him inside the stable.
Dylan swiftly looked at the two chestnut horses and grasped immediately what thoroughbreds they were. He wanted to get a deal wrapped up quickly.
‘I see. Who trained them?’
‘Harvey Molloy.’ Dylan nodded. Molloy was an arch rival of Sean Fox.
‘They’ve definitely got potential. I can train them to peak performance,’ he stated, facing her. Was that a smile playing round her lips?
‘Yes, I believe peak performance is your forte.’ Her eyes washed over his body and rested on his crotch. Dylan stood still, staring at her. He definitely wasn’t going to make the first move. This was a prospective client, and a rich one at that. Any misunderstandings could prove disastrous. Samantha, however, made things quite clear. She moved closer to him. ‘I head-hunted you.’ He could feel her breath on his face. Still he remained silent. ‘After I read that article, you wetted my appetite. Then that commercial showed me everything I needed to know. I knew you’d fit the bill.’ Dylan’s eyes shifted down, her breasts nestled big and firm in her dress; hard dark nipples poked against the fabric. She spoke seductively. ‘I’d like you to train my horses,’ Dylan’s head jerked up, ‘as long as we can reach an understanding.’ Her tongue ran across her lips. Dylan looked at her. So he was going to have to tend to Samantha as well as the horses.
