by Sasha Morgan
‘Can’t see it myself,’ he shrugged casually, whilst his heart raced.
‘Surely, you must! Your eyes are exactly the same: green with speckled amber.’
Marcus smiled. ‘If you say so.’ He quickly changed the subject. ‘Listen, I’d like an early start at the weekend, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Yes, no problem. What time?’
‘Let’s set off early, about 7 a.m.?’
‘Fine. I’ll be ready.’
*
Down the hall, Viola quietly followed Tobias from a distance. Once he entered his study she hovered outside for a moment to collect herself. Glancing in a nearby mirror she fluffed her hair, drew her shoulders back, stuck her chest out and knocked on the door.
‘Come in!’ Tobias called, fully expecting to see Henry standing in the doorway, not that vile woman who had just interviewed him. Looking her up and down with dislike he waited for her to speak. Viola took in the mean, moody look aimed her way and again, it set a trigger off. He was certainly going to be a challenge, but she revelled in a challenge.
‘Lord Cavendish-Blake, I’ve just come to thank you again. It really is appreciated.’ She moved forwards to his desk. Was he imagining it, or did she just lick her lips? Viola was standing right in front of him now.
‘How did you find this room?’ he asked in an ice-cold voice.
‘I followed you,’ she answered, leaning forwards with her hands on his desk, giving him a good view of her cleavage.
Tobias moved his chair further away and stared directly in her eyes.
‘In fact, you could say I’ve been following you for some time.’
Tobias, recovered now from her stunt in the interview, was beginning to get this vixen’s measure.
‘Really?’ he replied in a bored voice, but still this didn’t deter Viola.
‘Yes,’ she gave a throaty laugh. ‘I know all there is to know about you, Tobias.’
Still he just stared with repulsion. This woman had some nerve, coming in here like this, after having just interviewed him in the most provoking way.
‘I think you’ve revealed rather too much to me too,’ he stated in a flat voice.
Again, Viola gave a husky laugh. ‘I could reveal so much more, especially as your wife must be somewhat… indisposed.’
Tobias resisted the urge to throw this bitch out of his home, instead calmly playing the game by raising an eyebrow. Viola leant further forward; he could smell her perfume, a heavy, potent fragrance. Was there anything subtle about her? He doubted it.
‘I can be very discreet. Just say the word.’ She licked her lips again.
Enough was enough. Tobias stared into her face. ‘Out. That’s the word. Out of my study. Out of my home and I don’t want to see your face again. Understand?’
Viola’s eyes narrowed. Nobody spoke to her like that, nobody.
‘Be careful, Tobias. I can make your name mud,’ she replied in a low, threatening voice.
‘It’s Lord Cavendish-Blake to you.’ He cast her a look of contempt.
‘Well, Lord Cavendish-Blake, I know people who would be only too pleased to dish the dirt. Ex-girlfriends? I’m sure there’s one or two with axes to grind, aren’t you? The last thing you need is your little wife getting upset, hmm?’ she spat under her breath.
Tobias pulled a lever behind him, making a bell ring. Within seconds Henry arrived.
‘Henry, show this woman out immediately.’
‘How dare you!’ she hissed.
‘This way, madam, if you please.’ Henry ushered Viola out of the study.
Tobias was shaking with rage. He knew it was a mistake letting the fucking media in. Experience told him hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Viola’s threatening words could cause real harm. The last thing he needed right now was for Megan to get upset by any scandal.
Viola wasn’t wrong when she mentioned ex-girlfriends with axes to grind. What he needed was his own ammunition. What was the saying, fight fire with fire? He picked up his mobile phone and scrolled through the directory until he came to the name he needed. David Lombard, ex-police, who had worked for him before. Lombard owned his own security business and also had contacts in the private detective field. He had organised the security for Tobias and Megan’s wedding, plus looked over the hotel in France where they had honeymooned.
‘David, it’s Tobias. Listen, I need you to do some digging on…’ he scanned the BBC contract for her name, ‘…a Viola Kemp.’
33
Sebastian was sitting waiting for his name to be called again. Yesterday had helped take his mind off things, but he knew there was no escaping today’s appointment with the neurologist. He glanced down at the reading material on the coffee table. It was mainly gardening magazines and holiday brochures. Maybe that’s what he needed, a good holiday. But who would he go away with? He sensed that sad, lonely feeling seeping into his soul again and tried to force it out. Why was life so tiring, he pondered bleakly. He looked round the waiting room. Everyone had someone with them for moral support. Where was his back-up, his shoulder to cry on? He blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. At last he was summoned to go through.
Sebastian wasn’t there long. The appointment was a repeat of the previous one, the same tests were done on his reflexes and his eyes were examined. He was asked to walk in a straight line, putting one foot in front of the other.
After the second step, the doctor waved his hand and said, ‘Enough.’ Sebastian sat back down with a heavy heart. ‘I’m going to request a brain scan, Sebastian, and a scan of your neck too,’ the doctor told him matter-of-factly.
‘A brain scan?’
‘Yes, plus a lumber puncture.’ The neurologist looked into his eyes with compassion.
‘Will… will it hurt?’ Sebastian swallowed. His mouth had gone dry.
‘Lumber punctures are not pleasant, but you will be given an anaesthetic.’
‘I see.’ Sebastian’s eyes started to fill.
The doctor coughed and spoke gently, ‘Sebastian, have you come here alone today?’
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t you think it would help to have a little support?’
‘Maybe.’ But who? He hadn’t told anyone about this.
‘You won’t have to wait long. A letter will be sent next week advising you of the appointments.’
‘Thank you.’ Then Sebastian paused. ‘What are we looking at?’ He scanned the neurologist’s face for any clues.
‘Let’s not speculate at this point. Let’s get the results of all the tests back first.’
Sebastian left the surgery and drove home in a state of numbness. Desperately wanting to talk to someone, he considered telling his brother, then ruled it out. Tobias was happy for the first time in a long while, newly married and expecting his first child. The last thing he needed right now was his brother bringing the mood down.
Then there was his mother, but bless her, she was neither use nor ornament, with her head in the clouds. She didn’t even know he was gay.
Megan was a possibility – she had gently asked if there was anything wrong not long ago – but no, she would only tell Tobias. So that was that. There was no one.
Deciding to put off going home, he pulled into the car park of The Templar. He was in dire need of a drink. On entering the bar he was greeted by Dermot. He asked for a pint of real ale then sat down in an alcove. He glanced around the pub, hoping Nick wasn’t there. He wasn’t, thank God.
Then he became aware of someone watching him. It was Jamie. He smiled and called him over, glad to see a friendly face. Jamie was there in an instant.
‘Hi, Sebastian, are you OK?’ Jamie noticed Sebastian’s quiet demeanour. He was not being his usual flamboyant self.
To hell with it, thought Sebastian, why not offload for once? It would be easier to talk to someone he hardly knew, instead of being careful not to upset those he was close to.
‘Do you know what, Jamie? No,
I’m not OK.’ His voice cracked.
Jamie’s face fell. He moved closer. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ he asked, genuinely concerned. His smoky-grey eyes searched Sebastian’s face with worry.
‘How long have you got?’ replied Sebastian sardonically.
‘As long as you need,’ Jamie answered softly.
34
Flora arrived at the training yard earlier than usual, eager to see Phoenix. The past week had seen her rising early, working relentlessly all day with the horse, then dragging herself home, late, to an irritated Dylan. Dylan considered himself dedicated to his yard, but Flora was something else; and whilst he applauded her commitment, he didn’t particularly appreciate being cast aside on the back burner, playing second fiddle to Phoenix. As ridiculous as it sounded, he rather resented the endless time Flora was spending with the horse. Since Phoenix’s arrival Flora had spent every waking hour on him, from dawn till dusk, leaving her far too tired for any quality time with him. Even her day off was whiled away tending to Phoenix.
Last night, when she’d crept into bed next to him, he’d waited to see if she’d cuddle into him like she used to, but within a few minutes he’d heard her gentle snores, obviously out like a light. Charming. Gone were the days when she couldn’t keep her hands off him. ‘Flora…’ He’d softly tried to rouse her, giving her a slight nudge, but there was no response. Sighing with frustration he’d turned away.
Flora entered Phoenix’s stable. As always, the horse’s eyes darted towards her and he neighed in delight at seeing her.
‘Come on, old boy, let’s get started.’ Flora stroked Phoenix’s mane, whilst he nuzzled into her neck. The bond between them was strong and had been formed immediately. Flora hadn’t connected so quickly with any other horse before. She instinctively gauged his every move and he in turn responded to her every command. It was a perfect match, a flawless partnership.
In the week since Flora had begun working on him Phoenix had made remarkable progress. She’d started not only with tending to his whip scars and swollen legs, but by massaging and stretching his tired limbs. Following the horse’s body with her probing hands along and across the muscle fibres had told her Phoenix had tension throughout. Flora had exercised him with gentle schooling to increase his relaxation and suppleness, which should then have a positive effect on the horse mentally and emotionally. Just speaking to him in a soothing manner was helping. After only a few days, Phoenix felt wonderfully loose and pliable underneath her. His paces were becoming more relaxed, without stiffness or tension in his back or muscles. He had an easier action and greater balance, not to mention he was starting to build strength and confidence. Flora soon learnt that by not forcing or restricting the horse in anyway, allowing him elasticity throughout his back, shoulders, knees and hips, letting him move freely, she was starting to get the best out of him. She suspected he had previously been forced into an unnatural shape that hadn’t suited him.
Whilst watching him being ridden up the all-weather woodchip gallop, Flora noticed the horse’s stride. He had a high knee action, which meant he was hitting the ground hard. This didn’t bode well for a flat-race horse. What a horse with high knee action needed was a ‘soft ground’, a turf that was damp from the rain, instead of the hard and dry going it would face in the summer months. It was perfectly clear to Flora that Phoenix was built to run in the winter: he was a jump racing horse, not a flat racer. That’s why he wasn’t winning. It certainly wasn’t because of any lack of strength, talent or agility. He’d been trained to do the wrong thing!
Totally convinced of this, Flora had gone a step further and looked up Phoenix’s pedigree from the paperwork Graham Roper had left with Dylan in the office. She’d seen that both the sire and dam side had been flat racers, but the dam’s sire was in fact a jump racer. Obviously Graham Roper and the previous trainers hadn’t thought to look at the lineage of the mother’s father. Recognising that Phoenix wasn’t a loser after all, but could almost certainly be a winner, had made Flora even more resolute about keeping him. But how? One thing was for certain: she would do everything she could to keep him away from Graham Roper.
Dylan pulled into the yard. He didn’t expect to see Flora in the office, knowing full well where she would be. He quickly flicked through the post and turned on his computer. As always, a list of emails glared up at him. He noticed one was from Graham Roper and his jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed at the tone of the message, which was every bit as conceited as the man was in person:
Any results? I’ll be there at the end of the week.
Dylan closed his eyes. If Roper decided to take his horse back, how the hell would Flora handle it? He got up and made his way to Phoenix’s stable. For a moment he stood and watched her. She was an absolute natural, that was for sure. He could see the bond between her and the horse and his heart was pulled. Phoenix saw him and snorted, as if objecting to his presence, making Dylan laugh to himself.
Flora turned and smiled brightly. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he walked over to stand next to her and put his arm round her waist. Phoenix snorted again, making them both giggle.
‘He’s jealous,’ she said, ‘aren’t you, old boy?’
‘Hmm, don’t see why. He’s the one you spend every waking hour with,’ Dylan replied with a smile, then patted the horse.
‘Dylan, I want you to watch him down the wood-chip gallop.’
‘Why?’
‘Just look. Tell me what you see,’ she replied.
After tacking Phoenix up and setting off to the gallop, Dylan stood at the side and watched closely through his binoculars. He observed the horse’s knees rise high in the air, then slam down with force to the ground as he pelted down the strip. The penny dropped. Clever Flora for noticing it. He couldn’t help but admire her as she came trotting back with a look of hope on her face.
‘What do you think?’ she panted, dismounting.
‘He’s got high knee action.’
‘Exactly! Phoenix isn’t meant for the flat. He’s a jump horse.’
Dylan frowned.
‘Look at his pedigree,’ urged Flora.
‘I have,’ replied Dylan.
‘But the dam’s sire was a jump horse,’ she insisted.
Dylan nodded and thought for a moment. What was he going to tell Roper? ‘Flora, Graham Roper is coming at the end of the week.’ His heart broke to see her face fall.
‘Don’t let him take him, Dylan,’ she pleaded.
‘He owns him, sweetheart. I can’t stop him,’ he spoke gently.
‘Please, Dylan,’ she begged.
Dylan sighed. What in God’s name was he to do?
35
Finula stifled a yawn. Getting up so early to be ready for the 7 a.m. start after a late night working was taking its toll already. She glanced to the side of her. Marcus was busy concentrating on his driving, and soon they would be off the motorway and entering Shropshire. The journey hadn’t taken too long and it had passed particularly quickly as they chatted and laughed comfortably together. It occurred to Finula again how at ease he was when it was just the two of them, compared to his more serious, intense side when working. She wondered who else he could relax with, when he wasn’t amongst his colleagues.
Finula longed to learn more about Marcus. So far, he had been a closed book, never talking about his family or his past, and it had started to intrigue her. She only really knew what she had gleaned from looking him up online months ago; about his career and that he had been married once, briefly. He had talked a little about his mother, who had died last year, but there had been no mention of his father. Instinctively Finula had refrained from probing, sensing his need for privacy, but now she did want to know. After all, he knew all there was to know about her, didn’t he? He’d been living in her home for the past few weeks, got to know her dad, her friends, and was pretty hands on with her, she reflected happily. This weekend would bring them closer together. She hoped he’d really unwind and switch off, giving
her his full attention.
She looked again at his profile. Hell, he was handsome, in a dark, brooding way that appealed to her. His forehead held a slight frown, as it so often did. Why? What was going on in that complex mind of his? Surely, it couldn’t always be work. He had once chastised her for being ‘all work and no play’ so he must appreciate a decent work-life balance. So, what exactly did he have on his mind? The words of the clairvoyant sprung into her head: Your revenge will not be sweet. What a strange thing to say and yet… it did seem to have had an effect on him at the time, for some reason.
‘Nearly there,’ he said, turning off the motorway junction. He glanced at her and smiled. It felt good having Finula by his side as he made his way home.
She was the only girl he’d brought back there. Usually he would date in London, where he frequently worked, and chose to keep his house as the safe, private haven he had bought it to be, tucked away in the Shropshire hills. But with Finula, it had seemed the most natural thing to do, to bring her back to share his world. His emotions for her had taken him by surprise. He had never expected to feel like this about anyone, especially so soon after his mammy’s death.
‘I must confess to having a peep at your house on the internet.’
Marcus grinned to himself; she was so open and honest. Many a girl wouldn’t have admitted to that, even if they had had a sneaky look.
‘Now, why am I not surprised to hear that, Finula?’ he chuckled, pulling onto a roundabout signposted ‘Deacon’s Castle’.
‘Deacon’s Castle, that sounds so quaint,’ remarked Finula.
‘It is. There’s lots of history to it. The village once had a castle owned by a rich deacon and when it was destroyed, the stones from the castle were used to build many of the surrounding buildings. The local pub, for one.’
