Choosing to ignore the facts – that rather than bulldozing Fernside for his flash driveway, Ashley had gifted the ancient woodlands to her, and that everything he’d done to Mariners had only improved the place – Mo gritted her teeth and bit down the impulse to leap from her horse, tear after him and demand to know what was going on.
At this point though, The Bandmaster, feeling the tension fizzing down the reins from Mo’s fingertips, began to dance and jog on the spot, tossing his head and spraying her with froth from his bit. Oh, bollocks to Cashley, thought Mo furiously, releasing the reins and allowing her horse to spring forward. Who needed him anyway? Not her. Let the likes of Ella St Milton have him. Mo would ride his horses, do his livery and, if she saw him to speak to, be so chilly that his cock would get frostbite and shrivel. Not that she was thinking about his cock. Not for a second. No. No way.
She gathered the reins to steady the horse and collect him as they walked down the hill, before letting him explode back into a trot as soon as she reached level ground again. Keen to put as much distance, both literal and metaphorical, behind her and Ashley as possible, Mo let Bandy stride through the village at a spanking trot, sparks flying from his iron-tipped hooves and his nostrils wide and blood red. She was just slowing for the mini-roundabout at the top of the village when a smart red sports car drew alongside her horse and the window hissed down, causing Bandy to leap sideways and snort in terror.
“Morning, Mo. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” said Richard Penwarren, blissfully oblivious to the fact that he’d nearly sent a six-figure horse into orbit.
Mo half-halted hard, gathering up the horse and hoping desperately that Bandy didn’t take exception to the vehicle’s proximity and decide to boot out. She had no idea what kind of car the doctor was driving but it looked bloody expensive.
“Can you give us a bit of space?” she asked breathlessly. “He’s really green in traffic.”
“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to upset him.” Looking mortified, Richard pulled up the handbrake and turned off the engine. “Is that better?”
“You don’t have to stop altogether; it’s fine if you go past very slowly,” Mo said, holding back from explaining that he’d actually made matters worse, given that the horse might freak out when the car started again. Richard meant well, after all.
But Richard shook his sandy head. “I wanted to have a quick word with you actually, Mo. I was hoping to bump into you sooner but you’ve not been around. Alice said you were working hard but when I called by I didn’t see you at the yard.”
“I’ve been busy,” Mo hedged. The truth was that she’d hidden in her caravan and ignored anyone else who came up to the yard. Crying until she looked like a frog didn’t do much for her desire to socialise.
The Bandmaster, irritated to be stopped yet again, began to stamp his hooves and snatch at the reins. Richard glanced nervously at his car’s bonnet.
“Quit it!” Mo snapped, smacking Bandy’s neck with her crop. “Have some manners!”
“I hope you’re talking to the horse?” Richard joked. At least, Mo thought he was joking; his grey eyes always looked serious and slightly worried. He reminded her of a sweet cob she’d once owned who’d always tried hard but had never quite known if he’d got his dressage right. Ashley, on the other hand, was definitely The Bandmaster: difficult, highly strung, dangerous at times and very exciting to ride…
Not that she was thinking of Ashley.
“You need to know me a lot better before I shout at you and hit you with a crop!” Mo quipped.
Richard Penwarren turned the exact same hue as his car and Mo could have kicked herself for her flippant remark. Not all guys could handle her quick tongue and banter. In fact, in all her twenty-eight years she’d only ever met one man who was more than her equal…
“I just wanted to say that you looked wonderful in that calendar,” he said quickly. “If we make any money at all then it will definitely be down to you. You look stunning in it. Not that you don’t always look stunning. Of course you do.”
Mo laughed. Being covered in hay and smelling of horse most of the time, she was about as far from stunning as a girl could get. All the same, Richard Penwarren remained totally straight-faced. Oh. He was being serious?
“Well thanks,” she said kindly. “I’ve not seen it to be honest, but it’s good to know that if I don’t make the Olympic team I’ll have a whole new career as a glamour model.”
Richard nodded. “I think Katie Price should be very afraid.”
An awkward silence fell. Mo didn’t know Richard very well – he’d only lived in the village a few months – and the thought that he’d seen her naked (or as good as) made her feel a bit weird, even though he seemed like a nice guy. Thank God he was a doctor and probably saw naked women all day long. Still, this was the last time she listened to Danny and his bright ideas. Mo supposed she ought to have a look at the calendar when she got back to the yard, to check just how much flesh she’d actually flashed to her friends and neighbours.
She was about to make a polite getaway when Richard blurted, “Look, Mo, feel free to say no if you like, and of course you probably will say no anyway. Why wouldn’t you? Of course you will. Or you’re probably already going with somebody else, in which case I hope I haven’t made you feel awkward by asking.”
What language was this? Mo was utterly confused.
“Asking what? Stand still, Bandy! Bloody behave! Look, Richard, I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. Ask me what?”
Now even the tips of Richard’s ears were glowing. “To the charity dinner tomorrow night? At The Plump Seagull? Are you going?”
Mo laughed at the very idea of this. A ticket to that bash would pay off a big chunk of her feed bill. Fond as she was of St Wenn’s, there was no way she could afford to go. “Hardly. It’ll be toast and Marmite in front of the telly for me tonight unless I pester Sy for a doggie bag.”
“In that case, would you do me the honour of going with me?” asked Richard.
She stared at him. Had Richard Penwarren, the new doctor and one of the village’s most eligible bachelors, just asked her out?
“Sorry, Richard. I thought you just said that you wanted me to go to the charity dinner with you?”
He nodded. “That’s exactly what I did say. I bought the tickets as soon as they were being sold and I’ve been hoping to catch you to see if you’d come with me as my guest. So, will you?”
In truth, Mo couldn’t think of anything worse than having to get dressed up and make small talk with people for hours on end. Still feeling fragile, she wasn’t sure she was up to pretending that everything in her life was wonderful when her heart felt as though somebody had stomped all over it in their Musto sailing boots. Curling up in her caravan in her jogging bottoms and watching rubbish TV with the yard cat seemed more appealing. On the other hand, this was likely to be one of the most important nights in the village’s social calendar. Admittedly, that wasn’t saying much when the competition consisted of the darts presentation and the disco to raise money for the Christmas lights – but, even so, Mo knew that the biggest players and the wealthiest folk in Polwenna Bay would be there.
And who was wealthier and a bigger player than Ashley?
Her mind racing ahead at warp speed, Mo realised that if she actually went to the dinner Ashley would have to come face to face with her and give her some kind of explanation. That was the least she deserved. He’d not be able to run very far in The Plump Seagull, would he? The place was tiny.
It might also do him good to see her looking bloody amazing and on the arm of an attentive and attractive man…
Mo smiled at Richard, who was still gazing up at her hopefully.
“Richard,” she said, “I’d love to go to the dinner with you.”
He beamed at her. “Really? You will? That’s fantastic! Thanks!”
Mo, taken aback by his huge delight, squashed a little prickle of guilt by reminding herself that it was a
ll for charity.
And anyway, Ashley Carstairs aside, her brother’s food would be a million times better than a slice of toast!
Chapter 16
“I didn’t know you were seeing Richard,” said Summer, her pretty face crinkling with confusion. Mo had dropped into Seaspray to investigate borrowing a dress for the occasion, having decided that her best jodhpurs and hoody probably wouldn’t cut it.
“I’m not seeing him – or not like that, anyway. He asked me to go to the dinner with him for charity. Save the church and all that,” Mo replied, helping herself to several biscuits from the wire cooling rack. Any free food, Michelin starred or otherwise, was a bonus at the moment. She’d just paid Lucas Madding’s latest bill and, although it was great to be back in the vet’s good books, Mo feared she’d probably be living on baked beans for the next year or two.
“I thought you’d be going with—” Summer stopped abruptly in mid-sentence.
“Thought what?” Mo demanded. “Don’t stop now, Sums. Who did you think I’d be going with?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Summer said quickly, but she hadn’t quite been able to look Mo in the eye and was suddenly very preoccupied with making tea. Mo made a mental note to avoid her best friend for a bit if possible; the last thing she wanted was a grilling. Summer knew her far too well to be fooled, even for a second.
There was no getting past Alice, though: unlike Summer, she was inclined to speak her mind. Already she’d minimised whatever it was that she’d been looking at on the laptop (she was being very secretive lately, Mo thought) and was scrutinising her granddaughter over the top of her reading glasses.
“Richard Penwarren’s asked you to the dinner? And you’ve agreed to accompany him?” She seemed startled.
“You needn’t look so surprised,” Mo grumbled, hurling herself onto the kitchen sofa. “Why wouldn’t he want to go with me? I’m not that bad am I? And why shouldn’t I want to go with him?”
Her grandmother fixed her with a beady look. “And do you want to go with him?”
It was a good question. The more she thought about it, the more Mo was starting to realise that the answer was a resounding no. Richard was very sweet but God only knew what she’d find to say to him all evening. She suspected he’d be agreeing with everything she said and constantly telling her she was marvellous, which might be a novelty for about three seconds but would soon become tedious. Easily bored and always needing a challenge, Mo much preferred to have someone to lock horns with and to engage her sharp brain.
Somebody a bit like Ashley...
“I think that silence says it all,” Alice sighed. “I didn’t think you were interested in Richard, Morwenna. You’ve certainly never mentioned him before.”
“Will you please relax? It’s just one meal, Granny A! We’re not about to get married,” Mo said. “No one turns down a meal at the Seagull. And anyway, it’s all for the church charity. You should be pleased.”
Alice held up a stern hand. “Don’t start trying to justify yourself to me, Morwenna Tremaine! Richard is more than just a meal ticket; he’s a nice young man with feelings and he deserves to be treated as such.”
“I know, I know,” muttered Mo, through a mouthful of melting moments. God, her stomach was in heaven. She hadn’t realised quite how hungry she was. Maybe she ought to take a doggy bag.
“So don’t you think it’s rather unfair to go as his date? Unkind even?” Her grandmother pressed on in the manner of John Humphrys grilling a politician. “You’re giving him the wrong message entirely.”
“It’s one dinner,” Mo protested. “As a friend. Christ, half the village is there! It’s hardly a romantic meal for two.”
“So Ashley Carstairs will be there too?” Alice asked innocently.
Was her grandmother a witch? As a child Mo had often suspected that Alice possessed special mind-reading skills.
“I’ve no idea,” she shrugged. This was a total lie of course. En route to Seaspray, Mo had accidentally on purpose popped into the restaurant and had a good nose at the seating arrangements and guest list. Ashley was certainly going, although seemingly on his own. Mo had been delighted; just wait until he saw her arrive, for once not looking as though she’d been dragged through a haystack backwards, and with Richard Penwarren hanging on her every word. That would show him!
Now, under the disappointed gaze of Granny Alice, Mo felt a prickle of shame. Show Ashley what, exactly? As if he’d even notice or care anyway. Besides, Richard was a nice man and he liked her; she could tell that by the way he’d lit up like Oxford Street when she’d agreed to go to the dinner with him.
She wasn’t being very fair. And Mo hated knowing that she was in the wrong.
For a while the three women sat in silence as Mo digested both the biscuits and what Alice had said.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she remarked eventually.
Alice sighed. “Sweetheart, these things often do. Jonny St Milton only went to the dance with Millicent Jago because it seemed like a good idea at the time – and the rest was history. She was determined not to let him go.”
This tale of how Ella’s scheming grandmother had snared the most eligible bachelor of the day was part of the village’s folklore. Mo couldn’t imagine Richard turning out to be quite as much of a psycho as Milly St Milton (it was no secret where Ella got her charming personality from), but you could never be too sure.
In the end, Mo promised Alice faithfully that this would be a one-off and that she’d make it clear to Richard that he was just a friend. But now, as yet another of his cheerful messages beeped its way through the ether to her mobile, Mo was starting to wonder just how easy this was going to be.
Maybe the old adage was right. Perhaps there really was no such thing as a free lunch – or, in this case, a five-course meal.
Although The Plump Seagull was only a small restaurant, it had a big reputation. By the time Mo and Richard arrived outside, the place was already looking full. Symon Tremaine, the quietest of her brothers, was a talented seafood chef and the lucky ticket holders were keen to sample his cuisine. In the honeyed light that spilled from the bow windows, Mo saw many of Polwenna Bay’s wealthiest inhabitants already seated and getting stuck into the champagne. Even before Richard had opened the door for her she could hear a rising tide of laughter and conversation. Being Symon’s sister, Mo was more used to popping in during the morning to sample a new dish or scrounge some of the leftovers; she felt rather out of her depth to be thrust into the glamorous world of fine dining and socialising.
Was it too late to tell Richard that she’d made a mistake, run home to the yard, wriggle out of her borrowed dress and have a Pot Noodle instead?
Mo was still contemplating how best to escape, given that her black velvet gown restricted her to tiny pigeon steps, when Richard placed a firm hand on the small of her back and guided her through the door. Immediately the volume of the chatter doubled and the delicious aromas of garlic and rich sauces wrapped themselves around her like a scented scarf. Summer had warned her that the tightly boned corset of the strapless dress didn’t allow for eating much, but despite this Mo’s stomach growled. Maybe this evening wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
As Richard went to present their tickets to Kelly Evans, who usually pulled pints in The Ship but was currently moonlighting as a waitress, Mo glanced around and groaned inwardly. There was Ella St Milton, poured into red silk and already seated at the table with Lucas Madding and Ella’s brother Teddy. Issie, looking drop-dead gorgeous in something that resembled a skimpy pink nightie, was perched on Teddy’s knee and working her way through a bottle of very expensive champagne. Teddy’s eyes were practically out on stalks at the amount of bare flesh on display.
“Careful! If the wind changes you’ll get stuck like that! Who’s upset you?” This warning came from Symon who, looking splendid in his chef’s whites, had stepped out of the kitchen for a brief moment to mingle. His deep red hair, the same damso
n and crimson hues as Mo’s own, was hidden beneath his hat and his stubble rasped her cheek as he kissed her hello. Mo adored Symon and had missed him horribly while he’d been away training, but she wished he didn’t share Alice’s knack for reading her mind.
“Issie,” she told him. “Where’s her loyalty?”
Her brother smiled. “At the bottom of the Krug probably. Come on, Mo, you know Issie. She’s the ultimate party girl – and from what I hear Teddy St Milton parties harder than most. Cut her some slack. She’s just having fun.”
“Humph,” grumbled Mo. She wished she could take a leaf out of her sister’s well-thumbed fun manual because she was struggling. As Sy chatted easily to Richard, who was now back at Mo’s side, she zoned out and scanned the room for a dark head and lithe panther-like frame. There was Silver Starr, draped in flowing purple robes and looking as though she’d drifted in from a coven meeting – and across the restaurant Jules and Danny were deep in conversation with the Kevernes as Morgan darted about with his beloved camera, thrilled to be the official photographer. Mo waved at Jake and Summer, who were sitting with Chris the Cod and his wife Ally, both of whom were rocking their Essex finery of gold chains and matching conker tans. There was even a rare appearance from Hugh de Melville, whose family owned a crumbling stately home a couple of miles beyond Mo’s yard.
Nearly all the great and not so good had turned out to raise money for St Wenn’s, Mo thought. And yet the one person she’d been hoping to see didn’t seem to have shown up. She could gaze around until she was giddy, but it wasn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference: Ashley Carstairs wasn’t there.
A Time for Living: Polwenna Bay 2 Page 15
