Lottie ignored her. ‘And three, you’ve only done it to get in his good books. What are you up to, Pippa? I mean he’s not really your type is he? I thought you’d done all that, I thought you said you were sick of primping pretty boys and wanted a down-to-earth man. Or else why did you come here?’
‘I have and I am, but he is pretty.’ Pip sounded wistful. ‘And rich, and caring. Do you know he’s involved in this dog rescue thing?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She sighed and wondered what else she didn’t know. ‘But you seem to know an awful lot about him.’ And you fancy him.
‘I did an interview with him last year, which is why my ed gave me a nudge when she heard he was moving here. He needs a friend, Lottie, and I have decided to nominate myself. We’ve got common ground, know the same people.’
‘What if he moved here to get away from “common ground”? Like you supposedly did? He might just want to be with his daughter and desperate dogs. Or he might have more in common with Tiggy.’
‘What would a well-groomed model have in common with tatty Tiggy?’
‘You can be so mean, I’m sure she’s got a very attractive side.’ Lottie grinned. ‘Dogs. That’s what they have in common.’
Pip, sure that the grin meant Lottie was weakening, pushed on. ‘Oh, go on, give it a go. I bet she’s a lovely girl underneath all that black eyeliner.’
‘She’s a bored teenager.’
‘She is horse mad, Tom said. Which is partly why he came here. He is so keen to get her into the pony club and all that, he wants to give her some stability, and I think he’s loaded, you know. He’s so successful, and,’ she moved closer so if there had been anyone in the toilet cubicles they couldn’t hear, ‘the rumour is that he comes from a mega-rich family, apparently. He’ll probably buy her a pony and sponsor you as well.’
‘You’re like a hound moving in for the kill.’
‘Thank you.’ Pip grinned. ‘So, it’s agreed?’
‘No, Pip. Nothing is agreed. I’ll think about it. Now, didn’t you promise me champagne and a pizza?’
‘Look, it’s not really for me, it’s not that I’m after him, but he’s a lovely guy and I reckon I can spin a whole load of work out of this.’
‘So, it’s business, not pleasure?’
‘Well, there’s no harm in mixing it a bit, is there?’ Pip linked her elegant, long-fingered hand through Lottie’s arm and more or less dragged her from the safety of the ladies washroom.
‘And he’s too old for you.’
‘He looks very well maintained to me.’
***
Tom loved his daughter with a strength that was a constant cause of amazement. He’d been brought up in a household where a father considered his duty was done when he paid for the food on the table and showed up at weekends to eat it. The fact that he’d been genuinely interested in his daughter since the day she’d whimpered her way into his life was a totally unexpected bonus.
When he’d married the heartbreakingly beautiful Tamara (as the press coined her), there had been a flicker of hope in his life that had outshone everything to date. Someone finally loved him, cared about the same things that he did; he finally had someone to share his life and future with. And then he’d found out that ‘breaking’ was the key word in Tam’s life, not ‘heart’.
The spectacular wedding that she had orchestrated had been bank-breaking, but he’d agreed. After all, whereas for him, constantly in the spotlight, a quiet wedding in an idyllic location would have been perfect, he appreciated that for her the wedding was a highlight, her moment of glory. And how could he refuse? She was like a beautiful pedigree cat, gorgeous, demanding but loving and cajoling to the point of suffocation. Tamara wanted to be pampered and adored, naively he’d thought that was temporary, not an integral part of her make-up.
The wedding was just the start. When Tam had said ‘I do’, she was launching herself into what she’d always desired – a glamorous lifestyle. The unspoiled beauty wanted to be spoiled, big time. After all, Tom was a sought-after model, he was sent designer clothes daily, and tickets for every movie premiere, theatre performance and nightclub opening. He should have been perfect. They were the most attractive, in-demand couple of the decade. They would live a jet-set life and have fun. Or so Tamara had assumed.
He couldn’t blame her for getting frustrated by the reclusive bore he longed to be. Whatever his father had failed to give him in terms of time and loving, he couldn’t avoid passing on his genes. He was a banker, he thought things out logically and planned for the future. And that DNA was passed on to his son, along with his wife’s attractive features and willingness to please. Tom wanted to please his adorable wife, but he couldn’t keep up with the demands. Away from his work he needed downtime, needed to slow down and imbue his life with structure. He wasn’t a rich, good-looking playboy, he was a guy who rescued sick animals and liked a long country walk to help him unwind.
No, Tom couldn’t blame Tamara for falling out of love with him, but he could blame her for hitching up with his manager, fleecing him and then disappearing off to Spain. But out of the whole fiasco there had been a divine gift. Their daughter. And the fact that her mother, his ex-wife, was as disinterested in Tab as his father had been disinterested in him was, as far as he could see, a bonus. True, he did believe that a child needed its mother, but Tamara was no more mature than a sixteen-year-old herself, and her lifestyle choices were not ones he’d want inflicted on any daughter, let alone his. He would never stand in their way if they wanted to spend more time together, but at the moment, from his perspective, the fact that they were in different countries was more of an advantage than a disadvantage.
Coming to Tippermere had been a move he had not consulted his daughter about, and so far she had not been impressed, but he knew he could win her over. The village could be good for both of them. No, not could, would. And whilst he had some misgivings about the media-happy Philippa, he was convinced she was the answer to many of the current questions life posed. The main one being, how to convince his daughter that this backwater was a taste of heaven?
He watched the two girls make their way back to the table. The slim, well-groomed, efficient-looking Pippa, who would have blended in effortlessly on one of his shoots. Confident of her own abilities, the type who would manage your diary, massage your ego and add an efficient dose of sex into the mix if you both needed some stress relief. Lottie looked an altogether different cup of tea. She had the toned body of an athlete and the bronze sheen of a sun-lover – he found himself wondering about the presence or absence of tan lines. Sex with Lottie, he’d hazard a guess, would be messy and fun, not that he was going to get involved with anyone out here. And the sudden image of her tapping a whip against her strong thigh brought a shudder that he couldn’t quite place. Formidable and fun were not two words he’d ever put together before, but from the look in her eye, Lottie was the type of girl who could take control easier than she could give it away.
‘Are we going to be hanging here much longer, Dad?’
‘That depends on whether you want to meet some world-class riders or just plod along with the pony-clubbers I guess, Tabby. Up to you.’
‘She doesn’t look like a world-class rider.’
Tom bit back the response with a smile. She smiled back. ‘Everything okay, ladies? I ordered that bottle of champagne, hope you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? I could murder a drink right now. You have got no idea what kind of a day I’ve had.’ Lottie had the glass to her lips and had taken a greedy mouthful before she had even sat down properly. ‘You’re a lifesaver, but if you really want to win my heart, tell me you’ve ordered food as well. Rory was in such a bad mood he wouldn’t even let us stop to get a burger.’
‘You’ve been with Rory today?’ Tabatha uncrossed her arms. ‘What’s he like? I mean, is he really that fit?’
‘This was before the class.’ Lottie knew she probably shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist flashing her mobile
in front of Tabatha, revealing a shot of Rory when he’d been posing on the wagon steps with his toned abs on display. ‘I did make him put a shirt and jacket on, though.’ She flicked onto the next picture, which was Rory nonchalantly sitting astride Flash, long legs stretched at her sides, feet dangling free of the stirrups, one hand on the buckle end of the reins, the other grasping a cigarette. His last request, he’d called it. Lottie actually preferred the picture of him with his clothes on, which worried her a bit. The sun was behind him and his hatless head was a mass of curls. He looked a bit like a swashbuckling hero – minus the sword.
‘Can I see the first one again?’
Lottie reluctantly flicked back to the first picture. He was so gorgeous, and although he played to the crowd, she had a feeling that deep down he wanted to be loved. Properly. But it just didn’t seem to be by her. Not that she wanted that now, of course. She was independent, wanted fun and freedom. Definitely.
But she was back in Tippermere. And his bed. She tried to supress the sigh.
Lottie had fancied Rory for as long as she could remember. Forever. And he did fancy her (although of course it had taken him a bit longer to realise), but it had been a jokey, easy-going relationship. Not a ‘maybe this could be forever’ type of thing.
After her disastrous ‘world tour’ as her father called it, she had told herself that Rory was the perfect antidote to her humiliation of being conned by a serial adulterer, but looking at the photo now she had a horrible feeling that she’d never actually managed to fall out of lust and love with him. And never would. God, who in their right mind preferred to ogle a picture of a man like Rory more with his clothes on?
She glanced up and Tom was studying her with a very slightly disapproving air. He was probably deciding that she wouldn’t be a good influence on his daughter, that she was more likely to be sharing pictures of semi-nude men than teaching how to do a collected trot.
‘Sorry.’ She could feel a blush spread across her cheeks.
‘No problem. Who am I to say anything about looking at men without their clothes on?’ He smiled, the first genuine smile that the Tippermere residents had seen from him, and Pip, Lottie, and every female member of the restaurant staff that was in range were left in no doubt as to why he made a fortune in front of the camera.
Lottie put the phone down. ‘Why have you come here? I mean it’s not exactly commuter belt is it, if you’re working?’ Mild embarrassment made her voice the questions she would have normally kept politely to herself.
Tom shifted in his seat. ‘Well, you’re here for one.’ As the words came out, he could tell that flattery wasn’t going to get him anywhere. ‘You’ve got excellent facilities here for Tabby to really progress; it is what she wants to do. Isn’t it?’ Tab shrugged, like only a teenager can. ‘And it is commuter belt. I can get on a plane in half an hour, or jump in the car and be on the M6 in seconds. And, no one notices me here. I mean the area is plastered with premiership footballers and soap stars, so I’m just another face.’ He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. There were a hundred reasons he could give for picking this particular area of the country, but one in particular right now he was reluctant to voice.
Chapter 4
Elizabeth Stanthorpe had been born in Tipping House and fully intended to die there. After she’d ensured that her family would continue running the estate in the way it deserved to be.
‘I imagine that young Rory thinks Dominic is gay.’ She raised an eyebrow as Lottie spluttered a shower of gin and tonic over one of the black Labradors and then hastily tried to rub it in with the back of her hand.
‘I’m not sure that’s why they don’t like each other, not that I think Uncle Dom is gay, of course.’
‘Well, I did.’ She took another swig of her own drink.
‘Gran, you can’t say that.’
‘Well he can be so bloody prissy at times; not a bit like his father was. If it hadn’t been a home birth I would have thought there had been a mix up at some point. No one would have ever have accused your grandfather of batting for the other side, although those private schools can bring out the worst in boys.’ She focused back on her only granddaughter, only grandchild, who was going a funny shade of pink. ‘Well, you did bring it up, darling. Pour me another drink whilst you’re up, there’s a good girl.’
Lottie had been about to say she wasn’t actually up, but knew it was useless to argue with her grandmother, who had what she referred to as ‘backbone’.
As she sloshed a good measure of Bombay Sapphire gin into the chipped crystal, she decided that it was a good job they didn’t make them like that anymore. Although the matriarch could be more fun than the rest of the family put together when it suited her. Nothing stopped Elizabeth when she got the bit between her teeth, and Lottie secretly thought that her grandmother wasn’t as batty, forgetful and deaf as she liked to make out.
‘All I said,’ she passed the drink to Elizabeth, who sniffed it as though she suspected it might be laced with something, or more likely not strong enough, ‘was that Rory thought it was strange when Uncle Dom turned up at the dressage. Did you have anything to do with that?’
‘I may have mentioned it.’ She tapped a long nail against the side of the glass, piercing blue eyes fixed on Lottie. ‘You could do a lot better than that man, Charlotte.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘You are so like your mother in some ways.’
When Elizabeth had borne two children for Charles Stanthorpe, she had, in her usual manner, carried out her duties exactly as could have been expected. Their eldest child, Dominic, was a fair-haired, blue-eyed, easy-going child, who was always keen to please, courteous, but precise to the point of obsession. More than once, Elizabeth had been filled with an irrational desire to rearrange his meticulously organised toys, and then Alexandra had arrived and done it for her.
Alexa was as beautiful and wild as Dom was pretty and controlled. Her dark eyes would glint with mischievousness and her long curls bob as she dashed around the large house, causing chaos. With the family Labs in her wake, Alexa would tear around like a mini tornado, leaving a trail of destruction behind her. But with her ready grin, infectious giggle and affable nature, remonstrating with her was something that was easier left to others. So everybody did. Everyone forgave and forgot, with the result that, by the time she hit her teens, the fun-loving little girl had turned into an irresistible challenge that scared the living daylights out of many of her chosen suitors.
So Elizabeth found, as her children hit puberty, that she was hit with an unexpected problem. Her son showed no apparent interest in the female form, funnelling all his efforts into the pursuit of equine excellence, and her hitherto perfect daughter, Alexa, showed too much interest in horsemen. At twenty-two she was smitten with the very dashing, but totally unsuitable, William Brinkley; at twenty-three she was pregnant with his child. The day after her twenty-fifth birthday she died in a tragic accident.
Lottie knew with the ‘just like your mother comment’ exactly where this conversation was going and did her best to head it off with the skill of someone who’d had to do it many times before. Her mother, Alexandra, had been destined to marry someone befitting her breeding, until she fell for Billy Brinkley. A sportsman, who was as competent in the sack as the saddle, if the headlines and stable tittle-tattle were to be believed. Lottie had never known her mother; losing her when she was just a toddler had meant she had never felt the real pang of loving and losing, but as she grew up she felt like there was an element of her life missing. The bossy, but well-meaning, Elizabeth had considered it her duty to support her only granddaughter and give her all the information she could ever need, drip-feeding it to her from the day she was old enough to understand.
‘Grandma, I don’t need watching.’
‘I do wish you wouldn’t call me Grandma, it makes me sound ancient.’
‘And I like Rory. He’s fun.’
‘Hmm, I bet he is.’ The sharp eyes gave her an uncomfortable once-over. �
�Life isn’t just about fun though, is it? I mean it is fine for men to sow their wild oats, but even these days it isn’t good form for a lady. And nor are those plimsolls.’ The slight twitch could have been a suppressed smile, Lottie reckoned, or a warning there was more to come.
She groaned inwardly. ‘Converses, Gran.’ She knew she couldn’t win any kind of discussion with Elizabeth. And why were ‘plimsolls’, as she termed them, any worse than the green wellies that her grandmother stomped out in, whatever the weather, along with the ancient, waxed Barbour jacket that must be nearly as old as she was?
‘So, are you going to tell me about that young man?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Oh, Bertie, you really shouldn’t.’ Lottie cringed as her grandmother tugged determinedly at her knickers, which, for some strange reason, were visible at the waistband of her tweed skirt, then heaved a sigh of relief as Elizabeth triumphantly pulled out a handkerchief, which she wafted in front of her nose. Bertie had stood up at the sound of his name and was now swishing his tail around as only a fat Labrador can, his big brown eyes fixed unerringly on his owner. ‘These bloody dogs know exactly how to get what they want. I’m sure he can pass wind at will. Worse than children. Come on you smelly bugger.’ Lottie shifted back so that the whip-like tail didn’t catch her on the shins. She’d got enough bruises and scratches from Rory’s terriers; any more and she’d be looking like a badly patched quilt in shades of purple.
Whatever Elizabeth said, though, there was a definite family resemblance between Dominic and his mother. They were both slim, upright and had the type of striking long noses and piercing gazes that left you feeling like you were being told off by a particularly stern schoolteacher. Lottie hadn’t a clue how old her grandmother actually was, but she didn’t act or look it. And she didn’t move at all like a geriatric when she wanted something. She was already marching out of the room, her words echoing in the cavernous, wood-panelled hallway, Bertie and his half-brother, Holmes, hurtling after her, nails tip-tapping on the hard floor in her wake, as Lottie put her drink down and scrambled after them. She was still trying to catch her breath as a welcome rush of fresh air hit her.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 100
