‘Come here, young lady, you just listen…’ But Tabby wasn’t listening, she was striding across the yard, breaking into a run as Tom went after her.
‘Ouch. It’ll end in tears.’ Pip shook her head. ‘And where does she learn language like that?’
‘And what,’ Lottie tipped her head on one side and studied Pip more closely, ‘did she mean by shagging everything that moves, eh?’
Chapter 13
Lottie had that strange empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stood holding Flash just outside the entrance to the yard. Coming to see Uncle Dom was a bit like visiting her gran: it made her feel like an awkward kid again. The pair of them had something that nobody else in Tippermere had got: that natural authority, that aura about them that said ‘old money.’ It gave them confidence, even if most of the money had long since gone and left them with the type of debts that would have sent most people into a spiral of despair. But people like the Stanthorpes didn’t do despair, they preferred the Dunkirk spirit and determination. And the only way out was death.
They’d been born into a certain type of life, and it was never going to leave them. Elizabeth and Dominic Stanthorpe had the breeding and background that money just couldn’t buy, and with it came a kind of arrogance that couldn’t be eradicated or ignored. They could trace their ancestors back through more generations than a kennel-club-registered best of breed. The term ‘landed gentry’ could have been coined for them, but much as Lottie loved them both, she sometimes felt like the runt of the litter. Or worse. She had a feeling that the Stanthorpes liked Billy, although even if they hadn’t they would have been polite, as society dictated, but she sometimes felt that she and her dad just weren’t quite good enough. They were a disappointment that had to be endured. Dom could make her feel small, insignificant and stupid without even trying. And now she was bringing Rory’s horse here. And his opinion of Rory was probably much the same as his opinion of Billy. Hoi polloi.
But however stupid and unworthy she felt, she always felt a kind of proud awe when she stood here. She was part of this place, whatever lapse in the breeding plan had been responsible, and it was the most amazing, magnificent place she could imagine. And it was a part of her. Just like her dark hair and long legs. And nobody could take that away.
Lottie paused for a moment and took a deep breath. However many times she came here, whatever mood she was in, no matter who had been bugging her, Tipping House Estate could brush it all away, with one single sweep of its history and majesty.
She could remember coming here as a little girl, and even then it had seemed magical. She would tiptoe through the archway, leaving behind the generous spread of parkland, the old oak trees and the avenue of elms, take a step away from the timeless space, the blue of the sky and green of the grass that was in perfect harmony whatever the time of year, or decade, and step into a perfectly preserved slice of history.
Now, she did what she’d always done then: stopped and looked behind her before taking that step into another world.
Her shabby horsebox was the only jarring part of the view, the reminder of who she was and how she didn’t fit. But Lottie could ignore it at times like this. To her left was the house, as reserved and elegant as the people that inhabited it, to her right the estate. Acre upon acre of land that had served for generations, immaculate lawns that merged into gradual undulations of green that had been home to the local point-to-point event for more years than the family could remember, and beyond that the copses of trees and undergrowth that sheltered the pheasants until shooting season was upon them once more.
Folly Lake Equestrian Centre was the brusque workman; Tipping House Estate was the Lord.
A small smile played over Lottie’s lips and she took a deep sigh of appreciation before turning round again. And then there was the stable yard, the place that always drew her back. That felt like home; the heart of the place. It was cobbled, with small worn stones that spoke of thousands of footfalls, of hundreds of horses. In the centre was a fountain, tinkling its song of harmony, and to each side original old oak stalls that had housed the hunters and hacks of yesteryear. This wasn’t the yard of the working horse, this was the yard of gentry, of hushed tones and mounting blocks. Of lords and ladies, of side saddles and equitation.
Perfect planters were positioned with pinpoint accuracy at either side of the fountain, and at the far side, directly opposite the entrance, was the old indoor school. In the round. Small and dark by modern standards, but perfect for precision and the kind of hushed awe that Dominic liked to work in. Respect and restraint came naturally in a place like Tipping House.
The whole yard whispered, hushed and sedate, but Elizabeth had always been the spark in the place. She might be a stickler for tradition, but she was also a closet moderniser. And Lottie had a feeling that was why she missed Alexa so much, why she’d clung to the child her daughter had left behind, Lottie, and wrapped her arms around her (though obviously only in a metaphorical sense, as Elizabeth didn’t do grand, maternal gestures like hugs); why she forgave the unfortunate sullying of the genetic pool. Elizabeth wanted life, not just grandeur.
Lottie stroked Flash’s nose absentmindedly and tried to pull her attention back to why she was here, which she didn’t really want to do. Dom would give her that look and not have to say a single word; she’d just know she was useless and doing it all wrong. But she wanted to help Rory, she just knew that this horse could be the winner he needed. And if that meant swallowing her pride, she’d do it. She clicked encouragingly at the horse, more for her own benefit than the mare’s, if she was honest, and took a step forward. Just at this moment a figure stepped from the shadows on the other side and gave a startled, but quite restrained, squeak of alarm that made Flash toss her head in mock horror and take a step back.
‘What the f—’ She had been about to let off an unbalanced amount of steam, which would have reflected her wound-up nerves. But instead she felt her jaw drop. She stared. It was Amanda, looking as shocked as she was, and they obviously both had the same thought in their heads: What the hell are you doing here?
‘I just popped…’ Guilt made Amanda’s words come out first.
‘…came to see Uncle Dom.’
‘Elizabeth had asked…’
‘.., help me sort this horse.’
‘…better be off.’
Lottie knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it. For at least two minutes. Well, the time it took Amanda to scurry past (if you could call the still-elegant steps and the way she held herself a scurry). She was still staring as Amanda settled into her neat little sports car, pulled the door shut with a clunk of finality and drove out of the yard as fast as she politely could, no doubt to avoid any more questions. Flash pawed the ground and gave her a wake-up nudge. She should have told Amanda that she’d sorted a horse for her to learn on, but her brain hadn’t regained that amount of function yet.
It was strange. Very strange. Amanda had gone weird since the funeral. Maybe it was grief. It could have a strange effect, couldn’t it, just like pregnancy? Lottie gave an involuntary shiver and hoped she could avoid both as long as possible. I mean, the woman had always kept as far away as she could from horses and in the space of a few days had been asking for riding lessons (which Rory in a flash of generosity had offered to help with when he’d heard), and now she was loitering around Uncle Dom’s yard, where there was nothing apart from Dom and horses. And no one just ‘popped in’ to see Elizabeth or Dom.
It was, though, she thought, as she led the horse through the impressive archway, more Amanda’s type of place than the equestrian centre was. Tipping House Estate was the type of place people would kill for. In fact, people had died for it, if Elizabeth was to be believed.
Dom was looking pointedly at his watch by the time she’d finally persuaded Flash that the plants weren’t edible and that the fountain wasn’t a mysterious spaceship and got her as far as the entrance to the school, at which point the mare decid
ed that the end of the world must be about to dawn and no way was she going to walk willingly into the dark cavern of gloom to certain death.
‘Sorry.’ She tugged on the reins.
He raised an eyebrow, which got her back up.
‘I got waylaid.’ Flash decided to go into reverse, and the cobbles didn’t help with stability – for either of them. ‘By Amanda.’ There was a definite reaction, which she all but missed as her horse nearly ended up sitting on her haunches, panicked, shooting forwards and tried a new tactic of circling her at speed. ‘Said she’d come to see Elizabeth.’ The words came out in tremolo as she was whizzed around on her heels. Getting a grip had never been more appropriate.
Dom ignored the antics, his face as straight as ever. ‘Yes, well, we’d better get on.’
Oh yeah, once we get in there. Like a spinning top losing its impetus, Lottie slowed down.
‘Here.’ Frustration got the better of him, despite his normal steely self-control and determination to make people solve the problem themselves. He had the reins firmly in hand and Flash was escorted into the centre of the school before her brain had a chance to object. Lottie slunk in behind, a mixture of embarrassment and unwillingness competing for first place in the ‘why I shouldn’t be here’ stakes. ‘You must love him very much.’
‘Sorry?’ Lottie, keen not to be seen to be delaying things further, was hopping on one foot, the other in the stirrup as Flash circled her with determination.
Dom watched silently as his niece fought for control. He was fond of her in a way he couldn’t understand. She was totally disorganised, totally ungroomed and totally determined. The latter being the only attribute that he could recognise as being inherited from his family. The fact that she was related to him, and as a niece not some distant connection, had never ceased to surprise him. But the fact that she was mad about someone as unreliable as Rory did not surprise him at all. It just reminded him of Alexa’s obsession with Billy. And, more painfully, of how it had all ended so harshly and so suddenly. To have Charlotte disappear in the same way from his life as his sister had done would be a pain he couldn’t ignore, and would, despite her outer appearance, destroy his mother. It could have all been so different. So different if she hadn’t been so wild, if that man hadn’t been so damned unreliable.
‘Get a grip, Charlotte.’
She landed with a thump in the saddle and grinned triumphantly, in that irresistible way that reminded him of her mother, made it impossible to be grumpy. But he was. Dominic was frustrated in a way he seldom let himself be, with people.
‘What did you mean? Love him? She’s a she.’
‘Not the horse. The man. To bring that damned horse here and submit to my tender care.’ He shook his head and let himself smile. A genuine smile, even if it was a little thin. A smile which said he understood.
Lottie felt her cheeks heat up. ‘She’s a nice horse.’ And Rory is a nice man, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Dom wouldn’t understand. In all the years she’d been aware of him, which was pretty much all her life, she’d never known him have a girlfriend, or boyfriend come to that. ‘What was Amanda doing here?’ She couldn’t help herself, it just spilled out.
‘And what makes you think I’d know? Right, shall we make a start?’
After thirty minutes of bouncing around, well it was probably closer to twenty but Lottie had got to the stage where breathing was a task in itself and monitoring time belonged to a different dimension, Dom let them stop.
She thought she was pretty fit, but the way he made her ride, using muscles that she was sure couldn’t actually exist in real life, she usually forgot to breath and it was just an accident of nature that the bouncing horse forced air in and out of her lungs.
‘You really need better control of your core.’
Right now any kind of control over her wheezing would have been good, let alone her bloody core. And she had a stitch. When you watched Dom ride he made it look so bloody easy, like all you had to do was sit up and sit still. It was the still part that was difficult. But she had to admit that she had been starting to enjoy herself, apart from the breathing bit. Flash had settled and had fallen into an outline as if she was made for dressage, she’d stopped fighting and started to respond to Dominic’s persist but quiet demands.
‘I thought you said it was open spaces she didn’t like?’
‘Yeah, well, I guess I didn’t know about the dark small spaces.’
‘But she has settled.’
‘Mm.’ Lottie bit the inside of her cheek and looked straight at her uncle, who was obviously waiting for more. ‘So you’re saying Rory just needs to keep at it.’
‘No. I didn’t say that.’
‘But she…’
‘Charlotte.’ He shook his head at her, as if she was still ten years old. ‘Ask yourself how you felt when you brought her in here, and how you feel now. Then ask yourself how Rory feels when he enters that dressage arena with her.’ She was looking at him blankly, and he really couldn’t be bothered waiting for her to work it out. Not today. ‘He hates it. He’s scared of being made to look a fool. When he hits the cross-country course he’s got enough confidence for a whole herd of horses, but drop him in a dressage arena on a horse that—’
‘But he rides all kind of green horses, he’s not stupid.’
‘I didn’t say he was, Charlotte. But he’s not interested, is he? It’s a pouf’s game.’ He raised a knowing eyebrow and Lottie felt herself go the kind of colour that a day on the beach with no sunscreen usually sent her. ‘He can get away with that attitude with a lot of horses if he’s done the groundwork, but this one wants his full undivided attention. Like you gave her today. She wants to be nurtured, encouraged and believed in. She’s not one of the lads. I’ve seen him work her over jumps and they’re a good team, so he’s the one who can do it. Tell him if he wants the main prize then he’s got to stop pissing about.’
Lottie stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She’d never heard Dom say anything remotely like ‘pissing about’ before. In fact, if she’d have said it, he would have given her a ‘wash your mouth out’ type of look. Come to think of it, he’d been acting strangely since she’d got here.
‘So you’re not going to help—’
‘Charlotte, you don’t need my help. You can help each other. She can do the job, you’ve just proved that. Now go and prove it to that boyfriend of yours. If you’re sure it’s worth it?’ His tone was soft, almost gentle, and Lottie stared at him. She wanted to say ‘you’re not talking about the horse, are you?’, but she daren’t. Because she didn’t want to hear the answer.
‘Right.’ Dom shifted awkwardly, back onto firmer ground. ‘And how is that horse of yours coming on?’
Lottie dismounted and patted the, by now, completely laid-back Flash. ‘Fine, since Mick helped me she’s been better.’
‘Mick?’ He’d raised an eyebrow and made her feel like that stupid teenager again.
‘Rory’s friend, the farrier, you know.’ She was getting flustered, which was stupid, and going red, which was even more stupid.
‘Ah, yes.’
‘Well, he wasn’t exactly helping me, we rode out together. At the drag hunt. Rory didn’t mind.’ Now, why the hell did she add that? Maybe she did fancy him a bit, well who wouldn’t? But she didn’t have the real hots for him, it wasn’t like there was ever anything going to happen between them. ‘He’s nice.’ Okay, she was making it worse. ‘And he’s so experienced, with the horses I mean.’ Dig a hole, Lottie, keep digging. ‘And strong, a strong rider.’
‘I’m sure he is.’ Dom was ignoring her embarrassment and was edging her back towards the archway, out of his hair, so he could get back to his work. ‘I cannot believe your father still has that wreck of a horsebox.’ Which was a better topic of conversation than Mick.
‘He doesn’t trust me in his other one. Uncle Dom.’ Lottie wavered. Mentally hopping from foot to foot, she’d tried to raise it with Rory, but he never took
her concerns that seriously, and she didn’t want to talk to Elizabeth. But she was worried. She had even, briefly, nearly raised it with Mick. Just because he was a good listener, but it didn’t seem fair. He didn’t understand anything about her, or her family.
‘Lottie.’ Dom didn’t often call her Lottie, he usually called her Charlotte, and when he felt affectionate, Charlie, which made up her mind.
‘What do you think will happen with Folly Lake?’ His face clouded over, which wasn’t what she’d expected, but she bashed on. She’d started; she had to spit it all out. ‘Do you think Dad will be okay? I’m worried about him, it’s his home, it’s important to him.’
‘I know.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. Of all the people here, he knew better than most just how important that place was to Billy. And he knew that in some strange way he could probably influence what happened, could take back the control that he’d never had over Alexa’s destiny. Without Folly Lake, Billy would flounder – that was the one certainty in all of this. And if Billy drowned, then maybe his daughter would be dragged down too. A daughter who didn’t know why she was here, what was important to her. ‘He’ll be fine.’ What else could he say?
‘But there must be something we can do. I mean can’t you and gran do anything? Has Amanda told her what she’s going to do?’ Lottie jumped from one thought to another. She just knew deep down that the yard meant more to Billy than just bricks and mortar. No one had ever said much to her, but something told her it was his anchor, the thing that kept him sane. And she was pretty sure that Uncle Dom knew it, and probably knew why. On the outside Billy might be bluster and fun, but on the inside she suspected it meant very little.
‘I’ll ask your gran.’ Dom squeezed her shoulder, which was pretty demonstrative for him.
‘He’ll go to pieces if he loses that place, won’t he?’
‘Maybe.’
It wasn’t really the confirmation she wanted.
***
Dom got on his own horse the moment Lottie left the yard, and did the one thing guaranteed to steady his nerves. Ride. He shouldn’t have had a go at her, or Rory, but he was sick to the back teeth of watching people who seemed intent on wrecking their lives. He was sick of standing back and watching the people he loved career about as though it didn’t matter. But it did. Everything you did mattered, every decision. And Billy was proof of that.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 113
