‘Have I missed Charlotte?’ Right on cue, his mother arrived; he tried his best not to let the irritation show. But Elizabeth would gloss over it anyway. Onwards and upwards.
‘You have. Mother,’ he nudged his horse across the arena in a perfect half pass, pausing until they reached the other side, ‘don’t you think it’s time we explained it to her? She should know.’
‘Nonsense. There’s a right time for everything, and this isn’t it. And you shouldn’t blame yourself, Dominic.’
‘I don’t.’
She made a pfft noise that was far more descriptive than words. ‘There are some things best left in the past, and others that will be explained when they need to be.’
‘But she needs to know, if Billy loses that place…’ He turned the horse around on its quarters so that he was facing her.
‘And is he going to?’ Elizabeth gave her son a look that was more knowing than he liked. ‘Maybe we should wait and see what happens before we get hasty. Come and see me when you’ve stopped cavorting, I need your advice.’
Dominic sighed. His mother never needed anyone’s advice. She just liked an audience, approval. But at least she hadn’t outstayed her welcome and had left him in peace; not that he was finding that easy at the moment.
Life had seemed remarkably straightforward at one time, the nice, ordered way it was supposed to be, until Amanda had crashed into his life begging for help. He should never have interfered; he should have made her go and find someone else to help. But then, Alexa should have never have married Billy, and Billy should never have led the irresponsible life he had.
He circled slowly, collecting the horse tighter and tighter until the stallion was like a coiled spring and then let go so that the extended trot carried him effortlessly across the small space, floating on air. Dom loved the sensation of riding, the strength wound up, controlled, and then that heady feel of elegance, perfection, as they went, in perfect harmony, to the next level. Amanda had just, with one simple sentence, set them all off in a new direction, a new freedom. Except, for a man like him, there was no freedom – something she’d never understand.
He’d looked at her face, cleared of the doubts and the worries. ‘Don’t try and talk me out of it, Dominic. I’ve got to do it, for myself, not for anyone else.’ And he couldn’t, daren’t, say anything. The decision had been taken, taken straight out of his hands.
He closed his eyes briefly to hold the image; Elizabeth would be furious. And he didn’t want her to be. She’d suffered too much over Alexa. He had always hated Billy for what had happened, had harboured a grudge, even though he swore to himself he wasn’t that type of man. But now it would look like he was getting his own back; payback for that incident that they’d never discussed again. Never let pass between them from the time the ambulance had arrived and he’d left them together. Man and wife. For the last time.
Dominic nudged the stallion, asked him to drift across the arena. So easy, if you knew how to ask a horse properly. So difficult to explain, to put into words. Which was exactly the problem he had in his life. Words. How the hell was he going to explain to his mother? To Billy? Did he have the guts?
He’d never let himself get close to anyone, always known that his duty was more important than his heart, his hopes. Until now. Until he’d let his feelings for Amanda seep out from the box he’d locked them in, spread into every part of his life.
Chapter 14
‘Uncle Dom is acting weird.’ Lottie slipped the halter from Flash’s head and watched her canter off into the field.
‘Nothing new there, then.’ Rory draped an arm over her shoulder and blew a raspberry on her neck, which didn’t help with her thought processes at all.
‘He said you were capable of sorting Flash on your own.’
‘So he doesn’t always talk crap then.’
She pushed him away, laughing, and tried to concentrate. ‘You’ve got to give her your undivided attention and—’ she paused, ‘stop pissing about.’ Undivided attention from Rory – now that did sound appealing.
‘Now I know you’re making it up, Dom doesn’t say things like that.’
‘Well he did, I told you, he was acting weird, and Amanda’s been up to see Elizabeth, now why would she do that?’ She wrinkled her brow. It was weird and it bothered her. Elizabeth and Amanda were chalk and cheese. In fact, as far as she could think, her gran had not paid the slightest bit of attention to Amanda James until her husband had died and the threat of a sale had loomed large. Elizabeth was not going to sit back and let her tranquil surroundings be trampled on by anything remotely nouveau and loud. ‘Do you think Elizabeth is up to something?’ It was fine if it was in Billy’s favour, but who knew? Lottie was pretty sure her grandmother would never intentionally leave Billy homeless, but with the way things were between her dad and Dom, who knew?
‘Haven’t the foggiest. This field looks like it needs topping already.’
‘Rory?’ That undivided attention bit had been niggling at her ever since Dom had said it. When was the last time, well any time, when it had just been her and Rory? Alone. No interruptions, nothing. Before she’d gone away it had been one big party and she’d been loathed to be the spoilsport and break it up, until one night too many when they’d been drunk and they’d somehow lost each other and it hadn’t seemed to matter to him. He’d just gone home, crashed. And she’d been left feeling like they were just friends with benefits.
It had hurt. It had brought home to her just how hopeless the whole thing was. She’d never been that important in her father’s life. He’d been the flame, the centre of the limelight, playing to the crowds and loving every minute of it. A girl in every port, or in his case, every stable and horsebox. She’d never felt that the house was her home, there were no loving touches, just a constant stream of grooms, riders, horses and nannys, the nearest thing to a constant was Tiggy, and of course her gran. And she’d suddenly realised, with that one action, that she’d wanted more from Rory. She’d expected more. Which wasn’t fair because, as her gran had said often enough, you make your own bed and you can’t blame other people if it’s lumpy. Which was a strange thing, as she could have sworn her gran would have never made a bed in her life. It was probably something she’d eavesdropped on.
But sitting feeling sorry for herself wasn’t really Lottie’s bag. Even if she had thought she’d fallen in love with Rory when she was about fourteen, been over the moon when he’d kissed her at a hunt ball, devastated when he’d danced with someone else, then stupidly grateful when it was her he’d had the last drunken dance with.
True, they’d had lots of fun, but they never actually talked about anything. Well, they did talk about horses, and field topping. And he did take sex as seriously as he took all his physical exploits. He seemed to take it as a challenge to discover a new erogenous zone every time he touched her. So on the Cosmo scale of ‘does your man make you come?’ he was a resounding ten and a half (doing magazine quizzes was a hobby of hers, and she took them nearly as seriously as her horoscopes). But on the ‘does he understand you?’ scale, Lottie had to reluctantly admit he probably hadn’t got a clue, and on the ‘will you spend the rest of your lives together?’ quiz, then the answer was probably ‘only if you want to turn into a spinster with a cat (well substitute horse) and a pot of tea (well bottle of champagne)’.
‘Do you think we should rest this paddock? Looking a bit rough.’
‘Rory? Do you think we should talk more?’
‘Talk? We do talk. What are we doing now?’
‘I know we talk. But I mean about us.’ When she’d returned, after a very brief, slightly awkward spell, he’d leapt on her with such undisguised enthusiasm that she’d almost forgotten every good intention to be cool. On reflection, maybe he’d just been feeling very randy and wanted to admire her tan.
‘Why do we need to talk about us? Oh good, Mick’s back, I need him to look at one of the horses.’
‘Rory, do you lo—’
/> ‘Shit.’ Rory was staring at the screen of his smartphone. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have sold that bloody horse to him.’
‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Lottie spluttered in frustration, she’d been on the brink of asking him that question she’d always steered clear of. The big, four-letter word, love question, and he was more interested in his bloody phone.
‘Sorry, were you saying something? You know that youngster I sold on to Frenchie? He’s only gone and qualified him for the—’
‘Forget it.’ But, she realised, Rory didn’t have anything to forget. Nothing had really changed, even if he had jumped on her with undisguised, and very unexpected, glee when she’d arrived back in Tippermere. Maybe he just didn’t actually love her. Maybe that was the point, even though she couldn’t push him completely out of her life even when she was lying on a beach with another man.
‘I knew I should have asked him for more, gave him away. Jammy bugger.’
‘It’s no wonder I went to Barcelona.’
‘Hmm, sure.’ Rory juggled his phone expertly in one hand and squeezed her shoulder absentmindedly with the other.
‘What have I missed?’ Mick glanced from Lottie’s frustrated expression to Rory as he jabbed out a reply to the text he’d just received.
Lottie glared, deciding whether she should grab the phone and drop it in the water trough, or try another tactic. ‘Nothing yet. I was considering stripping to my knickers and bra and doing a cartwheel to see if Rory would actually notice me.’
‘Were you now? Now there’s something I wouldn’t want to miss.’ Those Irish eyes were doing the creased-at-the-corners twinkly thing that made Lottie go funny inside, and almost made her forget that she was supposed to be cross.
‘You’ve not got that red stringy lace thing on have you?’ Rory, it seemed, did hear some things. She reckoned they called that selective hearing.
‘It’s called a thong. And no, I haven’t you can see it through these jodhpurs.’
‘And that’s not necessarily a bad thing, treasure.’ The deep throaty chuckle had an even worse effect on her than the gleaming eyes. And now she was less annoyed, it was beginning to have a serious effect. Talking knickers with Rory was one thing; maybe not such a good idea with Mick.
‘It’s not a bad thing at all, believe me, mate. And the pushy-up bra that goes with it has its bonuses.’
‘Rory, shush.’ She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or just die of embarrassment.
‘I thought you said you wanted to talk?’ He acted the innocent, a trait he shared with Billy, which could win her over on most days.
‘About us.’
‘This is definitely about us.’
‘No, it’s about my knickers, which is totally different. And I want to talk with just us.’ Lottie was starting to splutter. ‘You are impossible.’
‘Maybe that’s why you love me.’ He grabbed her hard and planted a soppy kiss on her cheek.
And that was probably the trouble. She did love him, but the only time he really paid any attention to her was when she was riding one of his horses, or they were in bed and he had an altogether different type of riding on his mind.
‘Are you coming to the pub with me and Mick?’
‘Or are you coming somewhere much more exciting with me?’ Pip had sneaked up and managed to pop between them like a genie out of a bottle. ‘We have been invited out by the lovely Samantha.’
Rory and Mick had both decided to pay attention. Rory undraping himself from around Lottie, which had got tricky with Pip sandwiched between them, and Mick shoving his hands deeper in his pockets.
‘Samantha? Is that Miss Made in Essex herself?’
‘She’s not from Essex.’ Lottie shoved Rory in the ribs. ‘And she’s very nice actually.’
‘Not much horse talk going on there, then, but plenty about love and sex.’ Mick gave her a knowing look and, annoyingly, Lottie just knew she had gone an even brighter shade of pink than all her earlier exertions at Dom’s had turned her.
‘We do have other things to talk about than men, you know.’
‘I could listen to that kind of talk.’ Rory chuckled and Pip let out an exaggerated sigh. There were times, rare she had to admit, but there were times, when she longed for a less macho set of men surrounding her. ‘Not that it would matter what she was going on about.’
‘Can you two just shut up for a bit? I’m trying to talk to Lottie here.’ She gave them her stern look, which had zero effect. ‘It’s part of her cheer up Amanda campaign, a pamper party.’
‘As in pamper the new pooch?’
‘Rory, what is it with you?’
‘Well why would Lottie want to go off swigging bubbly with a group of posh girlies when she can come for a drinking session with me and Mick? I ask you.’
‘Let me count the ways.’ Pip grinned and held up a finger to start counting them off.
‘You don’t want to, do you, Lots? Anyhow I thought I was going to help you cheer poor little Amanda up, give her riding lessons. Much better than pampering crap.’
‘That is supposed to be a secret.’ Lottie resisted the urge to stamp her feet, and tried to ignore Mick, who she could see out of the corner of her eye as he winked in Pip’s general direction. ‘Is there anybody left who doesn’t know about the lessons? And you’re supposed to be helping Tabatha, not Amanda. You said she could help out here, remember?’
Rory all but took a backward step, a look of slight horror spreading across his features. ‘Oh no, you are not saddling me with spitting Tabby kitten. I never said she could come here. Amanda maybe, Tabby no.’
Lottie folded her arms and pulled away. ‘Stop going on about Amanda, anyone would think you fancied her. You’re very keen all of a sudden to give a complete novice lessons. I thought you didn’t do that?’
‘Always room for exceptions.’ Mick and Pip could both see the warning signs, but Rory trampled on regardless, all over Lottie’s crumbling feelings. ‘And I did say I’d fall on my sword to help out the community, and of course your dad.’
‘That’s big of you.’
‘Never heard it called that before.’ Pip raised an eyebrow and cast in her two pennyworth, trying to break the tension. But for once Lottie didn’t see the funny side, which was strange. The good thing about Lottie and Rory was they didn’t take each other too seriously. Nothing too lovey-dovey, and never a hint of jealousy. Which, as far as Pip could see, was a massive bonus, well, a necessity given the number of groupies Rory had, and the swathe of male riders whose eyes were constantly fixed on Lottie’s bum whenever she was competing in her tightest jodhpurs.
Mick didn’t offer any help when she glanced his way, just a shrug of amusement. Come to think of it, he seemed remarkably attached to Lottie, considering he hardly knew her. That Irish charm wouldn’t wash with her, but maybe he was thinking about aiming it full force in Lottie’s direction. ‘What’s it to be then, Lots? The boring pubs with this pair of comedians, or are you up for a pamper party?’
‘Party night.’ Thinking about it, Lottie wasn’t completely sure. ‘Definitely party night.’ She said it again to convince herself. She did actually like just going out to the local pub, but Rory was annoying her and reminding her just why she’d hightailed it off to Australia to escape the endless horses and the fact that he didn’t really listen to a word she said. And Mick was winding her up in his very discreet way, and making her feel a lot hotter than she should.
‘Really? You’d rather go to wagland than The Bull’s Head?’
‘She would.’ Pip grinned triumphantly. ‘You wouldn’t understand, you’re men.’
‘Well you know where to find us when you get bored of being girlie.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Not that you’d notice anyway.’ What was the point? For a brief moment Lottie wondered why she’d ever bothered coming back. And then she remembered. Todd the tosser. Yeah, well, maybe she did need a girl’s night out more than she’d realised.
Four hours, tw
o bottles of champagne and a lot of girlie talk later, Lottie was far from bored. She had also just discovered what ‘pamper’ really meant. Up until now, after being brought up by a single dad and an assortment of grooms, then having moved on to a work-obsessed Rory, with a side serving of the resolute and restrained Elizabeth (who probably thought pampering was for lily-livered fools), her girlie side had never been revealed, let alone released. For her, pamper meant treating herself to new knickers, or more sensibly a seat saver for her saddle (which was more about increasing stickability than comfort, if she was honest), and even the trip to foreign climes had been fairly basic and consisted of flip flops, backpacks, cheap hotels (or tents) and drinking beer on the beach. But she had never, as in never ever, even imagined herself sitting in a hot tub with champagne on ice, following a massage that had tickled parts of her she didn’t know she had. Parts that not even Rory had found. Yet.
She had also, sadly, discovered that Rory had been right. Well nearly right. It was a ‘pamper the pooch’ party. Scruffy the mutt, who she’d only seen in the tabloids up until now, had greeted them at the door, blue ribbon in his hair and a sloppy wet grin that suggested he was out to have as much fun as everybody else. Luckily that didn’t extend to the hot tub, though if it had, Lottie was sure he would have had his own swimming costume. For a terrible moment she had been seriously tempted to ask if such a thing as a ‘dogkini’ existed, but had decided that if one didn’t, Sam would have one designed, so she kept the thought to herself.
‘Isn’t bathing in champagne supposed to be good for your skin?’
‘That’s ass’s milk.’ Amanda giggled, even she had let her hair down and was more at ease than Lottie had ever seen her.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 114
