Country Rivals

by Zara Stoneley

  Pandora might not be an intellectual but she was as streetwise as they came and she was quick. A born improviser. She was also, he deduced, pissed off with him for some reason – or curiosity would have forced her to answer his goddamn phone.

  ‘She has a little man to do that for her these days. A home help.’

  Pandora raised one beautifully arched eyebrow and he laughed.

  ‘Oh I do love you, you miserable cow. What have I done now?’

  ‘I’m bored. We need a change of scene.’

  ‘We’ll be filming again soon.’

  ‘A proper change of scene. This place is so,’ she waved a dismissive hand that took in the luxurious penthouse suite in one gesture, ‘so crass. It has no class, darling. I want class. I want to be somebody.’

  ‘You are somebody.’ He leant back and rested one ankle on his knee, wondering where this was going.

  ‘I want to be in Tatler, not Heat. I need a challenge, Seb. Oh, what’s the point, you will never understand. Answer that fucking phone, it’s giving me a headache.’

  ‘No, you’re right, I don’t understand. Why on earth would you want to be in Tatler? Country life involves tramping about in the countryside and wearing tweed.’ With a sigh Seb folded down the lid of his laptop and started to rifle through the papers that were strewn across the large desk. The fact that whoever was trying to talk to him was being so persistent was mildly intriguing. He finally spotted his mobile on the chair across from his wife.

  ‘Yes?’ Seb sank down into the ornate reproduction armchair and put his feet up on the glass-topped table, winning a disapproving glare from Pandora that brought a grin to his face.

  His habits annoyed her, she frustrated the hell out of him, but in a strange way the relationship worked.

  ‘You’ll leave marks on the glass.’

  ‘You’ll get frown lines. Sorry? No, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to my wife. Who did you say you were?’ He straightened up at the response and put his feet firmly back on the floor. ‘Lady Elizabeth?’

  Pandora stopped glaring, and froze, her glass of bubbly inches away from her parted lips.

  ‘You’re not Lady Elizabeth? Well who the f— … oh, her granddaughter, I see. Next week? You are kidding? We either get on with this or the deal is off. We’ll make it tomorrow … yes, sorry there’s no leeway, no point in delaying. I’ve got a schedule to work to. I’ll be there mid-morning, before the light fades so that I can see what I’m paying for … That’s fine … right … no, the solicitors deal with contractual questions. We’ll see you tomorrow, then. Any issues, deal with Jamie before I arrive.’

  Seb very deliberately placed the phone face-down on the table, then he slowly lifted his gaze to meet Pandora’s and fought the triumphant smile that was threatening to split his serious features.

  ‘Well? You look like the cat that got the cream. Tell me.’

  ‘I think you might yet get to be in Tatler, darling. I’ve just done a deal on the most amazing location for our shoot.’

  Pandora gently put her glass down. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. You might even have heard of the place, the Tipping House Estate. There’s some photos lying about the place somewhere.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Shame it’s out in the fucking sticks, though, but you can’t have everything. Knew we’d wear the old trout down in the end. Looks like Jamie is finally earning his money.’

  ‘You don’t pay him, darling.’ She was as restrained as ever, but he could tell by the tight edge to her voice that she was interested.

  Seb ignored the comment. ‘I’m going over tomorrow before she gets chance to change her mind. They think they own the country, people like that. All the bloody same, need pinning down.’

  She smiled, or rather her mouth did, the rest of her face remained rigidly Botoxed into position. ‘It sounds wonderful, Seb. If you’re impressed by it, it must be fabulous. Worth a toast?’ Oh yes, she’d heard of it. She raised her own half-empty glass and wiggled it in invitation. ‘And then, maybe I will let you do some pinning down of me.’

  Seb, shocked by the suggestion of sex with his wife, who really hated any messiness, forgot his golden rule of keeping her away from all business arrangements. ‘I don’t suppose you want to tag along, do you? Meet these Stanthrops, Stanhopes, whatever they’re fucking called, for yourself.’

  She did, but she wasn’t going to. ‘I’ll leave it in your capable hands, darling. I trust your judgement totally. There will be plenty of time for me to meet them when they’ve signed the contract,’ her eyes narrowed, ‘I’m sure it will be as watertight as ever. You know I hate disappointment.’

  ‘You won’t be disappointed, darling.’ He breathed normally again. ‘Once they’ve signed there will be no turning back. It will be, as they say, in the can.’

  ‘How wonderful.’ Her tone lifted. ‘Do bring the bottle to the bedroom, darling, and we’ll celebrate by putting that cute little cock of yours in my capable hands.’

  Seb allowed himself a smile. He had been about to warn her off the Botox, get some expression back in her face before she went in front of the camera, but he knew that in life timing was everything.

  Directions could wait, which was more than his body, fired up with the excitement of success was prepared to do.

  Chapter 8

  Seb was tired. If he had his way he would never set foot north of Birmingham, well Stratford-upon-Avon, if he was honest. Life ‘up north’ depressed him. The skies were permanently grey, the people mumbled and there were far too many terriers, whippets, and too much scratchy tweed for his liking.

  He had never forgiven his father for sending him to school in Scotland to make a man of him. The place had been fucking freezing, the food awful, and the boys had been either landed gentry who looked down their aristocratic noses at him, or locals who were unintelligible. It was an experience he’d never discussed with his wife, and never intended to, and one that meant he would never ever be prepared to move out of the city as she currently seemed obsessed with doing.

  Seb had no desire to be in Tatler. He was more than happy to let Pandora act out her fantasies on a film set, but by the time they shot the final scene he fully expected her to have got the silly idea out of her system and be content to return to civilisation. It was an infatuation he would be relieved to see the back of.

  He hated ‘the gentry’, he hated fresh air, he hated animals, and he hated the shambolic disorder that often accompanied all three. But he was very fond of his wife and trusted his market research, which told him that this particular project could be a winner. Even if it did sound like his worst nightmare.

  It niggled him that he hadn’t been able to find the perfect location in Oxfordshire, or at least nearer to home, but Jamie had found this place and he had to admit it did look perfect. And it was cheap, well, relatively cheap.

  Seb suspected that Pandora, in common with many people, was under the illusion that country manors were still symbols of power and affluence, with a butler in every corner and villagers who doffed their caps in a show of subservience. He had a feeling that she was about to be sadly disillusioned by the reality, but no doubt his polished on-screen version would soften the blow. She would be portrayed as a rich, happy bitch wallowing in perfect surroundings. She could live the dream and then they could have a wrap party and return to their immaculate penthouse apartment overlooking the Thames and plan the next project. Hopefully one that did not involve livestock and the accompanying outdoorsy crap.

  After spending an interminable amount of time on the M6 motorway he had actually been relieved when he’d emerged into the relatively green countryside that was Cheshire. The uniform hedges, level fields, and neat villages had soothed his nerves, until the main roads had petered out and he hit the winding lanes that announced Tippermere, and he got lost. How could it be so frigging difficult to find a stonking big country estate?

  Xander Rossi, it appeared, had encountered no such difficulty. His four-wheel drive wa
s parked just inside the imposing gateposts when Seb swung his own, far sleeker and more highly polished, Mercedes between them. Seb would have liked to have hated the suave, independent man. He was far too self-confident and with a tendency to overrule Seb’s decisions ‘for the animals’ sake’, which pissed him off no end. But he knew he needed the man.

  One, he needed some kind of horse expert on the shoot, as he’d seen first-hand the havoc the beasts could cause in uneducated hands. If he had the choice he’d never have an animal of any shape or size on set, but he recognised market forces. Cute and cuddly drew in the crowds, so he’d incorporate the beasts if it killed him. Though he’d rather it didn’t, which was why he employed people like Xander. And two (perhaps more importantly) he needed somebody to step in when Pandora upset the natives. Which she was guaranteed to. The man might be taciturn and aloof at times, but he had a certain charm and people, for some unknown reason, seemed to warm to him. His apologies carried far more weight than Seb’s offers of compensation and Pandora’s grudging apologies ever did, and the fact that he was Pandora’s brother didn’t hurt one bit. If Pandora got abusive, the man barely flinched. He was used to her acidic tongue.

  As long as Xander didn’t make Seb look like a dick he was willing to make allowances. The benefits outweighed the disadvantages big time.

  Xander wound down the window of his vehicle and his dog stuck its nose out. ‘Get lost?’

  ‘Fuck off, and why did you have to bring that thing?’

  Xander laughed. He was used to fractious horses and treated Seb and his tantrums in much the same way he’d treat a temperamental mare. Unlike most of Seb’s minions he didn’t rely on an income from the man, so he always had the option to walk away. Which Seb was well aware of and it niggled him no end. He expected to be treated with respect and if he said ‘jump’, people were supposed to frigging leap off the floor not ask why.

  ‘She likes an outing, don’t you, Ella?’ Xander stroked her head, thinking how much more pleasant a dog’s company was than most humans. The little wire-haired dachshund might be quite strong-willed, but she took most things in her stride and never failed to make life a little bit better, however hard a day he’d had. ‘I can see you don’t.’

  ‘How sitting on a motorway for hours surrounded by morons is supposed to put me in a good mood, God only knows.’ Seb glared at the dog, which he considered scruffy, noisy, and smelly. Why the hell did some people have to be accompanied by an animal everywhere they went?

  ‘You didn’t have to come. You could have sent somebody else to get the contract signed.’

  ‘I need to know this is done properly. These people think they run the bloody country, give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.’

  ‘They do, don’t they?’ Xander was amused. ‘Run the bloody country? House of Lords and all that stuff. It’s a different way of living out here, Seb. You can earn as much as you want, but if you’ve not got the breeding …’

  ‘Bloody archaic crap.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to make this film?’

  ‘Pandora does and we can make a killing with it. It ticks every box right now. Anyhow, it’s not about gentry, it’s about real people.’

  ‘You call rock stars real?’

  Seb ignored him. ‘And it’s about a wife who soon discovers what a load of crap this country living is and practically begs to go back to the city.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Xander raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused at the power games his half-sister and brother-in-law played with each other. ‘Have you told Pandora the ending?’

  Seb, for the first time since he’d set off on his trip, smiled. ‘She’ll get it. It makes sense. After a few months’ shooting in the back of beyond she’ll be dying to get back to normality. She will recognise the truth in the fiction.’

  Xander shook his head slowly. Normality to Pandora was a weekly manicure, a monthly massage, and her adoring fans camped on the doorstep. Camping out here would be literal. They’d need a tent and thermal underwear and he wasn’t convinced her fans were quite that besotted.

  ‘Come on, I need to get this contract signed before I change my mind and shoot it all on green screen. Where’s this frigging house?’

  ‘Just round the corner.’ Xander swung his car door open and stepped out. ‘We’ll walk. Some fresh air might improve your mood.’

  Five minutes later Seb allowed himself a full-on smile, a rare occurrence that Pandora had once told him lifted his sour features into haughty good looks. The ‘frigging house’ was worth the long drive. Although it did serve as a reminder that in the great United Kingdom there were certainly the haves and the have-nots.

  This project had been Pandora’s idea, although he was well aware that she wanted him to think it was his, but he wasn’t as daft or as easily manipulated as she thought. At the moment he still wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to sleep with the scriptwriter, saw real potential in it, or just wanted a change of pace. But it was irrelevant.

  Their relationship very much worked on a need-to-know basis. She turned a blind eye to his OCD; he never commented on the money she spent on Botox and shoes. He knew that in her head she was faithful to him and that the other men meant nothing. Pandora needed to have her ego massaged: on the outside she was an ice queen but on the inside she was like a small child with a desperate need of reassurance.

  Despite her conniving though, he’d recognised this project as a stroke of genius. Or he wouldn’t have been here.

  ‘Remind me to let Jamie have a day off.’

  ‘Surprised you didn’t get him to look for somewhere closer to home.’

  ‘I did, didn’t Pandora tell you? It fell through, which is why we need to get a move on and make sure this place can’t.’ Tipping House had been top of the list when he’d seen Jamie’s pictures, which, shot in the moonlight, had lent an otherworldliness to the place that was hard to resist, but the owners had stalled, been unwilling to commit, so he’d abandoned the idea. With the decisiveness that had made him the success he was, he had moved on to the next location on the list. It was their loss not his, except now he was beginning to feel rather pleased at the way events had turned out. He wouldn’t say it was down to fate or fortune. Seb made his own luck, defined his own future. ‘Right, you go and check out the stables and see where we can set up the temporary block. It’s arriving tomorrow. Any problems, get them sorted. They’re expecting you, so let’s start as we mean to go on. I’ll go and set out some ground rules with this woman and make sure they don’t think they can stick their noses in. God, how I hate dealing with these aristocratic twats.’

  * * *

  ‘Hi.’

  Tabatha Strachan, who had been shovelling muck in time to a very heavy rock track, didn’t hear the voice, but she did feel the tap on her shoulder. She wheeled round, an angry retort on her lips, then forgot everything as her jaw dropped, along with the pitchfork, which hit the ground with a clatter.

  At twenty-four years old, Tab had enjoyed an uncommunicative Goth phase, struggled through a hormone-and-embarrassment-ridden early twenties, and was now at the smart-talking, take-no-shit stage. Today was the first time in months that she’d been dumbstruck.

  ‘Woah!’ The man responsible held his hands up in surrender, then stuck one out in greeting. ‘Sorry if I made you jump. I’m Xander. Thought I better introduce myself before we get started.’

  Tab hastily tugged her glove off and wiped her own, rather sweatier, palm, down the back of her jodhpurs before grabbing hold of the offered hand and hanging on in much the same way she’d hang on to a horse that was trying to bolt with her.

  Working for Rory came with one big drawback (little if no pay) and two main benefits. One, she got close to Rory, who she had idolised for, well, like ever (even if he only seemed to lust after his wife and was getting worse from what she could tell, which was pretty yuk), and two she got to ride some pretty good horses. Being ordered to stick her bum out less, her heels down more, and stop waving her el
bows about like flags in the wind could get pretty boring, but she had to admit her riding had improved no end since she’d come to Tippermere with her ex-model father Tom.

  Now she had to add a third benefit. This man was ab-so-lutely fucking gorgeous. Lots of the eventers that Rory and Lottie knew were fairly sexy, but this guy was off the scale.

  She suddenly realised he was trying to extricate his hand and dropped it like a hot coal.

  Wow. Just wow. Amazing. ‘Tab, I mean Tabatha, well Tab to friends. I work here, well I help out. I ride and er …’

  Xander tucked his reclaimed hand safely away in his pocket, a faint crinkle of amusement around his eyes. ‘Muck out? Nice yard, Tabatha.’

  ‘Er, yes.’ Tab’s mind was more on ‘nice arse’, which the stranger definitely displayed when he swung around to take in the view. Along with nice broad shoulders, washboard stomach, amazingly gorgeous thick, dark hair and startlingly blue eyes that contrasted with his tanned skin in a way that made her want to stare like a loony. ‘Before you get started?’ His first words had finally filtered through to her brain.

  ‘I’ve got a feeling Seb will be moving quite quick once he’s sorted the paperwork. There aren’t any stables free in here, are there? Most of the ponies will be fine in the temporary stables we’re setting up, but a couple of them would settle better where it’s a bit quieter, if you can squeeze them in.’

  ‘Would they?’ Maybe it was a dream. She definitely felt light-headed. In fact if she wasn’t careful she’d start purring like a cat any second now, and possibly rubbing her head against his leg …

  ‘Away from all the noise.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Noise? What noise? It’s pretty quiet round here.’

  ‘When the rest of the crew arrive.’

  ‘Crew?’ Tab stopped watching his sexy lips moving abruptly. She hadn’t got a clue what he was on about and had the distinct feeling she was about to make herself look a complete twat.

  ‘Film crew? You don’t mean, you …’