‘I guess not.’ Gazing around her, she almost walked straight into Jack as he stopped beside a walkway to some fields behind the stable block. He scowled at her pink slingbacks.
‘You’re going to need more suitable footwear than that.’ He disappeared through a dimly-lit doorway to their right. A moment later he reappeared holding a dirty pair of Wellington boots aloft.
‘Try these.’
Pippa looked in horror from the boots to Jack and might have argued had his eyes not clouded indigo with brimming temper. She went to take off her shoes, hopping around on one foot until an uneven paving slab sent her reeling. She grabbed the closest thing there was for support… which was Jack’s shoulder. He stiffened at her touch and she mumbled a hurried apology. She took the Wellies and pulled them on, trying to ignore how ridiculous she must look in her short skirt and oversized boots. Looking up, she saw a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. She flashed him a warning look that forbade him from saying anything.
He turned away to lead them out to the fields, but wasn’t quick enough to hide a suppressed smile.
‘How far away are they?’
‘Next paddock.’
‘Do they always live outside? Even at night time?’
‘In summer, yes. Your two should start coming in round about now, although since your circumstances have changed, you might prefer them to just stay out.’
‘Why would I want that?’
‘It’s cheaper. And you’re not intending to race them.’
‘But the person who buys them will probably want to race them.’
‘Your choice,’ Jack shrugged.
He stopped alongside the fence to the second paddock. Pippa could see a small group of five grazing horses at the far end. He gave a loud piercing whistle, making her wince and want to cover her ears. The horses all threw their heads up and as one, came cantering over, play-biting and bucking.
‘Don’t you worry they’ll hurt each other?’ Pippa asked.
‘They’re only playing. The bully on the far left is Astolat,’ Jack said, pointing at a big dark bay horse who was snapping his teeth at his companion. ‘And that at the back is Peace Offering.’
Pippa detected the slight resignation in his voice as he identified the smaller, slighter-looking bay happily bringing up the rear. An odd sense of excitement stole over her as the stampede halted before the fence and she was introduced to her new horses. Her horses. It did feel terribly grand, especially as they were racehorses.
And this year’s Derby winner is Peace Offering, owned by Pippa Taylor.
It had a certain ring to it, although she was a bit hazy about race names. Her uncle had been a fan of jump racing or National Hunt racing, and as far as she could recall, the Derby didn’t have any jumps in it.
And this year’s Grand National winner is Peace Offering, owned by Pippa Taylor.
That sounded better.
Jack frowned at her smug smile and reached forward to stroke Peace Offering’s nose. Pippa hung back, pushing her hair behind her ear with a nervous hand. Jack’s furrowed brow softened.
‘Come pat Peace Offering. He won’t bite.’
Pippa remembered those snapping yellow teeth as they’d galloped towards them and hesitated further.
‘I can see them okay from here, thanks,’ she said with a small anxious smile.
‘He’s an old softie. Come on.’ Taking her hand, he guided her forward and placed her palm beneath his onto the horse’s long bony nose. ‘See?’
For a moment, Pippa was only aware of the heat radiating from his hand as it engulfed hers. Then her attention became engrossed by the horse. She looked in wonder at the big kind eyes fringed with sweeping lashes and the white blaze that spilled down from his forehead to his nostrils. It made him so pretty. As if he had been a plain-coloured horse who’d had his make-up done.
‘He’s beautiful,’ she murmured.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have shown them to you,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘You don’t want to get attached when you’re about to sell them.’
Pippa let her fingers trace the delicate contours of the horse’s nose, between his velveteen nostrils, smiling as his whiskers tickled her palm. She let her hand drop and nodded.
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘He’s so pretty though, I’m sure he’ll sell well.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that.’
‘Why? Isn’t he very fast?’
‘Quite simply, no. Astoalt is half-decent at least.’
‘That’s a pity. Never mind, I know someone will see that he’s a sweetheart.’
Jack gave a snort of derision.
‘I’ve got to get a move on. Are you travelling back up to London tonight?’
‘No, I’ve got to go see a house – or a cottage, I’m not sure which yet, that used to be Uncle Dave’s.’
‘More inheritance?’
‘Something like that. Although they told me not to expect too much. Apparently, it’s a bit of a shambles. I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that though.’
‘Good luck,’ Jack said with more doubt than sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ Pippa replied sweetly. ‘Nice to meet you Peace Offering. Nice to meet you Astolat.’
Jack rolled his eyes and began to walk away. Pippa skipped after him back onto the main path.
‘Thank you for showing them to me.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said, sounding like it was anything but. ‘I’ll have Gemma send you the details of the sale next month.’
‘Who’s Gemma?’
‘My secretary.’
Poor girl, Pippa thought, having to put up with his moodiness. She shot a rueful glance at the horses still milling by the fence behind them and sighed. ‘It’s such a pity.’
‘What is?’ Jack looked at her suspiciously.
‘Having to sell them.’
His blue eyes narrowed.
‘You having second thoughts?’
Pippa shrugged.
‘Can’t afford to have second thoughts. But wouldn’t it have been fun?’
‘You’re better off without them.’
Half a stride behind, Pippa frowned at the negative attitude radiating from the unyielding set to his shoulders.
‘Don’t you train horses for a living?’
Jack looked at her sharply.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Well, you don’t sound like their biggest fan.’
‘I’m just being realistic. You could never afford two racehorses on a waitress’ salary.’
Despite having said much the same thing less than a minute before, Pippa raised her chin involuntarily in a stubborn stance.
Is that right sunshine, she challenged silently.
Chapter Two
Within twenty minutes of following Jack’s Land Rover out of Aspen Valley Stables and surprisingly not one single wrong turning later, Pippa found Hazyvale House. Gloriously secluded at the end of an avenue where the last rays of the sun filtered through the autumnal trees, what Pippa now realised was little more than a cottage stood not quite foursquare, like a sway-backed donkey resting a hindhoof while it dozed.
‘Oh, Uncle Dave,’ she breathed, stepping out of the car. ‘This is heavenly.’ Her eyes travelled over the old Cotswold stone and sagging moss-covered roof, conveniently overlooking the missing slate tiles and rotting window panes. She picked her way across the overgrown forecourt and along a short path to the front door over a soggy carpet of fallen leaves scattered from an overhanging oak tree. She butted the warped front door with her shoulder as it stuck, shovelling back a mountain of junk mail.
Once inside, she moved from musty room to room, girlish excitement rising inside her like a bubble. Downstairs she discovered a lounge, dining room, a beautifully large but crumbling kitchen and downstairs loo, all in various stages of disrepair. Upstairs there were two open-beamed and vaulted bedrooms and a shared bathroom. Each room overlooked the back of the house, which in the gathering darkness wasn’t clearly vi
sible, but what was certain was the garden that had once been there was a small jungle now, falling away into a scattering of trees down into a shallow valley. She could hear the last chorus of birdsong drifting on the mild autumn breeze.
Sighing with contentment, Pippa turned away from the view and focused on the night that lay ahead. She wasn’t scared to be here alone, but she did feel just a tiny bit vulnerable knowing how isolated the cottage was from the rest of humanity. She flicked a light switch. Unsurprisingly it didn’t work.
‘I hope you’ve got candles hidden away somewhere, old man,’ she said, heading back downstairs to the kitchen.
Pippa woke early, cold and with a stuffy headache. Despite her unfamiliar surroundings she had slept like the dead, the peace and quiet acting as a drug to her consciousness. The bedding, which last night she had unearthed from the linen cupboard by candlelight, smelt of damp and dust. Pippa wrinkled her nose and rubbed her head, acknowledging the benefits of a properly ventilated airing cupboard sadly lacking in her new house. Groggily, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled across the room.
She gave a surprised gasp as she drew level with the window. She crept forward, as if too much noise would spoil it. She leant her hands on the low windowsill and gazed out at the view. She had never seen anything like it.
Someone had photoshopped Somerset. She could see right down the valley and for endless untouched and unscarred miles of countryside a smooth silken sheet of mist, rose pink from the young morning sun, draped across the land.
Pippa couldn’t move. It was so very different from her second floor flat in London, which overlooked a convenience store and off-licence. Even the wilderness down below, which any canny estate agent would dub ‘a gardener’s dream’, did nothing to hinder the heavenly dawn.
Pippa stayed where she was, only leaving the window once to retrieve a blanket from her bed before resuming her post. The mist turned from pink to gold to ivory before dissipating with the strength of the sun.
She turned away from the window and concentrated hard on remembering every detail so she could put it on canvas later. Her fingers itched for her brushes and watercolours.
She busied herself preparing for her journey back to London, cursing that there wasn’t any running water. But although she would have died for a bath, she could have killed for a cup of coffee.
With a last look around Hazyvale House, she locked the front door regretfully and returned to her car.
The nearest town she found was ten minutes away, which might not seem very much, but to Pippa, who had been brought up within thirty seconds of fellow humanity, it seemed a different country. Helensvale was quaint and tidy with a narrow High Street. Pippa easily found a parking space outside a small café. The jangle announcing her arrival as she opened the door brought a lady in from the back of the shop. She was small like Pippa, but plumper and more buxom, rather like a favourite aunt – if she’d had one.
‘All right, love? What can I get you?’
The curiosity in her voice, Pippa knew wasn’t just of her order, but of her presence in town. She returned the lady’s smile.
‘A cappuccino to go please.’
‘Right y’are. RANDY!’ she shouted over her shoulder.
Pippa jumped in terror, only fractionally calmed when a gawky ginger-haired teenage boy stuck his spotty face through the serving hatch.
‘We got more of them Styrofoam cups back there?’
The boy frowned for a moment’s thought then shook his head.
‘Nah.’
The lady turned back to Pippa.
‘You in a rush anywhere?’
‘Well,’ Pippa began awkwardly, ‘I do need to get back to London...’
‘Ah, London,’ she said, nodding, as if that explained a lot. ‘Sorry, love. The coffee’s going nowhere but the tables today. Why not have a seat and I’ll bring one over to you.’
Pippa thought about the long drive back to the city where she was bound to get stuck in gridlock traffic. Sticking around just made the journey seem longer. On the other hand, the smell of coffee and breakfast wafting around the warm and cosy café was hard to resist. Her stomach gave a thunderous rumble, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime.
‘Okay. Could I have a blueberry muffin as well if you’ve got any?’
The lady chuckled and shook her head.
‘You London folk. Blueberry muffin coming up.’
Pippa sat down at a table next to the window and looked out at the passers-by. She noticed most of the men wore tweed and flat caps. Wow, she thought, this really is the country. Across the street was a post office-cum-grocery shop where an elderly man was setting the newspaper headline sandwich boards out on the pavement. He paused to greet a couple walking past with two black Labradors.
CHILD’S BIKE STOLEN FROM DRIVEWAY screamed the headline. Pippa couldn’t help smiling. It made such a change from the latest stabbings and gun shootings.
‘Here y’are, m’love.’ The lady placed an obese muffin and cup of coffee on the plastic table before her.
‘Thanks.’ Pippa took a big unladylike slurp of the hot drink and sighed with satisfaction as she felt the warmth filter through her body. ‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
The woman, who hadn’t moved away, chuckled.
‘Mind if I ask what you’re doing round these parts?’ she asked.
‘My uncle owns – or rather did own – I own it now – a cottage not far from here.’
‘Oh, yes?’
The fact that Pippa had opened up a little appeared to be an invitation for the woman to sit down opposite her. Pippa didn’t mind. In fact, she was quite enjoying this friendly, enquiring company. It was so far removed from the anonymity and severe self-privacy of London.
‘Yes. Hazyvale House. Do you know it?’
‘Ah yes. Old Dave Taylor. Wily old man. Full of stories, he was. Sorry to hear of his passing.’
‘He was full of stories, wasn’t he?’ She smiled at her childhood memories when Uncle Dave would come to visit and regale exciting and, she now realised, completely farfetched stories. ‘He left me his house and his horses.’
‘That right?’ she said with raised eyebrows. ‘And what do you intend to do with them?’
For a moment Pippa thought she was overstepping the line between being curious and being nosy. But then in such a small town, she probably had every right to know if she was going to sell the cottage or move in.
‘Well, the plan is to sell everything eventually. The cottage is gorgeous, but needs so much done to it. So once that’s all sorted then I’ll probably put it on the market.’
Her plans while she had lain in bed last night had built a picture of selling the horses and using the money to hire some local tradesmen to fix the cottage up, after which she could sell it. It would probably do for some London couple who wanted a weekend pad in the country to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.
She noticed the lady wasn’t too impressed by the news, but she was saved from any comment by the jangle of the door opening. A thin stooped man who looked about a hundred creaked in. A dog, looking equally ancient, pottered at his heels.
‘All right, Norm, my love?’ The lady jumped up and bustled around to the other side of the counter. The man grunted and made his way to a table next to Pippa’s. ‘RANDY! Norm’s here for his breakfast!’
This time Pippa was a bit more prepared for this bellow at the poor teenager. She also liked the way the old man hadn’t needed to tell her what he wanted. She’d do that too at Vivace’s if she could ever remember what their regulars ordered.
He looked short-sightedly across at Pippa through milky cataracts, but turned away to the hostess as she came over with a cup of tea.
‘New clientele you have here, Wendy?’
‘Just passing through, she is. From London,’ she added with extra emphasis.
‘Ah, London. Needed a change of scenery, did you, love?’
‘That too,’ Pippa said he
sitantly. She didn’t want to go upsetting any more townsfolk with her news of selling up. ‘I inherited a cottage near here. It’s a beautiful part of the country.’
The old man smiled. His grey eyes softened and all of a sudden he didn’t seem so grumpy.
‘What’s your name then?’
‘Pippa Taylor.’
‘Old Dave Taylor’s niece,’ Wendy inputted.
‘Don’t you go calling Dave Taylor old, Wendy Tarver. If he’s old, what does that make me?’
Prehistoric sprang to Pippa’s mind and she bit back a smile.
‘You’ve been around too long to be in denial about your age,’ Wendy said, batting a dishcloth in his direction. She moved over to the hatch to retrieve his cholesterol-pumped fry- up which Randy had just cooked. ‘Now, put that down you and don’t be bothering my customers, you hear?’
Pippa thought this was a bit rich, but didn’t comment.
Norm took no notice of her warning and after giving his dog a hash brown, he turned once more to Pippa.
‘Are you sorting out all Dave’s affairs now he’s kicked the bucket? Not something I’d envy.’
‘I’m going to do up his cottage and sell it – hopefully. I was thinking of getting someone local to help,’ Pippa replied, finishing off her muffin.
‘Well, now. That might make it easier to swallow if you bring some work into this place. You’ll be selling to some city folk no doubt?’
Pippa hesitated, feeling unnecessarily guilty.
‘That is the plan, unless of course someone local wants to buy it.’
‘No one will probably be able to afford it, but don’t let that worry you. If it’s city folk you must sell it to, then so be it.’
She gave him a grateful smile, faltering slightly when she became aware of Wendy regarding her from behind the counter.
‘Well, I’ll certainly advertise it locally to begin with,’ she said, trying to appease her.
Norm grunted and scooped another forkful of beans and sausage into his mouth.
Chapter Three
‘Ow, fuck. That’s hot,’ Pippa muttered, trying to pick up a plate of Vivace Restaurant’s homemade lasagne. Finally laden with three plates, she weaved through the tables to deliver the order. The lasagne-requestor looked suspiciously at his food.
Keeping the Peace Page 2
