‘I’m all right,’ I say, when he’s squatting down beside me, holding my hand and turning it over to examine the puncture wound at the base of my thumb. My heart flutters fast and furiously, like a giant butterfly trapped in my chest.
‘You need to get that looked at,’ he says sternly. ‘It’ll be full of bugs.’
I try to get up.
‘What are you doing?’ His eyes are filled with concern.
‘Packing up …’
‘Oh no, not yet. You stay there while I get you a glass of water, then I’m going to take you down to the surgery to have that checked. You won’t be able to shoe any more horses if you lose your thumb.’
‘You’re overreacting,’ I protest. I don’t want to sit waiting to see a doctor, but when I read the concern in his expression, I realise that it’s me who’s being silly. The wound is oozing and the surrounding skin turning red. ‘All right, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can get to the surgery myself.’
‘I’m going that way anyway. I have to pick Maisie and Ashley up from school.’ He checks his watch. ‘I can drop you off, fetch them, and come back to pick you up when you’re done.’
‘Don’t I need an appointment?’
‘They’re pretty good. One of the doctors, or the nurse, is usually on site. Someone will see you.’
‘That sounds like the voice of experience.’
‘I’m often down there with Maisie. She’s going through the medical dictionary from A to Z. We’re up to J. The last time was I for infected toenail.’
I stand up slowly. Robbie takes my arm.
‘I’ll help you to the Land Rover.’
‘What about—’
‘Your tools? They can wait. Come on,’ he adds in a tone that brooks no argument. He opens the door and helps me into the passenger seat, where I wait for him to unhitch the trailer and fetch me a glass of water before we leave.
He drops me off outside the surgery in Talyton St George, where the receptionist registers me as a temporary resident, and ushers me in to see Dr Nicci in her consulting room.
Dr Nicci is in her thirties, blonde and blue-eyed. She’s wearing make-up, a vibrant turquoise shift dress and heels. She looks up from where she’s sitting at her desk with a sign reading ‘I am at the stables’ beside her computer. There is a gallery of photos on the wall, many of them with horses as their subjects, including one of her riding a big brown horse over a rustic fence on a cross-country course.
‘Hello.’ She pulls up some details on her screen. ‘I’m Nicci.’
‘I’m Flick,’ I say.
‘You’re the farrier.’
‘I met your horses up at Delphi’s.’ A shooting pain makes me grimace.
‘I’m glad neither of mine were responsible for you sticking a nail into your hand. Take a seat and I’ll have a look at it.’
‘Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.’ I sit down beside the desk. The doctor moves closer, pushing her office chair on wheels around with her feet.
‘It’s fine. I’m here this afternoon anyway.’ She pauses, a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’d rather be out riding though.’
‘So would I.’
‘Do you have a horse?’
‘An Andalusian gelding. I like to hack and do some dressage with him. He doesn’t like jumping.’
‘I’m an eventer. I’m hoping to qualify for Badminton this year, but we will have to see …’ She sighs. ‘Dark Star is a different horse from when I first got him – Matt gave him to me as a Christmas present a couple of years ago. He was hard work – Star, not Matt – but now he’s lovely, a genuine four-star competition horse.’
‘Is that Matt the vet?’ I ask.
‘That’s right. Have you met him?’
‘Yes, at the Sanctuary.’
Nicci slips on some surgical gloves and examines my hand. She flushes the wound and applies a light dressing.
‘I’m going to prescribe you a course of antibiotics because that looks as if it’s already infected, and it goes quite deep,’ she says. ‘It goes without saying that you should keep it covered for now to keep the dirt out, and I’m advising you to take a couple of days off to give it time to heal. That’s going to hurt.’
‘It’s hurting already, but I can’t afford to take time off. I’m covering for Mel.’
‘It’s up to you. That’s my advice. If the pain gets worse, you must come back immediately to have that wound flushed out under local anaesthetic.’ She smiles. ‘Matt says there are plastic shoes for horses. Perhaps you should try them with No More Nails from a DIY shop.’
‘It would be a lot safer,’ I say, amused. I thank her before I leave to pick up antibiotics from the nearby pharmacy. After I’ve queued there for twenty minutes, while the woman in front of me gossips with the assistant about a recent Parish Council meeting, I return to wait outside the surgery for Robbie. He turns up moments later with the two children in the back of the Land Rover. I jump in.
‘Hi, Maisie. Hello, Ashley,’ I say.
Ashley acknowledges me with a frown – which is progress, I suppose. Maisie bounces up and down in her car seat, clutching a reading book in one hand and a drawing in the other.
‘Daddy says you hurt yourself.’
‘I’ve been to the doctor. She says I’ll live,’ I respond, glancing at Robbie.
‘And I’m having a surprise,’ Maisie adds.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, humouring her.
‘I don’t know because it’s a surprise,’ she says, somewhat scathingly.
‘I’m sorry. My daughter’s eight going on eighteen.’
‘Daddy, tell me what it is,’ she goes on. ‘Please, please, please.’
‘You’ll have to wait until we get home.’ Robbie pulls out to pass a motorhome that’s been left parked on the pavement outside the teashop and sets off for Furzeworthy. Maisie doesn’t let up about the surprise for one moment on the trip back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says to me. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut.’
He drops Ashley at Wisteria House, where Louise emerges for a quick chat. She looks into the Land Rover with a big grin on her face.
‘What are you doing, Flick? Bunking off?’
‘I gave her a lift to the doctor’s,’ Robbie says, and I show her the dressing on my hand and the packet of medication.
‘I drove a nail through the base of my thumb.’
‘Oh dear, these things happen. Mel put a nail in his knee one time. I often remind him of it when he’s getting too big for his boots. I hope you’re all right.’
‘I will be, thanks,’ I respond.
‘He’s hobbling around on his sticks at home, determined to be fit for the spring Farm and Country Festival which is in less than two weeks’ time. I’ve told him he’d be better off staying indoors, but he won’t have it.’
‘Hurry up, Daddy,’ Maisie calls from the back seat.
‘I’d better get the dinner on,’ Louise says.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ I say. ‘I’ve just got to pick up the truck.’
‘You are going to stay for the big reveal?’ Robbie says.
‘Well, yes, I wouldn’t want to miss it.’
‘Is it a baby rabbit?’ Maisie asks.
‘No,’ Robbie says, ‘and it isn’t a kitten either.’
She crosses her arms and pouts. ‘It isn’t fair. Flick knows and I don’t, and I’m the one having the surprise.’
‘Exactly,’ Robbie says calmly. ‘It won’t be long now.’
As soon as we arrive at the yard, where he parks close to the new pony’s stable, Maisie unfastens her seatbelt and struggles with the door. Robbie moves round to help her out.
‘See if you can spot anything different.’ He waves towards the stables, where Diva is chewing on some hay, spilling it across the ground outside. T-rex whickers, bringing Paddington to his door. ‘Well?’
‘It’s a pony!’ Maisie screams with delight and excitement, reminding me of how I used to react when my parents brought a
new horse or pony on to the farm. She starts to run across, then stops and turns back to her father. ‘What’s its name?’
‘He’s called Paddington.’
‘Paddington Bear,’ she cries, running towards him with her arms outstretched. ‘Daddy, I can’t reach.’
Robbie scoops her up so she can stroke the pony’s face.
‘What do you think?’ He glances at me.
I want to say that I worry about the risks of feeding your child to the horses, but Paddington seems happy.
‘He’s lovely.’ Maisie giggles as he ruffles through her hair with his top lip.
‘Would you like to give him a brush?’ Robbie lets her back down; five minutes later, Paddington is tied up outside the stable while Maisie stands on an upturned bucket with a body brush in her hand.
‘Be careful not to tickle him,’ Robbie says as we stand side by side, watching. ‘Firm strokes, that’s right.’
‘All over?’
‘Yes, all over.’ Robbie reaches across and gives me a big hug, and my heart melts. ‘I think I’ve made one little girl very happy.’
And this big one too, I think.
‘I’d better go,’ I say, checking my mobile.
‘Oh no, come back to the cottage for some cake,’ he says quickly. ‘Mum’s made a chocolate sponge.’
‘Can I have some?’ Maisie drops the brush back into the plastic box that serves as a container for the grooming kit.
‘After you’ve had your tea. Let’s put Paddington away – I’ll turn him out next door to T-rex later.’
Maisie leads the pony back into the stable and removes the head-collar. He makes to barge out again, but Robbie beats him to it and closes the door, fastening the top and bottom bolts.
‘I reckon he’s looking for grass. He’s a typical greedy pony. Let’s go. I haven’t even turned the oven on to warm up yet,’ Robbie continues.
‘It’s all right, I’ll eat Nanny’s cake,’ Maisie says.
Her dad shakes his head rather wearily as she runs ahead of us across the drive and opens the gate into the cottage garden.
‘You’re so lucky to live in a place as beautiful as this,’ I say as I follow Robbie along the path of stepping stones that runs across the lawn between the cherry trees.
‘I’m afraid to admit that I’m often too busy to notice. It is lovely.’ He stops and gazes up at the brick chimneys topped with red pots that rise up through the thatch at each end of the building. ‘I wasn’t sure when I first moved in, but now it feels like home.’
He moves on and opens the front door. There’s a neat stack of logs piled up to one side of the porch and a stone mushroom to the other, along with a gnome drinking from a tankard, and a plastic hound almost as tall as Maisie sitting on its haunches.
‘I didn’t think gnomes would be your thing,’ I comment.
‘Dillon thought I should have one. Come in.’ He lets me through into the hallway, where one of the wolfhounds greets us with a low bark. The other is sprawled out on the leather sofa in the living room beyond. I follow Robbie and Maisie into the kitchen, noticing how he has to duck his head as he goes through the doorway.
‘How old is the cottage?’ I ask, taking in the flagstone floor and the dark oak beams that run unevenly across the ceiling.
‘Parts of it are over four hundred years old. That’s the bread oven.’ He points to the alcove set deep in the wall beside the fireplace. ‘There’s a larder through that door – it’s always cool in there, it’s a great place for keeping beer.’
‘And cheese,’ Maisie says, joining in.
‘There’s an Aga, but we only use it in the winter.’ He moves across and switches on the electric oven. Maisie opens the back door to let one of the dogs out. ‘Would you like to feed the chickens?’ he asks her as five rather scruffy brown hens come scurrying towards us, hopping uninvited into the kitchen. ‘They look a bit tatty, but that’s because they haven’t been with us long. They’re ex-battery hens – they always take a while to recover from the experience, but they’ll soon be laying eggs for us.’
‘Don’t you worry about the dogs?’
‘They know better than to touch them.’ Robbie turns away as Maisie fishes about in the cupboard under the sink and pulls out a container of chicken feed. ‘What would you like to drink? Tea?’
‘Please,’ I say, as he takes two mugs down from the hooks above the window. There’s a spider weaving its web across the corner of the diamond panes, and crockery piled up in the butler sink. The curtains need a wash and the potted fern on the sill needs some water. The house is crying out for some TLC.
‘Take a seat.’ He waves towards the wooden table in the centre of the room. ‘That’s if you can find one. Move the laundry to anywhere you can find a space. It is clean.’
I bundle up a load of crumpled shirts, dresses and socks from one of the chairs and put them on the end of the table on top of some paperwork. I want to offer to help out in some way, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He serves me tea and a slice of chocolate cake. He gives in and lets Maisie have some too before placing a tray of breaded chicken fillets and frozen chips in the oven. He pours peas and sweetcorn into a saucepan and puts it on the hob.
‘All we need now is ketchup,’ he says, hunting around in the fridge for the bottle. ‘I can guarantee that there’ll be tears before bedtime if there’s no tomato sauce.’
I have to say that I’m impressed, even though Robbie’s house turns out to be far more chaotic than I expected. Sally Ann and Louise help him out with Maisie, but he’s more of a hands-on father than I imagined. It puts him in a different light. He’s a domesticated, hardworking dad who can’t have much time and energy left for dating and wild nights out. I find Maisie exhausting. She’s always on the go, asking questions, arguing, and making the simplest task much more complicated than it should be. She’s fed the chickens. They’re pecking at the seed on the kitchen floor while she attempts to sweep up some extra feed that she spilled. As she brandishes the broom, which is taller than her, she knocks the dogs’ water bowl over, and soon the floor is covered in a brown soup.
‘I need a cloth, Daddy,’ she says.
He hands her a towel from the laundry pile. ‘Spread that out to soak up the water. I’ll clear it up later.’
The saucepan boils over. I get up and turn the heat down.
‘I should go,’ I say. ‘Rafa will be waiting to go out.’
‘Thanks for coming to pick up Paddington with me. Maisie is completely made up. She doesn’t care if she can’t ride him. She’s more than happy to groom him and give him cuddles. He’s very sweet.’
‘I won’t say I told you so.’
‘I think you just did. I’ve been thinking …’ Robbie begins. I hold my breath, my overactive imagination putting virtual words into his mouth. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Let’s get to know each other better. I don’t normally take risks, but I’m willing to take a chance on you. I bite my lip.
‘… About Paddington,’ he continues. ‘I’d like to see if he’ll make a riding pony for Maisie and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me out sometime next week. I’m far too tall, but you’d be okay if you rode him with short stirrups.’
‘I’m not sure.’ I picture Paddington belting around the Saltertons’ arena, bucking like a bronco and me flying off over his head – because it’s bound to happen. I seem unable to keep my dignity in front of Robbie.
‘I’ll give you a lesson in trick riding with my horses in return. What do you think? Are you brave enough?’
‘Of course I am.’ I muffle the voice that whispers doubt into my ear. ‘That would be great. I can’t wait.’
A little while later, I return to Wisteria House. It’s nine o’clock. Louise’s car is on the drive and the lights are off. Rafa whinnies from the field when I walk past the gate and a bat darts silently past my ear. The moon bathes the countryside with a gentle blue light that’s almost magical, and I make a wish: that
Robbie would give me a clue that he fancies me just a little. He’s seen that I’m a member of the opposite sex, but he’s made no move on me to suggest that he’d act on it.
Chapter Seven
Why Walk When You Can Ride?
‘Mel’s staying in bed for a while – the painkillers are giving him a headache,’ Louise says when I see her at breakfast on the Thursday morning, a couple of days after Robbie and I collected Paddington from the Sanctuary.
‘What are you doing today?’ I ask.
‘I’m taking Ash and Maisie to school before meeting a friend for coffee at the garden centre. I lead an exciting life,’ she jokes. ‘We can have a chat over a drink tonight if you’re free.’
‘That would be great. I haven’t any plans.’
‘Not yet,’ she smiles. ‘That could change.’
‘I doubt it somehow. There doesn’t appear to be much in the way of nightlife around here.’
‘I hope you aren’t finding it too quiet. There are clubs in Exeter – that isn’t too far away if you want a night out.’
‘I think I’ll pass on that for now – I’m not sure I’d stay awake much beyond ten.’ I put my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, pick up the business mobile, and my mended one which arrived by courier the day before, and go outside. When I’m saying goodbye to Rafa on my way to the truck, I receive a call from Robbie.
‘Hi, I’ve got a therapy session this morning, but I was wondering if you were free over lunch to come and help me with Paddington. If you wanted to, you could stay and have a go at trick riding. I was supposed to be teaching this afternoon, but the rider’s cancelled – I’m not sure if they’re really ill, or if they’ve backed out. What do you think?’
‘I could drop in at about one-thirty if that isn’t too late.’ I glance at my thumb. The antibiotics have kicked in and the bruising is going down. It won’t stop me riding.
‘That’s perfect. I’ll see you then. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour or so with Paddington, and a couple of hours for the lesson. All you need is a hat and boots, good balance, common sense and a dash of bravery.’
‘I have all of that.’ I can’t stop smiling. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage Page 10
