Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘I won’t consider retiring him to stud then.’ Robbie pauses before plunging on, his voice hoarse with an emotion that tears at my heartstrings. ‘Is he suffering?’

  ‘Only you can be the judge of that.’ Matt clears his throat. I think he’s suffering, having to deliver bad news. ‘You’re facing a stark choice: retirement or euthanasia.’

  I shrink back. Robbie asked for honesty, but the statement rings harshly in my ears.

  ‘I can’t do that to him, not yet,’ he says eventually.

  ‘There’s no need to rush into making a decision.’

  ‘He’s been my best horse, my friend, my rock.’ Robbie sounds close to tears, and I want to hold him in my arms, but I’d hate to embarrass him in front of Matt when he’s trying to be strong. ‘Without him, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and Eclipse wouldn’t exist. He deserves a good retirement. I owe him that.’

  ‘Would you be able to do that here?’ Matt asks.

  ‘We have plenty of space. I can keep him on bute and spoil him until the time comes when he’s in too much pain.’ He bites his lip.

  ‘That sounds like a reasonable approach,’ Matt says.

  ‘I’ll know when he’s ready. I don’t want to see him hobbling around the yard.’

  ‘It would be better for Nelson to keep front shoes on – you have your own farrier on site so that shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘For now,’ Robbie acknowledges. ‘I’m afraid that he’ll get frustrated and bored, watching the other horses work, but he likes being out in the field and he loves his stable. I hope he’ll get used to it.’

  I recall Nelson’s proud bearing as he moved around the arena at the festival, the way he held his head high and his neck arched as he galloped fearlessly through the hoop of fire with his tail streaming behind him. He thrives on performing – like his master – and it’s quite devastating to think of him being left behind in the company of the likes of T-rex and Paddington when the team goes out in the lorry.

  ‘We’ll see. He may well adjust to an easy life. I know I would.’ Matt smiles ruefully.

  ‘Are you busy at the moment?’ Robbie asks, abruptly changing the subject.

  ‘I’m rushed off my feet. It’s that mad time of year when everyone is out and about competing. The boxes at the clinic are full to overflowing; one of the vets is on leave and we can’t find a locum.’ He yawns. ‘I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours. I’m off home to get some sleep right now.’

  ‘So you don’t want a tea or coffee?’ Robbie says.

  ‘No thanks, no more caffeine for me. Let me know how it works out with Nelson, and give me a shout when you need more bute.’ He shakes hands with Robbie, then turns to me. ‘It’s good to see you, Flick. A couple of my clients have been asking after you. You have a few fans out there – you really should get back on the road.’

  ‘I don’t think it would go down too well with Mel,’ I say.

  ‘We’re struggling to get hold of a decent farrier at the clinic. Mel says he’s back on form, but in reality he needs a good week’s notice before he’ll turn up. I don’t know if that’s because he has too much work to catch up with, or if he can’t cope.’

  ‘I thought he had cover,’ Robbie says.

  ‘They fell out. You know what he’s like – he’s a one-man band. Anyway, I must go. Cheers.’

  Robbie and I say goodbye to Matt. Robbie takes Nelson from me and leads him back into his stable, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t emerge for some time. I don’t intrude on his grief.

  I return to my duties, filling hay-nets and scrubbing buckets while Dillon exercises Scout and Dennis in the arena. As he returns to the yard, I explain what Matt said and what Robbie has decided to do about Nelson.

  ‘What’s the point of keeping him, the soft git?’ Dillon says, but later I notice him outside Nelson’s stable, stroking his neck and whispering in his ear. I smile to myself. Softheartedness must run in the genes.

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Robbie and I turn the horses out. We take Nelson out last, walking together to his field.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

  ‘I will be,’ he says quietly. He leads Nelson through the gate, turns him and removes his head-collar. Nelson waits for a pat, then spins on his hindquarters and canters off up the field, bucking, whinnying and stirring up his next-door neighbours. I link my arm through Robbie’s as we stand at the gate, watching the horses settle down once more to graze.

  ‘Silly bugger,’ he says, turning to me. ‘Thank you, Flick.’

  ‘What for?’ I frown.

  ‘For your support today. It was a tough decision, but I’m glad I made it. It’s a relief, a weight off my shoulders.’ I kiss and hug him. ‘But it leaves me without my lead horse.’ He smiles wryly. ‘I’ve had to call the TV people to let them know that he’s out of the picture.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They were disappointed. Even though we haven’t signed anything yet, they’d already decided that they could see Nelson as the lead actor’s horse. They’re still planning to watch us perform at the Country Show, though.’

  ‘That’s good news then.’

  ‘Except that we’re one horse short, unless by some miracle Diva’s ready to take her place in the team.’

  ‘She did pretty well at the rally,’ I point out.

  ‘That’s true.’ Robbie frowns. ‘Whatever happens with her, though, I’m going to need at least one – if not two or three – more horses to secure Team Eclipse’s future. We can’t afford for this to happen again. We need trained and experienced spares. I’ve already done some research and ringing around because I’ve known for a while that retiring Nelson was on the cards. Delphi has one of her dressage horses up for sale, and there’s an agent who imports Spanish horses like Rafa who has one that sounds as if it could be suitable. Would you like to give me your opinion of them when I take them for a test-drive this weekend?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  He nods.

  ‘I’d love to, but are you sure about buying a horse from Delphi? Stevie at Nettlebed Farm had a couple of donkeys from there – they are little devils.’

  ‘I know of her reputation. I’ll err on the side of caution. The horse looks okay – she sent me a video.’ He plays the clip on his mobile. Delphi is riding a dressage test that looks almost foot perfect. ‘Does that meet with your approval?’

  ‘The horse looks lovely, so what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘That’s very cynical.’ He rests his arm around my shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s get finished here, then I’ll take you out for dinner.’

  ‘What about Maisie? Is she coming with us?’

  ‘Mum’s having her for the weekend, so I’m free to look at horses, introduce Diva to the concept of working with rest of the team –’ he pulls me close and looks deep into my eyes – ‘and spend time with you.’

  The next morning, I find myself back at Delphi Letherington’s for the first time since Mel let me go.

  ‘I feel like a traitor,’ Robbie says as he picks up his riding hat from the back of the Land Rover. I can’t help admiring Robbie’s outfit of a white shirt and black jodhpurs with long boots.

  ‘I don’t think Nelson will mind you looking for another horse. When I last saw him, he had his head down grazing.’

  ‘Well, I hope that the time I’ve spent choosing the shortlist pays off.’

  I walk quickly to keep up with him as he strides through the first yard and into the second. I hadn’t noticed before but there’s a sign outside the tack room, reading ‘Push for attention’ and pointing towards a white button. Robbie presses it three times, bringing Delphi from one of the stables.

  She greets us effusively.

  ‘Let me get Ptolemy out for you.’ I notice that she has a bridle slung over her shoulder, one with a fearsome twisted metal bit. ‘A lovely horse like this won’t be available for long. The first to try will buy.’

  ‘Let’s see about that,’ Robbie s
ays wryly. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I brought Flick along with me for a second opinion.’

  ‘Oh, not at all. He’ll pass muster with any vet or farrier. He has the most wonderful feet.’

  ‘Have I shod him before?’ I don’t recognise the horse that she brings out of the stable. He’s a tall bay animal with long legs, big knees and a white stripe down his face.

  ‘Mel and his current associate put shoes on him last week. He was a complete angel.’ She stands him in front of us with a flourish of her hand. ‘He’s immaculate, as you can see: no scars or blemishes. He has paces to die for and his breeding is impeccable.’

  She walks and trots him past us, elbowing him in the ribs when she thinks we aren’t looking to make him appear more alert.

  ‘His saddle’s on the rail over there if you’d like to tack him up yourself,’ she says, pulling him up. The horse stands, blowing slightly, and there’s a trace of sweat across his chest.

  Robbie throws the saddle on and fastens the girth. He puts on his hat while Delphi leads the horse through to the indoor school, where the air is cool and the sunlight slants between the vertical wooden slats of the walls, creating stripes across the sand surface. She moves the horse up alongside the mounting block and Robbie gets on. He gathers up the reins and sets off around the perimeter of the school at walk.

  ‘Why are you selling him?’ I look Delphi straight in the eye. She doesn’t flinch.

  ‘Sadly, he’s surplus to requirements. I haven’t got time for him and it seems such a waste to have him standing around when he’s more than capable of top-level dressage or anything else you ask him to do.’

  As Robbie reaches the corner of the school, a pigeon flies from the rafters. Ptolemy takes fright, giving a huge buck. Robbie hangs on, but only just. He sets his mouth in a straight line as he continues. I don’t think he’s enjoying the ride. He draws up alongside us as Delphi finishes giving me a long list of Ptolemy’s merits.

  ‘I’d like to take him outside now,’ Robbie says.

  ‘The outdoor school’s free, but I’m afraid the jumping field is occupied. We’re having some drainage put in and the diggers are here.’ Delphi opens the gates to let us out. Ptolemy quivers as they scrape across the concrete apron. He’s too much like Diva. I can’t see him making a stunt horse.

  Robbie rides him twice around the outdoor school. Ptolemy carries his head up, fighting the bit and walking sideways like a crab and getting more and more wound up. Poor horse, I think, as Robbie dismounts and hands the reins to Delphi.

  ‘This one isn’t for me,’ he says calmly.

  ‘He’s young yet. He’ll come right with time.’

  ‘I haven’t got time.’

  ‘He’s half-brother to Nicci’s horse, Dark Star. He had a few issues at this age, but look at him now. He’s a four-star eventer. You’re making a mistake, walking away – this horse can turn his hoof to anything.’

  ‘His temperament isn’t right for me.’

  ‘I should take some time to think about it,’ Delphi suggests. ‘If you want to come and try him again, do let me know. You’re more than welcome – if he hasn’t been snapped up beforehand.’

  ‘When I say no, I mean no,’ he says firmly. ‘He’s a good-looking horse, but he won’t fit into the team. Thank you for your time and I wish you all the best with selling him.’

  Back in the Land Rover, Robbie leans in and kisses me before starting the engine.

  ‘I feel sorry for that horse – he’s been schooled indoors to the nth degree until he can’t think for himself.’

  ‘He’s scared of his own shadow. It’s such a shame.’

  ‘I should have known better than to take Delphi at her word. When I spoke to her on the phone, she said he was one of the bravest horses she had on the yard. I dread to think what the others are like.’

  ‘I think she’d lunged him before we got there to quieten him down,’ I say as Robbie drives back towards the main road. ‘He was sweating before you put the saddle on.’

  ‘I did wonder about that.’

  ‘And as for the diggers in the jumping field – do you see any activity out there?’ I gesture towards the nearby pasture where there’s a course of show-jumps set up.

  ‘I expect she’ll trick some mug into buying him eventually,’ Robbie sighs. ‘Let’s hope the next horse that we’re going to see is suitable.’

  We drive northeast and take the motorway.

  The seller of the second horse is a man in his forties. He’s an agent for the Spanish equine industry and imports into the UK. Tall, slim and tanned, he has something of the weasel about him. He wears a red shirt and chinos and stands puffing on an electronic cigarette as Robbie examines the horse’s legs and feet, asking me for my opinion at the same time.

  ‘He’s clean-limbed and his feet look great,’ I say, admiring the charismatic grey stallion, who reminds me of Rafa.

  ‘He has a kind eye too,’ Robbie says.

  He is gorgeous, but when Robbie gets on to ride him, he turns into a firecracker. He snorts and jogs his way from the yard to the outdoor manège, showing off his magnificent flowing mane and broad chest. He flares his nostrils, revealing a flash of scarlet when Robbie asks him to trot in circles on the sand. He’s an impressive horse, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is it and Robbie was right that our search will be over today, when he jumps off and leads the horse to the gate.

  As I open it for him, the stallion yanks the reins from his hands and canters away to one of the stables, where he proceeds to try to jump the door to get in with another horse, a black mare.

  ‘He has his eye on the ladies, just like the rest of us,’ the owner says, giving me a lecherous wink. He catches hold of the reins and tries to pull the stallion away from where he’s nuzzling and nipping at the mare’s neck, but the stallion, assuming that he’s in with a chance, refuses to budge.

  ‘I’ve seen enough, thank you. I’ll be in touch. Let’s go,’ Robbie says, and we set out for home, not stopping until we arrive back at the cottage. Robbie lets the dogs out while I make tea and sandwiches, which we eat sitting next to each other on the sofa.

  ‘What next?’ I ask, looking out through the window to the garden, where the roses are blooming bright pink, salmon and red, and the yellow cherries on the trees are acquiring a carmine blush.

  ‘I really don’t know. Keep looking, I suppose. Delphi’s was a dud and the stallion was far too driven by his hormones to be any good to me. I didn’t think it would be all that hard to find another horse.’

  ‘You must have known that it was a tall order, trying to replace Nelson.’ I hesitate. ‘I could try calling my parents to see if they know of anyone who might have a horse that would fit the bill.’

  ‘One like Rafa, you mean?’ Robbie’s expression brightens. ‘Would you? What will they think, though? I don’t want to cause you any grief.’

  ‘I guess I’ll find out,’ I say, smiling. ‘As I’ve said before, they’ve retired from the industry, but they’ll still have contacts.’ I jump up.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To give them a call. There’s no time like the present; the longer I wait, the less inclined I’ll be to pick up the phone.’ I wander outside and sit under one of the cherry trees. Watching the bees buzzing around the roses, I dial my parents’ number.

  ‘Hello, Felicity, how are you?’ My father sounds cheerful, merry even. ‘Did you get our text?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say guiltily, because I did, but didn’t reply to it.

  ‘So you know that we’re home now, enjoying a bottle of Rioja to remind us of sunny Spain. Are you still in Devon, working for … what’s his name?’

  ‘No and yes. What I mean is that I’m in Furzeworthy, but I’m no longer working for Mel. It didn’t work out … He sacked me,’ I add in response to my father’s questioning silence. ‘It isn’t what you think.’ I refrain from mentioning the fact that I found him with his mistress. ‘He accused me of poaching his clients. He thou
ght he’d end up with no business if I carried on.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Really? I thought you’d use this opportunity to advise me to get back behind a desk and earn some proper money.’

  ‘This might surprise you, but all we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your way isn’t the one we’d have chosen, but it’s clearly right for you, otherwise you wouldn’t have stuck at it like you have.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t doubted me.’

  ‘Being totally honest, knowing from bitter experience how dangerous horses are, we tried to put you off becoming a farrier because we didn’t want you to get hurt, but you’ve survived so far.’

  I don’t mention my accidental self-harming with the knife and nailing myself to a horse. What the eye doesn’t see and all that.

  He sighs. ‘The wine must be making me mellow.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘What are your plans now?’

  ‘I’m staying with a family called the Saltertons, who’ve been very kind, giving me and Rafa board and lodging in return for doing some yard duties while I look for another job.’

  ‘Mum and I could help you if you’d let us.’

  I know what he’s getting at – he wants to assist me financially with a gift or loan, but I can’t accept. My pride won’t let me.

  ‘It’s all right, thank you.’

  ‘I understand why you feel that you need to do this yourself. I admire you for that, but it works both ways. My health isn’t as good as it was, and time is slipping away. Your mum and I are beginning to feel old and useless.’

  ‘Less of the old, Nigel,’ my mother’s voice cuts in sharply.

  ‘What we want more than anything is to be needed,’ he goes on.

  ‘You might be able to help me then,’ I say, wishing I’d tried harder to break the ice between us before. ‘I’m staying with one of the sons of the family – he’s a friend of mine. I met him when I was shoeing his horses.’

  ‘Sarah mentioned you were seeing someone,’ Dad says.

  ‘Let me speak to her. Nigel, give me the phone.’ Mum takes over. ‘We went to see the baby the other day. She’s such a darling. Now, what’s this about a boyfriend? I assume from the fact that we haven’t met him that your father and I wouldn’t approve. He isn’t another farrier like that dreadful Ryan? We never did like him.’