by Kim Izzo
“Weren’t you?” I snapped as I stood on my own again.
“It’s just that you’re like a jigsaw puzzle with its pieces scattered about,” he went on. “I’ve tried to put it all together but some vital piece is missing. I can’t make you out at all.”
“I’m easy to figure out,” I retaliated. “An open book.”
“If the book is a mystery, then I’d agree.” He smiled. “Accept my apology for my boorish behavior?”
“Are you really angry that I’m marrying Scott?” I asked bluntly.
“It’s not my business,” he said and looked away.
“That’s true. But you did kiss me,” I pointed out.
“I remember,” he said dryly. “Water under the bridge. Your life. Your marriage. As long as you love him, then I’m happy for you.”
I bit my lip. Griff was the last person I’d confess the truth to—that despite my best efforts, I still wasn’t in love with my future husband. Instead, I gestured to the horse.
“What’s his name?”
“Ratina,” he said. “He’s a she.”
I inched toward the mare and held out my hand. Ratina stretched her neck out so that her muzzle touched my fingers. I yanked my hand back and yelped. Ratina shook her head and pawed the ground. I sighed. So much for bravery.
“Give me your hand,” Griff said. He covered my hand with his as you would a child’s and we stroked the mare’s neck. It was silky smooth but I could feel the taut muscles beneath her coat. She was the color of dark chocolate, with a black mane and tail and a white star on her face and three white socks with small black polka dots on them that Griff said were called ermines.
“She must be some sort of horse princess to have ermine.” I laughed and stroked the horse on my own. Ratina turned her neck and watched me. Feeling braver, I stroked her face and muzzle again. It was like velvet. She lifted her head high so that her nostrils brushed my cheek and I felt the warm air against my skin as she exhaled.
“Blow gently into her nostril,” Griff instructed me.
“Are you kidding me?” I said, aghast at the suggestion.
“They like it,” he explained and stepped to the other side and blew into her nostril. The horse lifted her head and placed her nose next to his. He blew again and this time she blew back. I tried the same thing and Ratina leaned closer to me and exhaled again. The warm air on my cheek was sensual.
“I’ve never air-kissed a horse before,” I joked.
“Ratina is more sincere than the people at those dreadful parties,” he said, smiling.
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. We both stood there, so close, just Ratina between us. I looked at Griff and smiled.
“Okay, so now you know Ratina isn’t going to eat you, shall you get on?” he said, interrupting our intimacy, probably for the better.
I nodded. He helped me up on the wooden steps, which were called a mounting block. Ratina stood patiently as I swung my leg over. At first I leaned forward, clinging to her neck, but slowly I propped myself up. Griff adjusted the stirrups and told me how to sit and hold the reins, then took a long rope and clipped it to the bridle so that he had complete control.
“Okay, now just relax.”
He led the horse forward and I was immediately thrown back and forth in the saddle with each step.
“Whoa!” I called out, but Griff and the horse ignored me. Ratina’s walk took getting used to. She was a large horse and her strides covered a lot of ground. My hips rocked back and forth and while it hurt, it was a pain that felt good. I could feel the muscles deep inside loosening.
“This does feel good,” I confessed.
“Glad to hear it,” Griff answered and kept walking. After about fifteen minutes, he halted Ratina at the mounting block.
“Is my quarter up?” I teased.
“I have work to do, Lady Kate.” He smiled.
My expression darkened and I dismounted. For the first couple of steps my back felt like Jell-O, but it was definitely better.
“Again tomorrow?” he suggested.
“Absolutely!” I said enthusiastically. “Have you changed your mind about London?”
“I’ve decided to stick around for a few more days. I have loads of work to do,” he explained.
“Please don’t go on my account,” I said. If he could stand it, so could I.
The next few weeks were spent with the caterer, wedding planner, seamstress, florist, you name it. Emma was an immense help and I was thankful to have a real friend with me. I had kept up with my daily riding exercise and also learned to groom. I discovered that I loved brushing Ratina; it was quality time with her and I felt we bonded. Being with the horse gave me a sense of peace and tranquility that my normal routine in the city had never given me. Perhaps I had a country girl in me somewhere. Griff was patient and attentive but horses were all we spoke about. We never discussed the wedding again. Anytime I mentioned Scott he would go silent or change the subject. I was just happy to be friends once again, even if the flirtation had vanished. The more time we spent together, the more I came to like him, really like him. He wasn’t aloof or cold, he was kind, funny, and sincere. He knew about many things that seemed to go along with his job on the estate—groundskeeping, animal husbandry, even accounting. And eventually he began to ask me about my work, the beauty babble I wrote, publishing, and even fashion. We seemed to realize at once that we could learn much from each other. Yet we also shared common interests that I would never have guessed, like our passion for old movies. The odd night he’d venture into the house and watch a DVD with me. We always sat on opposite sides of the immense sage green sofa. That we were growing close couldn’t be denied. It didn’t help that it had been almost a month and I hadn’t laid eyes on Scott. He kept making excuses each weekend as to why he couldn’t leave London. At first it bothered me. But as weeks passed, I found it bothered me less and less. Griff never asked where Scott was.
But now it was mere days before the wedding and there was a big prewedding party planned for Friday night. Scott would be here soon and when he came I’d lose Griff. Not that I really “had” him, for despite all our time together I learned little more about him, other than he lived in a flat above the stable. I knew his parents were gone and he had two siblings. Otherwise, he avoided speaking about personal matters. On several occasions he joined Emma, Clive, and me at the pub. It was here, at the local, as they called it, that I got a glimpse of Griff as just a regular guy. He and Clive told silly boarding school stories and tales of Oxford, many beginning with being drunk. Then his eyes glazed over whenever the conversation turned to my wedding.
“He’s just a bloke,” Emma explained in the pub’s loo. “All men tune out wedding talk. It bores the hell out of them.”
“I suppose,” I acquiesced. “I just can’t tell what he’s thinking half the time. I know he doesn’t approve of my marrying Scott.”
Emma stopped applying her lipstick and stared at me in the mirror.
“What?” I asked.
“Why would you give a damn what Griff thinks?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Are you in love with him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” I gasped. “Why would you say such nonsense?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she paused for effect. “You have been spending a lot of time with him. He got you to ride a horse, for Christ’s sake. He’s obviously had an influence on you.”
I shrugged. “He’s fixed my back. Look at me now. I don’t even need a cane. Horses are great therapy.”
“Aha,” she said with a wink.
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “I could write a health story for Haute about it.” I rummaged in my handbag for my compact and as I did, I could feel Emma scrutinizing me. She clearly had something on her mind. Sure enough, within seconds she spoke.
“You don’t love Scott,” she asked carefully, “do you?”
I pressed powder onto my nose in firm dabs and checked my teeth for lipstick stains.
&nb
sp; “I will,” I answered at last. “He’s a good man. I will love him.”
“Oh, Kate,” Emma said softly. “Don’t do it. Call it off. You can’t marry a man you don’t love.”
“Bollocks, as you say in this country!” I answered, snapping the compact shut and zipping up my makeup bag. “Marrying Scott is the smartest move I’ve ever made. Women once only married for security; affection was a bonus. And I have both. My Jane Austen guide works!”
“We don’t live in bloody Jane Austen’s time,” Emma barked. “I know you’ve been working on this article and all that, but women can make their own fortune and buy their own house and marry for love, and only for love. You got lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. My plan worked and other women like me can do it, too,” I said. “Besides, I’m forty; it’s too late to make my fortune. I squandered my youth on dead-end jobs. Hell, I wasn’t even a real beauty editor, just an acting one. A pretend anything is pathetic unless you’re twelve.”
“You mean like a pretend aristocrat, Lady Kate?” she interjected meanly.
I’d never fought with Emma before. But her comment struck a nerve, so, hurt and angry, I lashed out at her.
“Look at you; you married for love and what do you have to show for it?” I snapped. “You’re a struggling film composer with no money, no home, a baby on the way, living cooped up with your mother-in-law. No thanks.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to yank them back. But it was too late. Emma’s eyes were filled with tears.
“That’s not fair,” she cried angrily. “It was the recession that did this. Clive will make money again and we will have a home!”
“Emma! I’m sorry!” I said desperately as she stormed out of the loo.
I chased after her but she had already grabbed her coat and Clive.
“We’re leaving,” she said to Griff without looking at me.
“Emma, please, I said I was sorry,” I pleaded.
“You will be sorry one day,” she scolded me. “But it’s your funeral. Oops, I mean wedding.”
She walked away with Clive on her heels, leaving me standing there like the fool I was.
Griff coughed.
“I’m a bitch,” I announced and sat down at the table.
“Let me guess, you opened your mouth and all your charm fell out?” he asked dryly.
“I should go,” I answered with a forced smile. “Fawn arrives tomorrow morning and Brandon and Marianne get here in the afternoon.”
“And what about the groom?”
I looked at him, shocked. It was the first time in weeks he’d mentioned Scott.
“Your husband-to-be?”
“I know who you meant. He comes Friday morning; we have the whole day to ourselves before the party.”
“You must really miss him,” he said flatly.
“Of course,” I said and put on my coat.
But as I walked along the lane to Penwick, Emma’s and Griff’s words haunted me. I hadn’t seen Scott in weeks and I didn’t miss him. But I’d been so busy with the wedding plans, and the accident, and recovering and all that, how could I?
32.
BFF
How despicably have I acted! I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities!
—Pride and Prejudice
I was never much of an athlete, so when I borrowed Doris’s green Pashley bicycle, its wicker basket loaded down with home-baked muffins, I had underestimated the fitness level required to cycle into the village. The lanes were bumpy and full of stones and crevices, making steering a challenge. I arrived at the small stone house panting and sweaty.
“You look frightful,” Emma said and stood squarely in the doorway with no intent of inviting me in.
“I’m out of shape,” I said and smiled, hoping she’d warm up. She didn’t.
“What do you want, Kate?”
“Your forgiveness,” I said plainly. “I was a total cow last night. I had no business insulting you or Clive. I’m sorry. I wish I could take those words back.”
Emma nodded. “I can’t say the same thing. I do believe you’re making a mistake marrying Scott.”
“I know you do,” I said. “But I have to do what’s right for me and for my family. At least you and Clive have his mom’s cottage. I have nothing. Being homeless is worse than being alone or poor. Scott will give me a home and in turn I can give Iris and Ann a home.
“And I want you there, I need you there, with me, when I marry him,” I said more pitifully than I’d intended. “Scott is a good man and I do care for him. Not every romance can have the passion you and Clive have.”
Emma smiled at this and glanced over my shoulder at the Pashley. “What’s in the basket?”
I grinned. I could always count on Emma’s appetite.
“Only homemade strawberry muffins,” I responded and retrieved them from the bicycle. Doris had baked them for me that morning after I’d told her I needed them to make up with Emma. “Your favorite.”
She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You do know the right buttons to push, don’t you? Okay, come in. But bring all the muffins.”
I laughed and followed her inside.
An hour later I was once again an overheated mess as I cycled back up to Penwick’s front door. I was just in time to see a dove gray Rolls-Royce pull up. Only one person would hire that car.
“Darling!” Fawn squealed when she saw me. “Look what a country girl you’ve become! Cycling about like a mad thing and not giving a hoot about your hair! Did you get the gown finished in time?” I laughed at her comments about my appearance and as I moved in for a hug, I noticed straightaway that she looked fabulous. Clearly, Italy agreed with her. She was back in fighting form in a pale gray sheath dress that Jackie Kennedy would have killed for. Her hair had been cut into a crisp but stylish shoulder-length bob. She looked modern and sexy.
“I did,” I said gleefully. “In oyster, just as you suggested. Vera Wang had the perfect bias-cut gown. You’ll love it and I love your hair!”
“Thank you, dear. I needed a change. As for your gown, oyster is much nicer than cream, especially with your complexion,” she said as we walked arm in arm up the master staircase. “White just won’t do at your age.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said playfully.
“Oh, hush,” she continued. “You’re lucky you can still get away with a dress; if I don’t hurry, at my next wedding I’ll have to make do with separates. Now pour me a drink.”
“It’s ten in the morning!” I exclaimed.
“Fine, fine,” she waved me off. “Make it a mimosa. Is that ‘morning’ enough for you?”
“Fawn!” a man’s voice called out and we turned on the steps as a small, slightly built man with a swarthy complexion strided toward us. I gave Fawn a look.
“Marco!” she called out. “Come meet Kate. Isn’t he darling?” she said to me.
Marco kissed my hand and smiled. He was short but perfectly proportioned. He looked to be in his thirties and wore a very expensive-looking navy pinstripe suit. I wondered if it was new.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Marco, go check us in with that lovely lady over there,” Fawn said and pointed to Doris, who was seated at an ancient desk with the register. Once he was out of earshot, Fawn grabbed my arm and told me everything.
“Marco is Italian,” she breathed.
“Yes, I guessed that.” I laughed.
“He exports coffee,” she said. “He runs his own business. He’s not rich but he does all right. And I just love his sense of style! European men know how to dress; when we met he was wearing a lavender suit.”
“The suit he’s wearing now is very nice, too,” I agreed, impressed that Marco bought his own clothes. “And you don’t need rich.”
“Ain’t that the truth? And what I do need he gives me plenty.”
“Too much information!” I shrieked.
“Don’
t worry, I won’t give you the gory details.” She smiled. “But what’s the point of all my money if I can’t fall for any man I please? Men like Scott can’t have all the fun.”
I gave her a look that said she was treading on thin ice.
“Sorry.” She grinned.
Mimosas in hand and giggling like schoolgirls, we toured the house as Marco went to their room to unpack. I knew the house by heart, but I wanted Fawn to see the grounds, so we took our drinks and hoofed it through the gardens, eventually, and what was now second nature for me, winding up at the stable. There was no sign of Griff, but I lingered near the horses, petting Ratina as she hung her head over her stall door, waiting, but he never appeared.
“Since when do you like hanging out with horses?” Fawn said impatiently. “It’s damp and smelly out here.”
I kicked at the dirt and bit my lip, unsure how to tell her the truth; after all, she was bound to have an opinion.
“I forgot to tell you,” I hesitated. “Griff is here; he postponed his trip to London.”
Fawn looked as if she might implode. “You haven’t …”
“God no! I’m engaged,” I blurted. “We’re just friends.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Not with benefits, I hope.”
“None.”
“I don’t like it, Kate,” she said and squinted at me as if trying to read my mind. “You’ve been attracted to that scoundrel since day one.”
“Not day one,” I corrected. “I didn’t like him at all when I first laid eyes on him.”
“Even worse!” she countered. “Tension like that is bound to explode.”
“Let’s drop it,” I said. “Everything is fine. Besides, he doesn’t feel that way about me. Apparently I’m not his type.”
She pursed her lips at this new information and shook her head. “It was much easier when you thought he was gay,” she said.
“Time to refresh our drinks,” I announced. “Follow me.” I gave Ratina a pat and headed back to the house with Fawn in silent pursuit.
That afternoon Brandon and Marianne arrived, with Thomas in tow. As excited as I was, I was also nervous about seeing them, knowing how crazy they thought my life had become. But it was just like old times.
