Well Groomed

by Fiona Walker

  Niall’s eyes were huge. ‘Matty? You necked Matty in a larder?’

  Zoe covered her face with her hands and nodded. ‘He and Sally brought the kids down one Sunday when you were staying, remember? It was just a couple of weeks after the party. We couldn’t even look at one another.’

  ‘Christ!’ He was still trying to take this in. ‘Matty? Christ!’

  ‘I feel so ashamed. I’d had no idea he was married. I hadn’t known Tash that long, so she hadn’t told me much about her family. I knew he had kids because he’d mentioned them when we were talking, but I’d just assumed they were from a previous relationship. When Sally turned up two weeks later with a child on each arm and a bump in the middle, I could have killed Matty. She was eight months pregnant and far too lovely to cheat on.’

  ‘She is lovely. The bloody idiot!’ Niall banged his wine glass. ‘What the hell did he think he was playing at?’

  Zoe rubbed her eyes tiredly and shrugged. ‘He was drunk – we both were – and he was mad at her for digging her heels in. Plus I was flirting for England that day. I found him wildly attractive after the ham-fisted approaches of all those thick farmers. Men do very strange things when their wives are heavily pregnant. He used me as a bit of momentary escapism, I suppose. You can’t really blame him for that.’

  ‘I bloody can.’

  ‘Are you saying you never do it?’ Zoe sighed, looking up. ‘Flirt for escapism? What about your Rushes Crushes?’

  Niall tried to stare her out but found his eyes dropping guiltily away.

  ‘I don’t entirely believe your line about Tash behaving bloody-mindedly in Scotland,’ she said gently. ‘It’s not like her – she might be hellishly stubborn at times but I know how timid and willing to please she is, and she’d cut out her heart for you, she loves you so much. She needed a jolly good reason to behave as she did.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t have one.’ Niall picked up his glass and drained it. ‘I’ll get another bottle.’ He looked around impatiently for Ange, then his face suddenly darkened with worry.

  Zoe was about to badger him a little more when she followed his gaze and caught sight of Tash wavering in the doorway, still wearing muddy breeches and a tatty baseball cap. Spotting them, she grinned broadly and bounded towards their table, knocking a chair over in her wake. Zoe drank in her scatty enthusiasm – she was as chaotic and lovable as a spaniel puppy desperate to say hello to everyone at once.

  Niall watched her progress with a far more guarded expression.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ she panted, handing over a battered parcel. ‘Sorry it’s squashed. Kirsty sat on it in the Land-Rover on the way back.’

  ‘How did you get on?’ Zoe asked, noticing that when Tash kissed Niall, he didn’t respond. Her stomach twisted with concern.

  ‘Fine.’ Tash pulled a spare chair over and flopped down on it. ‘Mickey won his class so is now a fully fledged Intermediate which puts a few more grand on his asking price, so keep it quiet from Gus, will you? Snob towed me around at twice the speed of light and came eighth in his class – his dressage was hopeless. Hugo and Bodybuilder won again. That horse is simply phenomenal! Plus Hugo won the other open class with Surfer and scooped up most of the novice classes as well. He’s bloody unstoppable. Kirsty had a fall . . .’ She was breathless with excitement, still high from the exhilaration of competing. It always took her hours to come down.

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Fine, thank God – bruised bum and pride mostly.’ Tash grinned up at Ange as he sashayed over and gave her a very gallant kiss on the hand.

  ‘Ees my favourite bride to be.’ He puckered his mouth slightly as his lips made contact with the taste of horse sweat and hoof oil. ‘You are joining your handsome fiancé and the matron of honour, no? Not long to wait now, huh?’ He gave her a wrinkly wink.

  Tash swallowed awkwardly. ‘Three months.’

  ‘Ah!’ Ange pressed his hands together with delight. ‘And all the village weel be watching. Ees so lovely – our two local stars. I take many photos. Maybe I sell them, no? More wine.’ He dashed off excitedly, leaving Tash in flabbergasted silence.

  Later, Tash was rather browned off that Niall insisted on walking Zoe back to the farm to guard her against local rapists, even though she herself undertook the same walk nightly alone. She considered tagging along for the company, but felt rather alienated by the strangely conspiratorial air that had suddenly sprung up between them.

  Instead she called after Niall to bring back Beetroot, who was shacked up with Wally and Enid by the Aga, and then let herself into the forge.

  The Rayburn had gone out, so she trudged into the back yard and collected enough coke to get it going, huddled beside it and wondered if she would ever beat Hugo again. He seemed to be able to win blindfold at the moment. Today when she had been hacking back to the horse-box after a disastrous cross-country round on Snob in which he had almost pulled her arms from her sockets and overshot two fences by going too fast, Hugo had walked past them on his unbeatable new horse, Surfer, his muddy face wreathed in victorious smiles.

  ‘That stallion of yours still pulling like a bridal train, I see?’ he’d called. ‘I blame it on too much sex.’

  ‘You what?’ Tash bristled.

  ‘The horse is covering too many mares,’ he laughed. ‘You didn’t think I was talking about his rider, did you?’

  Chance would be a fine thing, Tash had thought sadly.

  Niall took ages to come back and then guiltily confessed that he’d had a coffee at the farm as India was back from her date and keeping them all in stitches with descriptions of Ted’s attempts to seduce her.

  ‘Did Penny and Gus get the sponsorship?’ Tash asked hopefully.

  Niall shook his head. ‘Poor Gus is in a pretty evil mood. He said he was going to have to sell some horse called Mickey Rooney or something.’

  Tash froze. ‘Rourke?’

  ‘That’s it.’ He pressed his palms to the warming Rayburn.

  She fell into an uneasy silence. Gus had said that before – many times – but it still frightened her afresh when he repeated it.

  ‘Zoe’s a funny creature, isn’t she?’ Niall squatted beside her.

  Tash looked up. She had decided to forgive Zoe today – it was part of a new think positive regime she had determined for herself, although the news about Mickey had already started to erode that. ‘In what way? I think she’s lovely.’

  ‘Sure she is,’ he nodded. ‘But she’s a lot more complicated than I gave her credit for. She’s had a bloody hard life – I think she carries a lot of unhappiness around with her.’

  Tash nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve been a bit sulky with her lately,’ she confessed. ‘I should make it up – we had a childish fight.’

  Niall grinned. ‘You’ve been a bit sulky with me too.’ He cocked his head.

  ‘True.’ She wondered whether to challenge him about Minty, but didn’t have the heart. He was looking so soft-eyed and loving that she felt like doing back-flips and laughing instead of spoiling for a fight. He hadn’t looked at her like that since he’d been down from Scotland.

  ‘I suppose I should make it up to you too,’ she said gutlessly, knowing she should really be suggesting a serious where-are-we-going-here talk. But when his eyes were drinking her in like this all she wanted to do was dive into them and drown. She felt giddy with relief, her long-buried libido leaping out of its lair and bouncing around delightedly.

  ‘I suppose you should.’ His nose was almost against hers now, breath caressing her upper lip.

  ‘Niall,’ she took a deep breath, ‘I really think we need to . . . ’

  He planted a long, languid kiss on her lips, silken tongue tasting sweet and cool in her mouth.

  ‘. . . kiss like that more often,’ she panted, hormones drenching her body and pulses leaping like fleas on a dog.

  They made love for the first time in weeks, but it was not altogether successful. Despite stubbing his toe on the bed-frame as he c
limbed in, Niall soon got into the mood again, but was somehow distanced and more technically demanding than usual, insisting that she contort herself into a hunched, squatting position which was more like natural childbirth than sex and not at all enjoyable. She gently eased him around so that she was on top and was starting to enjoy herself thoroughly when she noticed that the curtains were still open and she could be seen bouncing around on top of him from the lane.

  ‘Oh, don’t stop,’ he groaned as she started to crouch forwards on her elbows.

  ‘I’m not.’ She pressed her forehead to his hot, fluctuating chest, hoping that no one was having a late-night dog walk outside.

  At a moment of mutual near-ecstasy, Tash got cramp, which didn’t help, and then Niall started to perform a strange, if erotic, finger massage around her inner thighs and pelvis which he had never done before and she wondered exactly where he’d learned it. Just as Niall twisted her beneath him once more and was getting into his smooth, fluid rhythm, Tash remembered something and wriggled into a half-sit.

  ‘Where’s Beetroot?’

  He paused for a moment and looked down at her, his hair all over the place. She suddenly noticed how red and sweaty his face looked. And rather old, too.

  ‘She wouldn’t come with me,’ he muttered, starting to get into his stride again as he plunged on, pushing her back against the pillows once more.

  Tash tried to get into the swing, but found herself disturbingly haunted by the image of Niall looking sweaty, red and old – like Jimmy Savile after a marathon run, wearing a black curly wig. It rather put her off and she felt guiltily relieved when he finally came and rolled off her, for once not carrying on for lazy, fun-filled minutes afterwards until she herself came. Instead he kissed her on the shoulder and pulled her into a hug.

  That night as they lay in a moist, post-coital tangle, Niall told her some of what Zoe had confessed to him, although he didn’t mention that the person she had kissed at Gus’s party was Matty.

  Tash lay awake long after he had started snoring wondering who it could have been. Racking her brains, she only recalled talking to the eventer Brian Sedgewick for most of the afternoon – a big, flirty Welshman with a face like a caved-in prop forward’s. She had hardly seen Zoe at the party. The only person she had seen even less of was Hugo. She was surprised how disturbed she was by the connection.

  Sixteen

  * * *

  THE BUILD-UP TO HUGO’S thirtieth birthday party on the eventing circuit was tremendous. It seemed that everyone, from the riders to the grooms to the organisers, course-builders, trainers and owners, was going. Tash had to admire his democratic guest list. It was going to be such a huge bash that it was rumoured he had even hired bouncers to check invitations at the door. Remembering that she had torn hers up, Tash wondered whether she would get in.

  As March brightened the flowerbeds and fattened the treetops, she started to feel a fanatical hatred for him. For one thing, he beat her at every competition; he was winning so much with the invincible Bodybuilder and the diminutive Surfer that he was considered a definite for next year’s Olympics. For another, he had finally bought Mickey Rourke from Gus.

  ‘You can’t let Hugo have him!’ Tash screamed when she found out, so demented with fury that she didn’t care if Gus sacked her on the spot. ‘He’ll try to break his spirit – Mickey is totally the wrong sort of horse for Hugo. He needs lots of loving patience and encouragement.’

  ‘I’m sure Mickey will be very loving and patient with Hugo,’ Gus had said witheringly.

  ‘I’ll buy him!’ Tash bleated desperately, close to tears. ‘I’ll match whatever Hugo has offered. I’ll get a bank loan.’

  But when Gus told her how much Hugo was paying, she fled the farm in tears. She couldn’t lay her hands on that sort of money even if she held up one of the Marlbury High Street banks, let alone asked for a loan. It was probably twenty thousand more than the horse was worth.

  She missed the big clumsy grey with his gangly legs and desperate willingness to please; the Lime Tree yard was less fun than ever without him. She was certain that Hugo had only bought Mickey because he knew she adored him so much. She kept having to stop herself slashing the tyres of his lorry.

  At most competitions he pointedly ignored her. Only occasionally did he make a remark as he passed – mostly asking after Niall which was a sore point, as he was now in the States on a gruelling publicity tour for Tough Justice and called less and less often. But then, in a sudden volte face at a recent competition, Hugo had wandered up, all smiles, and cornered her by a fence as they walked the course.

  ‘I’ve been doing a bit of detective work for you on Lisette O’Shaughnessy – or Norton, as she now likes to be known.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Tash had almost fallen into the fence with surprise. She had quite forgotten his promise on Valentine’s Day; it had been such an embarrassing encounter that she had blocked it from her mind.

  ‘Well, she’s actually been after me.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘Or rather, my house. She’s already been around for a recce and is planning to bring several of her cronies to the party. She wants to use the place for her film.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Tash covered her mouth and gaped at him.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased!’ Hugo laughed at her, not altogether unkindly. ‘I’ve already refused, but I thought I’d see what you said. I mean, it gives us all a great opportunity to keep an eye on them – and I’m certain she’s up to something. I’m just worried that a load of actors romping around the place will frighten the horses.’

  But Tash couldn’t think beyond the immediate ramifications of his statement.

  ‘You’ve invited Lisette to your party?’ she gasped.

  ‘’Course I have.’ He sighed irritably. ‘I’ve always got on well with her – she’s very funny. You’ll just have to be brave, darling, and if you can’t, don’t come. You can always lock Niall up at home.’

  Tash had stomped off in a huff at that point.

  Worse still, Gus had now arranged for her to get a lift with Hugo to the Lowerton trials the day after the party. His own Badminton hopefuls, Fashion Victim and Sex Symbol, were already well qualified and being saved for the big event, so he and Penny were competing at a smaller set of trials nearby with a clutch of novices. In truth they could barely afford the diesel to Lowerton, which was over two hundred miles away.

  ‘Can’t I take the Land-Rover and trailer?’ Tash begged.

  ‘And sleep in it?’ Gus laughed. ‘It’s a two-day trials, Tash. You might be willing to bunk down in a trailer covered in a horse blanket for the night – God knows I’ve done it myself enough times – but Ted would resign if I made him do it. Go with Hugo.’

  ‘Can’t Kirsty go with him and I’ll go with the Stantons?’

  ‘Too risky – thick Richie’s coming over next week, remember? We’re keeping Kirsty and Hugo well apart during his stay – I can’t risk the horses being hurt if big, dumb boyfriend spots the connection and throws a wobbly. You go with Hugo. He’s not sleeping in the horse-box – you know what he’s like. He’s shacking up with some friends as per usual. You’ll be quite safe from his wicked ways.’

  Tash pulled a face and walked out.

  The wedding plans were raging on, despite precious little input from either Tash or Niall. Alexandra faxed several reports as to the state of The Dress, which Tash was due to be fitted into when she and Niall spent a few days in France with her mother and Pascal just before the wedding.

  Tash allowed her to run riot – entirely acquiescing to her judgement and that of the super-efficient Henrietta who, in truth, was doing far more of the practical organisation. She had now booked the venue, the caterers, marquee hire firm, waiting staff and registrar, but was getting increasingly hysterical that there was no guest list and consequently no invitations and nobody buying presents from the list – which she herself had composed – that had been lodged with Peter Jones for almost a month.

  ‘But it’s
only March,’ Tash said vaguely.

  ‘We should have sent the invitations out by now,’ Henrietta told her. ‘People are starting to buy their own presents – I know for a fact that your Aunt Cassandra has bought you a Dualit combi-toaster.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ Tash was amazed. ‘I already have a toaster.’

  Henrietta chose to ignore that. ‘At this rate everything will be doubled up. I only just stopped James’s brother from getting a bread maker.’

  ‘Lucky escape then. I’m far too young to meet my bread maker.’

  She had started to screen her calls to avoid wedding conversations, listening each night to a tape filling up with messages detailing rehearsal schedules and seating ideas. She became increasingly slack about returning calls, feeling horribly guilty but unable to face up to an hour-long debate about whether or not to sit Great-uncle Cornelius next to Great-aunt Germaine in case their hair rinses clashed. And she had more pressing things to worry about than her uncle’s impending purchase of a bread maker.

  Right now she felt that the most useful present that anyone could give the bride and groom would be a course of sessions at Relate. Niall had flown straight from Los Angeles to London without bothering to call in on the forge – by phone or in person.

  Yet when he returned the night before the party, he was in roaring spirits despite an all-day rehearsal for The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Racing into the forge, he gathered Tash into a fireman’s lift and heaved her straight upstairs.