by Holly Ford
‘I’m okay.’
Within arm’s reach of the bank, she bent, secured the bottle between the rocks, and in an attempt to rise gracefully, missed her footing again.
‘There.’ Vito caught her neatly. ‘I have you.’
Well, yes, he did. And as sensations went, it was far from unpleasant.
‘Are you okay?’ He looked her up and down, his fingers moving over her arm.
‘Yes.’ Ella looked up into his eyes. Why was she fighting this, exactly?
His gaze travelled down her body again. She saw his expression change.
‘You are not okay.’
‘What?’
‘Bella, your foot. It is bleeding.’
Ella looked down. Oh dear, so it was.
Vito dropped to one knee and, encircling her ankle with his hand, examined the cut. ‘It looks deep.’
‘How deep?’ Ella tried to see.
Vito looked up at her anxiously. ‘I think you might need — how do you say it?’
Oh no … ‘Stitches?’
‘Stitches. Si.’
Perfect. Ella put her hand on his shoulder and tried a small hop. ‘Could you pass me my boots?’
He shook his head. ‘You will get an infection. Hold onto me.’ Vito slid an arm behind her knees and before Ella could argue, scooped her up and began to carry her, with no sign of effort, back across the tussock towards the hut.
‘Hello, hello,’ Quentin grinned.
‘She has cut her foot,’ Vito said. ‘It looks bad.’
Ella’s blood dripped obligingly onto the grass.
Rob got up. ‘There’s a first-aid kit inside.’
‘Cut her foot?’ she heard Quentin say, as Vito carried her through the hut door. ‘On what? Did she drop the bottle?’
‘Shut up, Quentin,’ said Amy.
‘Keep it elevated,’ Rob said, opening the cupboard above the sink, as Vito put Ella down on the table. ‘Don’t let it touch anything.’
Obediently, Ella crossed her ankle over her thigh and looked at the blood running down her calf. ‘I’m bleeding all over the table.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Rob came back with the first-aid kit. ‘You won’t be the first.’
Gently, he turned her injured foot to the light. Vito came around the table to join him and together they examined the cut.
‘I think it needs stitches,’ Vito said.
‘I think you’re right.’ Rob pulled on a disposable glove. ‘Okay. Hold her foot as still as you can.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Ella was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. ‘You don’t mean you’re going to do it? Here?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to. It’ll be too late by the time we get you to a doctor.’
Too late? God. ‘What do you mean, “too late”?’
‘To stitch the cut safely.’ Rob looked into Ella’s eyes. ‘Hey, it’s okay, it won’t hurt. They’re adhesive stitches — no needle and thread, I swear.’
‘Oh.’ Feeling suddenly much more relaxed, she leaned back on the table. Vito took her ankle firmly in both hands. Ella shut her eyes.
‘Ow! Bloody hell! What was that?’
‘The worst part.’ Rob smiled at her again. ‘That was the antiseptic.’
‘There,’ soothed Vito, thumb stroking her ankle as Rob closed the cut.
‘Right,’ Quentin’s voice drifted through the open doorway, ‘back to work.’ He poked his head into the hut. ‘All right there, Ells? Good-oh. Oi, George Clooney’ — he nodded at Vito — ‘suit up, you’re on.’
Vito hesitated.
‘Go on,’ said Rob. ‘I’ve got this.’
Vito looked at Ella. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she told him. Reluctantly, Vito let go of her ankle.
‘Povera! I am so sorry. Does it hurt very much?’ Sweeping in, Flavia paused to tut over Ella’s foot before rifling the racks of clothes for Vito’s next outfit. Ella made out ‘grey’, ‘cashmere’ and ‘bones of a herring’ amid the barrage of Italian directed over Flavia’s shoulder.
‘Excuse me.’ Vito looked from the pale grey cashmere sweater Flavia was dangling at him to the blood on his hands and clothes. ‘I should clean up.’
‘The tap doesn’t go,’ Ella told him, as he moved towards the sink.
‘Tank must be dry,’ said Rob, sounding unconcerned. ‘There hasn’t been much rain this summer.’
Before Vito made it back from the creek, Flavia swept out again, leaving his clothes laid out on top of a bunk, protected by tissue paper.
Ella, ankle resting on her knee, leaned back on her elbows as Rob wound a roll of gauze round her foot. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.
‘So how do you know how to do all this?’ she asked. ‘Were you a doctor in a previous life?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was an accountant.’
‘Seriously?’
‘What?’ Rob laughed. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’
Um … Ella watched the muscles in his forearms work as he repositioned her foot. Well, yes, actually. ‘Do you miss it?’
‘God, no.’
Rob tied off the gauze bandage, ripped open another antiseptic wipe and began to clean the drying blood from her skin. Entranced, she watched his hand move over her leg, rising up her calf. Lightly, his other hand steadied her knee. Ella looked up into his face. Their eyes met. Rob’s expression changed.
‘Ecco ci.’ Vito placed Ella’s gumboots on the floor beside the table. ‘I brought these.’
‘Thank you.’ Flustered, she smiled at Vito. Rob’s hands, Ella noticed, had left her leg. And that look on his face — what had it been? Horror? Alarm? Or was it something else that had clouded those blue eyes? What had he been thinking?
Oh dear God, what had she been thinking, staring up at him like a dopey schoolgirl with a crush on the gym teacher?
She tried to concentrate on Vito, who was smiling back at her. He appeared to have dried himself with his shirt — doubtless ruined anyway — which was now hanging over his arm. My, he really did have the body of a Roman god. Those abs: they were like marble. Or rather, bronze … Her gaze followed the line of them down to his jeans. The jeans looked ruined as well — she hoped they hadn’t been too expensive.
‘Prego.’ Vito brushed the point of her jaw with his thumb. God, Italians made everything seem so easy … she was pretty sure what that look meant. ‘I must get ready,’ he said, eyes dancing. ‘They are waiting for me.’
Crossing the hut, he began to unbutton his blood-spattered jeans. Ella averted her eyes. Crikey, where was it safe to look? Where had Rob—
Vito. VITO.
He must have his pants on by now. Yes. Ella watched him slip the grey cashmere jumper over his head. It was a thing of beauty. He turned and, catching her looking, grinned. Then, holding her eyes, he pulled on a jacket sharp enough to slice steel and, with a facetiously smouldering pout, turned up its collar. She giggled. Vito looked back at the bunk. He added a scarf, snapped what looked like half a kilo of watch to his wrist, exhaled a deep breath and picked up Flavia’s chosen shoes.
‘Good luck,’ Ella smiled.
He raised his eyebrows at her as he walked to the door. ‘I hope he is quick. Before I boil to death in your Kiwi sun.’
At least someone thought she was from around here.
No sooner had Vito left than Rob returned — presumably from the creek, since he was carrying a bucket of water.
‘Here.’ He wet a couple of paper serviettes from the chilly bin and handed them to her.
‘Thanks.’ Ella rubbed the blood from her leg, careful not to meet his eyes.
‘I’ll just put some strapping around it to keep the dressing in place.’
‘Okay.’ Was she imagining it, or did he sound different?
Brusquely, he wrapped her from toes to ankle in bright blue tape. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks,’ said Ella, again. She turned her trussed foot from side to side, examining Rob’s handiwork. She looked like a polo pony.
> Rob turned away. ‘Those sutures should hold, as long as you stay off the foot. Make sure you don’t put any weight on it, though.’
Ella looked around. So what was she supposed to do, exactly? Stay on the table for the rest of the day? And what was he going to do? Stay or go? She wasn’t sure which would make her feel worse.
‘Don’t worry.’ Rob checked his watch. ‘The helicopter should be back soon. I’ll get this place tidied up.’
‘Can I do something?’
He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Just relax and keep your foot up.’
Okay then … Ella sighed to herself. How long was ‘soon’, exactly? She thought she heard Rob sigh, too.
‘Look, you can sit in a chair if you want,’ he told her. ‘Or if I shift some of Flavia’s gear off the bunks you can lie down.’
‘I’m okay.’ Ella tried to sound bright; she’d already been enough trouble.
Rob hesitated. ‘Would you like me to help you outside?’
‘Really, I’m fine.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Are there any more serviettes? I can clean the table.’
He passed her the packet — with something like a smile, she thought, though he still wasn’t meeting her eye.
‘So,’ Ella strove for something safe and normal to say, ‘how long have you and Charlotte been together, then?’
Rob’s shoulders stiffened. Oh dear — maybe not so safe. ‘Three years.’
Not that long, then … Stop it, she told herself. Three years was long enough — heavens, plenty of couples were married by then. ‘How did you meet?’ Ella persisted brightly, not really wanting to know. She pictured some kind of hoe-down.
‘Through work, I guess you’d say.’ Rob’s voice was warming.
‘On the farm? The station, I mean?’
‘No.’ He was definitely smiling now. ‘Accountancy work. Charlie was a client at my old firm.’
‘And you gave up your job,’ mused Ella, more than half to herself, ‘to work on the station so you could be with her. That’s very romantic.’
Rob paused, looking out the window. ‘It isn’t exactly a hardship.’
Ella followed his gaze to the hills outside, blueing now in the lowering sun. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘not everyone would do that.’
‘Like I said,’ he told her, with the tiniest hint of a snap, ‘I don’t miss the suit and tie.’
‘I’m done.’ Charlotte Black stood in the doorway. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Just about.’ Rob looked around the hut. His eyes came to rest on Ella. ‘Will you be okay there? They won’t be long now — the chopper’s due any second.’
‘Absolutely.’ She hoped they’d remember that she was here — but then, they did have to come back for the rest of the clothes.
‘Oh, right.’ Charlotte looked at Ella as though noticing her there on the table for the first time. ‘How’s your foot?’
‘All fixed up,’ Ella told her, determined not to be daunted by those icy blue eyes. ‘Your man’s a dab hand with a bandage.’
‘Yeah.’ Charlotte raised her eyebrows at Rob and smiled. ‘He’s a regular Florence Nightingale.’
‘It’s all the practice you give me,’ replied Rob evenly. ‘How many times did I glue you back together last year?’
‘Last year?’ Charlotte thought about it. ‘Only twice.’
Rob shook his head. ‘Count again.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Remember Archer’s Gully?’
‘Very well, actually.’ Looking at Rob over Ella’s head, Charlotte stretched her shoulders back and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Oh …’ She touched a finger to her lip. ‘You mean that? Come on, that was only one stitch. That shouldn’t count.’
God, it was like a truck-stop calendar come to life. Ella averted her eyes from the sight of Charlotte, all legs and hair and tan and straining checked shirt, lounging in the doorway. She dared a glance at Rob, who was gazing at Charlotte with an expression that made Ella feel like she was imposing. He looked smitten all right — that gaze could start a brush fire. Ella watched as he pushed a hand through his wavy blond hair. Alongside the smoulder she thought she could see something else in his eyes. Was it hurt? She couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t look much like trust and contentment. Her mother was right: this was a man in love. But was he happy? Ella wasn’t so sure.
‘You want me to saddle Jupiter while you finish up?’ Charlotte asked.
‘No.’ Rob shook his head. ‘I’m all done here.’
Without a glance at Ella, he walked to the door. Charlotte straightened up. Rob picked up his saddle from the porch, slung it over his shoulder, and dropped his other arm around Charlotte’s hips, his hand coming to rest in her back pocket. Ella watched Charlotte lean into him as they walked away, and sighed. For a moment she thought they wouldn’t bother saying goodbye.
‘See you down there,’ Rob eventually remembered to say, looking back at her over his shoulder.
‘Bye, Ella,’ echoed Charlotte, without turning around.
‘See you,’ Ella called. She hoped she sounded less miserable than she felt.
‘Will we?’ Charlotte’s attempt at a whisper carried all too clearly through the still air.
‘Yes,’ Ella heard Rob say. ‘She’s coming for dinner, remember? Lizzie and Richard are coming, too.’
‘Oh God,’ Charlotte sighed. ‘More people. Just what we need.’
Ella couldn’t hear Rob’s reply, but as he and Charlotte passed out of sight of the hut a small shriek drifted back across the grass, followed by giggling. Thankfully it was soon drowned out by the much louder noise of the helicopter returning.
Ten seconds later, Flavia hurried in through the door, Vito and Sandro hard on her heels. ‘Sandro and I will bring the clothes,’ she ordered, folding as fast as the models could strip off their gear. ‘Vito, you bring Ella.’
‘Andiamo?’ Still pulling his T-shirt on, Vito beamed down at her.
‘Yes, please.’ Ella leaned against his broad chest as he scooped her up into his arms. ‘Andiamo, si.’ She’d never been more ready to leave a place in her life.
Chapter FIVE
‘It’s a beautiful garden you have here.’ From the verandah, Lizzie looked over the green sweep of Blackpeak’s lawn to the willow-fringed river and the Rosalie Range beyond, the hills fading to violet in the stillness of the summer evening.
‘Thank you.’ Nick poured more wine into her glass. ‘I can’t take much credit for it, I’m afraid. Flavia and I only make it back once a year.’
‘It seems to be in good hands.’ Lizzie smiled, but she couldn’t help thinking what a lot of responsibility a place like this was for such a young girl: Charlotte Black couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Ella, and it was all she could do to get her daughter to tidy her room.
‘Yes,’ said Nick. ‘Not Charlotte’s, thank God — she’d have the sheep in here if we left it to her. But Hannah and Rob do a great job.’
At the far end of the verandah, the achingly handsome Vito appeared through the sitting-room doors, Ella in his arms, her borrowed crutches discarded. ‘Hey, I’m not a toy poodle, you know,’ Lizzie heard her daughter complain, giggling nonetheless as Vito carried her off down the steps and onto the lawn.
The day had obviously gone well: cut foot or no cut foot, Ella looked very happy. Lizzie was relieved. Everyone was with the right person.
As if on cue, Charlotte and Rob walked around the side of the house. They’d obviously just got home, as they were still in their riding gear and they looked dusty and hot. Watching them walk together, close, so perfectly attuned to each other that they barely needed to touch, Lizzie felt a pang of longing for that kind of intimacy. They made it look so easy.
‘Hi,’ said Nick, loudly.
‘Oh.’ Charlotte looked up at the verandah. ‘Hello — you’re all there. We thought we could sneak in.’
‘Hi, Lizzie,’ said the lovely Rob. ‘Sorry we’re late.’
‘
Do we have time to get changed?’ Charlotte asked Nick, as she reached the top of the steps.
‘God, yes.’ Nick sniffed the air, which was suddenly rich with the smell of hot horse. ‘Showered, too.’
‘Sorry.’ Charlotte, sniffing too, shot Lizzie a smile.
Lizzie smiled back. It was actually quite a nice smell, she thought.
‘Charlie!’ Richard, appearing out of nowhere to rake his eyes over Charlotte’s sweat-glossy body before treble-kissing her, didn’t seem to dislike it either. ‘How lovely to see you again.’
Lizzie straightened her shoulders. How stupid to mind.
‘Hello, Rob,’ Richard added, reaching out to slap his dusty arm.
‘Hi,’ said Rob, who didn’t look like he minded at all. ‘Excuse us — we’re just on our way in to get cleaned up.’
‘Of course. Don’t let me stop you.’
Lizzie watched Richard watch Charlotte bend to take off her boots at the door, then walk inside, her long black ponytail swinging above her hips.
‘Lizzie.’ As Charlotte’s jeans disappeared into the shadows, Richard’s gaze swung back to her. ‘I came to see if you needed a drink.’
‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘I’m being looked after.’
‘Right.’ Richard waited. No one spoke. ‘Well,’ he said, after a moment or two, ‘I seem to have left my glass somewhere.’
‘Have you known Richard long?’ asked Nick, carefully, when Richard had wandered back inside.
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie. She took a sip of her wine.
Glancing back at the open front door Charlotte had disappeared through, Lizzie’s heart skipped a beat. Oh no, surely not …
‘Carr!’ Nick beamed. ‘Glad you could make it.’ He touched Lizzie’s elbow. ‘Have you two met? This is Lizzie Harrington.’
‘Yes.’ From the doorway, Carrick Fergusson considered her, his head to one side. ‘I know.’ He was wearing a crisp blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his jeans, while faded, were free of holes.
Lizzie nodded to him. ‘Mr Fergusson.’
‘Please. Call me Carr.’
‘All right.’ She summoned a professional smile. ‘Carr, then — if you insist.’
‘I do.’ A muscle twitched at the side of his mouth. ‘It has a nicer ring to it — don’t you think? — than what you called me last time.’
