Zara Stoneley - Stable Mates

‘You’ve been with Rory today?’ Tabatha uncrossed her arms. ‘What’s he like? I mean, is he really that fit?’

‘This was before the class.’ Lottie knew she probably shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist flashing her mobile in front of Tabatha, a shot of Rory when he’d been posing on the wagon steps with his toned abs on display. ‘I did make him put a shirt and jacket on though.’ She flicked onto the next picture, which was Rory nonchalantly sat astride Flash, long legs stretched at her sides, feet dangling free of the stirrups, one hand on the buckle end of the reins, the other grasping a cigarette. His last request he’d called it. Lottie actually preferred the picture of him with his clothes on, which worried her a bit. The sun was behind him and his hatless head was a mass of curls, he looked a bit like a swashbuckling hero – minus the sword.

‘Can I see the first one again?’

Lottie reluctantly flicked back to the first picture. He was so gorgeous, and although he played to the crowd, she had a feeling that deep down he wanted to be loved. Properly. But it just didn’t seem to be by her. Not that she wanted that now of course. She was independent, wanted fun and freedom. Definitely.

But she was back in Tippermere. And his bed. She tried to supress the sigh.

Lottie had fancied Rory for as long as she could remember. Forever. And he did fancy her (although of course it had taken him a bit longer to realise), but it had been a jokey, easy-going relationship. Not a ‘maybe this could be forever’ type of thing.

After her disastrous ‘world tour’ as her father called it, she had told herself that Rory was the perfect antidote to her humiliation of being conned by a serial adulterer, but looking at the photo now she had a horrible feeling that she’d never actually managed to fall out of lust and love with him. And never would. God, who in their right mind preferred to ogle a picture of a man like Rory more with his clothes on?

She glanced up and Tom was studying her with a very slight disapproving air. He was probably deciding that she wouldn’t be a good influence on his daughter, that she was more likely to be sharing pictures of semi-nude men than teaching how to do a collected trot.

‘Sorry.’ She could feel a blush spread across her cheeks.

‘No problem. Who am I to say anything about looking at men without their clothes on?’ He smiled, the first genuine smile that the Tippermere residents had seen from him, and Pip, Lottie, and every female member of the restaurant staff that was in range were left in no doubt as to why he made a fortune in front of the camera.

Lottie put the phone down. ‘Why have you come here? I mean it’s not exactly commuter belt is it, if you’re working?’ Mild embarrassment made her voice the questions she would have normally kept politely to herself.

Tom shifted in his seat. ‘Well, you’re here for one.’ As the words came out, he could tell that flattery wasn’t going to get him anywhere. ‘You’ve got excellent facilities here for Tabby to really progress; it is what she wants to do. Isn’t it?’ Tab shrugged, like only a teenager can. ‘And it is commuter belt, I can get on a plane in half an hour, or jump in the car and be on the M6 in seconds. And, no one notices me here, I mean the area is plastered with premiership footballers and soap stars, so I’m just another face.’ He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. There were a hundred reasons he could give for picking this particular area of the country, but one in particular right now he was reluctant to voice.

Elizabeth Stanthorpe had been born in Tipping House, and fully intended on dying there. After she’d ensured that her family would continue running the estate in the way it deserved to be.

‘I imagine that young Rory thinks Dominic is gay.’ She raised an eyebrow as Lottie spluttered a shower of gin and tonic over one of the black Labradors and then hastily tried to rub it in with the back of her hand.

‘I’m not sure that’s why they don’t like each other, not that I think Uncle Dom is gay, of course.’

‘Well, I did.’ She took another swig of her own drink.

‘Gran, you can’t say that.’

‘Well he can be so bloody prissy at times, not a bit like his father was. If it hadn’t been a home birth I would have thought there had been a mix up at some point. No one would have ever have accused your grandfather of batting for the other side, although those private schools can bring out the worst in boys.’ She focussed back on her only granddaughter, only grandchild, who was going a funny shade of pink. ‘Well, you did bring it up, darling. Pour me another drink whilst you’re up, there’s a good girl.’

Lottie had been about to say she wasn’t actually up, but knew it was useless to argue with her grandmother, who had what she referred to as ‘backbone’.

As she sloshed a good measure of Bombay Sapphire gin into the chipped crystal, she decided that it was a good job they didn’t make them like that anymore. Although the matriarch could be more fun than the rest of the family put together when it suited her. Nothing stopped Elizabeth when she got the bit between her teeth, and Lottie secretly thought that her grandmother wasn’t as batty, forgetful and deaf as she liked to make out.

‘All I said,’ she passed the drink to Elizabeth who sniffed it as though she suspected it might be laced with something, or more likely not strong enough, ‘was that Rory thought it was strange when Uncle Dom turned up at the dressage. Did you have anything to do with that?’

‘I may have mentioned it.’ She tapped a long nail against the side of the glass, piercing blue eyes fixed on Lottie. ‘You could do a lot better than that man, Charlotte.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘You are so like your mother in some ways.’

When Elizabeth had borne two children for Charles Stanthorpe, she had, in her usual manner, carried out her duties exactly as could have been expected. Their eldest child, Dominic, was a fair-haired, blue-eyed, easy-going child who was always keen to please, courteous, but precise to the point of obsession. More than once, Elizabeth had been filled with an irrational desire to rearrange his meticulously organised toys, and then Alexandra had arrived and done it for her.

Alexa was as beautiful and wild as Dom was pretty and controlled. Her dark eyes would glint with mischievousness and her long curls bob as she dashed around the large house, causing chaos. With the family Labs in her wake, Alexa would tear like a mini tornado, leaving a trail of destruction behind her. But with her ready grin, infectious giggle and affable nature, remonstrating with her was something that was easier left to others. So everybody did. Everyone forgave and forgot, with the result that, by the time she hit her teens, the fun-loving little girl had turned into an irresistible challenge that scared the living daylights out of many of her chosen suitors.

So Elizabeth found, as her children hit puberty, that she was hit with an unexpected problem. Her son showed no apparent interest in the female form, funnelling all his efforts into the pursuit of equine excellence, and her hitherto perfect daughter Alexa showed too much interest in horsemen. At twenty-two she was smitten with the very dashing, but totally unsuitable William Brinkley, at twenty-three she was pregnant with his child. The day after her twenty-fifth birthday she died in a tragic accident.

Lottie knew with the ‘just like your mother comment’ exactly where this conversation was going and did her best to head it off with the skill of someone who’d had to do it many times before. Her mother, Alexandra, had been destined to marry someone befitting her breeding, until she fell for Billy Brinkley. A sportsman who was as competent in the sack as saddle, if the headlines and stable tittle-tattle was to be believed. Lottie had never known her mother; losing her when she was just a toddler had meant she had never felt the real pang of loving and losing, but as she grew up she felt like there was an element of her life missing. The bossy, but well-meaning, Elizabeth had considered it her duty to support her only granddaughter and give her all the information she could ever need, drip-feeding it to her from the day she was old enough to understand.