Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (14 page)

‘I'm taking Ash and Maisie to school before meeting a friend for coffee at the garden centre. I lead an exciting life,' she jokes. ‘We can have a chat over a drink tonight if you're free.'

‘That would be great. I haven't any plans.'

‘Not yet,' she smiles. ‘That could change.'

‘I doubt it somehow. There doesn't appear to be much in the way of nightlife around here.'

‘I hope you aren't finding it too quiet. There are clubs in Exeter – that isn't too far away if you want a night out.'

‘I think I'll pass on that for now – I'm not sure I'd stay awake much beyond ten.' I put my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, pick up the business mobile, and my mended one which arrived by courier the day before, and go outside. When I'm saying goodbye to Rafa on my way to the truck, I receive a call from Robbie.

‘Hi, I've got a therapy session this morning, but I was wondering if you were free over lunch to come and help me with Paddington. If you wanted to, you could stay and have a go at trick riding. I was supposed to be teaching this afternoon, but the rider's cancelled – I'm not sure if they're really ill, or if they've backed out. What do you think?'

‘I could drop in at about one-thirty if that isn't too late.' I glance at my thumb. The antibiotics have kicked in and the bruising is going down. It won't stop me riding.

‘That's perfect. I'll see you then. It shouldn't take more than half an hour or so with Paddington, and a couple of hours for the lesson. All you need is a hat and boots, good balance, common sense and a dash of bravery.'

‘I have all of that.' I can't stop smiling. ‘I'll see you later.'

‘I'm looking forward to it,' he says.

I cut the call and race off to change into a pair of fawn jodhpurs. I get as many of the day's visits done in as short a time as possible before arriving at the Saltertons', impatient to have a go at trick riding but apprehensive about making a fool of myself. As I exit the truck, the wolfhounds come trotting over and the taller one of the two nudges me in the crotch in greeting.

‘That's called being overly familiar.' I push him away and give him a pat.

‘Badger likes you,' Robbie says.

Eyes front, I tell myself, as I notice exactly how tight his leggings are, leaving nothing to the imagination. It's a relief that he's covered up, I think, amused that I should even be thinking such a thing. It's because I've been so long without a man.

‘I can't imagine you being nervous – you're the coolest guy—'

‘Guy?!' I exclaim.

‘I mean girl. You're the coolest girl I know. It was a slip of the tongue. I'm sorry, but that's how I see you. I can't help it,' he says earnestly, oblivious to how hurt that comment makes me feel. ‘You're a laugh. One of the lads,' he adds adamantly – so adamantly that I wonder, just for one delicious moment, if he's having trouble convincing himself that that's how he feels.

But that seems like very wishful thinking. Apparently he still admires me for my manly qualities then, I think sadly. So much for the wet shirt.

‘Are you ready for this? Paddington's in the stable – I've tacked him up. He went nuts when I put the saddle on, bucking and rearing.'

My heart plummets.

‘He won't be any good for Maisie then.' I pick up my hat from the passenger seat in the truck, and ram it firmly on to my head. I don't think he's going to be much good for me either. I'm having doubts about what I've agreed to do. ‘If he's completely wild when he comes out of the stable, I'm going to back out.'

‘I wouldn't blame you.' Robbie rests his hand on the latch and turns to me with a twinkle in his eye.

‘You're winding me up,' I say, relieved.

‘He's been as quiet as a mouse. Look at him.'

I move to Robbie's side and look over the door, where Paddington is standing with his eyes closed, resting one leg. He seems perfectly comfortable in a saddle and bridle with the reins tucked safely behind the stirrups.

‘I think you'll struggle to get him to move at all.' Robbie opens the door and leads him out. ‘I was going to suggest that I lunged him first to take the wind out of his sails …'

We walk with Paddington to the sand school. He grunts as Robbie pulls him up and tightens the girth.

‘I'm afraid his knees are going to buckle when I get on him.'

‘Come on, Flick. You don't weigh anything.' He smiles. ‘Do you want to get on from the mounting block?'

I take over the reins and move the pony close to a set of wooden steps. I stand on the top and lean across Paddington's back. He doesn't budge, so I take up the reins, put my foot in the stirrup and swing my leg over his back. I sit down gently in the saddle and slip my right foot into the other stirrup, and sit there with my knees almost level with my chin.

‘Frankie Dettori, eat your heart out,' Robbie chuckles. ‘Let me take those down for you.'

‘It's okay, I can do it,' I say, but without conviction. The belt-like leather straps will need adjusting so that the stirrups hang lower, but it's a slightly awkward manoeuvre, and I can't pretend I'm disappointed when Robbie ignores me and moves towards Paddington's right side. Okay, I think, if he insists on helping out with an operation which is likely to involve some touching of my inner thigh, then at least one of us will have enjoyed it.

Robbie is focusing firmly on the right-hand strap while I attend to the left. His shoulders are tight and the muscle in his cheek is taut; once he's made the adjustment, he moves away abruptly.

Mesmerised by Robbie's proximity, I'm forgetting Paddington. I reach down and check the girth again. It's nice and snug. I give him a squeeze with my legs and he ambles slowly forwards. We walk around the perimeter of the school before I ask him to step up the pace. He shifts into trot, making the minimum of effort, and breaking wind several times, making me laugh. I change the rein and we trot in the other direction before I ask him for canter. It takes three attempts and then he's off like a pocket rocket, whizzing along at speed. Once he's done a circuit, I pull him up. He puffs and blows as I let him walk around.

‘What do you think?'

‘Looking good,' Robbie says.

‘Thank you, but I'm referring to Paddington.'

‘Very funny.'

I pull up and dismount.

‘I assume that's enough for him for today.'

‘I reckon so. Let's put him away.' Robbie takes over and I accompany him while he untacks Paddington and leaves him in the stable. I top up the water bucket from the tap outside while we chat.

‘Thanks for that. I'd have needed roller-skates to try him out.' Robbie leaves the saddle and bridle on the rail outside. ‘I'll turn him out later. It's Kerry's day off and Dillon's gone to pick up some bags of feed from Overdown Farmers.'

‘I thought it was quiet.'

‘Maisie's at school, and Mum and Dad have gone out for the day. They're going to pick her up on their way home.'

‘You're lucky having such a supportive family.'

‘I know … You've hardly talked about yours.'

‘As I said before, I'm an only child. My parents said my appearance was a miracle. My dad had been told that he was unlikely to father a child because he didn't have very good swimmers. That's what he and Mum used to say when I was little. I didn't understand at first – for a long time, I had a picture in my head of lots of babies in armbands swimming about in a pool. Anyway, I was very much wanted.' My eyelids start to burn, which is ridiculous. I swallow hard, surprised to find myself growing emotional talking of my parents. I think of them in their younger days, my mum with long dark hair and wearing a bright red dress, walking hand in hand with a handsome man with rugged features, a heavy brow, and dark hair flecked with grey who looked old enough to be her father.

‘My father was married when he met my mum. He was running a company. She was his PA. His family disowned him when he divorced and remarried. They said that it would never work, that she was a gold-digger, but they went on to have a good life together, united by their love of Spanish horses. I don't see them very often now, but it was different when I was growing up.'

Robbie waits for me to continue speaking.

‘I was spoiled to bits. I had everything I wanted, but I also felt swamped with attention.' I feel sorry for Robbie as I recall how his mother left him. ‘They were what people describe as helicopter parents. In fact, Dad did have a helicopter for a while. He sold his part-share in order to buy a particularly desirable stallion. A few years later, the same horse kicked my father, breaking both kneecaps and leaving him hardly able to walk.'

‘How old is he?' Robbie asks.

‘He's in his seventies. I feel bad about what's happened between us and I'd love to build bridges before it's too late, but …' I shrug. ‘I have my pride. I need to show them that I can go it alone, that I don't need their money, and that I made the right decision for me.'

Robbie is frowning as I continue. ‘My parents don't approve of my choice of career. They had high expectations and they've made it clear that I've let them down.'

‘But you've done so well,' he exclaims. ‘Look at you. You're good at what you do and you're going to make shedloads of money – well, not as much as a solicitor or a judge, but you don't have to depend on the vagaries of the TV and film industry, as I do.'

‘They don't see it that way. In fact, I hardly get in touch with them any more because I can't bear to see their disappointed faces and listen to my mother's jibes about how I'll regret it one day, when my back goes and I'm working outside in all weathers. She goes on and on about how I'll never get married when my muscles turn to fat as I get older. She's pretty vain; when she was younger, she was what my dad describes as a stunner.'

‘Like you,' Robbie says.

‘I'm sorry?' Have I misheard?

‘You're pretty stunning. Like mother, like daughter.' He smiles. ‘You're blushing.'

‘Thanks for the compliment.' I look into his eyes, searching for what he means by it. He gives me a long, smouldering stare. My heart beats so hard that it feels as if it's bursting out of my chest.

‘When I said “looking good” earlier, I meant it. I was talking about you.' He has a half-smile on his lips when he turns away. ‘Are you ready to try out some tricks?'

‘What kind of tricks?' I say, flirting with him.

‘You'll have to wait and see,' he says, flirting back. ‘Let me get the saddle.'

I follow him into the tack room where he shows me a Western-style saddle with a metal horn at the front.

‘This is a trick saddle.' He picks it up and we walk back towards the arena.

‘What, no horse?' I say as he opens the gate.

‘First things first. We're going to start with Woody.'

‘What's that? Some kind of trick?'

‘It's our pretend horse.' He points towards a wooden structure that resembles a horse's body on legs. It stands in the far corner of the school behind a set of jump wings and poles. ‘It's cheap to keep and doesn't need shoes. You can give him a pat, if you like. He doesn't bite or kick.' Robbie slides it across the sand so it's away from the fence. ‘Let me show you what you're aiming for.

‘A lot of the tricks we do today were used in battle,' he goes on. ‘You can employ them for attack or self-defence, hiding behind your horse's body while shooting at the enemy, or playing dead to reduce the risk of being shot at.' He takes a run-up and vaults on. He shows me the layover, the suicide drag, the mane drag, backbreaker, and reverse fender, until I don't know which one is which. He finishes his routine, standing perfectly balanced on the wooden horse's back and holding his arms outstretched. ‘Your turn,' he sings out as he jumps down on to the sand, landing lightly on his feet. His brow glistens with a sheen of perspiration. His cheeks are lightly flushed. I'm amused and flattered at the way he's showing off. My knees grow weak too – from lust, not fear.

‘Go on then. What are you waiting for?'

I summon my strength and take a run-up. I misjudge the distance and lose momentum, ending up halfway up the horse's side. Even hanging on to the horn on the saddle and thrashing with my legs, I don't make it, and I have to endure the indignity of making a second attempt before I scramble on top.

Robbie talks me through how to move to a crouch position, and from there to standing up. He explains how to do a laydown and I lie on my back at right angles to the horse's body, facing the sky.

‘Keep your legs and shoulders up. Hold your body straight.' He presses gently on my abs, sending flickers of fire through my belly. I glance towards him. His pupils are dilated and dark with passion, his lips slightly parted. I'm not imagining it. There is definitely
something
going on between us. Not quite ‘one of the lads' after all, then …

‘No banana shapes,' he adds, his voice hoarse.

‘I need to work on my inner core,' I say. I thought I was fit, but I'm not half as fit as my trainer. The trouble is that my inner core is currently a molten ball of longing and desire, and I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I want to kiss him. I need to feel his arms around me …

I force myself to focus on the lesson. Robbie shows me a couple of other moves before heading off to fetch Nelson and Scout. I sit sideways on the wooden horse waiting for him, my mouth half open.

‘You can't stay on Woody. That would be cheating.' He laughs as he lets both horses loose in the school, a stick in his hand. ‘Watch and listen carefully.' He calls Nelson to him and vaults on. I'm not sure how he signals to Scout, but he soon has them trotting slowly side by side with matching strides. I watch closely as he moves from a sitting position to a crouch and then to standing on Nelson's back. He sends the horses into a steady canter, and stands with one leg on each horse, travelling around the school.