Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (34 page)

‘I've said goodbye to Maisie. I don't think we should waste time hanging around here any longer. As soon as Dillon's stopped talking, we'll go. He's going to come and collect Paddington later.'

Back at the yard, we throw ourselves into doing the horses, which involves giving them their afternoon feeds, mucking out the stables and turning them out for the night. The dogs ‘help', walking up and down to the fields with us, and sometime later Sally Ann calls us in for dinner.

I look at Robbie.

‘Do we have to?' I mouth.

‘Mum, I'm cooking for Flick tonight. I told you.'

Sally Ann gazes at him. Her mouth curves into a smile. ‘Your face. It's all right, you told me this morning.' She turns to me. ‘Have a lovely evening, you
two
. I hope you survive the night – as far as I'm aware, Robbie's cooking hasn't advanced much beyond fish fingers and waffles.'

‘Thanks a lot,' he cuts in cheerfully.

He cooks spaghetti marinara with green salad and garlic bread, served with bottled beer.

‘What do you think?' he asks as we sit eating at the kitchen table with a lighted candle between us.

‘It's delicious. You could be a chef.'

‘I'd hate it. I couldn't do anything but work with horses.' He changes the subject. ‘What do you think of my attempt at romance?'

‘The meal?'

‘The candle.'

‘It's lovely.'

‘I'm not sure I know what romance is.' He smiles. ‘Dad says it's about hearts and flowers, while Mum tells me that it's the everyday, ordinary gestures that count.'

‘I think it's about feeling appreciated and loved.'

‘I feel loved when I'm with you,' he says quietly. He reaches out and covers my hand with his and suddenly I'm no longer hungry. He gazes into my eyes and clears his throat. ‘Shall we go upstairs?'

I lean across and blow out the candle while the flames of lust ignite inside me.

On the way to the bedroom, we kiss and strip off each other's clothes, casting them aside until we're naked on his bed, but as we head for the heights of passion and surrender, Robbie's mobile rings.

‘I'd better get this,' he says, fumbling for his phone.

‘Oh, do you have to?' I sigh, but he's talking.

‘Hi. What's up?'

Apart from the obvious, I think as I gaze at him, hungry for his body, which is gleaming in the moonlight that streams in between the curtains. I get the gist of the conversation: the sleepover is in jeopardy.

‘Yes, of course I'll come and get her straight away.' Robbie gives me a look as he cuts the call. ‘Maisie thinks she can see a man in a black cloak lurking behind the bed. You told them the story of the blacksmith and the Devil.'

‘Young kids like being frightened. I used to.'

‘Not when they're eight and staying away from home.'

‘Mel suggested it.'

‘He was winding you up. I'll be having words with him.'

‘I don't believe it. It's just a story. Look at how brave Maisie is cantering about on Paddington and catching spiders the size of her hand. Who would have thought she'd be scared of a piece of fiction?'

Robbie rolls away from me and slides out of bed.

‘Are you coming?'

‘Not now,' I say ruefully.

‘Ha ha. Very funny,' he says.

‘I'll stay. I have an early start in the morning.'

He leans across and kisses me tenderly.

‘Another time,' he says, and I watch him slip back into his clothes and go, my heart heavy with regret, my stomach churning with unrequited lust. Our night of passion has been brought to a premature end. Just one night, I think, rolling on to my back. Is it too much to hope for?

I stare at the ceiling, at the dark oak beams with their roughened edges and wormholes. I shouldn't be this upset. This is supposed to be a casual summer fling, a bit of fun, and it shouldn't matter that we can't share a bed tonight – but it does.

I return to my room, but I can't sleep. I count horses, grey ones and black ones, jumping one by one over a five-bar gate.

I'm still regretting telling the tale of St Dunstan and the Devil a few days later, because Maisie continues to maintain that she isn't ready to face a night alone. She sleeps in Robbie's bed while he has a mattress on the floor, which serves me right for not thinking firstly that Mel might be leading me on, and secondly that the story was inappropriate for seven- and eight-year-olds of a nervous disposition.

On a wet Saturday afternoon a week later, Robbie has taken Maisie for a walk with the dogs in the rain, so I have peace and quiet for a while. I clean the kitchen – my contribution to tidying the house. I put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, clean the spiders' webs and dead flies from the windowsill, and arrange some flowers that I cut from the garden in a vase that I find in the cupboard. I mop the floor and make tea and toast before sitting down at the table with the radio on low.

The cottage is like a living thing – the fabric of the building feels warm or cool to the touch, depending on the weather. I can hear the occasional creak of her bones as the timbers warp and bend, while I force myself to look through the paperwork that I've been saving for a rainy day. There's an invoice from Westleigh Equine for Rafa's annual check-up, dental treatment and vaccination, along with a bill from Overdown Farmers for a couple of bags of feed, and confirmation of renewal of his annual insurance for veterinary bills.

‘What are you doing?' Maisie walks in with Badger and Tatt, one on each side.

‘I have to pay the bills.'

The dogs stop and shake themselves, showering us with dirty water.

‘Ugh!' Maisie shrieks and grabs a tea towel to wipe her face.

‘That's disgusting,' I say, getting up to send the dogs outside. ‘What are you doing, apart from traipsing mud all over the floor that I have just cleaned?'

‘Oops.' She looks down, holding up her dress. ‘I've forgotten to take off my wellies.'

‘What will Daddy say?'

‘He won't mind. Sometimes he forgets to take his boots off too.'

I shut the door, but it slowly swings back open and the dogs wander back inside and pad around, leaving muddy paw-marks. Devon mud versus clean cottage. It's a losing battle, I think, amused. The mud is winning. We need the rain, though. The first three weeks of May have been warm and dry; the fields are turning yellow, and much of the grass has been nibbled down to its roots.

‘Where are you going?' I ask as Maisie kicks off her wellies and leaves them where they fall.

‘I'm going to watch a DVD. Daddy says I can't ride Paddington now because he's got too much to do.'

‘Paddington has?' I say, straight-faced. ‘No, Daddy!'

‘Okay. Well, I could come and help you with Paddington later.' Her eyes light up. ‘Give me an hour or so, and I'll be with you.'

She skips away to the living room, leaving me to shuffle correspondence for a little while longer. I've had minimal income – the equivalent of Kerry's wage minus mine and Rafa's keep. Mel has paid me, and it's too late to ask for my job back even if I wanted to; Robbie says that one of the other local farriers is looking after Mel's clients until he makes a full-time return.

Where does that leave me, I wonder?

I can't stay here for ever. Eventually, the Saltertons will employ a permanent groom, which will mean I'll have to move on. That will mean getting into more debt to buy a van and find somewhere for Rafa and me to live.

I tot up some figures: the loan to buy and fit out the mobile forge; my monthly debt repayments; Rafa's keep (I can minimise it by doing everything myself, but I'll still have to rent a field and stable, because he hates living out in the winter); a deposit on a flat or rooms for myself; advertising. The list goes on.

I make a spreadsheet on my iPad and create a budget. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. What am I going to do? The answer is staring me in the face. I blank the screen quickly. I can't even contemplate it. I'd rather starve.

‘Hi, Flick.' I look up to find Robbie at the back door, dressed in a green waxed jacket, jeans and navy wellington boots. ‘Did Maisie and the dogs come this way?'

I point towards the floor.

‘I see.' He makes to walk inside.

‘Hold it right there,' I say, smiling. ‘Boots off first.'

‘I see that the house elf's been.' He leaves his boots on the step outside and walks into the kitchen. He glances around the room and leans down to kiss my cheek. ‘Thanks. I've been meaning to tidy up for a while. Are you all right? You look upset.'

‘I've been going through my paperwork, that's all.'

‘Bills?'

‘The usual.' I pick up the sheaf of papers and slide them into a folder.

‘There's an auction in a couple of weeks' time – Dad's always on the lookout for bargain furniture for the holiday lets. He showed me the catalogue online – there are a couple of vans coming up, bailiff repossessions, so they have to be sold. I thought we should go and have a look.'

‘I wouldn't mind looking, but I doubt I'll be in a position to bid.'

‘I could lend you the money.'

‘That's very kind of you, but no, I won't accept any loans. I'm in enough trouble as it is.'

He stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders, massaging the tension from my muscles.

‘The problem is that you're trapped in a vicious circle. You can't work without a mobile forge, and you can't afford to buy one without working.'

I reach up and touch his hand. ‘Tell me about it.'

‘I like the way you're so proud and independent. I've always been determined to stand on my own two feet, but I've learned that it's fine to accept help when it's offered. It doesn't make you any less of a person.' I notice the humour bubbling up in his voice. ‘Besides, I have a vested interest: the sooner you're set up, the sooner you can go back to being my farrier.'

‘I know, but it's my mess and I need to sort it out,' I say stubbornly.

He leans down and plants a kiss on the side of my neck.

‘The offer's open if you should change your mind.'

I thank him, but I have no intention of taking him up on it now or in the future. Robbie's going to need his money to buy another horse – or horses – for the team, if Nelson fails to come sound.

‘The rain's clearing,' he observes. ‘I have loads to do, but I wonder if you'd like to come out for a hack with me and Maisie. I want to take Nelson on the short route, so it'll only be about half an hour.'

‘Are you sure? He hasn't had much time to break his new shoes in. It's like swapping from flats to heels.'

‘I can't say I know anything about that,' Robbie says, smiling ruefully. ‘It's all right. We'll only walk. I won't push him. I'm planning to take him to the beach next week to work him on the sand. Do you want to come? I'll take the lorry so you can bring Rafa along.'

‘I'd love that,' I say, picturing myself galloping over the sand alongside Robbie in his flowing shirt.

‘I thought we'd go on Wednesday this week.' He lowers his voice. ‘Don't tell Maisie – she'll be at school.'

‘What are you saying about me?' Maisie calls from the living room.

‘How did she hear that?' Robbie exclaims before calling back. ‘Flick's coming out with us.'

‘Yay!' She comes cantering into the kitchen, tossing her head and neighing.

The three of us go for a quick ride through the puddles. Nelson and Rafa stride out, sticking to the soft verges where we can, while Paddington jogs along, breaking wind behind us. Robbie and I ride so close that our stirrups touch. I move Rafa away when I glance over my shoulder and notice that Maisie is watching closely. I'm not sure how much she knows about the situation between her dad and me. What I do know is that it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide our feelings from her. The horses drift back together and our stirrups touch once more. We're like magnets, unable to keep apart.

Rafa has been a different horse since he's been living at the Saltertons', and in some ways I'm a changed woman. I'm more relaxed, after all the rushing about I was doing working for Mel. Living at Cherry Tree Cottage with Robbie is like having a breathing space.

I'm in a relationship again, albeit not one with long-term prospects, but so what? I'm having fun. He's good for me.

A delicious shiver of desire runs down my spine as I recall last night, the first occasion that Maisie decided she could sleep in her own bed since the St Dunstan episode. I remember the touch of his hands on my buttocks as he pulled me close, the ‘what planet am I on?' sensation as he made love to me twice, with passion and tenderness, nothing like I've felt before, and the deepest, most satisfying sleep, lying in his arms, our breathing matched and our legs intertwined.

I woke and he had gone. I don't know what time he left, but it was before dawn and before Maisie would have been awake, which reminds me that I am still in effect his secret lover, not his girlfriend. As we ride, I gaze up at the dark green leaves of the ivy that clings to the side of one of the oak trees. Understanding his motives doesn't stop the tendrils of jealousy creeping around my heart.

Over the next four nights, despite the fact Maisie is sleeping in her room in the cottage, we can hardly keep our hands off each other. I creep across the landing to Robbie's bedroom, learning to avoid the creaky floorboards, and practising turning the doorknob without making it click. This morning, I woke at dawn to find us lying apart with just our fingers and toes touching because of the heat. I scurried back to my room and dressed in shorts and a white cotton top to take account of the forecast.