Springtime at Cherry Tree Cottage (37 page)

‘He has a kind eye too,' Robbie says.

He is gorgeous, but when Robbie gets on to ride him, he turns into a firecracker. He snorts and jogs his way from the yard to the outdoor manège, showing off his magnificent flowing mane and broad chest. He flares his nostrils, revealing a flash of scarlet when Robbie asks him to trot in circles on the sand. He's an impressive horse, and I'm beginning to wonder if this is it and Robbie was right that our search will be over today, when he jumps off and leads the horse to the gate.

As I open it for him, the stallion yanks the reins from his hands and canters away to one of the stables, where he proceeds to try to jump the door to get in with another horse, a black mare.

‘He has his eye on the ladies, just like the rest of us,' the owner says, giving me a lecherous wink. He catches hold of the reins and tries to pull the stallion away from where he's nuzzling and nipping at the mare's neck, but the stallion, assuming that he's in with a chance, refuses to budge.

‘I've seen enough, thank you. I'll be in touch. Let's go,' Robbie says, and we set out for home, not stopping until we arrive back at the cottage. Robbie lets the dogs out while I make tea and sandwiches, which we eat sitting next to each other on the sofa.

‘What next?' I ask, looking out through the window to the garden, where the roses are blooming bright pink, salmon and red, and the yellow cherries on the trees are acquiring a carmine blush.

‘I really don't know. Keep looking, I suppose. Delphi's was a dud and the stallion was far too driven by his hormones to be any good to me. I didn't think it would be all that hard to find another horse.'

‘You must have known that it was a tall order, trying to replace Nelson.' I hesitate. ‘I could try calling my parents to see if they know of anyone who might have a horse that would fit the bill.'

‘One like Rafa, you mean?' Robbie's expression brightens. ‘Would you? What will they think, though? I don't want to cause you any grief.'

‘I guess I'll find out,' I say, smiling. ‘As I've said before, they've retired from the industry, but they'll still have contacts.' I jump up.

‘Where are you going?'

‘To give them a call. There's no time like the present; the longer I wait, the less inclined I'll be to pick up the phone.' I wander outside and sit under one of the cherry trees. Watching the bees buzzing around the roses, I dial my parents' number.

‘Hello, Felicity, how are you?' My father sounds cheerful, merry even. ‘Did you get our text?'

‘Yes,' I say guiltily, because I did, but didn't reply to it.

‘So you know that we're home now, enjoying a bottle of Rioja to remind us of sunny Spain. Are you still in Devon, working for … what's his name?'

‘No and yes. What I mean is that I'm in Furzeworthy, but I'm no longer working for Mel. It didn't work out … He sacked me,' I add in response to my father's questioning silence. ‘It isn't what you think.' I refrain from mentioning the fact that I found him with his mistress. ‘He accused me of poaching his clients. He thought he'd end up with no business if I carried on.'

‘I'm sorry,' he says.

‘Really? I thought you'd use this opportunity to advise me to get back behind a desk and earn some proper money.'

‘This might surprise you, but all we've ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your way isn't the one we'd have chosen, but it's clearly right for you, otherwise you wouldn't have stuck at it like you have.'

‘I wish you hadn't doubted me.'

‘Being totally honest, knowing from bitter experience how dangerous horses are, we tried to put you off becoming a farrier because we didn't want you to get hurt, but you've survived so far.'

I don't mention my accidental self-harming with the knife and nailing myself to a horse. What the eye doesn't see and all that.

He sighs. ‘The wine must be making me mellow.'

‘Thanks, Dad.'

‘What are your plans now?'

‘I'm staying with a family called the Saltertons, who've been very kind, giving me and Rafa board and lodging in return for doing some yard duties while I look for another job.'

‘Mum and I could help you if you'd let us.'

I know what he's getting at – he wants to assist me financially with a gift or loan, but I can't accept. My pride won't let me.

‘It's all right, thank you.'

‘I understand why you feel that you need to do this yourself. I admire you for that, but it works both ways. My health isn't as good as it was, and time is slipping away. Your mum and I are beginning to feel old and useless.'

‘Less of the old, Nigel,' my mother's voice cuts in sharply.

‘What we want more than anything is to be needed,' he goes on.

‘You might be able to help me then,' I say, wishing I'd tried harder to break the ice between us before. ‘I'm staying with one of the sons of the family – he's a friend of mine. I met him when I was shoeing his horses.'

‘Sarah mentioned you were seeing someone,' Dad says.

‘Let me speak to her. Nigel, give me the phone.' Mum takes over. ‘We went to see the baby the other day. She's such a darling. Now, what's this about a boyfriend? I assume from the fact that we haven't met him that your father and I wouldn't approve. He isn't another farrier like that dreadful Ryan? We never did like him.'

‘Rosa, keep your opinions to yourself,' I hear my father say in the background.

‘Robbie's an expert in horses as therapy, using the healing power of horses to help people with learning difficulties.'

‘So he's almost medical then.' My mother sounds more cheerful.

‘He's a stunt rider too. He works in TV and film,' I go on.

‘Wow.' For once, she's impressed. ‘Who knows who he might introduce you to? That Johnny Depp is rather gorgeous.'

‘Mum, he's far too old,' I groan. ‘Anyway, Robbie has just been forced to retire his lead horse through lameness and he's looking for another one. We went to see a couple today, but they aren't suitable and there isn't much around. I wondered if you had any contacts who have horses for sale – something like Rafa.'

There's some muttering as my parents confer before my father comes back on the line.

‘Let me have a think and come back to you on that one. I'll do some ringing around,' he says.

I thank him and cut the call before returning inside to find Robbie, who's almost asleep on the sofa with Badger sprawled across his body.

‘How did it go?' he says, opening one eye.

‘Much better than I expected. Dad's going to call some of his contacts and let me know the outcome.' I perch on the arm of the sofa and reach down to stroke his hair. ‘I think we've come to an understanding.'

‘Better late than never,' he murmurs.

I smile in agreement. My father is getting old and we shouldn't waste any more time on past differences of opinion. Life is short.

Over the next week, we see several more horses, but they are too old, too crippled, too big or too small to fit into the team. The one we like best is built like a drum horse and no good for tricks. My father gets back to me with a promising contact, but the two horses available are too young. Robbie keeps them in mind, but our horse-hunting comes to a stop.

Robbie arranges for Sally Ann to babysit one evening so we can spend a couple of hours at the Talymill Inn. We sit at the table beside the water wheel, watching it turn. I look up.

‘Robbie, I've been thinking about the offer you made for Rafa. Is it still on the table?'

He gazes at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

‘Have you changed your mind?'

I nod. ‘I've hardly ridden him recently.'

‘Flick,' he says in a low voice. ‘You don't have to do this. I know how much he means to you.'

‘I can see how much it would mean to you to have a new lead horse, and I know he won't be ready for the next show, but he could be for the filming in the spring, if you get the contract.' My voice breaks. ‘It would be better for him to have a settled home where he can work and fulfil his potential. I wouldn't let him go to just anyone. I know you'd look after him.'

‘I would, I promise. You can see him, ride him, whenever you like. I'll pay you what I think is a fair price.' He mentions a sum.

‘That's very generous. Too generous. You aren't offering over the odds?'

‘Definitely not.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘He's worth it. He's a fantastic horse.'

‘It doesn't feel right talking about Rafa in terms of money.'

Robbie reaches across the table and rests his hand on mine.

‘That's why I don't want you to rush into a decision. Take your time.'

Waiting won't make any difference, I think. I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. I need the money to get myself out of the financial abyss I've ended up in.

‘Will you have Matt out to vet him?' I ask. ‘I have nothing to hide. He's never been anything except one hundred per cent sound.'

‘I will do, if you agree to sell him to me. It's nothing personal. It's just after what I've been through with Nelson, I don't want to find out that he can't cope with what I'm asking of him a few months down the line.'

‘It will be a bit of a shock to him at first. His life's been one long holiday so far.'

‘It's good that he's low mileage.'

‘Let's drink to it.' I hold up my glass, a half-pint.

‘You mean …?'

‘Yes, he's yours, subject to a clean bill of health.'

‘I don't know how to thank you.' Robbie touches his glass to mine. I pour the remaining beer down my throat. ‘Let me get you another one of those.'

‘I'll have a pint this time, seeing as you're buying.' I force a smile. I've done it. I've as good as sold my best friend. How can anyone do that?

The pint goes down quickly, followed by another as I drown my sorrows and try to get used to the new normal. I am no longer part of that exclusive club of horse owners. I will no longer have to worry about where I'm going to buy the next bale of hay, find the money for the vet bills, or watch the weather at least twice a day to decide which rug Rafa needs. He will be Robbie's responsibility.

‘I'm feeling a little under the influence.' I gaze at him across the table. ‘Would you mind taking me home – I mean back to Cherry Tree Cottage – now?'

‘Not at all.' He stands up, moves round and picks up my jacket from the back of my chair. He supports me as I get to my feet, then places it around my shoulders. He holds my hand on the way out to the car park and drives me back to Furzeworthy, where there are bats swooping across the sky and silhouetted against the vast orb of the full moon.

‘Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we're here.' Robbie's voice nudges into my consciousness.

He helps me out of the Land Rover, puts his arm around my back and guides me to the door, takes off my shoes and helps me up to bed, his bed.

‘What about Maisie?' I stammer.

‘Don't worry about her. She's asleep – Mum's been babysitting.' Slowly, he undresses me and puts me to bed, pulling the duvet up over my breasts. ‘I'll get you some water.'

‘I'm all right.' My voice sounds distant, as if the words are coming out of a disembodied mouth on the far side of the room. I touch my forehead. ‘I'm going to regret this tomorrow.'

‘You aren't going to change your mind about selling Rafa?'

‘No, I'm talking about the beer. I shouldn't have had that last pint.' I feel wretched. Robbie fetches a glass of water, a packet of plain biscuits and black coffee, but the only thing I want is to feel his arms around me as we lie skin-to-skin in his bed. I want to be enveloped in his warmth and scent. I want to forget what I've done, but I can't. I don't think I've ever felt so guilty and sad. I've sacrificed a lot for my career, but I never imagined I'd have to give up my beautiful horse.

Over the next few days in June, Matt vets Rafa and passes him as sound in wind and limb. Robbie transfers the money to my account. I borrow the Land Rover to take Rafa's passport with the change-of-ownership details to post in Talyton St George on the morning of the auction. I drop Maisie at school at the same time.

‘Daddy always buys me sweets on the way,' she says earnestly. She sits on her booster seat beside me, with her book bag on her knees and satchel on the floor.

‘I don't think so.' I can't help grinning. ‘You are so cheeky.'

‘If you don't ask, you don't get,' she says as I pull in around the corner from the Talyton Primary. I let Maisie out and walk to the school gates with her clutching my hand.

‘Hello, Maisie,' a boy calls from the pavement on the opposite side of the road.

‘Who is that?' I ask when she waves back.

‘That's Finn – he's my boyfriend,' she says confidently. ‘We aren't getting married yet because we're too young.'

‘I should say so.' We join a queue of children and their parents and carers at the gates. ‘Do I leave you here?'

‘You have to take me to my classroom.'

‘Are you sure about that?' I notice that the older primary school children are in the playground without their parents. It's the younger ones, whose uniforms seem far too big for them, who are walking up to the classrooms with their significant adults.

She nods. ‘Haven't you heard of stranger danger?'

‘Yes, but you're quite safe here.'

‘This way.' She pulls me towards the covered walkway at the front of the grey stone building, on to which the classrooms open via doors painted yellow. She releases my hand and struggles for a moment to open the door marked ‘Class 3'. I follow her inside.