The Pleasures of Spring (26 page)

She closed her fist over her engagement ring. Andy had bought it for her and kissed her as he put it on her finger. She hated to part with it, but it was the only way she could raise the money she needed. She vowed that the first thing
she would do when she had money in hand was to redeem it and return it to him.

Dougal didn’t believe in taking time off. Not only was she giving Harmony four small buckets of warm milk a day, he was taking her around more of the estate every morning. She got a shock one morning when she got out to the yard and found him sitting on a tall horse with Minty saddled beside him. By now, she knew the horses well enough to know he was riding Tully, a former racehorse. Beside him, Minty looked small.

‘Thought you’d miss riding when that rascal was away, so I tacked up Minty for you. She could do with a good run.’

Roz gulped. She had ridden once and that was with Andy controlling the horse. ‘I wasn’t expecting to ride today, I’m not dressed,’ she said weakly.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll wait while you put on a pair of chaps over your jeans. There are some in the tack room.’

Damn, why hadn’t she told him that she had her period? Dougal was the generation that would let her get away with anything if she pleaded ‘women’s trouble’. But it was too late now. She put on the chaps and came out slowly. Dougal was holding Minty, but a stable hand was there to give her a leg up into the saddle. He even tightened the girth for her. One less thing for her to worry about.

She got into the saddle and settled herself, trying to remember exactly what Andy had told her. She took the reins and the pedals – stirrups, she reminded herself – and hoped Minty was in a good mood. A quiet, docile mood.

Dougal led the way into a big field, somehow closing the gate behind them without getting down.

‘I don’t want you to overdo it. After all, you’ve had a heart attack recently,’ she said.

He winked at her. ‘Don’t tell Andrew, but it’s hard to kill a tough old countryman like me.’ Then he turned his horse and trotted off.

Damn, damn, damn. There was nothing to do but follow. Without waiting for any instructions from her, Minty took off after Dougal. Roz set her teeth and tried to remember everything Andy had told her. Sit tall, head up, heels down, bum deep in the saddle. Absorb the movement.

Just when she thought she was getting the hang of it, Dougal broke into a canter. Oh crap. It looked far too fast. Without waiting for any signal from her, Minty picked up speed and did the same.

Roz resisted the urge to yank back on the reins. She had a vague memory that this could make a horse rear up on its back legs. Instead she grabbed a handful of mane and hoped this didn’t hurt Minty either. Then she concentrated on staying on.

The ground rushed past far too fast. She knew she wasn’t that high up, but it looked so far down. She looked out in front, between Minty’s pricked ears, and watched Dougal as Tully began galloping in front of her.

She caught the rhythm and the balance she needed to stay on, but she had no idea how she would stop. In the meantime, she would enjoy the ride.

She had always loved speed, and had acquired more than her share of speeding tickets on her Ninja, but this was different. The wind was in her face, and underneath her was half a ton of muscle and strength whose joy in
the gallop was infectious. She let out a yell, which encouraged Minty to stretch her legs even more.

By the time the end of the field came rushing towards them, she was so high on adrenaline that she had stopped worrying about how to stop. It didn’t matter, Minty had that under control. When Dougal stopped, so did Minty. Roz had to catch her balance not to be tipped forwards with the sudden decrease in speed, but she made it.

‘You’ve got an unusual style, but it works,’ Dougal said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll get a faster horse for you.’

‘Oh, I like Minty. She’s a sweetheart.’ Roz petted her damp neck. The smell of sweat and horse rose to her nose, pungent and exciting. She could get addicted to this.

‘The two of you get on well together. So a quick gallop back, and maybe a hack around the roads to cool them off?’

Roz had no idea what he was suggesting, but she agreed. She had a few more days here before it would all end. She wanted to store up memories while she could.

The day of the ball was bright and clear. Roz did her usual routine, feeding Harmony, riding Minty, talking to Dougal about what makes a Gold Cup winner at Cheltenham, posing for Poppy and taking the dogs for a walk. All normal. No reason for her heart to be breaking while she did any of them.

She knew Andy believed she wasn’t going to the ball. That he had told her parents to give their tickets to someone else. But this was the best opportunity she would ever have to meet Tim O’Sullivan, not as a poor relation, but as the owner of a prize racehorse. So she had told Poppy that she would love to go and Andy would try to come as well. When he found out, Andy would know she had been stringing him along.

She thought she had herself in full control, but Poppy put down the brush after half an hour. ‘You’re not yourself, my dear. Why don’t you go and get ready for the party? The painting will wait.’

No, it wouldn’t. Tomorrow she would be gone. She would never see Poppy again. Why did that thought make her insides ache with a hollow pain? Poppy was a nice lady, but she wasn’t related to Roz. She was Andy’s mother. Not hers. Never hers.

She had to blink back tears. ‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’ She was proud that the quiver in her chin didn’t affect her
voice. A long, hot shower would calm her. And if a few tears fell while she was there, no one would see.

Poppy washed the paint off her brushes and put them away carefully. Roz had never realized that a smell like white spirits and linseed oil could be so evocative. She would never be able to see a painting again without being transported back to Poppy’s studio.

This painting would never be finished. She hoped Poppy wouldn’t hate her for it.

‘I have something for you, dear,’ Poppy said. ‘Come with me.’

‘You shouldn’t have.’ They had done too much for her already. But Roz followed Poppy to her room and looked around with curiosity.

Andy’s parents still shared a bed, a massive, hand-carved mahogany monstrosity. The room was warm, heated by a fireplace where logs burnt, and would have been gloomy if it wasn’t decorated by Poppy’s paintings and family photographs.

Roz couldn’t prevent herself examining them. There was Andy as a baby, held in Dougal’s arms, a Dougal who looked remarkably like Andy now. There was another boy, too, a boy with plump cheeks and a beaming smile. ‘That was Robert, my eldest,’ Poppy said quietly. ‘It broke my heart when he died.’

There were pictures of the two boys growing up, and it was obvious that even though he was younger, Andy was the leader. The mischief in his eyes was a clear indicator that no matter how angelic their smiles, the boys would be in trouble as soon as they were released from sitting for the photo.

Another photograph showed Andy and Robert wearing uniforms, sitting on an old-fashioned trunk, on their way to boarding school. Next they were dressed in formal evening clothes. More followed – Andy in his Ranger’s uniform. Robert in climbing gear – determination in his eyes and the set of his chin.

Then a single painted portrait of Robert, blurred and misty, with a grave in the background.

Looking at the paintings broke Roz’s heart. How could Poppy cope with losing a child? How could she get up in the morning and force herself to pick up a paintbrush?

‘Don’t cry,’ Poppy said.

Roz hadn’t been aware that her cheeks were wet.

‘No mother should bury her son. But life goes on, and now that Andy has you, there will be another generation of McTavishes running around the house and breaking the china.’

Oh god, this was worse. Roz gulped, trying to swallow the tears. How could she tell Poppy that it was pretend, that there would be no wedding, no grandchildren, no happy ever after? She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘I didn’t bring you here to upset you,’ Poppy said. She rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a long, shallow box. ‘I wanted to give you these.’

‘You shouldn’t give me anything,’ Roz protested.

‘Oh, they’re not valuable. But I wore them the night Dougal proposed to me, and you’re the first girl I’ve ever met who loves to wear gloves. I hope you like them.’

Roz opened the box and drew out a pair of long silk gloves in a deep blue colour. They were fastened by a row
of at least twenty tiny buttons and would be a perfect match for her engagement ring.

They were so beautiful.

She picked them up. The feel of them was gorgeous. Roz couldn’t remember when anyone had ever given her something like this, a gift from the heart. She worked for things, or she scammed them or occasionally she stole them. No one gave her something as precious as these gloves without a reason. But she had no doubt Poppy had the purest of motives.

Despite herself, she burst into tears.

She was stunned to feel arms around her. Poppy hugged her tightly, allowing her to cry herself out. Eventually she said, ‘I can take them back if they are upsetting you.’

‘No!’ Roz clutched the gloves. ‘I love them.’ And she did.

‘Then go and get ready. I’ll need a bath to get the paint from under my fingernails.’ She held up her hands, thin and hard-working and so gentle, to show the dirt under her nails. ‘Dougal will be expecting us to be ready on the dot of half past seven.’

Roz took a long time bathing and getting ready, and by the time she was dressed, she was able to apply her make-up with a steady hand. Lots of smoky eye shadow and a bright red lipstick drew attention away from the traces of pink under her eyes.

Putting on the gloves, however, was a different matter. Poppy’s hands were smaller than hers, and though she was able to get the left one on and do up the twenty-five buttons, she couldn’t manage the right one. She slipped her
ring over the glove and admired it as the sapphire glittered. She would need help doing up the right glove. She hurried downstairs to the front door where Dougal was standing, smart in a formal tuxedo and bow tie.

The car waiting outside was a Rolls Royce. A real Rolls Royce.

‘Just how rich are you guys?’ she asked before she could contain herself. Who the hell owned a Roller?

Dougal laughed, not offended. ‘Don’t get excited. My father bought this little beauty over thirty years ago, but it runs nicely. And as long as we don’t take her out too often, the insurance isn’t bad either.’

The inside was all white leather and luxury and Roz couldn’t resist running her hands over it, marvelling at the way it had been kept. ‘The back seat is more comfortable than my bed at home,’ she said as she sat down.

‘You should try driving it,’ said Poppy from behind the wheel. ‘I miss power steering.’

Poppy was wearing what looked like an original Chanel dress, and a string of pearls which had the roughness and glow of the real thing.

‘You two clean up well,’ Roz said.

Poppy looked down the empty drive. ‘Where is that boy? We’ll have to go without him and he can catch up afterwards.’

Roz hoped not. Andy had already made his opinion quite clear and would be furious if he discovered she had gone to the ball. But this was something she had to do, no matter what Andy thought.

She and Dougal sat in the back while Poppy drove, and
he fastened her glove for her on the way. For some reason, his simple act of kindness made her want to cry again.

‘Are you sure Jack will be okay about the picture in the paper?’ Andy asked, as he walked Abbie Marshall back to the hotel. He had hoped that the photographer in the restaurant was a fan and was annoyed that the photo had appeared so quickly.

She considered. ‘He doesn’t like me being in the media, but he won’t think I’m having an affair with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Andy watched the crowd, alert for anyone paying them more attention than usual, or suspicious bulges under coats, or the body language that spelled military. ‘Oh good,’ he said absently. ‘I wouldn’t like to cause trouble.’

Abbie laughed. ‘I know you think you’re god’s gift to womankind, but I’m married to Jack Winter.
THE
Jack Winter. He doesn’t worry about other men. And because he’s Jack, I don’t worry about other women.’

Andy marvelled at her confidence, even as he envied it. What would it be like to have a woman who felt that way about him? Correction. To have Roz feeling that way about him?

With Roz he would be so busy keeping up with her that there would be no time to think about other women. The hunt had always appealed to him, but life with her would be a constant chase. He would never get bored.

And he couldn’t wait to see her again. His parents were going to the big charity do this evening, so he’d have Roz all to himself at home. What would he do first? There was
so much he had planned for her that he was as giddy as a kid in a sweet shop.

He couldn’t wait.

‘Reilly will be arriving soon to take over from me,’ he told Abbie, while he continued to watch the crowd. Something was up. His Spidey sense was tingling. ‘She’s as good as they get.’

Abbie perked up. ‘She was the first female Ranger, wasn’t she? I can’t wait to talk to her and find out all about it.’

Typical reporter. She couldn’t meet someone without wanting to know all about them. He flicked her a glance and she was alight with curiosity. ‘Good luck with that. She won’t tell you anything.’

‘Oh, come on, it sounds like a great story. The Rangers are like the Irish SEALs, right?’

He nodded. ‘Something like that. But we’re better. And we don’t talk about it.’

‘I’ll get it out of her.’

They reached the Shelbourne and Abbie pressed the button for the lift. ‘I’ll drop the bags in my room and join you in the bar.’

Andy shook his head. ‘When will you learn? You go nowhere without me.’ He stepped into the lift with her and pressed the button for the sixth floor. When the lift arrived, he told her, ‘Stay in the lift with the door closed until I come to tell you the room is clear.’

She pulled a face at him, but closed the door of the lift as he headed for her suite. Once inside, he examined it carefully, checking for any sort of booby-trap as well as anyone hidden there. He had no reason to think there was
any danger to Abbie, but he was always thorough and there was something in the air today. He gave an extra sweep to be sure, but there was no sign of any intruder.

He made one more pass, but before he had finished the door of the penthouse was pushed open. He looked up and there she was. Damn it, she should have waited for him. ‘I told you –’ he began.

‘Not my idea,’ she said. Her voice trembled, and now Andy could see the man behind her.

Hall pushed Abbie in through the door and closed it behind him, locking it. His arm was around her, holding a diving knife at her throat. The point of it was under her ear, and was rock steady. SEALs, even disgraced, dishonourably discharged ones, didn’t make mistakes.

‘I’d ask for your autograph,’ Hall said to Abbie. ‘But something tells me you won’t give it. So how about he tells me where he’s stashed Roz?’

Fuck, fuck, fuck. A dozen different scenarios raced through Andy’s mind as he thought of ways to take down Hall. But every single one of them would put Abbie at risk. ‘Who?’ he said, playing for time.

‘Nice try.’ Hall shifted the knife slightly. ‘But I saw her face when she looked at you in Tullamore. She has the hots for you. I’m betting you two are an item.’

Funny how quickly Hall had spotted something that it had taken him so long to realize. Andy shrugged. ‘Lots of women have the hots for me. I’m pretty.’

He gave the other man a dismissive once-over. ‘Way prettier than you.’

Hall was tall, broad and blond, with a sort of wholesome
handsomeness which was wholly false. He sneered at Andy. ‘I eat pretty boys for breakfast.’

‘So I heard. They talk in the locker room.’

Hall’s face tightened. ‘Tell me where Red is or your client gets it.’

Andy moved half a step closer, and stopped when the point of the knife broke Abbie’s skin, causing a single drop of blood to run down her neck. ‘For fuck’s sake, think about what you’re doing. You’re already wanted for one murder. Do you think killing someone else will help?’

‘Who said anything about killing?’ His knife stayed perfectly still, but his other hand moved, grabbing Abbie’s breast and twisting it. She screamed.