Well Groomed (21 page)

‘He couldn’t make it back,’ Tash muttered through gritted teeth as she soaped the same piece of rein over and over again.

‘Och, that’s a shame.’ Kirsty’s voice was as soothing as honey on a sore throat. ‘Still, I bet you sent him a wonderful Valentine’s card, eh?’

Ted, who was measuring out the feeds in a far corner, scoffed happily. ‘Write him a kinky fantasy, did you, Tash?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Lots of sexy stuff about what you’re going to do with him when you get your mitts on that famous arse?’

‘Oh, no,’ Kirsty giggled. ‘I bet she sent him some revealing shots of herself. Reminded him of what he’s missing.’

Tash bristled but said nothing, determinedly concentrating on the reins.

‘Christ!’ Ted sounded excited. ‘Next time you’re taking some of those, can I have the negs, yeah?’

‘Sally, Sally – it’s me, darling. Is he around?’

‘Yup.’

‘Damn. Listen – such exciting news! Niall has agreed to play Daniel in Four Poster, so we’re going ahead.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’

‘And even better – I’ve arranged for
Cheers!
magazine to have exclusive coverage of Niall and Tash’s wedding. They’re paying literally tens of thousands, honey, which will cover Niall’s fee. His agent, Bob, helped me set it up. That man is so shit-hot.’

‘
Cheers!
magazine?’ Sally gasped. ‘I thought every married couple who appeared in that was jinxed? Didn’t they do a huge spread on Liz and Larry Fortenski at home just a fortnight before the split?’

‘Don’t talk shit, darling – it’s fucking fantastic publicity for the film. They’re going to tie it all into the first location shoot if I’m lucky. Now I’ve just got to find the pissing location. We’re currently dis-located.’

Sally giggled. ‘When do you start?’

‘May. Listen, d’you fancy helping me out? I could really use a good assistant on this one.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I damn’ well do.’

‘But I have no experience.’

‘But you know me, know Niall, and could be a wonderful help if I need a mediator, which I’m sure I will. Please, Sally?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Okay – I’ll ask no more for now. But I will demand one thing – come to Hugo Beauchamp’s thirtieth as my guest?’

‘You’ve been invited?’

‘
Very
surprising, I know, but yes, he’s just called, practically begging me to attend. Most odd, but also most damned well welcome. Lord, is that man divine! Will you come with me?’

‘Christ, Lisette.’ Her voice went hushed as she realised she’d uttered the forbidden L word within Matty’s hearing, but he didn’t appear to notice as she went on, ‘You-know-who
loathes
that man.’

‘Well, I took it as read that he wouldn’t be invited, but I dearly want you to come with me.’

‘Can’t you take a dishy man?’

‘Oh God, Sally! All the dishy men I know are either gay, or married, or both. I’d far rather take a good friend to giggle with.’

‘Well, I’ll try.’ Her voice dropped even lower. ‘But I’ll have to lie.’

‘You know what the Bible says, honey,’ Lisette laughed before ringing off: ‘“And thou shalt definitely lie with thine husband.”’

LUNCH WITH HENRIETTA WAS not a success.

Tash was still at Lime Tree Farm when Henrietta poled up to the forge at twelve-thirty sharp. Having totally forgotten about the assignation, Tash was coaxing one of the novices – a very nervous but talented mare called Groupie – around a few low jumping grids when Henrietta telephoned the farm. The noise of the outside klaxon hailing the call sent Groupie over the menage perimeter fence in a huge, tight, catjump that unbalanced Tash, spinning her through the air to land bang on a pole, almost knocking her teeth out with her knee.

It set the tone for the afternoon. Because Tash had forgotten to book, Marco Angelo at the Olive Branch could not squeeze them into the restaurant however hard he tried to pressurise three businessmen into paying their bill and leaving. Instead, they were forced to perch at a draughty table by the door and eat in the main bar. Several local farm hands were drinking pints, swearing like troopers and smoking rollies nearby; all of them greeted Tash as an old chum, which terrified Henrietta. She tried hard to be polite and hide her disappointment, but it was obvious that she was quite put out by Niall’s non-appearance.

‘He truly couldn’t make it,’ Tash apologised on his behalf. ‘He was really miserable to let you down – but they were shooting through the night yesterday and he was totally trapped up there. He sends you his love and promises to make up for it next time.’

Henrietta, having dressed up in his honour in a rather risqué Laura Ashley trouser suit in plum cord that plunged at the front, fought valiantly not to hang her head during their cheek-bulging lunch of warm goat’s cheese salad and mackerel poached in cider cream, but she was not on top form. Tash, bug-eyed with a hangover and bruised from two days’ falling off, was far from her best too.

They barely mentioned the wedding, except to agree on a few points that it was obvious neither of them cared about.

‘Your father agrees that you should marry somewhere close to here – a local hotel with a licence or something?’

‘Fine – I’ll ask around.’

‘Your mother called to suggest GTC or Peter Jones for the wedding list. I thought the latter, as I always shop there and know a few of the assistants by name.’

‘Fine – whatever.’

‘I have a chum who’s a terrific florist. She did the Earl of—’

‘Fine – tell her to go ahead.’

‘Have you been for any dress fittings yet?’

‘Mummy sent me a list – I’ll call around next week.’

‘Well, you’d better get a move on. Let me know as soon as you’ve decided – we have to tone in bridesmaids and pages. Have you decided those yet?’

Tash was staring blankly at her uneaten mackerel, empathising with its glazed eyes and gaping mouth. It was precisely how she had looked for hours on end the night before.

‘Tash?’

She looked up and, realising the topic of bridesmaids had been raised, spoke off the top of her head.

‘Whichever of Sally’s and Sophia’s can walk – I suppose that’s Tom, Tor, Lotty and possibly Josh. Plus Niall’s sister’s brood – that’s three girls under ten, I think. And his brother’s two boys – they’re three and seven. And Polly, of course. That should do it.’

Henrietta looked slightly pale. ‘Adult bridesmaids?’

Tash shook her head. ‘No way. I went through that at Sophia’s wedding. Too awful. I’ll inflict it on no one. But I want Zoe to be my matron of honour – although she must wear what she wants. Absolutely no cerise taffeta or anything. And she can sit down during the ceremony if she gets bored.’

Henrietta looked appalled, but stifled her objections. ‘Best man?’

She shrugged. ‘Up to Niall. Matty, I should imagine.’

‘Ushers?’

‘Well, Rufus is paying me a tenner to make him one but I should put Gus down really – Rufe can assist. And Niall will come up with another – his friend Donal probably.’

‘Will they all need to hire morning suits?’

‘God knows.’ Tash gazed at a hunting print and wished more than anything that Niall was with her. She felt no excitement as it was – just a nervous, almost deadened, sense of pressure.

Henrietta, although the soul of politeness, felt exactly the same. As Tash drifted further and further into a state of near-catatonia, she tried to plug a couple of her real reasons for hurtling along the M4 that day. Beccy badly needed a few tips about making eventing a career. Could Tash help? Perhaps Beccy could come to Lime Tree Farm during her Easter vacs and help out for a meagre wage and a bit of experience?

‘Um – not sure, really.’ Tash thought about the bills she had seen on the kitchen table the morning before, and knew that Gus and Penny, far from wanting to fork out a meagre wage for a teenage hopeful, would be realistically thinking about dumping one of their working pupils instead. That meant either her or Kirsty.

‘I’m sorry.’ She grimaced. ‘I’ll ask, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. Perhaps Hugo might help?’

‘Oh, would you ask him?’ Henrietta looked eager at the prospect, secretly thinking him far more professional and successful than Gus and Penny Moncrieff.

‘Well, I honestly think it would be far better coming from Ben and Sophia,’ Tash confessed, unwilling to let too much of Hugo’s and her distaste for one another slip. ‘They’re much closer to him.’

‘I see.’ Henrietta looked slightly boot-faced at Tash’s reluctance.

Feeling mean, she insisted both that she pay for the meal, and that Henrietta have a dessert.

They tackled the puddings in silence – Tash slipping from her ‘30 Cals Per Hour’ speed limit by diving into a gutsy old-fashioned bread-and-butter mountain; Henrietta was far more abstemious with a light lemon soufflé.

Finally, she broached the other favour.

‘Do you think that Niall would be able to get Emily a couple of days’ work experience on a film set?’ she asked, slightly shame-faced at her cheek. ‘I know it’s a bit much, but she’s terribly keen and wouldn’t get in the way. She’s set her heart on working in films or telly after graduating, you see.’

Again, Tash was worried about asking. With the current tension between herself and Niall, she wasn’t brave enough to petition a favour that encroached upon his career. He was always very distant when she tried to talk about the film world, as though she was Guinevere asking Merlin to show her a simple magic trick.

‘I’ll ask him,’ she promised lamely.

‘What’s he got lined up? Anything exciting? Is he going back to America soon?’ Henrietta was eager for gossip. She found the film industry wildly exciting and elusively sexy.

‘He’ll finish this over-budget Scottish epic thing, Celt, then fly off to promote Tough Justice in the States,’ Tash recited flatly, having told umpteen people of Niall’s future movements of late. ‘Then he’s back working for the Beeb in Yorkshire with The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, doing Mill On the Floss for Radio Four, promoting Tough Justice in the UK, then off to the States again promoting Celt – and poling up to the Oscars, I should imagine. And then he’s shooting an English film called Four Poster Bed.’

‘Oh, that sounds great fun!’ Henrietta was almost beside herself with the glitz of it all.

‘His ex-wife is producing the bed romp,’ Tash said, feeling a bit mean at her bluntness. But sometimes she got so wound up relating Niall’s work schedule to eager ears who listened as avidly as though it was The Archers. She often felt she spoke
about
Niall – how he was, what he was doing, what gossip he had told her and what he had lined up – far more than she ever spoke directly
to
him. Sometimes she felt just like his press secretary.

Henrietta had completely missed the bitterness in Tash’s last comment.

‘So will you be going to the Oscars with him, or will she?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Who?’ Tash wrinkled her brow.

‘His ex-wife?’

Tash tried hard to smile, but found that it wavered on her lips and faltered into a worried wobble as though she’d had an injection at the dentist’s which hadn’t quite worn off.

‘That,’ she said slowly, ‘is like asking whether you will be sitting next to Daddy at the wedding or whether you think Mummy should.’

Henrietta barely said a word over coffee and, forgetting even to broach the subject of catering for the reception, made up a lame excuse about a hair appointment to race home immediately afterwards. Hastily promising that they’d talk again at Henry’s christening in a fortnight, she left Tash with the bill and a half-eaten dessert.

During the fortnight that separated her lunch with her step-mother from the far grander impending christening in Worcestershire, Tash cast off another four pounds – most of which was still the result of her craftily removing another layer before each Flab-busters session. She also continued to work laboriously on the horses, fighting a continual power struggle with Snob who had lost all respect for her since the autumn, and trying again and again to prove that the belligerent but supremely talented Mickey Rourke was worthy of keeping and bringing on. Gus was currently selling several horses to ease his debts, which worried her. Mickey was undoubtedly top of his list of four-legged burdens that he wanted to turn into five-figure sums. Ted had already descended into a serious and understandable fit of resentful surliness that week because Gus had sold Fruit Chew to America – a horse Ted had spent the previous year upgrading and bringing on in the hope that he would have a chance to event himself in the spring season. But Gus hadn’t wanted to sell him either; he simply had no choice when offered tens of thousands.

‘Right now I’d sell Wally for a few weeks’ diesel money,’ he sighed.

As Wally, the faithful heel-hugger, had developed raging mange which the vet put down to stress, Tash was convinced that he had understood every word.

It was screamingly obvious that cash was very tight at the farm. India and Rufus were both bursting out of their school uniforms, and whingeing non-stop that they were missing out on skiing trips and art excursions because Zoe refused to fork out as she sank all her money into covering her sister’s outstanding debts for feed and vet’s bills. Tash noticed that Zoe herself was still wearing the much-patched jumpers that she had worn all the time she had known her – most of which had belonged to Gus in their prime. Gus and Penny now shopped at jumble sales and relied on hand-me-down competition clothes offered by other eventers – frequently Hugo.

Even though it was still below freezing at night, the farm’s central heating had been switched off for the ‘summer’ and the only heat came from the unpredictable, coke-guzzling range and the fire in the sitting room. The bedrooms were like refrigerated trailers. With no money for a supermarket stock-up, Zoe had served sausage and bean casserole three nights on the trot, simply varying the flavour by adding chilli one night, curry the next and – a legendary meal even by her standards – aniseed essence on the third.