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Lottie frowned. ‘With her rock star?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘So they aren’t actual polo-players, just actors?’ Lottie couldn’t put her finger on exactly why she didn’t like the idea, but it made her uneasy. In fact, it sounded worse now he’d told her more. It spoke of upheaval. And the fact that Elizabeth was all for it just made her even more suspicious.
Elizabeth would rather be penniless and have battles with the bank than let riff-raff into her beloved home. They’d been dodging the march of progress for years; it had been a major triumph when she’d finally got decent broadband installed and it didn’t take three days to download an eventing entry form. But the pipes were still gurgling, the moth-eaten rugs still lay on the woodworm-riddled floor, and she’d threatened the last property developer who’d suggested a theme park and open days with a shotgun. Which made the idea of her welcoming a film crew all very strange.
‘Well, there is one player. He advises and sorts everything.’
‘One?’
‘Actual polo-player. He’ll be advising on all the horse stuff, the rest are actors. It’s all going to be done properly.’
‘And you won’t be straying around the estate, or coming inside the house, or—’
‘Setting it on fire? Was that really a disgruntled groom, like the paper said?’
‘Well he said it actually, on his Facebook page. Said we were a load of stuck-up toffs who deserved what we got.’ Lottie frowned. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m getting rather fed up of discussing it.’
‘Sure. I guess the bit in today’s papers hasn’t helped?’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ She really had to stop thinking about the past and move on to the solution. She glanced at Elizabeth, who hadn’t actually directly mentioned the latest reports, and wondered if she’d read them. She probably had. As Sam had said, very little got past her eagle eyes. ‘Well, I suppose this could be a good idea, as a one-off, of course.’
‘Splendid,’ Elizabeth pursed her lips as though she’d decided it was time to have the final say. ‘I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking, dear.’
‘So, it won’t be until Spring, I suppose, when the weather picks up?’
‘Oh no, dear. James came to me before Christmas, not long after we’d been in the papers with the fire. This Sebastian chap would like a meeting as soon as possible. I suggest that you invite him here next week and sort all the paperwork. Haven’t spoken to him myself. Thought I’d leave all that to you, seeing as you’re in charge, but I’m sure he’s a splendid chap. Seems keen to get a move on from what young James said.’
‘Next week?’ Lottie, who’d been feeling comforted by the ‘you’re in charge’ comment, sat down abruptly and took a large gulp of gin and tonic.
‘No use in dilly-dallying. We’ve had long enough with no income, and we are still no further forward, are we?’
Lottie wondered if that was the royal ‘we’, as in ‘her’, or if they were in this together. She opened her mouth, thought better about asking, and shut it again.
‘We really do need some more money coming in,’ Elizabeth paused and peered at Lottie, ‘before it starts going out.’
Ah, so that answered one question. Her grandmother did know about all the cancellations and demands for deposits to be returned.
‘Right, splendid. I think this warrants a toast. Do pour us all another drink, James.’
Jamie scrabbled up from his position on the floor and took Lottie’s empty glass from her frozen fingers.
Next week. She watched as he capably poured the drinks. Yes, it made sense. He hadn’t been awkward, he felt at home, he’d been here before (lots of times, no doubt) without her knowing. He’d just been embarrassed about the fact she didn’t know. Elizabeth had been planning this for weeks and biding her time to announce it.
‘I thought I was running the estate, Gran?’
‘You are, dear.’
‘But, you can’t just barge in and make new arrangements like that. You’re, you’re …’
‘Interfering? If you’d have had any real objection, then we would have stopped it. But,’ her tone softened, ‘we can’t wait any longer, can we? And this is just a short-term measure. What else can we do, Charlotte? You’ve done a splendid job with your business and, believe me, I would not even consider a project like this if we had an alternative. But we don’t, do we my dear? And I really think that newspaper article this morning proves that we’re not going to get any new bookings until we’re in a position to prove we can honour them, are we, dear?’
Lottie sighed. ‘Give me until tomorrow, I’ll talk to Rory.’ She doubted very much that her fun-loving husband would be able to magic another solution out of thin air. But who knew?
Chapter 7
Rory Steel stared into the stable, which reflected the emptiness he felt inside perfectly. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to come clean with his wife.
They’d hit lows before and struggled through them together, but this time he had a horrible feeling they were well and truly sinking. Adding to the burden of responsibility that Lottie shouldered so stoically hadn’t been part of his plan at all.
Rory had always been known in Tippermere, and throughout the three-day eventing community, for his sense of fun, and, it had to be said, a certain irresponsibility. But, since he had taken the blind leap into matrimony he’d been surprised to realise just how important his wife was to him. He wanted to love and care for her, but it was more than that. He wanted to protect her, to share the responsibility of looking after the inherited estate that he’d grown to love.
Rory admired and loved his scatty wife, and he wanted to provide for her. To fill the house with children and to help put food on the table, so that she no longer felt the need to take a spreadsheet, calculator, and frown to bed on a regular basis.
Now he looked gloomily into the echoingly empty stable and knew that one particular gift horse had bolted.
With his easy manner and dashing good looks people always assumed that Rory had it easy, but he’d worked his way up the hard way. He had an eye for a good horse, and the type of natural riding ability that meant that he was prepared to take a risk – buy a difficult horse cheap and turn it into a winner. Sometimes all the bruises and scrapes were worth it and it worked; sometimes the best he could hope for was to break even and sell the animal on as a slightly safer ride, but one that was never going to survive in the demanding world of eventing. But he always bounced back onto his feet with a grin on his face and a joke at his own expense.
Six foot tall, with the toned thighs of an athlete, roguish grin, and a wicked sense of humour, the easy-going Rory had always been a hit with the girls. But now, in his early thirties, he was at his peak, both physically and mentally. Rory had always been one of the lads, as comfortable with a pint in his hand as he was with a good malt whisky, and he’d had a female following since his first televised outing, where he’d had a disastrous encounter with a lake.
After the type of ducking that should have left him gasping, he’d very carefully removed his hat and body-protector, run a hand through his sopping curls, then strode out of the lake in full-on Mr Darcy mode, but with a cheeky grin rather than brooding intent. The resultant photographs that were splashed (as he liked to recall) over many a Sunday newspaper won him an adoring fan club and a sponsorship deal that had finally meant he had a reliable horsebox and a horse that wasn’t intent on killing both of them. Over the years he’d come to count his sponsor as a friend. Until today.
Closing the stable door with a heavy clunk, Rory shoved his hands into his jacket pockets then glanced down at the terrier that was seldom far from his feet. ‘We’d better wave goodbye and then go and break the bad news, hadn’t we, Tilly?’ The dog cocked her head on one side, as though she understood every word, then she spun round and made a run towards the archway that divided the stable yard from the main part of the Tipping House Estate.
* * *
Lottie stared at the horsebox as it trundled its way down the long driveway away from Tipping House and wondered if she’d forgotten something important.
As it was winter it was unlikely Rory was competing, and even if he was going to an indoor show-jumping competition with one of the youngsters she was absolutely sure he would have texted her before he set off. It was also highly unlikely he’d just pop out anywhere without telling her, unless he’d discovered a bargain horse that he couldn’t resist and daren’t tell her? She frowned. No, surely he wouldn’t? Not when they were in such dire straits, and even he didn’t often buy horses at this time of year unless they were real bargains, as it just meant months of feeding another mouth. There was the slight possibility he was taking one of the young horses out for a run in the lorry, so that they could add ‘travels well’ to its CV, but she was sure he’d have mentioned it, even if he was only going round the block.
A slight movement down by the yard caught her eye and she was surprised to see Rory standing in the archway, Tilly in his arms, staring after the horsebox in much the same way she was. Which was totally confusing. If Rory was still on the yard, who the hell was driving off with their horsebox?
With a sense of foreboding, Lottie flew down the stairs two at a time, Harry the spaniel at her heels. She shoved her feet into the nearest pair of wellingtons and flung the door open just in time to see her husband disappearing back into the stable yard.
It wasn’t hard to spot Rory when Lottie dashed through the archway into the small circular yard. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain, with Tilly the terrier perched on his knee, looking as sad as she’d ever seen him. Dejected, she decided, was the word.
‘I just saw the horsebox. What’s happened? Rory?’ He put the dog down and stared at her wordlessly. ‘Is one of the horses ill?’
‘Worse. I’m afraid,’ he glanced towards one of the stables, ‘I’ve got some bad news, darling.’ He groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘Shit. I was really hoping I would be able to sort something out before I had to tell you.’ His voice was muffled. ‘I’m sorry.’ The sigh came from somewhere deep inside him and Lottie felt a twinge of alarm. Rory might not be reliable, but he never gave up, he always saw the positive side of things.
She looked around the yard, from stable to stable.
‘Simon. Where’s Simon? He’s not …’ For a horrible moment the word ‘dead’ hung in the air between them, but that was impossible. ‘He’s not in his stable.’ The handsome grey liked to know what was going on, his head was the first to appear at his stable door whenever he heard voices on the yard. He’d nicker a welcome and then wait for the polo mint that he knew he deserved.
‘He’s gone. Oh Christ, I am so sorry.’
Rory repeatedly saying sorry was nearly as alarming as the missing horse. Lottie strode across the yard and peered over the stable door, not because she didn’t believe Rory, but because it didn’t seem possible.
‘Gone, but how can he be gone? You can’t just sell him, Rory, he’s not ours …’
‘Exactly. He’s not ours to sell. David sent somebody over to collect him,’ Rory looked up, tawny eyes sorrowful, ‘he’s pulled out, he’s not going to sponsor me any longer.’
‘But I saw our—’
‘Horsebox? It’s his horsebox, remember, darling. He’s taken his bloody lorry and his horses.’ Rory stood up abruptly. ‘Shit.’ Simon wasn’t just any horse, he was the best horse he’d ever had the opportunity to compete. Maybe not the best he’d ever sat on, but a brilliant, talented horse and a top-class eventer were two different things. Simon was as honest and big-hearted as they came and he knew his job.
The second horse that David had provided was a talented youngster who hadn’t been with them long, but Rory had already bonded with the animal and was convinced he had a brilliant future ahead.
‘But why?’ Lottie stared at him in disbelief. Rory and Simon had gelled from day one, and over the last twelve months had started to look like serious contenders. ‘Why on earth would he do that?’
‘Divorce. He’s getting frigging divorced.’
Lottie looked at him blankly, wondering what that had to do with them. ‘But Simon was going so well for you, and David knew that. I thought he liked us.’
‘He did like us.’ Rory sighed. ‘We’re not the issue. Well, it isn’t actually him that’s got a problem, it’s his wife. He told me a while ago that she’s taking him to the cleaners, wants half of everything and that includes the horses. He was talking about shipping them out of the country, all of them, including Simon, until after the court case, but she beat him to it. It’s her that sent somebody over.’
‘Her? But it’s David who sponsors you. How can she? Couldn’t you stop them?’
‘It’s her name on the papers too, for tax reasons, no doubt.’ Rory rolled his eyes. ‘I couldn’t stop her, believe me I tried to, but she’s got as much right …’
‘Did you tell David?’
‘I rang him, he went ape-shit, but there’s not a lot he could do apart from rant.’
Lottie cringed. David on a rant wasn’t a pretty sight.
‘I can understand her leaving him, I suppose. He could be pretty nasty. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t go earlier. They didn’t exactly get on, did they? They were always having a go at each other. He could be so rude and bossy.’
‘Well, I suppose he wanted a glamorous wife, and she wanted a rich husband who took her to places.’ Rory shrugged. ‘There’s lot of people like that, even these days.’
‘But why did she have to go after the horses? She hates horses. The only thing she liked about them was being able to dress up and boast when you were competing.’
‘Exactly.’ His tone was dry. ‘She liked being an owner but she knew he liked it even more. I don’t think she’s exactly planning on keeping them to ride herself.’
‘So couldn’t we offer to buy them? You know, put down a deposit?’
‘And where would we get that from?’ His voice was soft and he grabbed hold of Lottie’s hand and pulled her towards him. ‘He’s a top-class horse. We’d never get our hands on that kind of money even if things were going well. Besides, as far as the horses go she doesn’t give a shit about the money, she’s just having a go at him. She’ll probably hide them away for a bit then give them away. It’s spite. She wants to wind him up and I reckon she’s succeeded. She knows how much Simon’s success means to him. From what he said, I reckon he’s been stingy over the settlement, so the gloves are off. Come here, you’re cold.’
‘I’m fine, honest.’ Lottie, who hadn’t thought to grab a coat, wrapped her arms around herself and concentrated on stopping her teeth chattering. ‘So no more sponsorship money.’
‘Nope. He’s not going to pay me if I’m not riding his horses, is he?’
‘You don’t think he’ll buy you another one? You know, that she doesn’t know about?’ She was clutching at straws; she knew she was.
‘He’s busy trying to look as poor as possible; going out buying horses isn’t going to work in his favour when it comes to agreeing a divorce settlement, is it? I was rather hoping they’d reach some kind of agreement and it wouldn’t get to this. Oh shit, I am so sorry this had to happen right now, Lots.’
Lottie sighed. ‘It’s not your fault, darling.’ Then she looked up, determined to see the bright side. ‘At least we didn’t sell Minty to him.’
After a couple of years’ battling with Lottie’s very temperamental mare, Black Gold, Rory and Lottie had realised that despite her huge potential she was never going to be suited to competition. She was just too inconsistent. And Rory was afraid that one day she’d fall too hard, or spook in the wrong place and put Lottie in hospital. Or worse.
So they’d put her in foal, hoping that it might settle her, and if they were lucky produce an eventer that had talent and temperament to match. And it looked like they’d hit the jackpot.
Her filly foal, Araminta, had been a hit from the moment she’d struggled to her feet on impossibly long, wobbly legs. She didn’t bite or kick and she moved like an angel – eating up the ground effortlessly with the type of movement and natural carriage that made her stand out. David had wanted to buy her, promising that he’d guarantee Rory the ride, but something had stopped Lottie and Rory from signing on the dotted line. She was the first homebred horse they’d had with that elusive star quality, and despite their seriously diminished bank balance they’d been loath to let her go.
‘True, thank God for that. But she’s only two; we’ll be destitute by the time she starts to compete, and I really need to attract another backer now.’ He gave a rueful smile and ruffled Lottie’s hair. ‘And we need a new horsebox or we’ll be hacking to events.’
‘So we really haven’t got any choice at all now, have we? Gran was right, we have to let the film crew in or the money will run out long before we get back on our feet.’
‘Much as I hate to admit that the old dragon has won again,’ he shrugged and held her tighter, ‘what else can we do? It is pretty quiet round here right now, though, so I can keep an eye on them and we’ve had the contract checked through – it all seems straightforward enough.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Me neither, if I’m honest, but do we have any choice?’
‘Not really.’
‘Let’s go for it, gorgeous, and come next season I’ll have a new loaded sponsor, and we’ll have a new USP for the wedding business.’
‘USP?’ Lottie looked at him blankly.
‘Well before, people just wanted to come so they could imagine they were gentry for the day, but after this they’ll be able to boast they’ve been on the film set. USP, unique selling point.’ He shrugged and grinned. ‘Maybe old Lizzie has done us a massive favour. How bad can it be?’
* * *
‘What is it with fucking scriptwriters who think they’re directors?’ Sebastian Drakelow jabbed irritably at his laptop, adding, no doubt, a sarcastic comment, then ran long, slim fingers through his ash-blond hair before resting thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose. ‘For God’s sake, will somebody answer that bloody phone?’
‘It’s your bloody phone, you answer it, darling.’ Pandora’s tone was mild and faintly bored, the voice of a disinterested mother talking to a toddler. She crossed one long, elegant leg over the other and stared at her husband as she took a sip from the champagne flute, and then shifted her gaze so that she could watch the bubbles slowly rise to the top. ‘What did your last servant die of?’
Seb looked up, cold, grey eyes narrowed, and scowled. ‘Where’s Jamie?’
‘It’s Sunday, darling. The terms “intern” and “interned” have different meanings.’
‘Ha, bloody, ha. Who’s ringing on a Sunday anyway?’
‘Why don’t you answer it if you want to find out? It’s probably your mother demanding you go over and change a light bulb for her.’
Seb looked at his wife and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to marry somebody who was even more selfish than he was. She was beautiful, in a thin, slightly brittle, contained kind of way, and she was smart. A lethal combination, he’d discovered. What Pandora wanted, Pandora got. She possessed more manipulative instinct in her little finger than most people thought existed, and she used every wile at her disposal in pursuit of her desires. The fact that she had such a striking appearance, with her flame-red hair and feline, green eyes certainly didn’t hamper her. Seb might not always like his wife, but he admired her; he’d always found it impossible to resist pure, unadulterated passion and ambition.
Pandora might not be an intellectual but she was as streetwise as they came and she was quick. A born improviser. She was also, he deduced, pissed off with him for some reason – or curiosity would have forced her to answer his goddamn phone.
‘She has a little man to do that for her these days. A home help.’
Pandora raised one beautifully arched eyebrow and he laughed.
‘Oh I do love you, you miserable cow. What have I done now?’
‘I’m bored. We need a change of scene.’
‘We’ll be filming again soon.’
‘A proper change of scene. This place is so,’ she waved a dismissive hand that took in the luxurious penthouse suite in one gesture, ‘so crass. It has no class, darling. I want class. I want to be somebody.’
‘You are somebody.’ He leant back and rested one ankle on his knee, wondering where this was going.
‘I want to be in Tatler, not Heat. I need a challenge, Seb. Oh, what’s the point, you will never understand. Answer that fucking phone, it’s giving me a headache.’
‘No, you’re right, I don’t understand. Why on earth would you want to be in Tatler
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