Читать книгу Country Rivals - Zara Stoneley, Zara Stoneley - Страница 12

‘It’s for charity, love,’ said Mrs Jones, admiring Mr August for a lot longer than Lottie thought necessary. ‘Oh my, would you look at Mr July? His helmet’s hardly big enough to cover his meat and two veg.’

Lottie cringed at the rush of middle-aged hormones the normally restrained shopkeeper was displaying as she waggled the calendar around. ‘There’s something about a fireman, isn’t there, love? I wouldn’t mind being rescued by Mr February and look at the way he’s cuddling that puppy. I don’t know which is more adorable.’ She shoved the calendar under Lottie’s nose. ‘Maybe we need a hot horseman one. What do you think, dear? Your Rory and that lovely Mick. People would pay to see them with only their riding hats and boots on now, wouldn’t they?’ She frowned. ‘And your dad. Although a lot of people have seen him in his undies already.’

She said it kindly, but Lottie still blushed. It was years, no, decades, since her father, Billy Brinkley, had appeared in the tabloids, but everybody remembered. And brought it up regularly. Even the village gossips. Although she supposed they were a similar age to him. Really, they were all old enough to know better.

‘Sorry, love. But your old man was quite a pin up in his day.’ Mrs Jones sighed and Lottie fidgeted, hoping that was the end of the conversation. ‘And he was such a naughty boy, just like your Rory. Must be something to do with all that fresh air and horses, eh?’ She winked. ‘Your mother had her hands full, I can tell you.’

Please let the ground swallow me up, thought Lottie. Instead the tring of the little bell above the door announced another customer. Bugger, if she wasn’t careful there would be a full-scale debate about what made a horseman hunky and whether Billy was still up for a full frontal for charity.

‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you, dear? It is for charity and it is the start of the New Year tomorrow. Where does the time go? So it’s your last chance. You wouldn’t want to miss a single day of Mr January would you?’

‘Just the er, pint of milk and, er, yes, okay one of these.’ She grabbed the calendar. ‘For charity, of course.’ Maybe if she took it with her that would be the end of it, and after all that the fire brigade had done for her, the least she could do was show some support. If they hadn’t been on the scene within minutes of the blaze being spotted, the whole of Tipping House (and guests) could have been barbecued, not just the main entertaining rooms.

‘Hang on, hold your horses, love, is that the last one?’

She hadn’t moved fast enough. The booming gruff tone was instantly recognisable. Her father.

Lottie glanced up and he was standing there, large as life, in his boots and breeches, blue eyes twinkling. His thinning sandy curls were damp against his head from the riding hat that he’d just taken off (which luckily meant his horse must be tied up outside, so he wouldn’t be there for long) and his arms were folded over his rather stout frame.

‘I hope you’re not planning on pinning that up in the bedroom to give the lad some competition.’ He guffawed.

Mrs Jones joined in. ‘You’re a card, Billy. We were just talking about you, weren’t we? Those were the days when I couldn’t put the newspapers out on a Sunday morning without seeing your body.’

‘Dad!’ Lottie felt vaguely nauseous. The conversation about her father’s naked butt (and, yes, it would get onto that if she hung around) was bad enough. I mean, who wants to even acknowledge their parents have bodies, let alone ones that have been lusted over by the nation? But for him to even hint at anything going on in her own marital bedroom was just plain weird. Cringe-worthy.

Mrs Jones obviously thought it was hilarious though.

‘I’m only getting it because it’s for charity,’ Lottie protested.

‘Yes, well you can stop looking, love. Come on,’ he waved a hand, ‘give it here. I need that if it’s the last one.’

She found she was gripping it more tightly than she’d expected when he tried to take it. ‘What do YOU want with naked firemen?’

‘It’s a surprise for Tiggy.’

Oh God, now he was dragging her step-mum and their relationship into this. ‘Here.’ She shoved it at him. ‘Don’t say another word.’

‘After a younger man is she, Bill?’ There was what sounded suspiciously like a girly giggle from Mrs Jones, who appeared to be flirting outrageously as she leant her elbows on the counter, displaying an ample cleavage. ‘Always a place in my bed for you if you need it, my darling.’

‘No, no, no.’ Lottie put her hands over her ears and hummed.

‘Tigs took a shine to Mr February. She said she’s thinking of doing a bit of painting again and I haven’t got the time to pose for her, have I now, Molly?’ Billy winked at Mrs Jones, then looked back to his daughter, who was studying the bars of chocolate avidly. ‘Want me to buy you some sparklers while I’m here, love?’

Lottie looked at him, startled. Was that some kind of euphemism? Did he think her and Rory’s love life needed a boost? Was Sam now responsible for the corner shop stocking vajazzle kits as well as superior fake tan?

‘We always had them when you were a kid. Thought the sprogs would want some.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘Sparklers for little Alice and Roxy? Fireworks? To see the New Year in with, Lottie. I know Rory’s stocked up with more fireworks than they’ve got on the Thames, but a few of these never go amiss, do they?’ He tapped the packet she hadn’t spotted on the counter. ‘I’m sure young Roxy could put a few to good use.’

‘Oh God, yes, of course, thanks, got to go. Happy New Year.’ She grabbed both packets of sparklers that Mrs Jones was now holding out, made a lunge for the pint of milk and was out of the shop faster than a starter at Aintree.

Her father’s guffaws echoed round the shop as the door slammed shut behind her, and if it hadn’t been for Harry’s whine of surprise she would have forgotten all about the spaniel and left him still tied to the hook under the window.

‘Cripes, Harry, they go sex mad after a certain age.’ She would have actually quite liked to have had a closer look at the fireman’s calendar, but no way was she ever going to mention it again. To anybody. ‘Come on, Harry, we’re off to Sam’s to talk about something sensible like acrylic nails and boob jobs, and pick up the nibbles for tonight.’

* * *

‘Have you seen that naked fireman’s calendar that they’ve got in the corner shop, babe? That Mrs Jones was showing me this afternoon; said they were selling like hot cakes before Christmas. If I hadn’t got my Davey I’d be after Mr October, I can tell you.’ Sam pulled her leather jacket more firmly round her. ‘He’d warm me up. Cold enough to freeze the brass bits off a monkey out here, isn’t it, babe?’ She chuckled. ‘Nothing like a fireman’s lift and an ogle at his hose to get you glowing.’

‘Sam!’ Lottie glanced over in Roxy’s direction, but the little girl was too busy to hear. She was whispering into Alice’s ear, no doubt trying to get her to collaborate in mischief.

‘Aww bless, don’t they look cute together? Roxy with them blond curls and Alice all dark and neat like Mandy. Where is Mand?’ She looked round. ‘She dashed off just after we got here.’

‘Loo.’

‘Throwing up again? She’s spent more time with her head down the bog this time than she did when she was carrying little Roxy. Poor thing. Would put me off being preggers if it made me like that. I told Davey we should have at least two more, though, and I know he wants a little boy, though he says he’s happy with his girls. Ooh look at Rory and Mick with them big flames, they look like Romans or something, don’t they? But with clothes on.’

Lottie giggled. ‘They’re torches, for lighting the fireworks, I think.’

‘Nothing like a big bang to see in the New Year, is there, babe?’

Lottie loved fireworks. In fact Bonfire Night had always been the highlight of the year for her – until the last one. She glanced nervously behind her at the large French windows that led from the terrace into the Great Hall.

Not that a stray firework had started the blaze responsible for destroying a fair chunk of Tipping House and wiping out her business, but if they hadn’t been so busy staring into the dying embers and setting more midnight fireworks off at the end of a very drunken and noisy party, they might have realised that the flames in the window weren’t a reflection of what was going on outside.

And they might have called the fire brigade before there was the sharp crack of hot glass followed by a rush of black, billowing smoke.

Sam caught the look and gave her a hug. ‘Sod him, babe. Next November we can pretend the guy on the top of the fire is that toe-rag, burn him at the stake.’

‘We’re not sure it definitely is him yet.’ Lottie wanted to be fair and although all indications were that the bridegroom who had been celebrating his wedding at Tipping House on November 5^th had, in fact, snuck out of the four-poster bed armed with a match and bottle of spirits, enquiries were still ongoing.

‘Well he did say so on Facebook, so it’s got to be, hasn’t it?’

‘You can’t believe everything on there.’

‘Course you can, love, all the important stuff. I don’t bother listening to the news any more, I just go on Facebook.’

Lottie did love Sam, even if she could be decidedly un-PC at times. Well that was part of her charm.

‘Have you got a date to get it all done up again then, babe? I do miss seeing all those lovely brides here. That one that looked like she was a big fat gypsy was amazing. You know, the one with that glass carriage. Life a fairy tale it was.’

‘I miss them too.’ Lottie fought the feeling of gloom. ‘The insurance people are still poking around, and to be honest I’m not quite sure where I’m going to get the money from to get started again.’

‘We’ll sort it, babe. We can have another fundraiser, can’t we, Mandy?’

Amanda Stanthorpe, who had emerged from the bathroom, was looking pale green at the edges and didn’t even have the energy to flinch at the abbreviation of her name. She smiled wanly.

When she’d first moved to Folly Lake Manor in Tippermere she’d spent most of her time wishing she wasn’t there; she was scared of horses, hated disorder and loathed mud, but after her millionaire husband had died she’d been touched by the support and warmth of her neighbours and now couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Especially after finding a kindred spirit in Dominic Stanthorpe. Marrying him and having his daughter had been the best thing she had ever done. Apart from the actual pregnancy part, of course, which had left her feeling like she’d been fed through a mangle. Repeatedly.

Amanda was the most organised, demure, and elegant person in Tippermere and Lottie had been in awe of her for a long time. Before discovering that the immaculate exterior was a cover for a shy but extremely kind person. She still found it impossible to believe, though, that the young Amanda had been a geeky, unfashionable kid from the suburbs who created a fantasy world to escape from her loneliness. All she could see when she looked at her Uncle Dominic and Amanda was a perfect couple who could have run the Tipping House Estate with effortless ease, had the Stanthorpes not decided long ago that it should only be passed down to female ancestors.

Since discovering that she was to inherit the estate Lottie had worried on an almost daily basis that Dominic would be distraught at being passed over, but he was adamant that he had no desire to shoulder the huge burden that Tipping House represented, but was happy to help his niece out where he could. And she had to admit that he seemed extremely content with Amanda in their rather elegant, and decidedly easier to maintain, home.

‘Not missed anything, have I? I hope Alice hasn’t been any trouble.’

Lottie smiled and hugged the friend who had married her uncle and become her aunt, which was a bit weird. ‘Only Sam talking about firemen and another fundraiser to put the weddings back on track, and Alice is never any trouble.’

‘We could have another wedding fayre.’

‘Amanda.’ Dominic, who had been quietly watching proceedings, stepped out from the shadow of the building and put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘What did we agree about not overdoing things?’ He looked down his long, elegant nose, slightly disapprovingly, in Lottie’s direction and she shrugged her shoulders, doing her best to ignore the piercing blue gaze that was so like her gran’s and always left her feeling like a naughty child.

‘Just a small event, darling, as an announcement that we’re back in business.’

Lottie gave a sigh of relief as Dom switched his gaze from her back to Amanda, and it softened. He’d always seemed stuffy, serious, and slightly too aristocratic and forbidding as she was growing up (and still did sometimes, like when she was sure she’d done something he wouldn’t approve of), but when he looked at Amanda he was a different man.

Well, he still made her feel a klutz – overweight, clumsy and never quite as confident as she should be – but she’d seen a softer side to him since he’d met Amanda and had been amazed by how delighted he’d been at the prospect of fatherhood.

‘Big is better though, isn’t it, girls?’ Sam laughed heartily. ‘Like them firemen on the calendar. Have you seen it, Mand?’

Amanda shook her head and Dom sighed. ‘I will go and attend to the champagne, ladies.’

‘Old Molly at the shop told me your dad had been in stocking up for Tiggy, saucy mare isn’t she? And at her age as well. Bless, she’s such a card. I reckon her and your dad are a perfect match. Well, of course, not as perfect as your mum and dad.’ She gave Lottie an apologetic hug.

‘They are perfect together, though she’s much too nice to him sometimes. I’m not sure Mum would run after him like Tiggy does. From what Gran’s said I think she was more like Roxy.’

‘Aww, nobody is like my Roxy, she’s a right little tinker at times. I bet your mum was lovely, just like you.’

Lottie smiled. It was hard to know what her mother, Alexa, would have been like if she’d lived beyond her twenty-fourth birthday. Everybody said she’d been mischievous, a whirlwind of energy with long curly hair and dark flashing eyes, but Lottie didn’t know. She couldn’t even remember her mother’s touch, her presence. ‘I was younger than Roxy and Alice when she died, and all I know is that her and Dad loved each other.’ But would Alexa have loved her, Lottie? Had she ever even wanted children, or had she had that gnawing empty well of fear at the pit of her stomach when she’d found out she was pregnant, the same feeling that Lottie had whenever the baby question was asked? Maybe Alexa had just been doing her duty and trying to fill Tipping House with the heirs it demanded.

“Aww I’ve made you sad, babe.’

‘You haven’t, I’m fine.’ Lottie grinned and tried to shake off gloomy thoughts about babies. ‘I love Tigs. She’s good for Dad. He was such a grumpy bugger before.’

Sam giggled. ‘I’ve been trying to get Tiggy to come with me and get her roots done. I mean, nobody actually wants to have all them grey bits on their head, do they? My hairstylist, Bobby, would make her look ten years younger, and I reckon a bit of Moroccan oil would work wonders on her hair. Look what it’s done for me.’ She held a blond strand out for inspection. ‘I don’t think them people in Morocco should have kept it a secret from us for so long, it’s amazing. Anyhow, she keeps saying she’s busy. Run off her feet she is.’

Lottie knew Tiggy was no such thing, but wasn’t surprised at the tactics. Her step-mother, AKA ‘Tatty Tiggy’, was more than happy in her own skin and Billy loved her just as she was, with her bohemian clothes, wild hair, and ample bosom. Whilst Lottie was pretty sure that nothing in life ever horrified Tiggy, at a guess she did, no doubt, think the idea of a Samantha-style makeover a huge joke. She was still trying to work out whether there was a tactful response or whether she’d be better just smiling, when a shriek of laughter made them all turn round.

‘Lottie, Manda, Mummy look, look at me.’ Roxy had found an old cushion and was sitting on it sliding down the stone steps that led up to the balustrade, where they were supposed to be watching the fireworks from. She was nothing if not resourceful.

‘What is she like? Bless her. Davey, Dave hun, be a babe and bring her back. My heels are hell walking up and down these steps. Get one caught in a crack and I’ll be A over T again, won’t I?’

‘I thought your au-pair was supposed to be here, Sam?’

‘I’ve given her Christmas off, babe. So she can see her family, back in Croatia or wherever it is. Where’s she from, Dave?’ She carried on without waiting for an answer. Dave was busy turning his daughter upside down so that she squealed and her dress covered her head. Lottie watched worriedly as he put her on his shoulders. She was only three and he was the size you’d expect to be an England goalkeeper to be – six foot and quite a lot. Roxy, though, was fearless.

‘But it’s New Year now, Sam, shouldn’t she be back?’

‘Aww I know, babe, but it’s a long way, isn’t it? We can manage, can’t we Davey? And I thought a proper Christmas holiday, just us,’ she linked her arm through Lottie’s, ‘would be amazing. We’ve helped each other out, haven’t we, babe? And the kids love being with you and Rory.’

Hmm, I know they do, thought Lottie, waiting for the inevitable subject to crop up again. Just when she’d been trying to forget about it.

‘Your turn next eh, hun? Don’t want your eggs getting past their sell-by date, do you? You’ll only be fit for making omelettes, as my mam used to say.’

Lottie smiled. Sam was as bad as Gran; once she had an idea she was like a bloody terrier. There was no letting go, but this was one decision that Lottie wasn’t going to be bullied into. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t afford it – it was more than that. The whole idea scared her: all that responsibility, just her and Rory and a tiny defenceless baby. She glanced down at Alice, who had slipped her small hand into her mother’s and was standing quietly at her side.

What she’d said to Sam about Alexa was true. She’d never really known her mother, as she’d been a toddler when Alexandra had died, leaving just her and Billy. She loved her father and she knew he loved her, but she also knew she’d changed his life. Thrown a burden of responsibility on the young show-jumper that had altered the course of his future. Even now, when she was supposed to be all grown up, she still remembered those feelings she’d had as a teenager. She’d hated her mother, the woman she’d never known – truly hated her with a strength that had left her feeling sick and guilty – for leaving and turning their lives upside down.

Her only real memories came from photographs, of a laughing carefree girl, forever young. A girl who’d flitted away, abandoned her. They’d got by, but she dimly remembered the many heated arguments she’d overheard between Billy and Elizabeth, and the frequent occasions when a groom had picked her up from school. ‘I wish I was a better dad,’ he’d said when he rang her from yet another show-jumping event, apologetic that he’d missed a parents’ evening, a sports day. But he had been a good dad, a good dad trying to be a mum as well. Struggling to be everything, when her mother should have been there. How could she even think about being a mother herself when she didn’t know what one really was? She’d either be stupidly over-protective or resent the whole idea of motherhood and carry on as she always had.

‘I do love this terrace.’ Amanda ran a hand along the stone balustrade, trying to change the subject, glancing up at her through long eyelashes with a worried frown.

But there was no need. Sam had already been distracted.

‘Bloody ‘ell, look at that.’ She was staring across the grass towards the dark figures of Rory and Mick, suddenly illuminated as a Catherine wheel sprang into life, sending them dashing for cover as it spat out an uneven shower of light in all directions, like water from a hosepipe with kinks in it. ‘Girls, come here, quickly, Alice, Roxy, come on Davey.’

The fireworks had started with a bang, well, a splutter. Davey galloped up the steps, little Roxy clapping her hands in delight at the turn of speed, the giggles turning to a wail as a huge rocket exploded like a cannon, scattering an enormous shower of sparks into the black night sky. She burst into tears, while Alice clutched Amanda’s hand tightly in both of her own and looked up at her aghast.

‘They won’t get you, darling, they’re in the sky, like the stars.’

Alice’s brow was creased in a frown as she listened to her mother earnestly, and Roxy stopped the noise while she considered the new revelation.

‘If they’re stars why do they disappear? Stars stay until I go to sleep.’

‘Only a few more,’ Lottie glanced at her watch, ‘then it’s midnight and there’ll be one big bang and all over.’

‘Friggin’ hell.’ The yell from Rory carried clearly across to the terrace. ‘Run Mick, the whole bloody lot’s about to go.’ The two men started sprinting towards the house, still carrying their torches and their audience watched open-mouthed. ‘Maybe not.’ Rory ground to a halt and grinned up at them from the bottom of the steps. ‘False alarm, folks.’ But he’d spoken too soon, as with a terrific squeal the firework show started in disorganised earnest.

‘You stupid eejit.’ Mick was laughing as he doubled over, trying to get his breath back. ‘I told you to put the lid on.’

‘Lost it.’ His words were drowned out by the noise as more fireworks lit the night sky.

Roxy had forgotten her tears. Hands on hips, she stood at her mother’s side looking down at Rory, then she waved a finger. ‘I’m,’ bang, ‘vewy’ double explosion, ‘disappointed. You’ve,’ bang, ‘wuined everything.’ And with that she folded her arms and, marching to the back of the terrace, sat down.

Mick laughed. ‘God knows why I agreed to help you, you idiot.’

‘I think it’s pretty spectacular, actually.’ Rory rolled over and lay on the damp grass, staring up at the sky. ‘Synchronised displays are for sissies.’

‘Anybody for a glass of bubbly? Close enough to midnight, by my reckoning.’ Dom popped the cork as the last of the fireworks fizzled out and Lottie passed the glasses round, saving Rory’s to last.

‘Happy New Year, darling.’

She stared into his eyes and what shone back was pure optimism, love of life, and love for her. It was going to be alright. This year would be fine. They’d sort something out, work out how to raise the money they needed to keep Tipping House going until the wedding business was back in full flow. They’d come up with a plan together, and he was happy with the time he spent with Roxy and Alice. No responsibility, just fun. ‘Happy New Year, Rory.’

‘Stop worrying.’ His kissed the end of her nose and grinned. ‘It’s going to be a good year. I’ve got a feeling in my water.’

Lottie giggled. ‘Hmm, that could be all the beer you drank when you were setting the fireworks up.’

‘You could be right, but I think I deserve a New Year shag anyway, after providing such brilliant entertainment.’

‘Shush.’ Lottie put a hand over his mouth and glanced over at Roxy anxiously. The little girl had surprisingly good hearing and a habit of repeating new words at the worst possible time. Shag, she was sure, should not be part of a three-year-old’s vocabulary.

‘Sorry to break the party up, but we’d better go.’ Amanda smiled and scooped up the yawning Alice. ‘Past bedtime isn’t it, poppet?’ The little girl rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth. ‘Happy New Year, Lottie.’ She kissed first Lottie, then Rory. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘Me too.’ Mick drained his glass. ‘I better get a move on. I promised to call Niamh, she’s not forgiven me yet for not making it back home to Ireland with her to see the New Year in. I need to earn some brownie points.’ He winked at Lottie, then ruffled her hair. ‘I think I’d better be checking the cheap flights out and keep her company for a few days. Happy New Year, treasure.’ He shook Rory’s hand. ‘Cheers, mate. See you all tomorrow.’

* * *

‘I can’t believe it’s so long since we last had a wedding here, can you?’

‘Peaceful isn’t it?’ Rory pulled Lottie to him and nuzzled at her neck until she wriggled and tried to escape. ‘Lovely, just us and the kids. No bossy mothers-of the-bride about. Maybe we should have one of our own?’

‘Bossy mother? We’ve got Gran.’

‘I meant a kid.’ He smoothed his hand over her stomach and felt Lottie instinctively tighten her muscles.

‘We’ve got Roxy and Alice.’

‘One of our own would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Nice when you can hand them back.’ She smiled, but he didn’t miss the tightness in her voice, or the little sigh of exasperation that he was sure she had tried to keep in. ‘And anyway we’re having enough trouble looking after ourselves and the horses.’

‘You’ll be able to start up the business again soon. Stop worrying.’

‘But I do worry.’

Rory grimaced. He’d got worries of his own; worries that he’d rather hoped would have disappeared by now, before Lottie found out. But he knew that life for them would never be straightforward, they didn’t live a nine-to-five existence and didn’t want to. There would never be a good time to start a family, but people did it anyway, didn’t they? ‘Well there’s plenty of time. I didn’t mean we had to rush into it, but it’s what everybody does, isn’t it? I mean not even Dom and Amanda wasted time.’

She stared. ‘We’re not wasting time. Is that what you think? You’re wasting your life?’

‘Don’t be daft, Lots. I only meant it’s what people do, it’s just normal.’

‘But we don’t have to be the same as everybody else, do we?’

‘Well no, but … I mean, it’s the next step, isn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t have to be. I mean, aren’t you happy with it just being the two of us?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘You’re not getting bored?’

‘How could I get bored of you?’ He pulled her closer in to his side. ‘But I thought it might be fun teaching our own kids how to do stuff. And Mum was saying how she’d love to be a grandma …’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Lottie looked down. ‘Look, I am sorry if that’s what she wants, I just …’

‘It’s not a problem, honest. No rush, let’s make them wait a bit, eh? Anyway,’ he grinned, ‘I know that one day you’ll love having a tiny version of me to boss around.’

She didn’t smile back. ‘Maybe, but not yet.’

‘You’re not doing my ego much good here.’

‘Your ego does fine on its own, Rory Steel.’ The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I just want things to be right between us first.’

‘Right? But they are, aren’t they? I thought you were happy. Is it you that’s getting bored?’

‘Don’t be daft. I didn’t mean between us in that way. I meant money-wise, this place. Nobody is making bookings for next year, they’re all too worried it won’t be fixed.’

‘It’ll be fixed.’ He said it with the type of conviction he knew she needed to hear. ‘Come on, gorgeous,’ he pulled her to her feet and drew her in close so that he could look straight into the big green eyes he loved so much. She still looked the same old Lottie, his Lottie. The money thing was obviously worrying her more than she let on, that was the trouble – she was just too good at coping sometimes. ‘Let’s see the year in with some baby-making practice. You don’t want me to forget how to do it, do you?’ He winked. ‘Just in case.’