reason that didn’t sound like ‘I’m far too busy to babysit you’, and drew a blank. ‘You’ll be bored, you don’t like horses and…’ He couldn’t stay, he really couldn’t. She had meetings with Dom and roofs to mend (literally) and horses to look after and her inheritance to, well, inherit. ‘I’m very busy.’ She finished lamely.
‘No bother. I’ve sorted digs. You won’t even know I’m here.’
Todd had known, better than Lottie, that their time together had a very limited span. And he knew that for both of them it had just been a good dose of sunshine and harmless fun. It would have just been better if it had ended differently. At an airport, with a farewell kiss before they boarded different planes. In normal circumstances they would never have met, but they had. And it was his fault, of his making – as was the abrupt and unconventional ending to it all.
He should have just left it at that, given it up as a bad job and gone back to his normal life. But he couldn’t. What ever happened to riding the waves, having a few tinnies and a lot of belly laughs? When the hell had he grown up and developed a conscience? Well, the honest answer to that one was probably when he realised that blood really is thicker than water.
The knock on the door made them both jump guiltily, along with the three terriers, who all hit the floor running and scrambled for pole position, hurtling towards the door like cannonballs, yapping at each other and the as-yet unseen visitor. Lottie had long since learned that you let the dogs get to the door first, unless you wanted bruised shins and burst eardrums. Her early habit of jumping to her feet when the doorbell or phone rang had long since departed after a few catastrophic collisions that had taught her just how unstoppable a terrier in full flight was. It was safer to fall off a bucking horse than be swept along by a pack of rampaging Jack Russell terriers.
The whirlwind of brown and white fur went into reverse as the door swung open to reveal a neatly dressed Pip, sleek blond hair in a neat ponytail, clothes that suggested she wasn’t about to get stuck into mucking-out duties. She was waving a copy of the Daily Mail.
‘You have just got to see this—’ She stopped dead on seeing Todd, then shoved the paper in his direction with a smirk. ‘This picture of our surfer dude.’
Lottie got to the paper before Todd did and spread it out on the pine kitchen table. It was the perfect homage to a Thelwell cartoon. The barrel bodied Merlin was flying (along with the bright-pink balloon that was attached to his tail), the terrified Todd clinging to his mane, long legs stuck out in a futile attempt to put the brakes on.
‘Oh and Dom said he needed to track you down, Lottie. Where’ve you been all morning? I’ve been trying to call you.’
Todd was frowning as he stabbed a finger at Wizard of Oz? ‘Hey, what’s with the funny headline?’
Which meant Lottie didn’t need to explain she’d spent the best part of the morning in bed, and it also meant she didn’t have to wonder why Dom was so determined to track her down.
‘Merlin, the horse is called Merlin, you know as in King Arthur?’
‘Oh, right.’ He obviously didn’t know.
‘Wizard as in Merlin, Oz as in Australian?’ Pip shook her head and gave up the explanations as a lost cause when she saw his blank expression. ‘You even got in the Manchester Evening News, which normally doesn’t do horse stuff.’
‘Didn’t know the press were invited to the party.’ He held the paper at arm’s length, unsure whether to be pleased at what had to be a spectacular entrance to English country living or disappointed with the pink balloon, which really wasn’t his style. ‘Anyhow, what’s with all the fuss? You never seen a stranger in this neck of the woods before?’
‘Nothing quite like you, no.’ Pip suddenly relented and smiled. ‘I’m the press.’ She might have forsaken the daily grind of a journalist’s life in London, but writing was her life and Pip had found that working as a freelance in Cheshire was remarkably lucrative, given the fact that the place was awash with scandals and celebrities.
Tippermere might appear tranquil, but underneath the surface lurked secrets begging to be uncovered. And as for nearby Kitterly Heath, you didn’t even have to delve under the surface. In a place where footballers brushed shoulders with rock legends and film stars it was more a case of picking which stories to publish and which to ignore. And Todd’s abrupt entrance at the wedding had been an unexpected bonus.
‘Oh yeah.’ Todd looked at her speculatively, the more relaxed Pip had caught him unawares. He’d forgotten all about the slightly jaded chief reporter version of Pip that he’d first met in Barcelona. All that seemed a long time ago. ‘I thought you did fashion shows and red-carpet events, not country weddings and horsey stuff.’
Pip ignored him. ‘And Billy is a celebrity around here, well not just here, everywhere. You know, Olympic medals and all that jazz.’
‘So if he’s the celeb, why’ve they got my face on the front page?’
‘Well it isn’t exactly your face.’ Lottie said reasonably, taking another close look at the photo, which wasn’t quite as blurred now she’d got used to daylight. ‘You can actually see more of your bum than anything.’ She giggled and had a closer look.
‘Your arse is the one on the front page because you’re funnier. Billy can ride a horse and they’ve got fed up of running his bonking pictures.’ Lottie flinched, aware that Pip wasn’t intentionally being hurtful. ‘But a picture like that is one in a million.’ Pip tried not to look too smug, but she was pleased. She’d just known it would be worth shelling out to get Bob the photographer there, and he’d earned every penny of the three bottles of wine bribe it had taken to persuade her editor to send him.
‘Not sure how to take that, mate.’
‘I’d just go with the flow if I was you.’ Lottie, who had decided to risk the coffee, sat down and cradled a large mug of it in her hands. ‘You’re a novelty, they’ve got loads of pictures of Dad playing the fool. And Wizard of Oz isn’t a bad headline, he got Bronco Billy.’ She sighed. Even now she hated those headlines that had followed her around at school.
‘Really?’ He paused and stared at her. ‘What was that about then? Does he do rodeo riding as well?’
‘No, you don’t want to know. Honestly.’
‘I hardly knew you at all, did I?’ And it was true, thought Todd. The Lottie he’d met in Australia, the Lottie he’d taken to Barcelona with him had just been a fun-loving girl looking for a good time. He knew nothing about Tippermere, her family, her real life, apart from the brief comments about horses, boredom and being taken for granted. Okay, he had known she came from the countryside, and he did know her dad was big in the horse world. Oh yeah, and he’d had an inkling about the whole gentry thing. But it didn’t seem to have anything to do with the girl he’d briefly known. He’d just seen flip flops and fun. And, well, a great deal of booze and her glorious body.
Yesterday had been a bit of an eye-opener seeing her surrounded by men who might look out of place amongst body boarders, but seemed more than in control on the back of a horse. Which was one experiment he wasn’t going to repeat in the near future. Talk about chafing! His hand automatically went to his crotch.
And boy could they drink. Even the old girl she’d called gran had been knocking them back. In five hours he reckoned he’d seen more of Lottie (in the fully clothed sense) than he had in five weeks on a beach.
