tried her best not to retaliate.
‘Sex on Fire’ set off again and Lottie stared at it resignedly before jabbing at the answer call button.
‘If you’re not here in five minutes, girl, Marcus won’t be the only one they’ll be burying next week.’
Lottie spotted the brand new Jaguar F-type the moment she got through the imposing gates that flanked the entrance to Folly Lake Equestrian Centre. It was yellow. As in bright canary yellow. Which in her eyes was a gross travesty of a car that (a) was sleek and gorgeous and (b) was named after a cat. It was the type of car that should have said old money, or at least new money with a modicum of taste, but she’d never particularly liked yellow – unless it was daffodils.
The sudden indigestion-like pain in her chest didn’t have anything to do with the half baguette that she had crammed down in two minutes flat as she drove the short distance from Rory’s, because she was starving and needed to soak up Gran’s gin, it was panic. What if it was someone who’d already heard Marcus was dead? Who was here to buy the place, or sell the place, or… Crumbs, she tried to park her car as far as she could from the other one, knowing it made her old banger look even older. Surely Amanda couldn’t have moved that fast. And her father had said it was her fault. Which was a bit confusing. No way could she have arranged for a developer to visit the place and then forgotten about it.
She made a move out of the car, nearly strangling herself in the process, and realised she still had her seatbelt on. Calm, she had to be calm. It wasn’t her fault Marcus was dead, and she couldn’t be blamed for telling anyone. She hadn’t, had she? What if she’d said something when she was drunk? What if she’d told someone to come round and buy the place when she was at the dressage? Or after that bottle of bubbly with Tom? What if she’d danced on the table and announced it to the whole restaurant?
No, she couldn’t have. Could she? No, no way. Definitely no way. And Billy had been ranting on about not being a children’s entertainer, she definitely wouldn’t have sent someone who wanted to open a kids’ theme park.
The arena doors were wide open, and she raced through and practically fell over… Tom.
‘Hi.’
‘Err, hi.’ She threw an apologetic smile, and an arm out to stop herself falling, and nearly collided with the floppy fringe. ‘Sorry, I just… Dad?’
Billy was sat astride a horse, and had obviously been in the middle of a schooling session when Tom and Tabatha had turned up. The horse had a sheen of sweat on its coat, the bay turned almost to black, the froth around its bit flecked with the deep green of new spring grass. He still had his phone in his hand, no doubt so he could call her again if she didn’t turn up in the allotted five minute window.
‘Here she is. Well, it was nice to meet you, after all I’d heard.’ And he’d launched the horse from stand still into a trot, then within a stride into a canter and straight at the nearest poles.
Here she is. Who? What? Lottie glanced over her shoulder at the bemused Tom, then back the other way to his daughter, who appeared as star-struck as she was dumbstruck.
Tabatha gazed after Billy with the look of adoration that Lottie had grown up with. ‘Gosh, he really is your dad, really your dad, so cool.’
‘And being a model is old hat?’ Tom spoke offhandedly, obviously used to being dismissed as useless by his daughter.
‘Being a model is so gay.’ She threw him an assessing glance. ‘Not that you are, but, you know, when I tell people you’re a model, well, they just assume.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, love you too.’
‘Well, y’know.’ She shrugged. ‘Billy is just SO cool. Do you think he’d let me ride his horse, Charlotte?’
‘Lottie.’ She corrected her automatically, then stared blankly over in Billy’s direction. ‘No, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let you ride that one, and believe me you wouldn’t want to. So?’ She looked from one to the other. It had been a relief to see them here, and not some money-waving developer with a contract and pen in his hand. Not that the equestrian centre was Billy’s to sell of course. But… Billy seemed to think she’d invited Tom and Tabatha here, so what had given him that idea? She folded her arms and frowned, at a complete loss as to why she was there.
‘You said we could pop down and arrange some lessons, for Tab?’
‘Did I?’ It should have been getting clear, but it wasn’t. ‘Sorry, err I did, of course I did. Yes…’ She must have done, at some point over that meal, when he’d been pouring the champagne for her and Pip as though everyone drank it by the magnum.
‘Great place here.’ Obviously he wasn’t going to be put off.
***
Tom gazed around the indoor arena and couldn’t believe his luck. Fate had brought him to exactly the right place. Tabatha actually looked interested for the first time in weeks. He wasn’t quite sure why, as he watched Billy canter around the arena. I mean the man was portly, to put it politely. Or was stout more the word? He was all short arms and legs, though he undoubtedly knew how to stay on a horse. Even if at take-off he looked like he was going to get to the other side before the horse. And he’d been nice enough, but keener on riding than passing pleasantries. When he’d lifted his hat, it was to show off a mop of unruly sandy curls, damp with sweat and flattened to his skull, with the first trace of a thinning patch in the middle. His face was weathered, the crinkle around his eyes had to be from squinting not smiling, and the way he grunted at the horse reminded Tom of a grumpy farmer herding cows. But Tabby had said he was a medal winner, one of the best, so who was he to argue?
‘I’ll err, show you round, shall I?’ Lottie was still looking at them as though she hadn’t got a clue why they were there.
‘Can I stay here?’ Tab looked hopeful and Tom wavered. ‘And watch? That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Lottie?’
‘Lazy cow.’ Billy cantered a tight circle in front of them, scattering rubber as the horse fly-bucked bad-temperedly. He gave her a swift crack behind the saddle, which made Tom flinch. ‘Put that pole back, Lots.’ Lottie clambered over the small wall and put the pole back in its cup. ‘Now you’ll fucking do as I say and pick those feet up, you bloody donkey. Jesus Christ.’
Tom looked slightly alarmed. ‘Maybe not, better if you come with us, darling. I think Billy is busy.’
He felt better when he got his daughter away from the slightly alarming, very sweaty and profusely swearing Billy. And back on a par, when Lottie led the way into the calm and orderly yard. It was a pleasant surprise. After watching the gung-ho Billy, scruffy polo shirt flapping with every jump and saddle soap-stains on his breeches, he’d half imagined that the yard would be in disarray, with startled horses in every corner. But it was an oasis of calm. Which reminded him that, whatever his appearance had suggested to the contrary, the man was a world-beater. A champion. And Tab instantly looked grumpy with boredom, until Lottie started to introduce them to the horses.
‘This is Monty Jack.’ She stroked the velvet nose of a dark bay horse, the soft wicker echoing round the silent yard.
‘Gosh,’
