…
Delphi holds up her hand, palm out. ‘My first resolution of the New Year is to forget we were ever married. New Year, new start, new horse. Which reminds me, I want Alex to take a look at one of the horses that’s just arrived on the yard. He’s a gelding, yet he’s trying to mount everything in sight.’
‘It’s probably a rig,’ says Old Fox-Gifford, and to my alarm, they start moving towards me. ‘Someone’s left a ball behind somewhere. It happens.’
I’m not sure what to do, run back the other way or tough it out. I choose the latter, nodding and smiling as I go, showing off my devil-may-care exterior, when inside my confidence is completely shattered. I can’t understand why Alex’s parents have taken against me. I would have thought I’d have been the perfect match, another vet who knows what it’s like to be on call, leaving meals half eaten to dash off to an emergency. If nothing else, I’m surprised they haven’t seen the potential for a takeover of Otter House, not that I’d let them of course. Emma would have a fit.
My heart is filled with regret. I don’t expect them to love me like a daughter, but they could treat me with a little respect, if not for my sake, then for their son’s.
Outside, the cars have a thin film of frost on them, yet I hardly feel the cold as Alex and I walk hand in hand across the gravel towards the Barn with Lucie and Seb in front of us. Lucie persuades us to divert past the stable block where a light comes on and a horse whickers softly and puts its head over one of the stable doors, flaring its nostrils and sending wisps of condensation into the air, like a smoke-breathing dragon.
Alex pulls a packet of mints out of his trouser pocket, along with a few coins, which Lucie and Seb fight over as they spill to the ground.
I watch the horse – Liberty, she’s called – crunch on a mint and search Alex’s hand for another. He strokes her chestnut coat, which glints like polished copper. I’m aware of Alex gazing at me.
‘Sometimes I think you’re jealous,’ he says.
‘You probably spend more time with her than you do with me.’
‘You can’t be jealous of a horse.’ He chuckles, and moves closer, sliding his hand across my buttock and giving me an affectionate squeeze.
She isn’t just a horse, though, I muse. They’re a partnership, and they’ve been through hell during the past year, Liberty surviving major surgery for colic and Alex the fire at Buttercross Cottage.
‘Liberty’s almost as special to me as you are,’ Alex whispers, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. ‘Happy?’
I nod, although my happiness is tempered by the issue of the invitation and his parents’ rudeness towards me, but I won’t talk about it now, not until the children are out of earshot. I watch Lucie cantering across the yard, holding up her dress like the reins on a bridle, and Sebastian stumbling along behind her.
‘You know we could get up really early in the morning and ride out,’ Alex goes on.
‘I’d rather stay in bed,’ I say as seductively as I can manage, my lips rubbery with alcohol and the cold.
‘Actually, so would I …’ The husky tone of Alex’s voice makes my heart beat faster, and I start wishing I’d remembered that overnight bag, but he continues, ‘Unfortunately, I think the kids will have something to say about that, though. Seb’s usually up by six.’
It turns out that Seb is a night owl as well as an early riser.
Inside, I sit on the sofa – it’s chocolate leather, very masculine and not to my taste at all – in front of the dancing flames of the open fire, and under the beams that crisscross the vaulted roof of the Barn, while Alex puts Seb to bed upstairs in the smallest of the three bedrooms, which opens out onto a balcony above. I can hear his low murmur drifting in and out of my consciousness, reminding me of how I used to read stories to my brother when my mother was out at work.
An hour later, Alex returns
Delphi holds up her hand, palm out. ‘My first resolution of the New Year is to forget we were ever married. New Year, new start, new horse. Which reminds me, I want Alex to take a look at one of the horses that’s just arrived on the yard. He’s a gelding, yet he’s trying to mount everything in sight.’
‘It’s probably a rig,’ says Old Fox-Gifford, and to my alarm, they start moving towards me. ‘Someone’s left a ball behind somewhere. It happens.’
I’m not sure what to do, run back the other way or tough it out. I choose the latter, nodding and smiling as I go, showing off my devil-may-care exterior, when inside my confidence is completely shattered. I can’t understand why Alex’s parents have taken against me. I would have thought I’d have been the perfect match, another vet who knows what it’s like to be on call, leaving meals half eaten to dash off to an emergency. If nothing else, I’m surprised they haven’t seen the potential for a takeover of Otter House, not that I’d let them of course. Emma would have a fit.
My heart is filled with regret. I don’t expect them to love me like a daughter, but they could treat me with a little respect, if not for my sake, then for their son’s.
Outside, the cars have a thin film of frost on them, yet I hardly feel the cold as Alex and I walk hand in hand across the gravel towards the Barn with Lucie and Seb in front of us. Lucie persuades us to divert past the stable block where a light comes on and a horse whickers softly and puts its head over one of the stable doors, flaring its nostrils and sending wisps of condensation into the air, like a smoke-breathing dragon.
Alex pulls a packet of mints out of his trouser pocket, along with a few coins, which Lucie and Seb fight over as they spill to the ground.
I watch the horse – Liberty, she’s called – crunch on a mint and search Alex’s hand for another. He strokes her chestnut coat, which glints like polished copper. I’m aware of Alex gazing at me.
‘Sometimes I think you’re jealous,’ he says.
‘You probably spend more time with her than you do with me.’
‘You can’t be jealous of a horse.’ He chuckles, and moves closer, sliding his hand across my buttock and giving me an affectionate squeeze.
She isn’t just a horse, though, I muse. They’re a partnership, and they’ve been through hell during the past year, Liberty surviving major surgery for colic and Alex the fire at Buttercross Cottage.
‘Liberty’s almost as special to me as you are,’ Alex whispers, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. ‘Happy?’
I nod, although my happiness is tempered by the issue of the invitation and his parents’ rudeness towards me, but I won’t talk about it now, not until the children are out of earshot. I watch Lucie cantering across the yard, holding up her dress like the reins on a bridle, and Sebastian stumbling along behind her.
‘You know we could get up really early in the morning and ride out,’ Alex goes on.
‘I’d rather stay in bed,’ I say as seductively as I can manage, my lips rubbery with alcohol and the cold.
‘Actually, so would I …’ The husky tone of Alex’s voice makes my heart beat faster, and I start wishing I’d remembered that overnight bag, but he continues, ‘Unfortunately, I think the kids will have something to say about that, though. Seb’s usually up by six.’
It turns out that Seb is a night owl as well as an early riser.
Inside, I sit on the sofa – it’s chocolate leather, very masculine and not to my taste at all – in front of the dancing flames of the open fire, and under the beams that crisscross the vaulted roof of the Barn, while Alex puts Seb to bed upstairs in the smallest of the three bedrooms, which opens out onto a balcony above. I can hear his low murmur drifting in and out of my consciousness, reminding me of how I used to read stories to my brother when my mother was out at work.
An hour later, Alex returns
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