Stable Mates. Zara Stoneley
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downtime, needed to slow down and imbue his life with structure. He wasn’t a rich, good-looking playboy, he was a guy who rescued sick animals and liked a long country walk to help him unwind.
No, Tom couldn’t blame Tamara for falling out of love with him, but he could blame her for hitching up with his manager, fleecing him and then disappearing off to Spain. But out of the whole fiasco there had been a divine gift. Their daughter. And the fact that her mother, his ex-wife, was as disinterested in Tab as his father had been disinterested in him was, as far as he could see, a bonus. True, he did believe that a child needed its mother, but Tamara was no more mature than a sixteen-year-old herself, and her lifestyle choices were not ones he’d want inflicted on any daughter, let alone his. He would never stand in their way if they wanted to spend more time together, but at the moment, from his perspective, the fact that they were in different countries was more of an advantage than a disadvantage.
Coming to Tippermere had been a move he had not consulted his daughter about, and so far she had not been impressed, but he knew he could win her over. The village could be good for both of them. No, not could, would. And whilst he had some misgivings about the media-happy Philippa, he was convinced she was the answer to many of the current questions life posed. The main one being, how to convince his daughter that this backwater was a taste of heaven?
He watched the two girls make their way back to the table. The slim, well-groomed, efficient-looking Pippa who would have blended in effortlessly on one of his shoots. Confident of her own abilities, the type who would manage your diary, massage your ego and add an efficient dose of sex into the mix if you both needed some stress-relief. Lottie looked an altogether different cup of tea. She had the toned body of an athlete and the bronze sheen of a sun lover – he found himself wondering about the presence or absence of tan lines. Sex with Lottie, he’d hazard a guess, would be messy and fun, not that he was going to get involved with anyone out here. And the sudden image of her tapping a whip against her strong thigh brought a shudder that he couldn’t quite place. Formidable and fun were not two words he’d ever put together before, but from the look in her eye, Lottie was the type of girl who could take control easier than she could give it away.
‘Are we going to be hanging here much longer, Dad?’
‘That depends on whether you want to meet some world-class riders or just plod along with the pony clubbers I guess, Tabby. Up to you.’
‘She doesn’t look like a world-class rider.’
Tom bit back the response with a smile. She did to him. ‘Everything okay, ladies? I ordered that bottle of champagne, hope you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? I could murder a drink right now. You have got no idea what kind of a day I’ve had.’ Lottie had the glass to her lips and had taken a greedy mouthful before she had even sat down properly. ‘You’re a lifesaver, but if you really want to win my heart, tell me you’ve ordered food as well. Rory was in such a bad mood he wouldn’t even let us stop to get a burger.’
‘You’ve been with Rory today?’ Tabatha uncrossed her arms. ‘What’s he like? I mean, is he really that fit?’
‘This was before the class.’ Lottie knew she probably shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist flashing her mobile in front of Tabatha, a shot of Rory when he’d been posing on the wagon steps with his toned abs on display. ‘I did make him put a shirt and jacket on though.’ She flicked onto the next picture, which was Rory nonchalantly sat astride Flash, long legs stretched at her sides, feet dangling free of the stirrups, one hand on the buckle end of the reins, the other grasping a cigarette. His last request he’d called it. Lottie actually preferred the picture of him with his clothes on, which worried her a bit. The sun was behind him and his hatless head was a mass of curls, he looked a bit like a swashbuckling hero – minus the sword.
‘Can I see the first one again?’
Lottie reluctantly flicked back to the first picture. He was so gorgeous, and although he played to the crowd, she had a feeling that deep down he wanted to be loved. Properly. But it just didn’t seem to be by her. Not that she wanted that now of course. She was independent, wanted fun and freedom. Definitely.
But she was back in Tippermere. And his bed. She tried to supress the sigh.
Lottie had fancied Rory for as long as she could remember. Forever. And he did fancy her (although of course it had taken him a bit longer to realise), but it had been a jokey, easy-going relationship. Not a ‘maybe this could be forever’ type of thing.
After her disastrous ‘world tour’ as her father called it, she had told herself that Rory was the perfect antidote to her humiliation of being conned by a serial adulterer, but looking at the photo now she had a horrible feeling that she’d never actually managed to fall out of lust and love with him. And never would. God, who in their right mind preferred to ogle a picture of a man like Rory more with his clothes on?
She glanced up and Tom was studying her with a very slight disapproving air. He was probably deciding that she wouldn’t be a good influence on his daughter, that she was more likely to be sharing pictures of semi-nude men than teaching how to do a collected trot.
‘Sorry.’ She could feel a blush spread across her cheeks.
‘No problem. Who am I to say anything about looking at men without their clothes on?’ He smiled, the first genuine smile that the Tippermere residents had seen from him, and Pip, Lottie, and every female member of the restaurant staff that was in range were left in no doubt as to why he made a fortune in front of the camera.
Lottie put the phone down. ‘Why have you come here? I mean it’s not exactly commuter belt is it, if you’re working?’ Mild embarrassment made her voice the questions she would have normally kept politely to herself.
Tom shifted in his seat. ‘Well, you’re here for one.’ As the words came out, he could tell that flattery wasn’t going to get him anywhere. ‘You’ve got excellent facilities here for Tabby to really progress; it is what she wants to do. Isn’t it?’ Tab shrugged, like only a teenager can. ‘And it is commuter belt, I can get on a plane in half an hour, or jump in the car and be on the M6 in seconds. And, no one notices me here, I mean the area is plastered with premiership footballers and soap stars, so I’m just another face.’ He gave what he hoped was a casual shrug. There were a hundred reasons he could give for picking this particular area of the country, but one in particular right now he was reluctant to voice.
Elizabeth Stanthorpe had been born in Tipping House, and fully intended on dying there. After she’d ensured that her family would continue running the estate in the way it deserved to be.
‘I imagine that young Rory thinks Dominic is gay.’ She raised an eyebrow as Lottie spluttered a shower of gin and tonic over one of the black Labradors and then hastily tried to rub it in with the back of her hand.
‘I’m not sure that’s why they don’t like each other, not that I think Uncle Dom is gay, of course.’
‘Well, I did.’ She took another swig of her own drink.
‘Gran, you can’t say that.’
‘Well he can be so bloody prissy at times, not a bit like his father was. If it hadn’t been a home birth I would have thought there had been a mix up at some point. No one would have ever have accused your grandfather of batting for the other side, although those private schools can bring out the worst in boys.’ She focussed back on her only granddaughter, only grandchild, who was going a funny shade of pink. ‘Well, you did bring it up, darling. Pour me another drink whilst you’re up, there’s a good girl.’
Lottie had been about to say she wasn’t actually up, but knew it was useless to argue with her grandmother, who had what she referred to as ‘backbone’.
As she sloshed a good measure of Bombay Sapphire gin into the chipped crystal,