Page 10 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
I lay a hand on the sleek neck of the bay horse, and he softly nickers a hello. A tickle of whiskers brushes my hand as his velvet muzzle nuzzles at it, seeking a treat.
“Nothing for you. Sorry buddy,” I say. “I’ll bring you something later.”
I’m sure there’ll be a sack of carrots stashed somewhere in this upmarket stable complex. I untie Solly, and we make our way to the courtyard, the soothing beat of hooves on cobbles echoing off the walls.
Poppy stands beside a stone mounting block ready to help, but Teddy turns his back on the offer and springs lightly into the saddle. I do the same, noting Poppy’s smile of approval as I settle myself on Solly’s broad back.
“Now, these two are a steady pair.” She beams at the horses like a proud mother. “Wouldn’t put you on them otherwise. But it pays to remember—like the rest of them here—they’re rescues. We can’t know everything they’ve been through. So sometimes they might not react quite how you’d expect.”
“Someone didn’t want them?” How could anyone part with horses this beautiful? But that’s people, isn’t it? Changing their minds, falling out of love. What once meant everything ends up cast aside. I should know. And god help me, sometimes I wonder who’s meant to rescue me.
“No,” she says, giving Bodie’s neck a gentle pat. “But six months here with us, some good food, a bit of love, and look at them.” There’s a quiet satisfaction in her voice. “Just head around to the left out of the yard,” she says. “These two will do the rest. They know the way.”
Neat roadways of fine gravel criss-cross the estate, and we give the horses their heads, leading us away from the stables with a spring in their step as if energised by the promise of a fine day.
“When’s the last time you rode?” Teddy asks as, a few hundred yards down the road, our pre-programmed mounts veer off towards a bridle trail half-hidden in a wispy grove of trees.
I pause, unable to instantly answer his question, but I know I’ve missed being on a horse.
Then memories flood back of a weekend at a country house in Sussex—some clients of Pierre’s. In his world of high finance, we spent a lot of time trying to woo rich people. That day we had a fight because none of the other women were going on the ride, and he’d wanted me to stay behind too, playing ladies with the corporate wives. We weren’t married, just engaged, but his expectations were the same—play the part, help him win the prize—their husband’s business.
I’d refused, and we had a blazing row that tarnished the peaceful ride across the rolling green hills of the estate. I’d kept myself apart from the men, wallowing in my thoughts, the first miserable realisation that something was wrong. I’d go on to waste another year after that trying to keep my relationship with Pierre on a steady course, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from blowing it apart in the end.
“Last year,” I say vaguely, leaving the details in the past where they can’t tarnish today. “I don’t get the opportunity often. You?”
“Not since we filmed that video. Too long. There’s something about being on a horse, isn’t there?”
“You had lessons?”
“Only the sort dished out by stroppy little ponies whose favourite thing was to toss you off. Or bolt unexpectedly. Evil little bastards.” He chuckles to himself. “But fun.”
He may not have had formal training, but Teddy looks comfortable in the saddle. His posture, although not textbook straight, is easy, and he rises and falls in a fluid movement, matching the horse’s relaxed gait. His wrists aren’t perfectly angled, the reins held casually in his hands. His feet in a pair of scruffy leather boots relax in the stirrups, heels not precisely down as my instructors drilled into me. Even so, there’s the suggestion of competence, of confidence, with his body attuned to the beat of the mare’s steps as she breaks into a lively trot.
Bodie is keen to take the lead, and Solly follows, weaving along a narrow path before it bursts wide open into a sprawling meadow. We pause and drink in the sight—picture-postcard English countryside.
“I miss the country.” Teddy gazes wistfully across the expanse of lush grass so green it dazzles, melted droplets of frost glistening on it like diamonds in the sunlight. “The peace.”
“You grew up in Cornwall, right?”
I know I’ve revealed too much the moment the words are out. In my job, I’m used to weighing what I say before I speak, but all common sense deserts me in front of this man.
“Been looking me up, have you?”
Heat flares up my neck and spills onto my cheeks. Fine, I’ll admit it: I’ve been checking out Teddy. Last night, somewhere between hammering through emails, I googled him. Turns out he’s even got a Wikipedia page. Theodore (Teddy) Hargrove, aged twenty-six. Nine years younger. I tell myself it shouldn’t matter, but the number stillflashes up whenever the thought of a fling with him sneaks in. Too young? Maybe. Then again, for a fling, age doesn’t really count.
Born in Tintagel, Cornwall. Only son of renowned sculptor Gina Cosgrove and famous jazz pianist River Hart.
“Of course I checked you out.” I try to sound matter-of-fact. Own it, like I’d have the same curiosity about anyone—I wouldn’t. Teddy’s not just anyone, and even after yesterday’s two brief encounters with him, I was hungry for information. “I like to know who I’ll be spending my time with. Especially if I’m riding out into the countryside all alone with them.”
He shakes his head, his lips curving into an amused smile.
“Oh, believe me, you’re in good hands, Rachel. And you’re safer here out in the country than in London. Though I suppose it’s way too quiet for a city girl like you.”
“No, this is a nice change,” I say, not wanting to shatter his illusion of me as a sophisticated city girl, or reveal I’m just a kid from a small town still desperate not to act like one. “Like you said, it’s peaceful.”
“We need to make the most of it before the madness starts,” he says. “Got any inside intel on what Haley’s planning for us?”
I huff out a laugh. “When it’s Haley, and it’s late November, I can guarantee it’ll have something to do with Christmas. She’ll be secretly plotting to have us do crazy Christmas stuff with her. I know she says it’s all about the wedding party having some fun and getting to know each other better—”
