A Country Rivalry Page 8

  ‘So, I won’t be back for a couple of days.’ He scrutinised her face for any telltale reaction. There was none.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be here, looking after the yard.’

  ‘Yes… yes, I know.’ He coughed again, suddenly feeling like a nervous schoolboy in front of the headmistress. ‘Please, Flora—’ He was interrupted by the phone.

  Flora picked it up immediately, obviously glad of the distraction.

  ‘Hello, Delany’s Racing Yard,’ she chirped.

  Dylan sighed with impatience and turned away with a heavy heart. He might as well leave for Newmarket now. What was keeping him here? All the team were busy about their duties; Flora was so blatantly in control, he almost felt surplus to requirements. He slowly made his way to the door and quietly closed it behind him.

  Once he was gone, and having finished the call, Flora sank her head into her hands. She gulped back the tears that threatened to spill. Taking a deep breath she steadied herself. This was killing her, seeing Dylan so broken, but what did he expect? He couldn’t keep hurting her like this. First it was that stupid kiss-and-tell opportunist Sadie Stringfellow, now it was a bloody owner’s wife, for goodness’ sake! Samantha Tait’s stern, controlled voice rang in her ears, cutting straight into her heart: You seduced me.

  She cursed herself for trusting Dylan again. Flora was more determined than ever to keep their relationship on professional terms only. Living back at her parents’ house whilst they were travelling round Europe meant she at least had the place to herself. At first it had proved a relaxed, quiet refuge, away from Dylan and all the emotional turmoil he evoked. Then, when she had seen how wretched he looked every morning, her resolve had waned. It was evident he was hurting as much as she was, but what choice did she have? To carry on, not trusting him, hoping he wouldn’t stray again?

  Flora had briefly considered getting another job, but where? To be given the position of assistant trainer, in such a prestigious training yard was amazing – she knew that – and opportunities like that didn’t come by very often. Plus, at the bottom of her heart, she couldn’t stand the thought of Dylan working so closely alongside anyone else. So here they were, stuck in an impossible limbo, neither happy, but both miserable without each other.

  20

  Sebastian breathed in the cold November air. It was bright and the sun was slowly burning away the morning mist as he gently jogged through the Treweham Hall estate. Living in a small apartment in Stratford-upon-Avon for the past months had given him a fresh appreciation for the vastness of his home. He cast a look over the green, lush acres, the reds and golds of the woods running on the east border, the clear, bubbling brook that trickled through it, and took another deep breath. This was the life.

  Sebastian was in dire need of a break. Lately his life had been a constant, hectic merry-go-round of early starts, rehearsals, performances, late finishes and networking. He’d had enough. He was glad to be home. Although a tiny part of him still hankered for the attention he had received from playing the leading role at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, he hated that streak in himself, praying he never grew into a complete ‘luvvie’, which he’d seen happen to so many actors. Judging by the tempo of his jogging, he assumed he was still recovering from the exhaustion. His left leg appeared to drag slightly, which was slowing him down. He needed to be patient and give himself time to recuperate properly. At least his back had finally stopped hurting, now that he no longer had to bend in a stoop day after day.

  Sebastian stopped and stretched his arms in the air. The birds were singing, the sun was shining and Aunt Celia had at last buggered off home. That woman still scared the living daylights out of him. He much preferred it when it was just the three of them: him, his brother and his mother, and now that Megan had joined them it was even better. Megan was the sister he’d always wanted, and come March, there’d be another addition to the family, the future heir. The thought thrilled him and he couldn’t wait to be an uncle. Yes, Treweham Hall was certainly seeing some changes at the moment.

  The imminent television filming was another pleasant surprise, as was Tobias’ consent to the interviews. Sebastian relished the thought of possibly being interviewed, as had been suggested. As far as he was concerned it provided the ideal platform to at last put the record straight: the Cavendish-Blakes were much more than privileged gentry, they were honest hard workers. Sebastian held his brother in high esteem, especially when he considered just what Tobias had managed to achieve on the estate. He had pulled his family out of the red and transformed Treweham Hall into a thriving business.

  Despite Treweham having the positives he craved, it also sadly held one huge negative. It was Nick’s home, too. Living back in the same village would inevitably mean having to face him at some point and it was no good keeping putting it off.

  He decided to call in at The Templar that evening, thereby letting everyone know he was back. If Nick was there he’d deal with it. One person he knew for sure would welcome him was Finula. They had bonded last year, both having been treated badly by Nick.

  Entering through the back of Treweham Hall, Sebastian was greeted by Henry the butler.

  ‘Hi, Henry!’ he called, making his way to the stairs.

  ‘Good morning, sir. Lord Cavendish-Blake has asked to see you in his study.’

  ‘Ah, right.’ Sebastian turned and made his way along the corridor to Tobias’ study. On entering he saw his brother’s dark head bent over various papers on his desk. ‘Hi,’ Sebastian said, plonking himself on the chesterfield opposite him.

  ‘Hi,’ replied Tobias, then picked up a document and went to sit next to his brother.

  ‘What’s this?’ enquired Sebastian.

  ‘This is the contract from the BBC. It stipulates exactly what the TV crew are permitted to do and where they can go. I’ve approved the questions to be asked in the interviews.’

  ‘Interviews?’ Sebastian picked up on the plural.

  ‘Yes. As I predicted, they want to interview you too. I drew the line at Mother – and Aunt Celia,’ he quickly added.

  ‘Very wise,’ agreed Sebastian, ‘but I don’t mind talking to them.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes. No problem.’ Then, sensing his brother’s apprehension he frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t trust them.’

  ‘But why? It’s not some tin-pot set-up. It’s the BBC, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I know, but… even so, it’s an independent production.’

  Sebastian understood his brother’s reluctance, having witnessed first-hand how the media had hounded him.

  ‘What about Megan?’ he asked.

  Tobias shook his head firmly. ‘No way. Non-negotiable. I said right from the start Megan would not take part in any kind of filming.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘Tobias, did you even ask her?’

  This earned him a hard glare. ‘Megan is still adjusting to a whole new life at Treweham Hall and is almost five months pregnant. I’m not having her paraded in front of the cameras.’

  Sebastian stifled the chuckle threatening to escape. Megan was hardly a weak, wilting wallflower. Personally, he thought she’d shine in front of the camera, but her husband obviously did not want her to face any form of intrusion.

  ‘OK, just you and me then. We’ll handle them.’

  *

  That evening Sebastian braced himself before entering The Templar. He was greeted immediately by Finula, who was talking to a tall, dark-haired man he didn’t recognise. ‘Sebastian! Come and meet Marcus.’ She waved him over to the bar. The man turned and smiled at him. ‘Sebastian, this is Marcus Devlin, the TV producer. Marcus meet Sebastian Cavendish-Blake.’

  The two men shook hands.

  ‘No introductions necessary,’ said Marcus. ‘I heard your Richard III was amazing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ grinned Sebastian, a warm glow spreading through him. ‘No more amazing than your documentaries, I’m sure.’

  Marcus was s
lightly taken aback. Whilst he knew he had to be charm personified to the villagers, and the Cavendish-Blakes in particular, he hadn’t expected such charisma back. He was used to being treated with suspicion, or as somewhat of an inconvenience most of the time. He eyed his brother for the first time and found, surprisingly, that he liked what he saw. Sebastian appeared down to earth, approachable, not what he had expected.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed. We’ll cause as little disruption as possible,’ he lied.

  ‘Fine. No problem with me. It’s Tobias you’ve got to convince.’

  Well, the fecking price he’s named should help, thought Marcus tartly. Outwardly he gave an amiable grin.

  ‘I can’t wait!’ interrupted Finula with excitement. Sebastian frowned.

  ‘Finula’s kindly agreed to be our second runner,’ explained Marcus. He looked at her with real affection, which Sebastian immediately picked up on.

  ‘Come and meet the team.’ Marcus nodded behind him towards a table where several people sat. Sebastian looked over and was met slap-bang with two smoky-grey eyes he’d seen before. He paused for a second, then connected. It was the guy in the audience, the one who had reminded him of himself years ago.

  Marcus ushered Sebastian towards the group. ‘Everyone, this is Sebastian Cavendish-Blake.’ They all looked up and smiled. ‘This is Libby, the editor; Len, the cameraman; Viola, who will be interviewing you; and Jamie, the runner.’

  Jamie shot up and held out his hand. Sebastian took it with a firm shake.

  ‘I saw you in Stratford,’ Jamie gushed, looking rather flushed.

  ‘I know, I remember you,’ replied Sebastian, looking straight into those grey eyes. This made Jamie blush even more.

  Viola stood up smoothly. ‘Are you looking forward to the interview, Sebastian? Please take a seat.’ She offered her chair before taking another from a nearby table. Marcus watched as the small group chatted with Sebastian. There was no awkwardness, as he had assumed there would be, but just an easy, cheerful banter as Jamie asked question after question about his acting career and Libby and Len listened quietly, smiling politely. Viola seemed a tad more relaxed too, sipping white wine, but no doubt taking it all in; she wasn’t a good researcher for nothing, Marcus wisely observed. He watched Sebastian totally at ease, holding court, entertaining them all with humorous tales and anecdotes.

  Only once did he appear slightly ruffled, and then only for a second. It was when another man walked into the pub and stood staring at him, before eventually making his way to the bar. Judging by the way Finula glared at the man, Marcus took it to be Nick. True to form, Viola had clocked the whole incident too.

  Later that evening, as Marcus was making his way upstairs, he was collared by her. ‘Did you sense tension with Sebastian when that man walked in and started staring at him?’ she hissed.

  ‘That was Nick Fletcher, the village vet, his ex-boyfriend,’ Marcus supplied casually, which infuriated Viola.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Hmm, apparently there was some kerfuffle with him and Tobias at a village do.’

  ‘The Landlord’s Supper?’ asked Viola, suddenly remembering overhearing a previous comment made by a villager in the pub.

  ‘Yes, the Landlord’s Supper. It’s time to dig deeper, Viola.’ He turned to her with a steely expression.

  Viola nodded in agreement. ‘Leave it with me, boss.’

  21

  The day had finally arrived. Newmarket would be the last course that Dylan would ride at in the aptly named ‘end-of-term’ race meeting. Newmarket was truly special, rich in royal history due to Charles II spearheading the development of the town some three and a half centuries ago, when horseracing became ‘the sport of kings’. Newmarket is affectionately known as the global headquarters of racing today and considered its home. So, where better place for Dylan Delany, champion jockey, to close his racing career?

  At home, in his own training yard, with Flora, he thought miserably as he slowly made his way to the starting line along with all the other jockeys. A few called out to him, wishing him all the best. He waved and smiled back, but inside his heart wasn’t in it. Flora had knocked all the enthusiasm completely out of him. He didn’t feel whole without her by his side. Try as he might the adrenalin refused to rise. Instead of this being his last memorable chance to bask in grandeur, he simply wanted the race over and done with so he could get back home.

  This was a far cry from the competitive glory-seeker Dylan, who stopped at nothing to win. He was stunned by the effect Flora had had on him. Never in his life had he let a woman get to him like this. But there she was, under his skin the whole time. She was there in his mind as he woke up, throughout the day, and she was the last thing he thought about as he turned off the bedside light. He wasn’t eating properly, he just had no appetite and he certainly hadn’t slept much. When he did, his dreams pictured Flora and her accusing, hurt eyes boring into him.

  He hadn’t prepared for this race, mentally or physically, and he felt the relentless attention he was receiving was undeserved. He glanced upwards, towards the Millennium Grandstand, where he knew Tobias had booked an executive box. He imagined them all – Tobias, Megan, Seamus and Tatum – quaffing champagne on their private balcony, enjoying a spectacular view of the course, and watching him now with baited breath and expectation.

  Dylan turned his head to the packed crowds in the stands. The atmosphere was celebratory and jovial, except he wasn’t. A lump formed in his throat as he wondered if Flora was watching too. He pictured her in the racing yard office, hunched over the small TV. Or did she even care? Perhaps she was riding, or busy talking on the phone to an owner.

  Flora was actually in front of her parents’ huge widescreen TV, barely containing herself. Her nerves were stretched to a frazzle as she watched Dylan ride to the starting stalls. For the hundredth time that day she cursed herself for not relenting and wishing him good luck before he left. Instead she had remained poker faced and given him nothing but a cold, hard glare. Now she hated herself for it and wanted more than anything to turn the clock back. With a shaking hand she turned the volume up on the remote control. Flora knew that Tobias and Megan were there supporting him, along with Seamus and his wife, but what must they be thinking of her? Choosing not to go and cheer on the very man who had so tenderly nursed her back to health a few months ago. Weighed down with guilt, she swallowed and tears started to fill her eyes. Blinking them quickly away, she leant forward to watch the race start.

  Dylan’s horse was distinctive: ironically called Last Chance, he had a white streak on his muzzle. Dylan was wearing black and pink striped silks. Flora noticed the dark curls peeping out from his riding hat, which for some reason made her heart clench even more. And then they were off …

  Dylan got a good start and was towards the front of the main pack of runners bunched on the inside. He was well aware of the horse directly behind him, Chequered Flag, which was the one to watch. Dylan was steering Last Chance wide, to stay out of trouble and to avoid the worst of the ground, now badly churned up from the afternoon’s racing. Chequered Flag was keeping pace just to his rear, Last Chance ahead of him by a couple of lengths. Dylan kept an even rhythm. Last Chance was performing foot-perfect, overtaking the two leading horses. He was galloping towards the finishing line when suddenly Dylan caught Chequered Flag making a move on his inside. Chequered Flag shot past, making Dylan react in a split second: go for it, now! It was an automatic reaction rather than a conscious thought.

  ‘Go, Dylan!’ screamed Flora at the television, jumping up and down.

  Meanwhile, in the executive box, Tobias and Seamus cheered their mate on with gusto, making Megan and Tatum smile with affection.

  ‘Come on, Dylan!’ called Tobias, his hands clenched tightly; he and Seamus had rather a large wager on Dylan’s last race.

  Then, just as Dylan was approaching the finishing line, Last Chance lost his footing, firing Dylan headfirst onto the ground. The hors
e untangled his limbs with a snort of indignation and shot off, leaving Dylan to curl into a ball, being kicked as he rolled beneath the hooves of the horses thundering past. The moment Dylan stopped rolling through the grass, he did the first thing he was trained to do, check for movement in his legs. Feeling them twitch he allowed himself momentarily to black out.

  ‘Dylan!’ screeched Flora at the telly, tears pouring down her cheeks.

  ‘Jesus, he’s fallen.’ Seamus gave Tobias the binoculars.

  Tobias took them with a trembling hand, whilst Megan and Tatum screamed with fright. Tobias watched the medics lift Dylan onto a stretcher, then into the ambulance by the white railing. His heart was pounding in his ears as he saw he friend’s motionless body whisked urgently away. Turning sharply, he directed, ‘Tatum, you stay here with Megan for now. Seamus, we’ll go to the hospital, quickly.’

  Seamus had already sat Megan down and was pouring her a drink of water. Tatum stood nearby, looking helpless with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied. ‘You two go now, we’ll follow later.’

  Seamus and Tobias rushed away to be with Dylan.

  Back at her parents’ house Flora was hysterical, not knowing what to do. Her immediate reaction was to try to get to Newmarket, and quick, but how? What about the training yard, could she just leave it? No. She needed to speak to the staff. Hastily she set off there.

  *

  Dylan became conscious of voices. Opening his eyes fully he could see he was surrounded by white coats and concerned faces. His chest hurt, but at least he could feel his legs and move his feet.

  ‘Hello, Dylan. You’ve had quite a nasty fall,’ said one of the white coats.

  Blinking his eyes clear, he could see the doctor was an attractive blonde with brown eyes the colour of chocolate.

  ‘I know,’ replied Dylan matter-of-factly, then winced when he tried to move.

  ‘Try to keep still, Dylan. I’m afraid you’ve broken a couple of ribs.’

  ‘Anything else?’