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She remembered now. It had caused quite a sensation—one of the country’s top steeplechase riders and a former champion jockey retiring in his early thirties. She’d absorbed the information and then discarded it as having no significance to her.
Now, suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.
She said, ‘Then what is he coming for?’
‘He’s coming because I’ve asked him to,’ said her father. ‘It isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly. If I were still on my own in life, I’d probably have said hang the doctors, and carried on as usual. But there’s Beattie to think of now.’ His face softened. ‘We’ve only been married two years, and I don’t reckon on making her a widow quite yet, so I’m going to behave myself, and take the advice I’ve been given as if I was grateful for it—which I’m not. These are my stables, and I built them up from what your grandfather left, and I’d no thought to share them with anyone except my own kith and kin. But with Tony gone, and no grandchild to think of, I had to reconsider. And they tell me I need a partner to take the weight of this place off my shoulders.’
Natalie knew what was coming, and was terrified by it. She said urgently, ‘Dad, I could …’
‘That you couldn’t.’ One brief phrase smashed her dreams to smithereens. ‘You know my views, and they haven’t changed. I need a man—someone who knows jump racing, and can stand shoulder to shoulder with me. Lang’s never ridden for me, but I’ve always respected him, even if he did get his name into the gossip columns more than I care for. Well, a lad must sow his wild oats, I suppose. Anyway, the papers said he was thinking of going into training, so I got Andrew to contact him, and we’ve agreed terms. He’s buying a half share in Wintersgarth.’
She felt numb. There was a fold of her dress between her fingers, and she was pleating and unpleating it endlessly as she tried to assimilate what he had been saying.
The weeks of struggle, of trying to prove herself, had all been in vain. While she’d been working her guts out through all the hours God sent to keep Wintersgarth together, Grantham had been making his own plans. Plans which totally excluded her, she realised.
She ran the tip of her tongue round dry lips. ‘And what’s going to happen to me?’
Her father looked at her as if the question surprised him. ‘Well, you’ll do your normal job, same as always. He’s quite amenable to that.’
She said thickly, ‘How good—how very good of him.’
‘And you’ll be provided for in the long term, naturally, if there’s need.’
If there was need … Natalie’s head reeled. All her life she’d been totally dependent on her father. At school, she’d opted for a commercial course rather than pursue an academic career so that she could work in the stables office. Because in those days, naïvely, she’d thought that might be a foot in the door to better things.
And marriage had changed nothing. She had met Tony shortly after her father had employed him as stable jockey on a retainer, and the wedding had taken place two months later, which meant there were two of them dependent on Grantham Slater instead of one. Tony had been a more than promising jockey, and he had enjoyed the fruits of his success, living for the present. After he had been killed, she discovered he’d been living on overdraft. She had paid it off, but the way the debts had been incurred still rankled … She closed her mind abruptly, and focused on what was happening here in this room, right now.
‘I suppose I must be grateful for small mercies. At least I still have a roof over my head.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone.’ His voice was repressive. ‘And don’t tell me you’d thoughts of filling my shoes here, because I know it already. And you know my opinion on the subject. Or did you think a heart attack would soften my brain as well? The stables are no place for you, Natalie. They never were, and they never will be, so make your mind up to it. And keep off the backs of my thoroughbreds,’ he added. ‘A time or two I phoned here to be told you were out with one of the strings. That stops as of now, although I won’t deny you the exercise you need. Maybe old Jasmine’s bit tame for you. I’ll find you a good hack …’
‘No, thanks.’ Natalie shook her head. ‘Jasmine suits me very well.’
An hour ago, barely more, she had sat on that hill with the world at her feet. Now, everything she had ever wanted had been snatched away from her and given to a stranger, although that was surely a misnomer applied to Eliot Lang. His career and lifestyle had been described so often in the newspapers as to make them totally familiar.
Unlike Tony, who had been an apprentice, Eliot Lang had started his racing career as an amateur. He’d enjoyed a meteoric success, which hadn’t prevented his wealthy family protesting volubly when he became a professional. And he had been making headlines ever since. He’d spent several seasons riding for Kevin Laidlaw, and then had left in a blaze of publicity and innuendo which said that Laidlaw had dismissed him because he couldn’t keep his hands off his wife. The Laidlaws had vehemently denied the rumours, but Eliot Lang had said ‘No comment’ and gone to ride for Duncan Sanders, who was divorced. At least from then on he’d seemed to keep away from married women, perhaps because of the horsewhipping Kevin Laidlaw was alleged to have threated him with. But he had never maintained a low profile. The good life was there, and he enjoyed it, in the company of a succession of models and actresses, few of them distinguishable from their predecessors. And at the same time, he took more winners past the post than his rivals thought decent. His cottage in Lambourn had been the subject of a colour spread in a Sunday supplement.
Her mouth curling in distaste, Natalie thought, He’ll find Wintersgarth dull.
Aloud she asked, ‘Does Beattie know what you intend?’
She was thankful when her father shook his head. If Beattie had known, and not told her, that would have been another betrayal, and she felt bruised enough.
She got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and see if we’ve got any of Andrew’s favourite sherry.’
‘That’s a good lass.’
That was what he approved of, she thought bitterly as she went out into the hall—her ability to deal with small domestic details, to shelter him from unwanted phone calls from querulous owners.
In the kitchen, Beattie was stirring a pan of soup on the Aga. She said over a shoulder, ‘Have a look at the dining-room, and tell me if it’s all right.’ Then she saw Natalie’s white face and blazing eyes, and her tone sharpened. ‘Nat darling, whatever’s the matter?’
‘Eliot Lang,’ said Natalie. ‘The man whose name you forgot.’
‘Why, so it is.’ Beattie shook her head. ‘I knew it was something familiar. He’s some kind of jockey, isn’t he?’
‘He certainly was,’ Natalie said grittily. ‘Now he’s going to be some kind of trainer—here.’
Beattie’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, then she turned back to her soup. There was a prolonged silence, then she said, ‘But where does that leave you?’
‘Back at square one, where I apparently belong. Only I now have two bosses.’
Beattie said half to herself, ‘He told me he had a surprise, but it never occurred to me …’ She stopped. ‘Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry! It’s so cruel—so unnecessary.’
‘So unacceptable,’ Natalie completed. ‘If I’m going to be a dogsbody, I can find another office somewhere—preferably as far from racing as possible.’
Beattie transferred her pan to the simmering plate. She said, ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ Natalie said bitterly. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ve tried my damnedest for Dad, but I’m never going to measure up to the standard he wants—because I don’t even know what his criteria are, and I suspect he doesn’t either.’
‘All the same,’ said Beattie, ‘you mustn’t leave.’
‘You think I’d stay and watch that—that racetrack Romeo help himself to my inheritance?’ Natalie asked fiercely. ‘Over my dead body!’
Beattie said quietly, ‘If you leave now, like this, it could be over Grantham’s.’ She sat down beside Natalie at the kitchen table. ‘We’re not supposed to expose him to any kind of upset—the doctor said so.’
‘He probably wouldn’t even notice I’d gone—until he wanted his letters typed, or found the owners weren’t paying their bills on time.’
‘That isn’t true, and you know it,’ Beattie said roundly. ‘He loves you, Nat, although I admit he has a very strange way of showing it. He has this—fixation about women working with horses.’ She paused. ‘I think one of the reasons he fell in love with me is that I know nothing about the beasts except that they bite at one end, and kick at the other.’ She smiled at Natalie. ‘There were a lot of women after him, you know, who had strong connections with racing, who’d have been able to talk to him about horses in an intelligent manner. Coral LeFevre, for one.’
In spite of her wretchedness, Natalie felt her lips curve in the ghost of a smile. ‘The Black Widow? What makes you think that?’
‘The way she still looks at him,’ said Beattie simply. ‘I know that a lot of your father’s friends and colleagues were horrified when he married me, when there were so many more suitable wives around.’ She thought for a minute. ‘But my attraction for your father was my unsuitability, somehow. We met at a concert he’d been dragged to, and he didn’t mind that I thought the Derby and the Grand National were the same kind of race. He’s never minded it. In a way, I’m part of the same fixation. I’m happy with my music and my cooking, and that makes Grantham happy too. I can’t explain it.’ She gave Natalie a level look. ‘I sympathise with you, every step of the way, but I love Grantham, and I won’t have him upset for any reason, however good. If you really want to leave, wait a few weeks until he’s stronger, and feelings have cooled. You can’t quarrel with him, Nat. I won’t allow it.’
There was a long silence, then Natalie said dully, ‘Very well. You’re right, of course. I’d never forgive myself if there was a row, and it caused—problems.’ She shook herself, and stood up. ‘But I can’t sit at that table with Eliot Lang and eat lunch as if nothing has happened. Make some excuse for me, Beattie, please. Tell them I’ve got a headache, or bubonic plague, or something.’
Beattie groaned. ‘I’ll do my best—but, Nat, your father won’t be pleased.’
Natalie opened the kitchen door. She said, ‘I promise you he’d be even less pleased to hear me tell Eliot Lang to go to hell.’
That, she thought, was relatively mild compared with what she’d really like to say to him, so why was Beattie sitting there looking as if she’d been frozen?
She turned to walk into the hall, and cannoned straight into six foot of bone, sinew and muscle, standing there on the threshold. As unusually strong arms steadied her, she thought confusedly, Andrew? and realised in the same moment that it couldn’t be. Andrew was only medium height and distinctly pudgy. Whereas this man, she thought as she took a hurried step backwards, hadn’t a spare ounce of flesh anywhere.
Her face burning, she looked up to encounter hazel eyes regarding her with no expression whatever.
‘Now, why should you tell me any such thing?’ said Eliot Lang.
CHAPTER TWO (#u1293e7cf-52a0-5751-8d18-68e81968c7eb)
NATALIE WANTED THE floor to open and swallow her, but it remained disappointingly solid, so she rallied her defences.
‘I think that’s my business,’ she retorted, her chin tilted dangerously. ‘Perhaps you should remember what they say about eavesdroppers, Mr Lang,’ She realised his hands were still gripping her upper arms, not too gently, and she stiffened. ‘And will you kindly get your hands off me!’
He released her so promptly it was almost an insult. Then he was walking past her, the thin, tanned face relaxing into a smile.
‘Mrs Slater?’ He held out his hand to Beattie. ‘I’m sorry for this apparent intrusion, but your husband thought you might not have heard Mr Bentley’s car arrive, so I volunteered to find you.’ He looked round him, his smile widening. ‘Not that it’s any hardship,’ he added appreciatively. ‘Something smells absolutely fantastic!’
‘It’s just ordinary home cooking,’ said Beattie with modest untruthfulness, as she shook hands with him. Her candid grey eyes looked him over. ‘You look as if you could do with some.’
He laughed. ‘You could be right. I’ve spent so many years living on starvation rations to keep my weight down, that it’s hard to believe I can now eat as much as I want.’
There was a pause, then Beattie said with slight awkwardness, ‘And this, of course, is my stepdaughter Natalie.’
He turned back towards Natalie. ‘How do you do,’ he said with cool civility.
The swift charm which had bowled over Beattie, it seemed, could be switched on and off at will, Natalie thought with contempt.
She returned a mechanically conventional greeting, then excused herself on the grounds that she had to see to the drinks.
Her retreat was in good order, but when she was safely alone, she found her heart was pounding as if she’d taken to her heels and fled from him.
It was infuriating to realise she had been betrayed into such a schoolgirlish piece of rudeness, but at least Eliot Lang now knew quite unequivocally where he stood where she was concerned, she thought defiantly.
Andrew’s greeting was rather less ebullient then usual, she realised as she took the drinks into the drawing-room. He knew, none better, how desperately keen she’d been to join Grantham as his partner, and she thought she saw a measure of compassion in his gaze, as he swapped genialities with her about how good it was to have her father back again, and how well he was looking.
Gradually she recovered her composure, and by the time Eliot Lang accompanied her stepmother into the room, she was able to meet the rather searching look he sent her with an appearance, at least, of indifference.
She found, to her annoyance, that she was stationed opposite him at the dining-table, although the conversation was general enough to enable her to avoid having to address him directly. Her father was in his most expansive and relaxed mood, making no secret of his delight at the success of his plans.
Naturally, as the meal wore on, the talk turned to racing, and Eliot Lang’s past triumphs, although in fairness Natalie had to admit the subject wasn’t introduced by him, and he seemed reluctant to discuss them, commenting instead with open wryness on his failure ever to ride a Grand National winner.
‘It’s only one race,’ Grantham leaned back in his chair. ‘And that last Gold Cup of yours must have made up for everything.’
Eliot Lang laughed. He had good teeth, Natalie noticed, white and very even. ‘It was Storm Trooper’s race. All I had to do was sit tight.’
‘Don’t denigrate yourself, lad. He nearly went at that last fence, thanks to that damned loose horse. You held him up, and took him on.’ Grantham shook his head. ‘A great win —a truly great win.’
Natalie stole a covert look at Eliot Lang under her lashes, trying to visualise him sweat-streaked and mud-splashed. In the dark, elegant suit, its waistcoat accentuating his slim waist, the gleam of a silk tie setting off his immaculate white shirt, he looked more like a successful City executive.
And he was undeniably attractive, she thought resentfully, if you liked that sort of thing, his good looks only slightly marred by the slanting scar that slashed across one cheekbone.
It was a tough face, the cleft in his chin, and the firm line of his mouth emphasising the ruthlessness and determination which had always been a hallmark of his riding. ‘Fearless’, she recalled unwillingly, had been one of the adjectives most often used by the sports writers.
With a faint shock, she realised he was watching her in his turn, a faintly cynical smile playing round his lips. Natalie transferred her gaze hastily back to her plate, trying to control her confusion.
He probably thought she was another potential conquest, she thought scornfully. Well, he would soon discover his mistake.
Beattie was speaking. ‘After all the success and the excitement, Mr Lang, aren’t you going to find training rather—mundane?’
He smiled at her. ‘Won’t you please call me Eliot? And the simple answer to your question is—no, I’m sure I won’t. I’m looking forward immensely to joining you here at Wintersgarth.’
‘But you’re still quite young to have retired from National Hunt racing,’ persisted Beattie. ‘Grantham says you still had years of winning in front of you.’
He shrugged ironically, ‘Perhaps.’
‘So how could you bear to turn your back on it, when you were still at the peak?’
He was silent for a moment, the straight dark brows drawn together. ‘I suppose it was a question of motivation,’ he said at last. ‘I had a couple of bad falls last season.’ His hand went up and touched the scar. ‘They rather brought home to me that I was over thirty now, and that letting horses stamp you into the mud was not the way I wanted to spend part of the next decade. I had to start thinking about a new career, and as I want to stay with horses, training seemed the ideal answer.’ He smiled. ‘Once I’d made up my mind, it really wasn’t that hard to walk away.’
Natalie said, ‘And will you find it just as easy to walk away from us when you’ve had enough?’
His brows lifted. ‘This isn’t a whim, Miss Slater. It’s strictly business. I’m investing in Wintersgarth.’
‘I’m sure we’re all very grateful,’ she said. ‘Not that we need your money—we’ve always made out financially. But it’s natural I should be concerned about your—er—motivation. After all, you don’t exactly have a reputation for fidelity.’
‘Natalie!’ It was a bark from her father, his face thunderous. He turned to Eliot. ‘I must apologise for my daughter. Sometimes her tongue runs away with her.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Eliot, ‘If she has misgivings, it’s best that they’re aired now.’ He leaned across the table, his hazel eyes boring into Natalie’s. ‘My partnership with your father isn’t just a flash in the pan, Miss Slater. I’m coming to him to learn from his genius, and maybe contribute some skills of my own, and it’s for the rest of my life.’ He added drily, ‘I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit the image you seem to have of me.’
She was furiously aware she’d been cut down to size by an expert.
She said, ‘That’s—reassuring. But you live in the South. Your life has been based there, near the bright lights. Aren’t you going to find Yorkshire quiet and dull?’
‘Even the brightest lights can pall.’ He looked amused. ‘And I was born here, you know, although admittedly it was more by accident than design. My parents were staying with friends during the hunting season, and had totally misjudged the possible time of my arrival.’
Everyone was laughing with him, enjoying the slackening of tension, although the glance Grantham bestowed on Natalie was minatory, promising a tongue-lashing later.
She wished now she’d kept quiet. There was obviously nothing to be gained from confrontation.
‘What will you do about your lovely cottage?’ Beattie asked. ‘Keep it for weekends?’
‘No.’ Eliot shook his head. ‘I’ve already told one of the local agents to put it on his books.’ He paused. ‘But you’re not going to be lumbered with a lodger, Mrs Slater. I’m quite self-sufficient, I promise you, and your husband mentioned something about a self-contained flat over the garages that might be suitable, at least on a temporary basis.’
Natalie said sharply, ‘The flat? Dad, you didn’t!’
Grantham’s florid face adopted a moderately apologetic expression. ‘Maybe I should have talked it over with you, lass, but I’ve had other things on my mind.’ He turned to Eliot. ‘My daughter’s name is Drummond, actually. She was widowed three years ago, but the flat in question was built to accommodate Nat and her husband originally.’
Eliot’s eyes surveyed Natalie’s bare hands briefly, then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Naturally if it’s going to cause Mrs Drummond any distress, I’ll willingly look for an alternative.’
‘Nonsense,’ Grantham said robustly. ‘The flat’s there, and it’s empty. Nat never goes near the place. Anyway, have a look at it, and see what you think.’
Natalie didn’t want to hear any more. She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I won’t have coffee, Beattie. I have to telephone the feed merchant.’ She sketched some kind of smile round the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me …?’
The office was a big, cluttered comfortable room, and it seemed like a sanctuary to Natalie as she sank into the chair behind her desk. She had letters to reply to, messages on the answering machine to listen to, as well as the call to the feed merchant, but for a moment she could deal with none of it. The thought of Eliot Lang taking over the home where her marriage to Tony had started out with such high hopes sickened her. Although she might have felt differently if she’d liked him, she admitted, biting her lip. Or would she?
When she had moved out, to resume life in her old room in her father’s house after the funeral, she’d turned the key in the lock as if she was closing off a part of her life. It had never occurred to her that it might have to be re-opened. They had never needed the flat. The lads had their own block, and Wes had a cottage in the village.
She supposed she should have seen it coming, but she hadn’t …
