Country Rivals

“Aww I’ve made you sad, babe.’

‘You haven’t, I’m fine.’ Lottie grinned and tried to shake off gloomy thoughts about babies. ‘I love Tigs. She’s good for Dad. He was such a grumpy bugger before.’

Sam giggled. ‘I’ve been trying to get Tiggy to come with me and get her roots done. I mean, nobody actually wants to have all them grey bits on their head, do they? My hairstylist, Bobby, would make her look ten years younger, and I reckon a bit of Moroccan oil would work wonders on her hair. Look what it’s done for me.’ She held a blond strand out for inspection. ‘I don’t think them people in Morocco should have kept it a secret from us for so long, it’s amazing. Anyhow, she keeps saying she’s busy. Run off her feet she is.’

Lottie knew Tiggy was no such thing, but wasn’t surprised at the tactics. Her step-mother, AKA ‘Tatty Tiggy’, was more than happy in her own skin and Billy loved her just as she was, with her bohemian clothes, wild hair, and ample bosom. Whilst Lottie was pretty sure that nothing in life ever horrified Tiggy, at a guess she did, no doubt, think the idea of a Samantha-style makeover a huge joke. She was still trying to work out whether there was a tactful response or whether she’d be better just smiling, when a shriek of laughter made them all turn round.

‘Lottie, Manda, Mummy look, look at me.’ Roxy had found an old cushion and was sitting on it sliding down the stone steps that led up to the balustrade, where they were supposed to be watching the fireworks from. She was nothing if not resourceful.

‘What is she like? Bless her. Davey, Dave hun, be a babe and bring her back. My heels are hell walking up and down these steps. Get one caught in a crack and I’ll be A over T again, won’t I?’

‘I thought your au-pair was supposed to be here, Sam?’

‘I’ve given her Christmas off, babe. So she can see her family, back in Croatia or wherever it is. Where’s she from, Dave?’ She carried on without waiting for an answer. Dave was busy turning his daughter upside down so that she squealed and her dress covered her head. Lottie watched worriedly as he put her on his shoulders. She was only three and he was the size you’d expect to be an England goalkeeper to be – six foot and quite a lot. Roxy, though, was fearless.

‘But it’s New Year now, Sam, shouldn’t she be back?’

‘Aww I know, babe, but it’s a long way, isn’t it? We can manage, can’t we Davey? And I thought a proper Christmas holiday, just us,’ she linked her arm through Lottie’s, ‘would be amazing. We’ve helped each other out, haven’t we, babe? And the kids love being with you and Rory.’

Hmm, I know they do, thought Lottie, waiting for the inevitable subject to crop up again. Just when she’d been trying to forget about it.

‘Your turn next eh, hun? Don’t want your eggs getting past their sell-by date, do you? You’ll only be fit for making omelettes, as my mam used to say.’

Lottie smiled. Sam was as bad as Gran; once she had an idea she was like a bloody terrier. There was no letting go, but this was one decision that Lottie wasn’t going to be bullied into. It wasn’t just that they couldn’t afford it – it was more than that. The whole idea scared her: all that responsibility, just her and Rory and a tiny defenceless baby. She glanced down at Alice, who had slipped her small hand into her mother’s and was standing quietly at her side.

What she’d said to Sam about Alexa was true. She’d never really known her mother, as she’d been a toddler when Alexandra had died, leaving just her and Billy. She loved her father and she knew he loved her, but she also knew she’d changed his life. Thrown a burden of responsibility on the young show-jumper that had altered the course of his future. Even now, when she was supposed to be all grown up, she still remembered those feelings she’d had as a teenager. She’d hated her mother, the woman she’d never known – truly hated her with a strength that had left her feeling sick and guilty – for leaving and turning their lives upside down.

Her only real memories came from photographs, of a laughing carefree girl, forever young. A girl who’d flitted away, abandoned her. They’d got by, but she dimly remembered the many heated arguments she’d overheard between Billy and Elizabeth, and the frequent occasions when a groom had picked her up from school. ‘I wish I was a better dad,’ he’d said when he rang her from yet another show-jumping event, apologetic that he’d missed a parents’ evening, a sports day. But he had been a good dad, a good dad trying to be a mum as well. Struggling to be everything, when her mother should have been there. How could she even think about being a mother herself when she didn’t know what one really was? She’d either be stupidly over-protective or resent the whole idea of motherhood and carry on as she always had.

‘I do love this terrace.’ Amanda ran a hand along the stone balustrade, trying to change the subject, glancing up at her through long eyelashes with a worried frown.

But there was no need. Sam had already been distracted.

‘Bloody ‘ell, look at that.’ She was staring across the grass towards the dark figures of Rory and Mick, suddenly illuminated as a Catherine wheel sprang into life, sending them dashing for cover as it spat out an uneven shower of light in all directions, like water from a hosepipe with kinks in it. ‘Girls, come here, quickly, Alice, Roxy, come on Davey.’

The fireworks had started with a bang, well, a splutter. Davey galloped up the steps, little Roxy clapping her hands in delight at the turn of speed, the giggles turning to a wail as a huge rocket exploded like a cannon, scattering an enormous shower of sparks into the black night sky. She burst into tears, while Alice clutched Amanda’s hand tightly in both of her own and looked up at her aghast.

‘They won’t get you, darling, they’re in the sky, like the stars.’

Alice’s brow was creased in a frown as she listened to her mother earnestly, and Roxy stopped the noise while she considered the new revelation.

‘If they’re stars why do they disappear? Stars stay until I go to sleep.’

‘Only a few more,’ Lottie glanced at her watch, ‘then it’s midnight and there’ll be one big bang and all over.’

‘Friggin’ hell.’ The yell from Rory carried clearly across to the terrace. ‘Run Mick, the whole bloody lot’s about to go.’ The two men started sprinting towards the house, still carrying their torches and their audience watched open-mouthed. ‘Maybe not.’ Rory ground to a halt and grinned up at them from the bottom of the steps. ‘False alarm, folks.’ But he’d spoken too soon, as with a terrific squeal the firework show started in disorganised earnest.

‘You stupid eejit.’ Mick was laughing as he doubled over, trying to get his breath back. ‘I told you to put the lid on.’

‘Lost it.’ His words were drowned out by the noise as more fireworks lit the night sky.

Roxy had forgotten her tears. Hands on hips, she stood at her mother’s side looking down at Rory, then she waved a finger. ‘I’m,’ bang, ‘vewy’ double explosion, ‘disappointed. You’ve,’ bang, ‘wuined everything.’ And with that she folded her arms and, marching to the back of the terrace, sat down.

Mick laughed. ‘God knows why I agreed to help you, you idiot.’

‘I think it’s pretty spectacular, actually.’ Rory rolled over and lay on the damp grass, staring up at the sky. ‘Synchronised displays are for sissies.’

‘Anybody for a glass of bubbly? Close enough to midnight, by my reckoning.’ Dom popped the cork as the last of the fireworks fizzled out and Lottie passed the glasses round, saving Rory’s to last.

‘Happy New Year, darling.’

She stared into his eyes and what shone back was pure optimism, love of life, and love for her. It was going to be alright. This year would be fine. They’d sort something out, work out how to raise the money they needed to keep Tipping House going until the wedding business was back in full flow. They’d come up with a plan together, and he was happy with the time he spent with Roxy and Alice. No responsibility, just fun. ‘Happy New Year, Rory.’

‘Stop worrying.’ His kissed the end of her nose and grinned. ‘It’s going to be a good year. I’ve got a feeling in my water.’

Lottie giggled. ‘Hmm, that could be all the beer you drank when you were setting the fireworks up.’

‘You could be right, but I think I deserve a New Year shag anyway, after providing such brilliant entertainment.’

‘Shush.’ Lottie put a hand over his mouth and glanced over at Roxy anxiously. The little girl had surprisingly good hearing and a habit of repeating new words at the worst possible time. Shag, she was sure, should not be part of a three-year-old’s vocabulary.

‘Sorry to break the party up, but we’d better go.’ Amanda smiled and scooped up the yawning Alice. ‘Past bedtime isn’t it, poppet?’ The little girl rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth. ‘Happy New Year, Lottie.’ She kissed first Lottie, then Rory. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’

‘Me too.’ Mick drained his glass. ‘I better get a move on. I promised to call Niamh, she’s not forgiven me yet for not making it back home to Ireland with her to see the New Year in. I need to earn some brownie points.’ He winked at Lottie, then ruffled her hair. ‘I think I’d better be checking the cheap flights out and keep her company for a few days. Happy New Year, treasure.’ He shook Rory’s hand. ‘Cheers, mate. See you all tomorrow.’

* * *

‘I can’t believe it’s so long since we last had a wedding here, can you?’

‘Peaceful isn’t it?’ Rory pulled Lottie to him and nuzzled at her neck until she wriggled and tried to escape. ‘Lovely, just us and the kids. No bossy mothers-of the-bride about. Maybe we should have one of our own?’

‘Bossy mother? We’ve got Gran.’

‘I meant a kid.’ He smoothed his hand over her stomach and felt Lottie instinctively tighten her muscles.

‘We’ve got Roxy and Alice.’

‘One of our own would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Nice when you can hand them back.’ She smiled, but he didn’t miss the tightness in her voice, or the little sigh of exasperation that he was sure she had tried to keep in. ‘And anyway we’re having enough trouble looking after ourselves and the horses.’

‘You’ll be able to start up the business again soon. Stop worrying.’

‘But I do worry.’

Rory grimaced. He’d got worries of his own; worries that he’d rather hoped would have disappeared by now, before Lottie found out. But he knew that life for them would never be straightforward, they didn’t live a nine-to-five existence and didn’t want to. There would never be a good time to start a family, but people did it anyway, didn’t they? ‘Well there’s plenty of time. I didn’t mean we had to rush into it, but it’s what everybody does, isn’t it? I mean not even Dom and Amanda wasted time.’

She stared. ‘We’re not wasting time. Is that what you think? You’re wasting your life?’

‘Don’t be daft, Lots. I only meant it’s what people do, it’s just normal.’

‘But we don’t have to be the same as everybody else, do we?’

‘Well no, but … I mean, it’s the next step, isn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t have to be. I mean, aren’t you happy with it just being the two of us?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘You’re not getting bored?’

‘How could I get bored of you?’ He pulled her closer in to his side. ‘But I thought it might be fun teaching our own kids how to do stuff. And Mum was saying how she’d love to be a grandma …’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Lottie looked down. ‘Look, I am sorry if that’s what she wants, I just …’

‘It’s not a problem, honest. No rush, let’s make them wait a bit, eh? Anyway,’ he grinned, ‘I know that one day you’ll love having a tiny version of me to boss around.’

She didn’t smile back. ‘Maybe, but not yet.’

‘You’re not doing my ego much good here.’

‘Your ego does fine on its own, Rory Steel.’ The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I just want things to be right between us first.’

‘Right? But they are, aren’t they? I thought you were happy. Is it you that’s getting bored?’

‘Don’t be daft. I didn’t mean between us in that way. I meant money-wise, this place. Nobody is making bookings for next year, they’re all too worried it won’t be fixed.’

‘It’ll be fixed.’ He said it with the type of conviction he knew she needed to hear. ‘Come on, gorgeous,’ he pulled her to her feet and drew her in close so that he could look straight into the big green eyes he loved so much. She still looked the same old Lottie, his Lottie. The money thing was obviously worrying her more than she let on, that was the trouble – she was just too good at coping sometimes. ‘Let’s see the year in with some baby-making practice. You don’t want me to forget how to do it, do you?’ He winked. ‘Just in case.’

Chapter 5

‘What are you doing here, Andy? Up to no good, I bet.’ Sam grinned at the slightly overweight middle-aged man, then transferred her attention to Lottie. ‘Everything okay, babe?’

‘You know each other?’ Lottie raised an eyebrow. The man standing on her doorstep had just announced that he had an appointment with Lady Tipping, then had smiled reassuringly at her as though she was ten years old, although she probably did look like a kid in her scruffy breeches, old fleece, and spotty socks. A very big kid, though.

Quite honestly everything wasn’t okay. She was fed up of fending off property developers and trying to be nice to insurance investigators. This one hadn’t even bothered to do his homework properly. There was no such person as Lady Tipping (well, not to her knowledge, and certainly not in Tippermere). There was Lady Elizabeth Stanthorpe and there was her, Charlotte Steel.

‘Course we do. We go way back.’ Sam winked. ‘This bugger ran a full-page spread about me and my Davey when he played in the World Cup, didn’t you, darling? Called us girls plastic fantastic.’

‘Spread? So he’s a journalist?’

Andy ignored Lottie’s interruption. ‘Well to be fair, Sam …’

‘There was nothing fair about that, babe.’ She waved a stern finger. ‘Martina was well pissed off with you telling everybody how much her nose job cost. She’d told her Frankie that it cost half that. Made him out to be a right dickhead, you did. And you know the boys don’t like to look stupid in front of the rest of the team.’

Lottie, who had been trying to work out how to slam the front door in the stranger’s face in a polite way, looked from Sam, who was a vision in skin-tight maroon leather trousers, matching jacket and brown thigh-high boots, to the guy and back again.

‘And you said I’d been to that dodgy London geezer for my new boobs. Davey wasn’t pleased at all when he’d arranged it all special for me. I mean, look at them.’ She opened her leather jacket with a flourish and cupped her generous breasts in both hands. ‘They’re perfect. There’s nothing cheap about my Dave. No way would he let just anybody mess with my body.’ She jiggled them about. ‘These are as real as fake ones get, you know. Look.’ He was looking. ‘And they’re quite squeezy – not solid at all like those cheap ones.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘You have to look dead close to see the scar. Davey was really insulted when you said that.’

‘Sorry, no er insult intended.’

He didn’t look sorry, thought Lottie, more like transfixed.

‘So you don’t have an appointment?’ She took the opportunity, while the pair of them were engrossed with Sam’s boobs, to get a word in.

‘You’ve made an appointment?’ Sam let go of her boobs and said the word in such a tone of astonishment that Lottie giggled.

‘Well not an actual appointment, more like an arrangement. Give her the first chance to comment on this.’ He shoved a newspaper in Sam’s direction, tapping a finger on the headline. ‘Only fair to get her side of the story, isn’t it? In the interests of fair play and all that.’

‘Fair play?’ Sam guffawed. ‘You’re a cheeky bugger, you are.’ She grabbed hold of the paper before Lottie could and took a swipe at the man’s head with it. ‘You don’t want to look at that, babe, it’s a real load of bollocks. That’s why I came. They’ve not got it right at all, have they, babe?’ She waved it in the air so that Lottie had to bob her head up and down to try and catch a glimpse, although she wasn’t quite sure now if Sam was telling her she should or she shouldn’t read it.

Lottie had never thought any of the headlines associated with the Tipping House Estate and her family could be called ‘right’, though.

The ‘Billy-the-Bonk’ headlines about her father (while she was still at school) had made her cringe, the more recent ‘Flaming Family Pile’ one had nearly made her cry, as had the ‘Lady Elizabeth’s Ashes’, which was just plain cruel. Then there had been the ‘Wizard of Oz’ one, when her Australian ex-lover had arrived unexpectedly in the village, which had made her laugh and the ‘Tippingly-Good Theme Park’, which she’d actually torn up and was going to use as loo paper until Rory pointed out that the ink would leave her with a black bum.

But this one, flashing before her eyes as Sam waved it like a flag, brought a sharp pain to her chest. ‘Upstairs Heiress Rips Off Down-town Bride.’ She opened her mouth to object and got a warning look.

‘Don’t you say anything while he’s here listening, Lottie,’ Sam glanced at the journalist, ‘cos he’ll write it down, won’t you?’

‘Well that is my job.’ He looked affronted. ‘Some of us have got to earn a living, we can’t all be lords and ladies, you know.’

‘I’m surprised at you, Andy, I really am.’

For a brief moment Sam sounded just like her daughter Roxy, Lottie thought.

‘Not my headline, darling, I’m just here for a quote. So you’re Lady Lottie?’ He raised an eyebrow and gave Lottie a once-over from head to toe.

‘I’m not a Lady.’ She said it automatically and folded her arms, trying her best to look like a somewhat affronted Lady rather than an angry kid. ‘That’s why you came round, Sam?’

‘Come on, let’s get inside, babe. And you,’ she blew a kiss at the journalist, who looked like he was intent on following them inside Tipping House, ‘can bugger off back to Fleet Street or wherever it is you come from.’ The man looked unsure whether to make a bolt for the door with them, but Sam waggled a very long (which Lottie thought probably qualified as a lethal weapon) glittery-bronze fingernail at him.

‘So, it’s no comment then?’ He had one hand raised, as though to ward off the inevitable.

‘You can write the truth about my boobs instead. Move your fingers, babe, you don’t want them getting squashed, do you?’ And with that Lottie found herself pushed firmly back into Tipping House and the door slammed behind them.

Lottie glanced worriedly at her watch. She really had to muck out the horses before Rory got back from the gallops, and she’d had a summons from her gran, Elizabeth, which she really couldn’t afford to ignore or her life wouldn’t be worth living. ‘You came to show me the latest headlines, then?’

‘And my new extensions, babe. What do you think?’ Sam flicked her hair back over her shoulder. ‘Do you think they look natural?’

‘Well,’ Lottie paused, how natural could that particular shade of bleached blond look?

‘Never thought I’d need them, but my hair has been a right state since I had Roxy. I mean, at first it was really thick, you know?’ Lottie didn’t. ‘I mean that happens when you’re preggers, doesn’t it?’ She didn’t pause for an answer. ‘But then it started coming out in handfuls. I mean, we’re going to have loads more kids, so I suppose it will get thick again,’ she looked doubtfully down at her handful of hair, ‘but I can’t wait, can I, babe? I mean, it has to look right for Davey every day, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Lottie truthfully. It was. Sam always had a full head of perfectly tamed hair, even if the colour wasn’t always a shade that nature intended. Unlike her own hair, which tended to resemble something a bird would make a nest in, and was a kind of very natural brownish shade. Like bark. The same colour and not far off the texture when she got out of bed in the mornings.

‘Aww thank you, babe. I know you always say it as it is. Mandy said it suited my personality, isn’t she the sweetest?’

‘Very. Er, where’s Roxy?’

‘She’s in the car, babe. Scruffy is looking after her.’

‘He’s a dog.’

‘I know that, but he’s dead protective, wouldn’t let anybody harm a hair on her head.’

Lottie, who had been worrying more about what Roxy might be doing to the dog and the car (she had what Sam called an ‘inquisitive nature’) let it go.

‘Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got the key this time.’ Sam waved it in the air; leaving it in the ignition one time had led to the roof being put down, which was quite handy seeing as Roxy had managed to lock all the doors and was howling as she’d then shoved the keys down the back of the seat and got her fingers trapped trying to get them out again. Heaven only knew, Lottie thought, what she’d be like by the time she was four years old. ‘She was good as gold when I left her, promised to stay in her seat with the seatbelt done up and everything, bless her.’

‘That’s, er, good.’

Sam beamed, totally confident in her role as mother. ‘Well, it was little Aggie told me.’

‘Aggie?’

‘My new au-pair. She arrived the other day and she’s such a sweetie. That other one decided to stay in Croatia, said me having little Roxy had reminded her how important family is and she was homesick. Isn’t that sweet?’

Lottie had a feeling that generous and lovely as Sam and her family were, trying to cope with them would remind anybody how much they treasured their own.

‘So, anyway, Aggie said had I seen the paper? She never stops reading stuff, was asking where my library was the other day.’ Sam giggled. ‘She’s a right card. I gave her a pile of mags, but she seems to prefer to go and get her own from the village, says it’s no trouble and she wouldn’t dream of taking mine. Anyhow, she brought this back.’ Sam opened the newspaper out. ‘Makes you out to be a right cow, and we all know you’re not. You didn’t do that though, babe, did you?’ She frowned. ‘Says here that you wouldn’t give this poor girl any money back or let her have her special day here and she’s skint, can’t afford to get married at all now.’

Lottie sighed and sank down into a chair next to the Aga as she studied the picture of the distraught bride-to-be. ‘I never said she couldn’t get married here.’ The problem was there had been so many cancellations lately she was struggling to remember exactly what she’d said to this one. ‘But, I wouldn’t have given her a deposit back, cos you don’t do you? That’s the point of a deposit, isn’t it?’ She chewed the side of her thumb.

‘Well, yes,’ Sam looked doubtful, ‘but if she can’t have her wedding here, then it’s only fair to give it back, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not her fault the place burned down, is it? Haven’t you got insurance for that type of thing, you know Acts of God, or whatever.’

‘It wasn’t God, it was the act of a drunken toe rag.’ It was rather unfair that this article was all about how evil she was and barely mentioned the inebriated groom, who had nearly toasted his family and friends as well as her own. ‘But I haven’t cancelled her wedding. It’s not until next year and the house should be fine by then, so she can still have it here. That’s why I haven’t given her a deposit back.’ She skimmed over the article again. ‘In fact it’s right at the end of next summer, I remember her now.’ And she did. It had only been yesterday and one of the shortest conversations of the lot. In fact it consisted of ‘I want to cancel and can I have all my money back?’ followed by the dial tone before Lottie had even had time to discuss reduced rates or extra flowers (which was her latest tactic in the effort to stop the rush of cancellations). ‘She says here I’ve ruined her fairy tale, wrecked her dreams, and it has to be perfect or her whole life will be destroyed ‘cos his family will think she’s cheap.’ Lottie pulled at Harry’s ears absentmindedly and he wriggled, trying to lick her hand. ‘And she didn’t say any of that to me.’