‘Then you can keep her. He’ll tell you what injections she needs and so on.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ Behind Benjy’s back, Fliss crossed her fingers.
Luke’s blue eyes narrowed but he said nothing.
‘I can’t take her with me today. I’ll need to find somewhere else to live and get things sorted out.’
‘And?’
‘And so I was hoping she could stay with you for a bit.’
Luke sighed resignedly as if he’d been expecting it. ‘How long?’
Sunday lunch was Fliss’s speciality. There hadn’t been too many constants in her childhood, but Sunday lunch was one that her mother had always insisted on. From an early age, Fliss had been drafted in to help peel the vegetables or mix up the batter for the Yorkshire puddings. Every week a different assortment of neighbours and friends would sit down at the kitchen table for their traditional roast dinner, along with Fliss, her mother, and whoever happened to be sharing her mother’s bed at the time.
Fliss had kept up the tradition as much as she could manage. She often cooked Sunday lunch for her flatmates in London, with various other friends and partners invited along. It made them feel a little bit more like family.
But Luke had a real family. A real father. It had felt the most natural thing in the world to invite him for lunch today. She hadn’t thought for one second that Luke would object.
When the doorbell rang a few minutes after one o’clock, Fliss had the table laid, the wine open and the dinner almost ready. She’d retrieved the blue dress and although it looked a bit worse for wear, it was better than greeting Luke’s father while wearing Luke’s pyjamas. Judging from the grim expression on Luke’s face when he saw her, it wasn’t much better.
He didn’t say anything, though, just strode past her to open the front door. Benjy stopped to give her a proper hello before bounding along to see who the new visitor was. Fliss watched with interest as the two men greeted each other with cautious familiarity.
Thomas Caldecott had all the innate good looks and good manners of his son. His hair might be silvery-grey and the creases in his face were etched a little deeper than Luke’s, but there was no doubting the relationship between these two men.
‘Felicity,’ he boomed. ‘Delighted to meet you.’
She went forward to kiss his cheek. ‘And you.’
‘Now, I want you to tell me all about your escapade yesterday.’ Fliss shot Luke a swift glance, tickled to see that his cheeks had gone pink. ‘Headline in the Racing Post, don’t you know?’
‘No, really?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Luke’s heroic rescue, you mean?’
‘Quite. Pour me a glass of sherry, will you, Luke? I expect young Felicity would like one too.’
At least no one was expecting him to make conversation, Luke thought resentfully, as he listened to Fliss and his father bursting into yet more laughter at some stupendously obvious innuendo. She had turned on the charm in full force, regaling his father at length with her wildly exaggerated account of the events of Chrysanthemum’s race. She’d even managed to make her former boss into a comic figure.
They had both enjoyed mocking him when Fliss explained how Marshmallow had come by her name. His father insisted on meeting the kitten, and nodded knowingly when Luke pointed out that she was only staying at the yard temporarily.
Fliss had turned out to be a surprisingly good cook. Luke had no idea how she had managed to conjure up a full roast dinner out of the scratch ingredients he kept in the fridge. She’d even made a sponge pudding and custard. It was hardly sophisticated, but it was warm and light and utterly delicious.
It was nothing like the Sunday dinners he’d endured as a child. His mother had insisted that Sundays were her day. She made Luke and Thomas clean their nails and wash behind their ears and make sure that there wasn’t the slightest hint of horse manure about them. Everyone had to wear clean uncomfortable clothes, and lay the table with white napkins and far more knives and forks than they could possibly need, and sit around making dull conversation for hours.
Fliss’s idea of a Sunday lunch was apparently a table piled high with food and everyone making rude jokes.
Luke picked up the wine bottle and offered his father a top-up.
‘Better not,’ Thomas said, with a wink at Fliss. ‘Already over the limit, I expect.’
Luke tilted the bottle towards Fliss’s glass. ‘You’re going back on the train,’ he pointed out.
‘No limits for me, then.’ She picked up her glass and let him refill it.
‘No.’ Luke poured the rest into his own glass.
‘Back to the office, hmm?’ Thomas asked Fliss.
She shook her head. ‘No. I lost my job after what happened yesterday.’
‘She has to get back to her flat,’ Luke interrupted. ‘And go to her temping agency tomorrow to find a new position.’
‘Besides,’ Fliss said with a wicked grin, ‘I haven’t got any clean knickers with me.’
Thomas roared with laughter. ‘I’m sure Luke has a washing machine.’
‘Ah, yes, but does it have a delicates cycle?’
He couldn’t bear another moment of their banter. ‘I’m sorry to break up the party.’ Luke stood up, pushing back his chair. ‘But I really do have work to get on with.’
‘Still no secretary?’ his father enquired. He was about as subtle as Fliss, Luke thought resentfully.
‘No need. I’m managing perfectly well without one.’
‘You never mentioned that you need a secretary,’ Fliss said.
Luke glared at her. ‘Because I don’t.’
She shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Fine.’ He took a calming breath. ‘Thanks for lunch. Don’t worry about the washing-up, I’ll do it later. Call a taxi when you’re ready.’
‘Luke?’
He paused, one hand already on the door handle. ‘Yes?’
‘Thanks for everything.’
He nodded curtly then left before he did anything reckless.
Like beg her to stay.
Or kiss her again.
Or offer to buy her a lifetime’s worth of new knickers so she’d never have a reason to leave.
‘I missed the train.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Wait for the next one.’
‘It’s not until seven thirty. Can I wait here?’ It was still only three o’clock.
‘No.’
Fliss laughed. ‘Do you ever let yourself do what you want to?’
Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. I want to go for a ride so I am.’
‘Now?’
‘Now. So you see, you can’t stay here.’
‘I could come with you.’ Fliss crossed her fingers, hoping that he wouldn’t see how much the thought terrified her.
‘You said you’d never been in the Pony Club.’
‘Not much chance of that where I grew up. But I’m a quick learner.’
‘I’m not a riding school instructor.’
‘But you’ve been riding since before you could walk. Luke, I’m sure you could teach me the basics.’
‘You haven’t got anything to wear.’
Fliss merely grinned.
Half an hour later, wearing an old pair of Luke’s jodphurs, rolled up several times, and the wellies she’d borrowed the previous day, Fliss presented herself at the stables. Luke led out a terrifyingly large horse.
Fliss took a deep breath. She could do this. Horses weren’t really that far up, were they? She’d be fine once she was sitting safely on top of it.
‘Meet Molly,’ Luke said.
Fliss took time to pat the mare and hand her a couple of Polos.
Molly looked like a strong enough animal. Fliss wondered if she could sit in front of Luke and let him hold her on, as if she were a swooning heroine in a historical romance? Or maybe she would fall off and Luke would ride ventre-a-terre to rescue her? There were definite possibilities.
‘Do you need a leg up?’ Luke was patiently holding the bridle, keeping Molly steady. Fliss looked up to the saddle, then down to the ground. Six feet? Ten? A hundred?
Fliss swallowed hard, fighting back her nerves. ‘Um, yes, please.’
‘Here.’ Luke handed her the reins and stood behind her. ‘Put your hand on the pommel and your left foot in the stirrup. There you go.’ He hoisted her swiftly into the air and she automatically swung her right leg over, finding the other stirrup with her foot.
‘That’s good. Sit up straight. Hold on with your knees. Keep the reins lightly in your hands - don’t pull. Wait there a second.’
He abandoned her to fetch his own mount. Fliss kept her eyes fixed firmly on a tree in the far distance.
Don’t look down
, she chanted.
Do not look down. Hold on with your knees. Don’t look down.
The horse shifted to one side. Fliss squeaked and grabbed the reins, catching a brief glimpse of the stable yard floor in the process. It looked a very long way down indeed.
‘Okay, there?’ Luke was coming towards her, mounted on a glossy black horse which seemed to have a psychic ability to understand what Luke wanted him to do. He stopped just beside Fliss, easily reaching over to catch the bridle of her horse. ‘You look terrified,’ he commented calmly.
‘No. No,’ she squeaked in a panicked voice. ‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s okay,’ he assured her. ‘I won’t let you fall. Lean down and give Molly a nice pat. Let her know you’re in control.’
Fliss bent closer to her horse’s neck, patting gently.
‘It’s all about balance and control,’ Luke explained.
‘I’m not very good at either of those.’
‘Oh yes, you are,’ he said with a swift smile that set her pulse racing. ‘Now let go of the reins.’
Fliss stared at him in horror.
‘Let go,’ he repeated, dropping his own reins.
Tentatively, she copied him, feeling even more insecure than before. What was she supposed to hold onto? What was stopping her from falling?
‘Good. Now we’re just going to go for a little walk.’
He made a clicking noise with his mouth and squeezed his knees together, sending his horse walking gently forward. With his hand on her bridle, Fliss’s horse followed.
‘Feel her movement and get used to the rhythm,’ Luke instructed. ‘You need to learn how to keep your balance.’
Fliss grasped the pommel on the saddle and prayed she wouldn’t fall off.
Half an hour later, she had begun to feel reasonably stable. Luke let go of her bridle and told her how she should give signals to speed up or slow down.
‘How do I make her stop?’ she asked.
‘Pull on the reins and tell her.’ He demonstrated. It looked deceptively easy. ‘I’m going to let you go on your own now,’ Luke told Fliss calmly. ‘Don’t go too fast and don’t panic.’
Fliss squeezed her knees gently, the way Luke had told her to. When he did it, his horse knew to start walking forward at a sedate pace. Her own mount apparently thought this was the signal for a gallop.
Fliss just about hung onto the reins, though her right foot had lost its stirrup and she was being bounced uncomfortably from side to side. What had Luke told her to do? The only thing she could remember was his instruction not to panic. Fat lot of good that was. Panicking was the only rational response to being carted across a field by a demon pony.
Molly was heading for the hedge. Fliss pulled on the reins, desperately trying to steer the mare away from the obstacle, but it was no good. She was completely ignored.
The horse dipped alarmingly, Fliss took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Her stomach dropped and the horse disappeared from underneath her.
‘Ow!’ she squealed on landing slap in the middle of the hedge. It was thorny. Of course.
A few feet away, Molly had turned around to stare at her, with an unmistakeably smug expression on her face.
Behind her, she could hear Luke. Laughing.
‘Can you give me your hand?’ he asked.
‘It’s not funny,’ Fliss warned.
‘Of course not,’ Luke agreed, though there was still a note of amusement in his voice. ‘Here.’ He grabbed her hand and levered her out of the branches. Fliss could hear the thorns tearing through her borrowed t-shirt and jodhpurs. She examined her hands and arms. Scratches everywhere, some just starting to bleed.
‘Put these on them.’ Luke had bent to pick some leaves from the base of the hedgerow and handed them up to Fliss. ‘They’re soothing,’ he explained.
‘I’m not getting back on top of that thing,’ Fliss warned him.
‘What happened?’ Luke asked mildly. ‘Did you panic?’
Fliss shrugged. ‘She took off like a maniac and I couldn’t remember how I was supposed to stop her.’