Keeping the Peace (2 page)

‘Nothing by the sounds of it.’

‘I have no interest in horses,’ Pippa continued. ‘From what I’ve heard, they’re just a drain on the bank balance.’

‘Just about sums it up, yes. What are you trying to say? That you want to sell them?’

‘Yes. Would you be interested in buying them?’

Jack’s deep attractive laugh would have been much more appealing had it not been at her expense.

‘Not even if I could afford them,’ he chuckled. He put his mug back on the desk to avoid spilling it and smiled at Pippa, the crows’ feet at his eyes deepening.

‘Why not?’

‘Because –’ Pippa saw him quickly glance at her bare-fingered left hand holding her drink, ‘–
Ms
Taylor, I train racehorses. I don’t own them. You might be able to get a late entry in the HIT sales next month.’

Pippa frowned. What the hell was a HIT sale – where hitmen were paid to shoot horses?

‘
HIT
sales?’

‘Horses In Training. I’ll get my secretary to enter them.’

Okay, Pippa reasoned with herself. That made more sense.

‘And what do I have to do?’

‘Make sure the last bill is paid, and that’s it.’

‘Don’t I need to meet the new owners, to make sure they won’t mistreat them or something?’

Jack frowned in bemusement.

‘Have you had
anything
to do with racing before now?’

‘The most I’ve had to do with horses was through Uncle Dave and a pony ride on a seaside holiday in Brighton.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-six. Why? That seaside holiday was some years ago,’ she said, her back stiffening in defence.

‘No particular reason. Your uncle must have been well into his seventies when he died.’

‘My parents are older than average if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m an only child.’

‘One enough for them?’

‘No, they knew perfection when they saw it. Why ask for more?’ Pippa smiled into her coffee mug, feeling stangely triumphant when he gave a reluctant chuckle.

‘And may I ask what you do for a living?’

‘You may. I work at Vivace Restaurant in London.’

‘Restaurant manager?’

‘No. Waitress actually.’ Her curt response made her blush in attrition. How she would like to be able to say yes, she was the manager at Vicace’s. She’d been waiting four long years to say it. And it seemed just as likely to happen now as when she’d first joined the restaurant. She pushed it to the back of her mind. ‘How much do you think you could sell them for?’

Jack shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t put a very high reserve on them.’ He hesitated and looked at Pippa with narrowed blue eyes. ‘You know what a reserve is, don’t you?’

‘Of course. I shop on eBay all the time.’

Jack snorted.

‘I’ll take you to meet them in a minute if you want.’

‘Yes, please. It does feel rather grand owning two racehorses. What are their names?’

‘Astolat and Peace Offering. They’re not as grand as you might think. I don’t know what kind of inheritance Dave has left you, but he certainly wasn’t making a profit out of those two.’

‘But he enjoyed having them though, didn’t he?’

Jack paused to consider this for a moment.

‘Yes, I suppose he did.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Have you finished your coffee? I’ll take you to see them quickly.’

Pippa was only halfway through her drink. Nevertheless, she nodded.

‘I’m sorry if I’m delaying you for anything.’

Jack grunted. She wasn’t sure if it was an acknowledgement that she was or an assurance that she wasn’t, although she suspected the former.

Hurrying in his wake, she struggled in her heels to keep up with his long strides. He paused as they passed the archway leading to the car park. His eyes narrowed at the hire-car sitting beside the Land Rover.

Pippa held her breath, feeling his eyes travel from the vehicles to her.

‘How many horses do you train?’ she blurted.

He regarded her for a moment longer, re-evaluating her now that recognition had set in. Waiting for him to comment on her driving skills, Pippa raised a challenging eyebrow. Jack dropped his gaze and carried on walking down the long line of stables.

‘About sixty at the moment,’ he said.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief and trotted after him to catch up.

‘At the moment?’

‘Some still haven’t come back from their summer holiday. When the National Hunt season starts proper, we should have about a hundred.’

‘Wow,’ Pippa said in awe. ‘When is that?’

‘A couple of weeks’ time.’

‘Poor Uncle Dave. He picked a bad time to pop his clogs when he was always so excited about racing.’

‘Is there ever a good time?’

‘I guess not.’ Gazing around her, she almost walked straight into Jack as he stopped beside a walkway to some fields behind the stable block. He scowled at her pink slingbacks.

‘You’re going to need more suitable footwear than that.’ He disappeared through a dimly-lit doorway to their right. A moment later he reappeared holding a dirty pair of Wellington boots aloft.

‘Try these.’

Pippa looked in horror from the boots to Jack and might have argued had his eyes not clouded indigo with brimming temper. She went to take off her shoes, hopping around on one foot until an uneven paving slab sent her reeling. She grabbed the closest thing there was for support… which was Jack’s shoulder. He stiffened at her touch and she mumbled a hurried apology. She took the Wellies and pulled them on, trying to ignore how ridiculous she must look in her short skirt and oversized boots. Looking up, she saw a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. She flashed him a warning look that forbade him from saying anything.

He turned away to lead them out to the fields, but wasn’t quick enough to hide a suppressed smile.

‘How far away are they?’

‘Next paddock.’

‘Do they always live outside? Even at night time?’

‘In summer, yes. Your two should start coming in round about now, although since your circumstances have changed, you might prefer them to just stay out.’

‘Why would I want that?’

‘It’s cheaper. And you’re not intending to race them.’

‘But the person who buys them will probably want to race them.’

‘Your choice,’ Jack shrugged.

He stopped alongside the fence to the second paddock. Pippa could see a small group of five grazing horses at the far end. He gave a loud piercing whistle, making her wince and want to cover her ears. The horses all threw their heads up and as one, came cantering over, play-biting and bucking.

‘Don’t you worry they’ll hurt each other?’ Pippa asked.

‘They’re only playing. The bully on the far left is Astolat,’ Jack said, pointing at a big dark bay horse who was snapping his teeth at his companion. ‘And that at the back is Peace Offering.’

Pippa detected the slight resignation in his voice as he identified the smaller, slighter-looking bay happily bringing up the rear. An odd sense of excitement stole over her as the stampede halted before the fence and she was introduced to her new horses.
Her
horses. It did feel terribly grand, especially as they were racehorses.

And this year’s Derby winner is Peace Offering, owned by Pippa Taylor
.

It had a certain ring to it, although she was a bit hazy about race names. Her uncle had been a fan of jump racing or National Hunt racing, and as far as she could recall, the Derby didn’t have any jumps in it.

And this year’s Grand National winner is Peace Offering, owned by Pippa Taylor
.

That sounded better.

Jack frowned at her smug smile and reached forward to stroke Peace Offering’s nose. Pippa hung back, pushing her hair behind her ear with a nervous hand. Jack’s furrowed brow softened.

‘Come pat Peace Offering. He won’t bite.’

Pippa remembered those snapping yellow teeth as they’d galloped towards them and hesitated further.

‘I can see them okay from here, thanks,’ she said with a small anxious smile.

‘He’s an old softie. Come on.’ Taking her hand, he guided her forward and placed her palm beneath his onto the horse’s long bony nose. ‘See?’

For a moment, Pippa was only aware of the heat radiating from his hand as it engulfed hers. Then her attention became engrossed by the horse. She looked in wonder at the big kind eyes fringed with sweeping lashes and the white blaze that spilled down from his forehead to his nostrils. It made him so pretty. As if he had been a plain-coloured horse who’d had his make-up done.

‘He’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have shown them to you,’ he said, releasing her hand. ‘You don’t want to get attached when you’re about to sell them.’

Pippa let her fingers trace the delicate contours of the horse’s nose, between his velveteen nostrils, smiling as his whiskers tickled her palm. She let her hand drop and nodded.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘He’s so pretty though, I’m sure he’ll sell well.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that.’

‘Why? Isn’t he very fast?’

‘Quite simply, no. Astoalt is half-decent at least.’

‘That’s a pity. Never mind, I know someone will see that he’s a sweetheart.’

Jack gave a snort of derision.

‘I’ve got to get a move on. Are you travelling back up to London tonight?’

‘No, I’ve got to go see a house – or a cottage, I’m not sure which yet, that used to be Uncle Dave’s.’

‘More inheritance?’

‘Something like that. Although they told me not to expect too much. Apparently, it’s a bit of a shambles. I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that though.’

‘Good luck,’ Jack said with more doubt than sincerity.

‘Thank you,’ Pippa replied sweetly. ‘Nice to meet you Peace Offering. Nice to meet you Astolat.’

Jack rolled his eyes and began to walk away. Pippa skipped after him back onto the main path.

‘Thank you for showing them to me.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, sounding like it was anything but. ‘I’ll have Gemma send you the details of the sale next month.’

‘Who’s Gemma?’

‘My secretary.’

Poor girl, Pippa thought, having to put up with his moodiness. She shot a rueful glance at the horses still milling by the fence behind them and sighed. ‘It’s such a pity.’

‘What is?’ Jack looked at her suspiciously.

‘Having to sell them.’

His blue eyes narrowed.

‘You having second thoughts?’

Pippa shrugged.

‘Can’t afford to have second thoughts. But wouldn’t it have been fun?’

‘You’re better off without them.’

Half a stride behind, Pippa frowned at the negative attitude radiating from the unyielding set to his shoulders.

‘Don’t you train horses for a living?’

Jack looked at her sharply.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Well, you don’t sound like their biggest fan.’

‘I’m just being realistic. You could never afford two racehorses on a waitress’ salary.’

Despite having said much the same thing less than a minute before, Pippa raised her chin involuntarily in a stubborn stance.

Is that right sunshine, she challenged silently.

W
ithin twenty minutes of following Jack’s Land Rover out of Aspen Valley Stables and surprisingly not one single wrong turning later, Pippa found Hazyvale House. Gloriously secluded at the end of an avenue where the last rays of the sun filtered through the autumnal trees, what Pippa now realised was little more than a cottage stood not quite foursquare, like a sway-backed donkey resting a hindhoof while it dozed.

‘Oh, Uncle Dave,’ she breathed, stepping out of the car. ‘This is heavenly.’ Her eyes travelled over the old Cotswold stone and sagging moss-covered roof, conveniently overlooking the missing slate tiles and rotting window panes. She picked her way across the overgrown forecourt and along a short path to the front door over a soggy carpet of fallen leaves scattered from an overhanging oak tree. She butted the warped front door with her shoulder as it stuck, shovelling back a mountain of junk mail.

Once inside, she moved from musty room to room, girlish excitement rising inside her like a bubble. Downstairs she discovered a lounge, dining room, a beautifully large but crumbling kitchen and downstairs loo, all in various stages of disrepair. Upstairs there were two open-beamed and vaulted bedrooms and a shared bathroom. Each room overlooked the back of the house, which in the gathering darkness wasn’t clearly visible, but what was certain was the garden that had once been there was a small jungle now, falling away into a scattering of trees down into a shallow valley. She could hear the last chorus of birdsong drifting on the mild autumn breeze.

Sighing with contentment, Pippa turned away from the view and focused on the night that lay ahead. She wasn’t scared to be here alone, but she did feel just a tiny bit vulnerable knowing how isolated the cottage was from the rest of humanity. She flicked a light switch. Unsurprisingly it didn’t work.

‘I hope you’ve got candles hidden away somewhere, old man,’ she said, heading back downstairs to the kitchen.

Pippa woke early, cold and with a stuffy headache. Despite her unfamiliar surroundings she had slept like the dead, the peace and quiet acting as a drug to her consciousness. The bedding, which last night she had unearthed from the linen cupboard by candlelight, smelt of damp and dust. Pippa wrinkled her nose and rubbed her head, acknowledging the benefits of a properly ventilated airing cupboard sadly lacking in her new house. Groggily, she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled across the room.

She gave a surprised gasp as she drew level with the window. She crept forward, as if too much noise would spoil it. She leant her hands on the low windowsill and gazed out at the view. She had never seen anything like it.

Someone had photoshopped Somerset. She could see right down the valley and for endless untouched and unscarred miles of countryside a smooth silken sheet of mist, rose pink from the young morning sun, draped across the land.

Pippa couldn’t move. It was so very different from her second floor flat in London, which overlooked a convenience store and off-licence. Even the wilderness down below, which any canny estate agent would dub ‘a gardener’s dream’, did nothing to hinder the heavenly dawn.