Rich Pickings (13 page)

Ashley and Tom are the last to arrive, and the gathering now complete the rest of the group join us at the table. Grace is not to be present this time, having decided to take Rosie and Isabella out for the afternoon instead. Her Clio is crunching across the gravel of the rear courtyard as Nathan calls the meeting to some sort of order.

He starts the proceedings by welcoming me, Freya and Nick. He goes on to assure us that the meeting will not be a formal affair and anyone who wishes to speak can do so. As I gaze at the others assembled round the table, I wonder if that remark carries more depth than face value might suggest. I know that Freya and Nick have a Dom/sub relationship, and based on his comments on the doorstep when I first arrived, I’m pretty sure Nathan shares those tendencies so it’s likely Eva does too. Tom and Ashley? Probably. So the dynamics among the couples here are not solely concerned with business protocol but also with the power shift between Doms and their subs. Nathan’s opening words are setting the tone, making it clear that, around this table at least, business is business. We are all individuals, all equal, and may speak freely. I appreciate the sentiment, though I don’t expect I’ll have much to say.

Freya will. I know she intends to participate in the discussion and I’m ready to interpret for her if needed though she hasn’t asked me to. Or Nick might. By now he will be aware of her intentions and their smiling, affectionate presence indicates that he supports her decision to invest.

I volunteer to take notes of the meeting I hadn’t intended to, but the task seems in keeping with my soon-to-be duties as company secretary. Might as well start as I mean to go on. It’s an opportunity to show that I can make myself useful, and I feel a strong urge to demonstrate that fact, to prove to Ashley, and to Freya, that their faith is not misplaced. It also gives me a role in the meeting so I won’t simply be observing in silence.

I dig a pen from my bag, and Nathan hands me a notepad. I’m all set by the time Tom gives us a brief outline of the project, and in particular, the funding gap that they are trying to bridge. It’s all there in the information pack so I make sure I squirrel one away for future reference, but I jot down the main points too.

I gulp a little as Tom starts to rattle off the figures. Wind farms don’t come cheap. The entire scheme will cost around eleven million pounds. Between them, Nathan, Tom, Eva and Ashley have just over five million pounds already identified, so they are nearly six million short. I’m wondering how much of that Freya will want to put in when Nick offers to chip in half a million. Nathan thanks him and makes a note. I do too.

Dan is next to volunteer a financial contribution. He offers another half a million, which is duly accepted. I note that on my pad reflecting that I’ve clearly been hanging around with Freya so long that I’m not even surprised that these people are bandying around six-figure sums as casually as if they were sharing the bill after a meal in a restaurant.

Nathan does a quick summing up. There is now six point two million pounds identified. He asks if anyone knows of any other potential investors before the consortium turns its attention to the banks. I’m not surprised when Freya taps the table, her signal that she’d like to speak. I turn to her, expecting to be required to interpret, but find she’s looking straight at Eva.

Odd. Still, I can concentrate on note-taking. Through Eva, Freya offers to provide the balance of the money needed. She names the figures carefully and accurately, a sum not less than four point eight million, and not more than six point eight, depending on the final scope and nature of the scheme. I scribble this down, and consider the matter probably concluded.

There’s a deathly hush in the room. The issue appears not to be settled. Nowhere near. Nick turns to Freya. “Six million quid! For fuck’s sake, Freya, where would you get six million quid from?”

Hasn’t he been listening to her? I know she must have told him by now, and in any case, what gives him the right to speak to her like that? Freya lifts her hands, clearly about to sign her reply. Her expression is one of apology, and my protective instincts surge to the fore. I won’t sit here quietly while he puts her down. My words are blurted out before Freya has a chance to say anything.

“From down the back of her sofa probably.” I glance around the room. “Why are you all looking so stunned? Six million quid is small change to Freya.” I direct my final remark to her. “And it’s about time you bought something useful. You can’t just fritter away forty odd million on racehorses and trips to Australia.”

Long, silent moments pass. I have a sudden, ridiculous vision of my words wriggling and squirming on the table, like a knot of slithering worms as we all peer at them distastefully.

Ashley is the first to speak. “How much? How much can’t Freya fritter away?”

I look around the table, realization dawning too late, much too late. For reasons I can’t even start to guess at, Freya has not told anyone about her money. Not even Nick. Incredibly, stupidly, for some bizarre and unfathomable reason, she hasn’t told Nick about the millions salted away in her bank account. No wonder he’s angry. I’m dismayed, mainly at my part in all this. Freya may have started this ball rolling, but I’ve just given it a huge shove. I just made everything a whole lot worse. Why didn’t I just keep my head down and my mouth shut?

“Didn’t they know? I assumed you’d have told them. Isn’t that why we’re here?” My words are whispered, directed at Freya who just shakes her head.

“I was going to tell Nick but I never got the chance.” She turns to him, and continues to sign. “I’m sorry. I can explain.”

Nick’s response is to bundle her from the room pretty much bodily. Freya just has time to reiterate that her offer is a serious one, and that I can vouch for her ability to raise the funds. Clearly any explanation is to be delivered in private, and any retribution too. I know what’s about to happen when he gets her alone. We all know, and I doubt any of us would dispute that punishment is deserved. But probably not here. Nathan won’t stand for blood on his hall carpet, or for screams reverberating around his house. That stuff is confined to Leeds, though I don’t doubt he’ll make the facilities available should Nick wish.

The door closes behind them, and five pairs of curious eyes are now trained on me. My face is flushing, the heat radiating upwards. I can’t believe the part I played in this debacle. Why didn’t I just stay out of it? Freya didn’t need my help, was well beyond anything I might have been able to offer in any case. I’m mortified.

I look first to Dan. His expression is not one of condemnation, just puzzlement. His lip is quirked in his familiar air of inquiry, his forehead creased as he tries to understand what just happened.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I thought… I assumed you knew, all of you…” I’m stammering, not making a lot of sense at all. So much for impressing my future employers.

Dan reaches for my hand, removes the pen I’ve been gripping and wraps his palm around mine.

“She made quite an impression, our little Freya. Can you tell us what’s going on?”

“I’m not… I mean…” I stare at our hands, linked on the table in front of me. I don’t want to tell any more of Freya’s secrets. I’ve never been disloyal, never intended to be this time. I feel awful, frankly terrible. I look up at him, my eyes pleading with him not to press me on this.

Maybe he picks up my signal, I’m not sure. The silence is broken by the slamming of a door upstairs, presumably Freya and Nick are now in their bedroom. I glance at Nathan, whose expression is decidedly pained. I hope for Nick’s sake he doesn’t do a lot more banging about in Nathan’s house. He clearly doesn’t like it.

Eva looks worried. “Nathan, do you think we should intervene? He might hurt her.”

Nathan shakes his head, but his eyes are on Dan. “Nick’s angry now, but he won’t lay a finger on her until he’s cooled down. Do you agree, Dan?”

Nick is Dan’s friend rather than Nathan’s. As Doms they all know the rules, but Dan knows Nick best and Nathan is looking to him to confirm that Freya is safe, at least for now. Dan has no hesitation.

“Absolutely. Nick will have plenty to say, but he won’t actually punish her while he’s angry. He’ll make her wait.”

Nathan nods slowly. I know Dan’s probably right, but I’m still desperately worried. “Even so, do you think we should go up there? I mean, maybe I could help her to explain. Or Eva could…”

Dan shakes his head. “No, love. Leave it. They’ll need to sort this out themselves.”

“I know, but…” My words trail off. He’s right. And anyway, I’ve done enough damage. We all fall silent for a few moments, listening to the raised voices—sorry, voice, from upstairs. My stomach churns nervously. Even though I can’t make out the words I’d really hate to be on the receiving end of that tirade.

“So, what are these details you’re going to fill us in on?” This from Ashley, who’s been fairly quiet throughout the proceedings so far.

I gaze at her, my mind racing. I don’t want to appear uncooperative, but this is really not my secret, despite what just happened. I’m not sure just how much information Freya wants me to provide. I need to talk to her first.

“I’m not sure, I mean, I can confirm that she’s good for the money. She can afford to invest the amount she offered.” I’m hoping that will be enough to satisfy everyone’s curiosity for now, but without any great optimism. Ashley’s eyes narrow. She clearly has a whole lot more questions.

“Did Nick say she won the lottery?”

He did briefly mention that, just before he ordered Freya out of the room so I suppose that much of the secret is out there too. I nod, and brace myself for the next salvo, but we’re interrupted by a loud thumping from upstairs. Someone’s knocking on the floor. We all stand, and Nathan’s already halfway to the door when Nick’s voice echoes down from upstairs.

“Summer! Get up here.”

I shoot past Nathan, frozen in the doorway and bolt up the stairs. It takes me just moments to arrive at Freya and Nick’s bedroom door. It’s open, and I hurtle through to be met by the sight of Freya huddled on the floor, weeping in that silent way she has. Nick is crouching beside her, a phone in his hand.

I’m horrified. Dan was so sure he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. Now look. I rush over, hurling abuse at Nick Hardisty, “You utter bastard. What have you done to her?”

He stands, turns to me. He doesn’t react to my accusation. Instead he hands me the phone. “What do you make of that?”

I’m stopped in my tracks. Confused, baffled, I look at the phone. It’s Freya’s. There’s a text on the screen. I’m dimly aware of others rushing into the room hard on my heels, of Eva and Ashley crouching next to Freya, of Nathan’s angry tone as he rounds on Nick. Nick just lifts a hand, asking him to wait. He turns his attention back to me. “Summer, what do you know about this?”

I turn my attention to the screen, start to scroll through the texts. They are from a Malcolm Patterson, not a name I can place, but the upshot of the messages is that Freya’s racehorse has had a fall at a race meeting and is about to be destroyed on the course.

As the significance of what I’m seeing dawns my heart turns over. Poor Freya. She adores that horse.

My voice dull, hushed, I confirm what he must already know. What Freya already knows.

My words spark a signing frenzy in Freya. Her hands are flying as she protests. “They can’t, they can’t. She’s mine. My horse.”

I drop to my knees next to her, my hands reaching for her stricken, tear-stained face as I try to comfort her, help her to deal with the inevitable. I’m dimly aware of Nick’s voice, and Dan’s as they discuss the catastrophe. Dan returns Malcom Patterson’s call, then talks briefly to the course vet at Thirsk racecourse. The news is not good. Dan’s expression is sympathetic but professional as he explains to Freya that her horse has a badly broken foreleg and that the best thing is probably to have her destroyed. Her racing career is definitely over.

Freya is just shaking her head desperately, refusing to accept the reality of what seems to be unfolding. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, another suggestion, this time from Tom. There’s an equine veterinary center in north Leeds, and perhaps they could help. A quick discussion between Dan and the course vet confirms that this might be a solution.

Nick starts barking out instructions, making arrangements to transport the horse to Leeds and announces he’ll drive Freya there. He asks Dan to come too, for his professional knowledge, and me as I seem to have some background understanding of what’s happening. And, as he so delicately puts it, “If nothing else you can help Freya explain to me how the fuck she managed to buy a sodding racehorse right under my nose, and I never knew a bloody thing about it.”

I somehow doubt I can come close to explaining that, but I agree to accompany them to Leeds anyway.

Chapter Eight

The drive to north Leeds is tense to say the least. Nick tosses the car keys to Dan as we dash across the graveled courtyard at the rear of Black Combe. He says he prefers Dan to drive as he knows where the equine veterinary center is. That may be part of it, but more significantly Nick clearly wants to talk to Freya. He gestures her into the rear seat of Nathan’s lovely Audi, hastily commandeered as it’s more comfortable for all four of us than Freya’s Vanquish would be, and he follows her in. I’m left to sit in the front with Dan, an arrangement that suits me very well.

Nick’s inquisition is pretty much unrelenting the entire way to Leeds. He demands to know how Freya came to be the proud owner of a racehorse without him having a clue. She does her best to explain, and where possible I chip in to support her side of the story.

I’m feeling absolutely dreadful for the part I may have played in this, though on calmer reflection I can see that Freya’s deception was about to come out regardless of anything I may have said. I might have made things slightly more awkward, but that was unintentional. It never, not once, occurred to me that she would even contemplate going into that meeting not having told Nick what she had in mind.