ass in the classified ad section that she ran. So he dragged himself out of his stupor and decided to go in for a bit of audience participation.
Afterwards, he lay with the morning sun dappled across his face and watched Caroline get dressed as if she was going into battle. She had a selection of power suits with nipped-in waists that accentuated her femininity. Her wild red curls were scraped back into a severe plait and the disguise was finished off with a pair of Dolce e Gabbana heavy-framed glasses. Formidable.
They’d met just over a year ago, when he’d just refurbished the art gallery he ran in Eldenbury and had gone to place a discreet advertisement announcing the relaunch. Within minutes, she’d sweet-talked him into an advertisement feature. It was very hard to say no to Caroline and he’d ended up with a double-page spread and the shag of his life.
They’d been an item ever since, to the astonishment of their mutual friends. He was the archetypal English gentleman, Brideshead Revisited, an aesthete. She was feisty, ballsy, upfront, Cosmopolitan personified. They had little in common but their need for space. James thought of the girl he’d given the boot eighteen months ago. A pretty enough little thing, blonde and well bred; on the surface she was far more his cup of tea. But she’d been hideously clingy, always looking for reassurance and dragging him past jeweller’s windows. And she’d run his diary like a sergeant major, had tantrums if he didn’t feel inclined to turn up to some social function or another that she thought they should be seen at. James had heaved a sigh of relief when she’d finally got the hint. Caroline never gave a toss if he expressed reluctance to go anywhere, and for that he was grateful.
She stood before him now, at the end of the bed, ready for action.
‘Tea?’
‘I’ll do it.’
He swung his legs out of bed. He wanted proper tea, made with loose leaves in a pot that had been warmed. He didn’t want the string of the tea bag still dangling over the edge of his cup, which he knew was what Caroline would give him.
‘What are you doing today?’
‘VAT returns.’ He mimed a yawn. ‘And there’s a viewing in Tetbury. I might go over there this afternoon.’ He wasn’t actually lying. Only by omission. Though he wasn’t sure why – surely there was nothing incriminating about going for a hack with your own sister-in-law? It was all perfectly above board.
Later on, VAT returns completed with indecent haste, James’s boots rang out on the cobbles of the stable yard at Honeycote House. There was a whicker of anticipation as several curious horses peered over their doors in the vain hope that this unexpected visitor might be bringing them a late-morning snack. An irate whinny indicated the stable he was looking for. He stopped outside for a moment and watched as Lucy placated a huge iron-grey gelding, fondling his ears and nuzzling his neck. Lucky old horse, thought James, as he slid back the bolt. Lucy looked up and smiled with pleasure.
‘James – hi.’ She caressed the horse proudly. ‘What do you think? This is Phoenix. Isn’t he beautiful?’
James reached out to pat the brute’s muscle-bound shoulder. As he leaned over, he thought he caught a faint trace of Diorissimo through the rich smell of dung dropped by the agitated horse.
‘What’s the story?’
‘He keeps bucking. Dumping his owner. But we’re going to sort you out, aren’t we, boy?’
Phoenix didn’t look sure; just looked at James sideways and put his ears back.
‘He seems quite highly strung.’
Lucy wasn’t perturbed.
‘He just needs someone who’s not frightened of him. And I think he’s got back problems. I’m going to get the physio out – if he’s in pain every time someone sits on him, no wonder he’s bucking.’
James smiled. He loved the way Lucy was so confident, so fearless. She’d gained a reputation locally for being something of a miracle-worker with
Afterwards, he lay with the morning sun dappled across his face and watched Caroline get dressed as if she was going into battle. She had a selection of power suits with nipped-in waists that accentuated her femininity. Her wild red curls were scraped back into a severe plait and the disguise was finished off with a pair of Dolce e Gabbana heavy-framed glasses. Formidable.
They’d met just over a year ago, when he’d just refurbished the art gallery he ran in Eldenbury and had gone to place a discreet advertisement announcing the relaunch. Within minutes, she’d sweet-talked him into an advertisement feature. It was very hard to say no to Caroline and he’d ended up with a double-page spread and the shag of his life.
They’d been an item ever since, to the astonishment of their mutual friends. He was the archetypal English gentleman, Brideshead Revisited, an aesthete. She was feisty, ballsy, upfront, Cosmopolitan personified. They had little in common but their need for space. James thought of the girl he’d given the boot eighteen months ago. A pretty enough little thing, blonde and well bred; on the surface she was far more his cup of tea. But she’d been hideously clingy, always looking for reassurance and dragging him past jeweller’s windows. And she’d run his diary like a sergeant major, had tantrums if he didn’t feel inclined to turn up to some social function or another that she thought they should be seen at. James had heaved a sigh of relief when she’d finally got the hint. Caroline never gave a toss if he expressed reluctance to go anywhere, and for that he was grateful.
She stood before him now, at the end of the bed, ready for action.
‘Tea?’
‘I’ll do it.’
He swung his legs out of bed. He wanted proper tea, made with loose leaves in a pot that had been warmed. He didn’t want the string of the tea bag still dangling over the edge of his cup, which he knew was what Caroline would give him.
‘What are you doing today?’
‘VAT returns.’ He mimed a yawn. ‘And there’s a viewing in Tetbury. I might go over there this afternoon.’ He wasn’t actually lying. Only by omission. Though he wasn’t sure why – surely there was nothing incriminating about going for a hack with your own sister-in-law? It was all perfectly above board.
Later on, VAT returns completed with indecent haste, James’s boots rang out on the cobbles of the stable yard at Honeycote House. There was a whicker of anticipation as several curious horses peered over their doors in the vain hope that this unexpected visitor might be bringing them a late-morning snack. An irate whinny indicated the stable he was looking for. He stopped outside for a moment and watched as Lucy placated a huge iron-grey gelding, fondling his ears and nuzzling his neck. Lucky old horse, thought James, as he slid back the bolt. Lucy looked up and smiled with pleasure.
‘James – hi.’ She caressed the horse proudly. ‘What do you think? This is Phoenix. Isn’t he beautiful?’
James reached out to pat the brute’s muscle-bound shoulder. As he leaned over, he thought he caught a faint trace of Diorissimo through the rich smell of dung dropped by the agitated horse.
‘What’s the story?’
‘He keeps bucking. Dumping his owner. But we’re going to sort you out, aren’t we, boy?’
Phoenix didn’t look sure; just looked at James sideways and put his ears back.
‘He seems quite highly strung.’
Lucy wasn’t perturbed.
‘He just needs someone who’s not frightened of him. And I think he’s got back problems. I’m going to get the physio out – if he’s in pain every time someone sits on him, no wonder he’s bucking.’
James smiled. He loved the way Lucy was so confident, so fearless. She’d gained a reputation locally for being something of a miracle-worker with
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