Heartbeat slowly returning to normal, he watched as she cantered the willing little cob in huge loops, skirting along the treeline, then back out across the field, a teardrop to turn back on herself, a showman’s gallop alongside the rail and then back to trot to bring the horse slowly down, raining huge pats on his neck before pulling up and slumping forwards to hug him. Even at this distance, Luca could feel the sheer unfettered joy.

Tonight, he was jealous of a horse.

PART FIVE

19

Pax was accustomed to Luca not saying much first thing, but this morning he was beyond taciturn, earphones in, eyes averted. He had to be seriously hungover, she guessed.

Having barely slept, stiffly bow-legged from her late-night ride, she wasn’t feeling too sociable either, grateful they’d established a routine early on, working a stable yard apart most of the morning shift. At the first opportunity, she took Knott and Stubbs and up to the top field to call and see how Kes was doing.

‘Compton Magna Primary School.’ Bridge’s phone voice was so ultra-assured – like a Radio Four news announcer – that Pax didn’t recognise her.

‘This is Kes Forsyth’s mum.’

‘Pax, queen!’ The professionalism was short-lived. ‘How are ya? Don’t blame you taking off last night. That was fierce. Such a shame the little fella’s not well today. Have you called to rearrange?’

‘Not well?’

‘His granny rang not five minutes ago. Touch of tummy wobbles, she says. We can try for Friday instead if that suits you?’

Thanking her, Pax phoned the Forsyths, finally tracking Mairi down on her mobile. Pax could hear a car engine.

‘How is he? Are you taking him to the doctor?’

‘He’s feeling fine now, thank you, Tish. He’d just got a wee chill from standing about in that cold orchard. In fact, he’s so much better we thought we’d treat him to Sea Life Centre.’

‘Is Mack with you?’

‘He’s working of course, poor man. We might be late back, so Kes can stay another—’

Pax gritted her teeth. ‘I’ll pick him up at four thirty on the dot.’

Despite a rare, uninterrupted blue sky and bright winter sun, her spirits were lowering by the minute. Last night’s high felt as though it had happened in a parallel life.

She found herself wanting to tell Luca what he’d done, to share the thrill of it, the resurrection, but she held it back, already feeling too guilty, the squirm of self-loathing eating through her. Secret drinker. Secret rider. Secrets keeper.

She retreated to the main house to work through calls that needed returning and cheques that needed writing, praying they wouldn’t bounce. At least the antiquated way the stud paid for everything bought them enough time for the deposits from new bookings for Cruisoe coverings to clear. There were precious few of those.

The booking diary was an old-fashioned leather-bound tome and not a diary as such, its entries dating back many years, Lester’s neat handwriting cataloguing generations of visiting mares. That same handwriting in the letters which had been interleaved with her father’s.