Showdown
“Don’t bother. I’m not going,” said Milly, getting herself down a plate.
“Of course you’re going,” said Linda firmly. “I’ve already accepted for all of us. It would be unspeakably rude to pull out now.”
“Well then, I’ll just have to be unspeakably rude, won’t I?” Grabbing the hot toast, Milly sat down next to Cecil. “Besides, I never accepted anything. You accepted for me because you’re still trying to pimp me out to John Ashton like a bloody geisha.”
“Don’t be rude to your mother,” said Cecil on autopilot.
“It’s not up for discussion anyway,” said Linda.”You’re coming if I have to drag you there myself. And you’re getting your hair done too.”
Pushing her chair back with a clatter Milly leaped to her feet, glaring at her mother. “I hate you!” she sobbed. “I don’t want to go to a stupid fucking party. Easy’s dead. Don’t you get it? Dead. I loved him. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“We all loved him,” said Linda frostily.
“You?” Milly shook her head in disbelief. “You never loved him. You couldn’t have picked him out in a two-horse lineup, and you know it!”
“Milly, that’s enough,” said Cecil. But she’d already stormed off, slamming the kitchen door with an earthshaking thud behind her.
“Maybe I should go and talk to her,” he said, pushing away his coffee cup with a worried frown.
“Don’t you dare,” said Linda. She was sick of everyone pandering to Milly and dignifying her tantrums with concern. “It’s straightforward bad behavior, that’s what it is. I don’t know how you can be so down on poor Jasper, when Milly’s the one behaving like a spoiled child. If anyone’s not pulling their weight, it’s her.”
Sensing a marital storm brewing, Bobby snuck out of the room and made his way quietly upstairs.
“Knock knock,” he said softly, opening Milly’s bedroom door a fraction. She was lying facedown on top of her duvet, her whole body shaking with sobs.
“Go away!” Her yell was muffled by the pillow.
She was grateful that he’d come after her, but much as she longed to fling herself into his arms, she didn’t want him to see her looking all red faced and snotty. She hadn’t even had time to clean her teeth yet this morning, so she probably smelled awful too.
“Come on,” he said, ignoring her and perching on the edge of the bed. He smelled of sweat and horsehair, a heady combination that made Milly’s senses reel. “Talk to me. You know I’m not leaving until you do.”
Reluctantly, she rolled over. Her eyes were red around the edges and still watery, and her glorious mane of hair was sticking up at all angles in a tangled thatch, as though someone had rubbed her head with a balloon. Her wide, pale lips were trembling, whether with anger or sadness it was impossible to tell. All Bobby knew was that he didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking more adorable.
She’s a kid, he told himself firmly. The sooner he got back to Highwood, and got over this infatuation, the better.
“I don’t care what Mummy says,” Milly sniffed defiantly. “I’m not going. I’d rather eat snakes.”
“Uh-huh.” He smiled. “Well, that’s a shame. I was kinda relying on you to help me get through the evening. And I have to go. Rachel’s dad is paying me.”
Milly sat up in bed, wiping her nose on her pajama sleeve.
“You don’t need me,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice. “There’ll be girls galore there happy to take care of you, I’m sure. Deborah’ll be there,” she added pointedly.
“Maybe,” Bobby said. “But I can’t talk to her the way I talk to you.”
Milly flushed with happiness. It was the most directly affectionate thing he’d ever said to her. Ever since their hug in Easy’s stable, he’d pulled back from her in some indefinable, and yet undeniable, way. The easy friendship and camaraderie they’d enjoyed before seemed to have disappeared, replaced by an awkwardness that she had no idea how to bridge.
There were moments, like that moment in the stable, when she could almost believe he felt something for her. But then he’d go back to being grown-up and distant, back to Deborah and all the other sophisticated, sexy girls who could evidently give him something that she couldn’t. God, how she hated them all.
It was nice to be the one that he could talk to. But she’d so much have preferred to be the one he couldn’t keep his hands off.
Standing up, Bobby moved over to the window and stared outside. It was a cloudy morning and the wind was blowing already-brown leaves all over the yard, making them dance like autumn sprites across the concrete.
“I’m leaving on Thursday, you know,” he said. “Back to the States.”
“This Thursday?” Milly looked horrified. “But that’s only six days away! I thought you were going to be here for six weeks?”
“It’s been six weeks,” he said with a shrug, feigning a nonchalance he was far from feeling. “Actually, it’s been seven. And I have a ranch to run. Folks back home’ll have forgotten what I look like.”
“No they won’t,” said Milly. She was biting her lower lip to keep the tears from flowing, but he could see how upset she was that he was going. Maybe that was part of what drew him to her so strongly? Other girls wanted him, but none of them really cared about him the way that she did.
“You can come visit,” he said, taking her hand in his and stroking it gently, trying his utmost to feel paternal, “once I’ve got my quarter horses.”
“Yeah, right,” said Milly, entwining her fingers with his and wishing more than anything that she never had to let him go. “I can’t see my parentals agreeing to that in a hurry, can you?”
“You never know,” said Bobby. Although privately he agreed with her. Cecil and Linda would want her to forget all about him. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. She should find a nice English boy her own age. Make her mom’s dreams come true.
“If you really want me to come tonight, I will,” said Milly. “But I’m only doing it for you, not bloody Mummy.”
“Understood,” he said, turning away from the window at last. “Who knows?” he added brightly. “We might even have fun.”
It was seven fifteen before they were all, finally, in the car.
Jasper was usually the prima donna of the family, but tonight he’d gone on ahead with Rachel, and for once it was Milly who held everyone up, insisting on changing her outfit at the last minute.
She’d planned to wear a slinky red number, that went with her new, sophisticated, swept-up hair. But she’d suddenly panicked that it was too Ivana Trump and decided to change into a more subdued, olive-green von Furstenberg wrap dress instead.
She was pleased with the result, though. For once, Bobby was going to see her looking sexy. It was almost enough to make her glad she’d decided to come to stupid Rachel’s stupid party after all.
Skipping out to the car, full of hope and anticipation, she twirled around in front of Bobby like a ballerina. “Ta da!” She giggled. “What do you think?”
He frowned. “You look different.”
Milly’s face fell. It was hardly the rapturous response she’d been hoping for.
“Don’t you like it?”
“Come on, chop-chop,” said Cecil impatiently before Bobby had a chance to answer. “Get in, you two. We’re late enough as it is.”
Climbing miserably into the backseat beside Bobby, Milly felt utterly deflated. So much for impressing him. He’d made her feel about as attractive as a foot fungus.
Shifting uncomfortably in his own seat, Bobby steadfastly refused to look in her direction. That green dress clung to her curves so sexily, it unnerved him. No, you know what, screw “unnerved.” He hated it. She didn’t look like Milly. How was he supposed to desexualize her and respect her innocence when she dolled herself up like Audrey fucking Hepburn? And what was with all that goddamn makeup covering her freckles? He longed to lean over right now and wipe it off with his bare han
ds. But instead he made do with staring moodily out of the window all the way to the Delaneys’.
“Wow,” he said, whistling through his teeth as Cecil finally swung the Range Rover through the lichened stone gates of Mittlingsford Manor. For a moment he forgot all about Milly as they rattled down the bumpy track that led to the Delaneys’ red-brick, ivy-clad gem of a house.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” said Cecil.
“No kidding.”
He’d heard a lot about the manor from various people, but this was the first time he’d seen it for himself. Lady Delaney had refused point-blank to entertain any visitors till their building works were finished, and all his meetings with Sir Michael had been at Newells. But people were right: It was a stunning house. Its faded Queen Anne grandeur set it apart from the thatched quaintness of the rest of Mittlingsford village, with its elegantly symmetrical façade of huge sash windows and its closely cropped, dark yew hedges bordering the formal lawns like the velvet trim on a smoking jacket. Tonight, lit from the front by hundreds of flickering candles lining the driveway and hung from the lower branches of the trees—Julia Delaney had really pushed the boat out this year—it looked more spectacular than ever.
“Let’s find the bar, shall we?” said Cecil. Like his daughter he’d been dreading tonight’s party—with the stud in crisis, the last thing he felt like was being sociable—but now that they were here the prospect of an imminent drink had lifted his spirits.
Milly, on the other hand, felt lower than ever as she clambered miserably out of the car. Bobby was still ignoring her. It was almost as if she’d offended him in some way, although she couldn’t for the life of her think how. Why had he asked her to come tonight, if all he was going to do was sulk?
Watching him stride into the house without so much as a backward glance in her direction, she steeled herself for a miserable evening ahead. A couple of hours ago she’d felt awash with confidence. Now she felt like Cinderella at a minute after midnight—drab, dreary, and out of place.
“Milly. How are you?” Rachel descended on her the moment she walked through the door, bursting with pseudo-warmth, no doubt for Linda’s benefit. Even Milly had to admit she looked ravishing in a starkly cut, backless black dress with a sexy fishtail, her blond hair flowing over her bare shoulders in heavy, cascading waves, like clotted cream glugging slowly out of a jug. Standing next to her, Milly knew she must look frumpy by comparison and felt the last vestiges of her good mood draining away, like used bathwater.
“Fine, thanks,” she said frostily.
“There are soft drinks for the younger guests in the library,” said Rachel in an audible aside to Linda, “if you’d rather Milly didn’t drink. And videos and things in there too, if she’s bored.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” Milly snapped, realizing too late that her petulant tone made her sound like one. Bobby turned to look at her, the first time he’d done so since they got in the car. But he had such a pained expression on his face she wished he hadn’t. What was wrong with him tonight?
“Rachel was only trying to be helpful, dear,” said Linda. “Darling!” Her face lit up as Jasper came over. “Don’t you look handsome!”
“Hullo, Ma,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Dad.”
Glaring at Bobby, he snaked a proprietorial arm around Rachel’s black-sequined waist. Though she professed to have no interest in Bobby, Jasper had learned long ago that when it came to potential sexual rivals it paid to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
“What the fuck happened to you this afternoon?” Cecil found his bad mood returning as soon as he saw his son. “We needed you at Newells. Bobby ended up taking the horses out. Doing your job for you. Again.”
“I was busy,” said Jasper, looking down at his perfectly manicured nails with a practiced boredom that drove Cecil up the wall. “But, thank you, Bobby. Riding to the rescue as usual. Quite the hero, aren’t we?”
Bobby felt his fists twitching. Milly’s outfit had already plunged him into a foul mood, but Jasper’s snide bullshit was the icing on the cake. What he wouldn’t give to plant a punch right in the center of the smug asshole’s face.
“I do what I can,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Shouldn’t you have been working with my horses this afternoon?” Rachel asked haughtily. She hadn’t forgotten the way that Bobby had dissed her at Milly’s play, and was still looking for an opportunity to get her own back. “That is what Daddy pays you for, after all.”
“They’re your father’s horses, Rachel, not yours,” said Bobby brutally. “And I’ve already taken them as far as they can go. But I appreciate your concern.”
Milly grinned. He might be being a jerk to her, but Bobby was still the master when it came to putting Rachel down. Served her right, the patronizing cow.
“What a ridiculous thing to say!” Rachel snapped, losing her cool at last. She looked like someone had just squeezed a lemon into her eye. “Horses can always improve. Victor’s been training those colts for a year, and he’s still working at it.”
Bobby shrugged. “I’m better than Victor,” he said, before elbowing past her toward the bar.
“Arrogant son of a bitch!” spluttered Jasper.
“He may be arrogant,” said Cecil, “but at least he’s always bloody there when you need him.”
Not when I need him he isn’t, thought Milly, watching Bobby’s back disappearing into the throng.
In a few days he’d be gone for good. Tonight was supposed to have been their special night together. How had it all gone so wrong already?
Walking into the drawing room, Bobby was overwhelmed by the crush of guests and heavy miasma of cigar smoke. The room itself reminded him of something out of a history book: all parquet floors and high ceilings with double doors at the far end opening out onto the veranda. Grabbing himself a glass of Pimm’s from the bar, he stepped outside. Inhaling the warm evening air, heavy with the scent of honeysuckle, he tried to relax.
Rachel Delaney was a bitch. Meaner than a rattlesnake and spoiled as hell to boot. She and Jasper deserved each other.
Walking down the sloping lawn toward the stream that wound its way along the bottom of the garden, he tried not to think about them, or Milly. Two giggling blondes who passed him gave him the eye and he smiled back, but his heart wasn’t in it. For a moment he wondered if he’d slept with one of them a few weeks ago, the shorter one, but as he got closer he could see it was a different girl. Just as well. He couldn’t remember the name of the one he’d fucked, anyway.
He reflected how much fun his first few weeks in England had been, screwing around with all the carefree abandon of a sophomore on spring break. But that was before he’d fallen for Milly. Before things had all gotten complicated.
Looking around, he recognized a number of pretty faces from those first weeks, as well as a bunch of jockeys and trainers he’d met through Cecil. The Delaneys’ drinks party was an annual fixture on the British racing scene, and everyone who was anyone in the horse world had shown up to enjoy Sir Michael’s legendary hospitality.
Milly’s old idols Frankie Dettori and Robbie Pemberton were both there, the latter having arrived with a stunning six-foot redhead who towered over him like Helen of Troy on stilts. Bobby recognized the great American rider Jakey Forster and a slew of British flat racing stars, as well as a couple of jump jockeys who’d made the cut. As usual, they were the rowdiest of the lot, whooping it up at the bar with their Sloaney girlfriends or running around squirting the bigwigs from the Jockey Club headquarters in Portman Square with giant water pistols that they’d filled with Pimm’s from the jugs at the bar.
After seven weeks in England, Bobby was just beginning to grasp the rudiments of the complex social divisions in British racing. As far as he could tell, the Newmarket flat racing crowd generally considered the jumping crowd to be amateurs, a lot of horsey Hooray Henrys from Gloucestershire, rather than serious, professional sportsmen. For their part, th
e jump jockeys looked down on their flat racing rivals as “nouves”—nouveau riches—and rarely mingled with them socially. It was kind of like the way the Kentucky owners and breeders looked down on the quarter horse crowd. But tonight both parties seemed to have called a temporary truce.
“Mr. Cameron!” Michael Delaney came marching across the lawn, all smiles and open arms. “Glad you could make it.” He had a large glass of punch in his hand, which judging by his ruddy complexion, Bobby reckoned must be his fourth or fifth. His swelling paunch was already stretching his silk cummerbund dangerously close to breaking point.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” said Bobby. “Your gardens are incredible, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Sir Michael looked genuinely gratified. “We like them. Although, from what I gather, you have a pretty lovely spread waiting for you back in California.”
“Yeah,”said Bobby, smiling properly for the first time that evening. “Yeah, I do.”
He was ashamed to admit that recently Milly had pushed Highwood right out of his head. But now that he was going home, reality had begun to reassert itself at last. Wyatt’s phone calls had become more and more anxious. If he still wanted to start his quarter horse farm—and he did, more than ever—he was going to have to come to some arrangement with the bank, and quickly.
“You must miss it.”
“I do,” said Bobby truthfully. “But there are things I’ll miss here too, when I go.” He glanced around the garden, looking for Milly, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Well, I for one will be sorry to see you go,” said Sir Michael. “You’ve done an incredible job with my horses. Just incredible. Andy!” He waved to an elderly man, deep in conversation with two equally elderly women a few feet away. “Come and meet my friend Bobby Cameron. He’s the American trainer I’ve been telling you about.”
While Bobby was distracting himself basking in praise at one end of the garden, Milly sat alone under a willow tree at the other end, getting steadily drunker.
“Oy. OY!” she yelled at a passing waiter. “I’ll have one of those. Pleashe.”