During her painful adolescence her father’s name had hung heavy round her neck. He was everything you didn’t want in a parent, over the top, in the newspapers and available to any long-legged blonde who wanted a man to drape herself over. In other words, famous…or infamous. Billy believed in the work hard, play hard philosophy. Luckily, her stern grandmother, Elizabeth, had been a stabilising influence, assuring herself, and everyone else in earshot, that it was just a bit of fun and was what athletes did. The word athlete still made Lottie cringe.
‘And,’ Pip paused for effect, ‘her Uncle is Dominic Stanthorpe, the dressage rider.’
Tabatha looked almost impressed.
‘And she helps Rory Steel out.’ Pip finished her triple whammy introduction and sat back, looking very pleased with herself.
‘You know Rory?’ Tabatha couldn’t disguise the sudden interest in her voice. Rory was definitely more poster boy material than the other pair, who were positively ancient in the world of teenagedom. Lottie nodded, raised an eyebrow at Pip and sat down.
‘So she’d be the absolutely perfect person to help you out and give Tabatha some riding lessons. Wouldn’t you, Lots?’
Lottie looked from one to the other and wished, not for the first time in her life, that she’d insisted on some facts before agreeing to something. Or at least listened if there had been any kind of explanation.
‘Can you excuse us?’ She’d only just sat down, and not had a sip of drink or bite of food, but the ladies loos were calling.
***
‘But I am not a riding instructor,’ Lottie hissed, hoping that no one could overhear, and that the word not had been loud enough.
‘You do the pony club camp sessions.’ Pip was flicking her hair and admiring the effect in the mirror, which was most unlike her. Although the way she was doing it looked practised, so Lottie concluded that it was just a side to her that nobody in Tippermere had been treated to before.
‘That’s different.’
‘How?’ Flick, twirl.
‘Will you stop that?’ Lottie was finding it distracting, and funny.
Pip stopped.
‘One, they can all ride.’
‘Tab can ride a bit.’ Pout at her reflection. ‘Tom said so.’
‘Two, I only do it because I did a deal with Dad – I take it off his hands and then I can use the horsebox whenever I want.’
‘And for whatever you want. Does he know you’ve turned it into a passion wagon? Talk about pimp my ride.’
Lottie ignored her. ‘And three, you’ve only done it to get in his good books. What are you up to, Pippa? I mean he’s not really your type is he? I thought you’d done all that, I thought you said you were sick of primping pretty boys and wanted a down-to-earth man. Or else why did you come here?’
‘I have and I am, but he is pretty.’ Pip sounded wistful. ‘And rich, and caring. Do you know he’s involved in this dog rescue thing?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She sighed and wondered what else she didn’t know. ‘But you seem to know an awful lot about him.’ And you fancy him.
‘I did an interview with him last year, which is why my ed. gave me a nudge when she heard he was moving here. He needs a friend, Lottie, and I have decided to nominate myself. We’ve got common ground, know the same people.’
‘What if he moved here to get away from “common ground”? Like you supposedly did? He might just want to be with his daughter and desperate dogs. Or he might have more in common with Tiggy.’
‘What would a well-groomed model have in common with tatty Tiggy?’
‘You can be so mean, I’m sure she’s got a very attractive side.’ Lottie grinned. ‘Dogs. That’s what they have in common.’
Pip, sure that the grin meant Lottie was weakening, pushed on. ‘Oh, go on, give it a go. I bet she’s a lovely girl underneath all that black eyeliner.’
‘She’s a bored teenager.’
‘She is horse mad, Tom said. Which is partly why he came here. He is so keen to get her into the pony club and all that, he wants to give her some stability, and I think he’s loaded, you know. He’s so successful, and,’ she moved closer so if there had been anyone in the toilet cubicles they couldn’t hear, ‘the rumour is that he comes from a mega-rich family, apparently. He’ll probably buy her a pony and sponsor you as well.’
‘You’re like a hound moving in for the kill.’
‘Thank you.’ Pip grinned. ‘So, it’s agreed?’
‘No, Pip. Nothing is agreed. I’ll think about it. Now, didn’t you promise me champagne and a pizza?’
‘Look, it’s not really for me, it’s not that I’m after him, but he’s a lovely guy and I reckon I can spin a whole load of work out of this.’
‘So, it’s business, not pleasure?’
‘Well, there’s no harm in mixing it a bit, is there?’ Pip linked her elegant, long-fingered hand through Lottie’s arm and more or less dragged her from the safety of the ladies washroom.
‘And he’s too old for you.’
‘He looks very well maintained to me.’
***
Tom loved his daughter with a strength that was a constant cause of amazement. He’d been brought up in a household where a father considered his duty was done when he paid for the food on the table and showed up at weekends to eat it. The fact that he’d been genuinely interested in his daughter since the day she’d whimpered her way into his life was a totally unexpected bonus.
When he’d married the heartbreakingly beautiful Tamara (as the press coined her), there had been a flicker of hope in his life that had outshone everything to date. Someone finally loved him, cared about the same things that he did, he finally had someone to share his life and future with. And then he’d found out that ‘breaking’ was the key word in Tam’s life, not ‘heart’.
The spectacular wedding that she had orchestrated had been bank-breaking, but he’d agreed. After all, whereas for him, constantly in the spotlight, a quiet wedding in an idyllic location would have been perfect, he appreciated that for her the wedding was a highlight, her moment of glory. And how could he refuse? She was like a beautiful pedigree cat, gorgeous, demanding but loving and cajoling to the point of suffocation. Tamara wanted to be pampered and adored, naively he’d thought that was temporary, not an integral part of her make-up.
The wedding was just the start. When Tam had said ‘I do’, she was launching herself into what she’d always desired – a glamorous lifestyle. The unspoiled beauty wanted to be spoiled, big time. After all, Tom was a sought-after model, he was sent designer clothes daily, and tickets for every movie premiere, theatre performance and nightclub opening. He should have been perfect. They were the most attractive, in demand couple of the decade. They would live a jet-set life and have fun. Or so Tamara had assumed.
He couldn’t blame her for getting frustrated by the reclusive bore he longed to be. Whatever his father had failed to give him in terms of time and loving, he couldn’t avoid passing on his genes. He was a banker, he thought things out logically and planned for the future. And that DNA was passed on to his