She offered a “Humph” in response. Great, she thought, letting his sarcasm wash over her this time. She mulled over the fact that it was just more fuel for the fire that all models are completely demanding bitches. Amanda just sent out those lists automatically, she didn’t even know what was on it. She’d asked her to stop sending them but it appeared her request had been ignored—yet again.
Anastacia reached into her handbag, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t had chance to switch her phone on since landing. She opened the bottle of water and took a few sips whilst waiting for it to catch a signal. After travelling for about forty minutes or so she guessed they were almost there. A few miles back Matt had appeared anxious and rubbed at his temples and back of his neck, but they’d driven on mostly in silence until she interjected with questions about the village and local area, just to annoy him and to see how many one word responses she could elicit. Seven.
Her phone suddenly burst to life showing she had missed several calls and text messages, mainly from Alix and Amanda. Her phone had only been turned off for a couple of hours.
She peered over at Matt’s profile. “You mind if I make some calls?”
She decided to interpret his dismissive shrug of his shoulders as code for “Go ahead.”
“So, do I assume from your conversation that you won’t be joined by your friends?” Matt looked over at her, massaging the back of his neck again with his right hand. “And I make no apology for listening,” he added with a smirk.
“No. I didn’t think you would,” she replied, shaking her head and rolling the phone in her hand. “There’s still no flights leaving, at least not until the weather clears and the backlog eases up at Heathrow. Apparently the snow fall is a lot heavier in the South. It’s pandemonium at the airport with everyone desperate to get home for Christmas. Alix said that they’ll try again in a couple of days. Until then… erm, do you think you could drop me at a hotel in the village? A meagre five star one will do,” she teased playfully.
“What? No.” Matt turned his head to her suddenly. “I mean, er, there are no hotels. You’ll stay with us as planned. As per the contract.”
She caught the authority mixed with a hint of sarcasm in his voice and her hackles were once again up. He was clearly a man used to being in charge and used to people and animals doing what he told them. That was so not her, but in light of her current predicament perhaps she should just go with the flow… easy girl.
“You sure I won’t be an imposition? I mean, I wouldn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”
“No. I won’t be in the house much. Besides, I doubt the residents of our little village would have a clue who you are Miss Harper.”
Okkkay…
Matt reached into the pocket of his jeans and brought out a packet of headache tablets; attempting to remove the white pills from the foil one handed.
She let out a sharp breath at his stubbornness before reaching over to take them from his hand and press out a couple of the pills before handing them back to him together with the bottle of Perrier. “Here, they’ll be easier to swallow with water.”
Matt thanked her begrudgingly and she took another opportunity to watch him as he swallowed the pills with her water. Holy moly, just watching this throat was a sensual act. Crikey, she thought, how long had it been since she’d been with a man? She started to count the months off in her head and then decided that it wasn’t something she wanted to examine too closely.
Focus, Anastacia… and not on his throat action!
It was her turn to blush now as Matt caught her staring this time as he handed the bottle back to her. Maybe staying in a house with this man wasn’t such a brilliant idea…then again, he’d said he didn’t plan on being there much and that was probably a good thing. His grumpiness grated on her. What the hell did he have to be grumpy about?
Again, she reminded herself that she wasn’t interested.
Despite the thick snow now lying on the ground, she could see the natural raw beauty of the countryside. It had a wild, untamed quality about it and she could easily imagine why such scenery had been the inspiration for Miss Bronte and the like. It was a complete contrast to urban jungles she occupied in American and more latterly, London. She opened the window slightly to breath in the cold air and rid her melancholy thoughts at her lifestyle. Instead of questioning what her chauffeur had to be cranky about, maybe she should focus that question nearer to home.
Eventually they passed a sign indicating that they’d arrived in the village of Waddington, North York Moors; Gold award winners for Britain in Bloom 2012 and 2013. It had been a long time since they had passed through any other villages or signs of civilisation. She really was in the middle of nowhere. The village itself was exactly as she’d imagined a Dickensian village would look. Quaint. A main high street with a medley of shops on each side, butcher, baker, candle stick maker, with quite a few shoppers mulling around, most of whom waved or acknowledged Matt in some way. Matt simply nodded his head or raised his index finger from the wheel in greeting. She also spotted a dress shop, all tastefully decorated for the season with cream twinkle lights and small Christmas trees above each shop building. The local pub was set back at the end of the high street with the main village Christmas tree; a huge star on the top with a wide white banner around the base attached to the railings advertised an event of some sort, but Matt had driven past before she’d had a chance to read the details.
“How far is it to the farm now?”
Matt glanced over at her and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not a farm, and you’re dangerously close to sounding like a two year old.”
“So I guess now isn’t a good time to say that I really need a wee?” she threw back at him, only partly teasing. She actually needed to visit the ladies since the arrivals hall but had got distracted by Mr Gallant, Gorgeous and Grumpy.
“I can pull over. There’s plenty of bushes,” he threatened, and she wondered whether Mr Dark and Broody did actually have a sense of humour.
At least she hoped he was kidding.
“Only a few more minutes,” he continued. “The house is only a mile or so from the village, closer if you walk straight over that hill”. He bobbed his head slightly and pointed past her shoulder.
She smiled back lightly in concession. “I’ll hold it. I was never very patient and as for that…” pointing in the same direction as Matt, “I’d say it’s a mountain not a hill!”
As promised, they soon approached a large wrought iron gate featuring two prancing stallions, which formed a complete design when the gates met. Matt punched a code into a security pad at the side of the road to open the automatic gates. They entered a pebbled driveway flanked either side by large evergreen trees. A brass sign at the side of the drive announced that they’d just entered the private grounds of “Melville House and Stud”.
Ah okay, so definitely not a farm. No sheep would warrant this much security!
“So, how big is this place?”
“Eight hundred acres or so. We have thirty stallions at the moment and ten visiting mares.”
She raised an eyebrow at that and smirked. “Visiting mares?” she repeated, slowly.
They continued to drive slowly down the winding driveway and caught sight of a couple of horses with their riders in the distance and circular arenas where it looked as though the horses might be exercised by some sort of machine that walked them around.
The grounds were extensive and spectacularly maintained. This was no simple horse farm!
A majestic three story Jacobean manor house came into view through the tree line as Matt steered the car around the final bend. Its traditional