The Country Escape - Jane Lovering Page 0,69

dressed, but minus the hoodie, probably why I felt cold. Apart from the stickiness of my eyes, there was no abnormal feeling around my face, no stubble burn or dribble or anything. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘At a guess, Granny Mary’s wine. I am going to kill her.’ He still hadn’t opened his eyes. ‘Eventually. Although I have to say I’m going to take my time, because this actually feels rather nice.’ A cautious arm came up around my back.

I could feel his ribs and one hip pressing into me. At least, I hoped it was his hip. ‘Urgh. Did we…?’

‘I think we just passed out.’ One eye opened cautiously. ‘I don’t think anything else happened and I’d like to think that’s the sort of thing I’d remember.’

He was so warm. And the arm was around me, not pulling me in but just balancing me. This close up I could see the stubble that highlighted his jaw and his eyelashes flickering against his cheekbone like stop frame animation. ‘Gabriel, I need to tell you.’

A finger came up and covered my mouth. ‘No. No, you don’t.’

‘I think I want to, though.’ I couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the way he was lying there, unhurried and relaxed underneath me, his hand gently stroking my shoulder. Maybe it was just the way he was, damaged and yet not allowing that damage to define him. Maybe it was just the sheer volume of wine we’d drunk. But I actually wanted to tell him.

Rain hit the window as though it had been fired from a cannon and splattered into the silence.

‘My name was Katherine Bryant,’ I said. The name that had once been so familiar now tasted like a strange food. ‘My father was Alexander Bryant.’ Then I stopped. I could feel Gabriel’s breathing underneath me.

‘I vaguely know the name,’ he said. ‘But I can’t…’

‘Gold medal. Equestrian. Well, two gold medals, an individual and a team gold. He was a three-day eventer.’

I could almost see Dad’s face, strong and smiling, hair wet where he’d taken his skull cap off after the final showjumping round, slapping at his horse’s neck as he slid to earth to greet me with wide arms. ‘We did it, Katie! Boomer and me, we did it!’

‘Mum worked the youngsters – we had a yard full of horses. Dad had sponsors and owners queueing up. It all was great, very successful. But—’ I had to stop.

‘You rode?’ Gabriel’s voice was quiet. The arm around my back had stopped moving.

‘My mum…’ Oh, God, how did I put it? How could I frame the words so they encompassed my growing up? ‘She was very keen for me to event. Put me in a saddle before I could walk, sent me off around the practice course Dad had built at home when I was ten, on one of the older horses. I was terrified, but I couldn’t tell her. She wanted me to succeed, wanted me to take over some of Dad’s rides; I kept trying to explain that I didn’t – never mind.’

I took a deep breath and pushed myself up to sitting, clear of him now. ‘When I was fourteen, Dad and I were out exercising. I was riding a young horse, Kelso – we called him Kelly.’ I half smiled, a memory of the warm stable and a greeting whicker over the buckets, a big bay gelding with a head like a racehorse and a back like a whale. ‘Dad was riding his medal horse, Boomer; we were out on the road getting ready to turn into the gallops. Kelly started being nappy, trying to whip round, so Dad and I swapped over. He had stronger legs than me and he could get any horse to do anything…’ I swallowed hard. The images were still there. They lurked like dark things in the depths of a lake, circling beneath the surface, waiting to be called.

‘A car came round the bend, too fast. Boomer ran up into the hedge, but the car hit Kelly full on.’ Yes, there it was, the sound that haunted my dreams: the dull noise of impact and a horse screaming. ‘Dad was killed outright. Kelly… the vet came and…’ I swallowed again. ‘It was my fault. If we hadn’t swapped horses, Dad would still be here. It was my fault. If I’d just been a better rider it wouldn’t have happened. And my mother made sure I knew that. We lost the yard. Mum couldn’t keep it going