Then more cracks appeared. It just wasn’t happening. Month after month saw Christie on the verge of tears as the blue line on the pregnancy testing kits refused to play ball. Why? What was happening, or not happening? It further saddened her when Stephen feared it could be his fault, as though his manhood was in question. Well, a rugby player being labelled a “jaffa” was hardly what one envisaged, was it? So much so, that he made Christie promise not to tell a soul. The party line was they weren’t trying. They didn’t want children just yet – that was the patter she’d have to rattle out if anyone asked. Even though, deep down, having a baby became the only thing Christie did want. So badly it graduated into an obsession.
After another year of relentlessly hoping to start a family, Christie noticed another change in Stephen. He wasn’t going out on drunken nights anymore, but was putting in prolonged working days, which was a first considering how much he’d hated his job. Then the odd weekend involving a conference, or training course would crop up, which he simply couldn’t miss.
Once, she found an earring under the car seat, which most definitely wasn’t hers. When she challenged Stephen, he declared no knowledge of it. But he never was a good liar, blushing pink and scraping his hand through his hair. Christie knew. Then it suddenly stopped. It was as if the old Stephen – the one she’d first met – had reappeared. The man she’d fallen in love with a few years ago had come back. He seemed more relaxed, happy to be with her, and together they built bridges again. Deciding they’d saved enough money now for a decent deposit for their hotel, the search was on.
It hadn’t taken long to spot The Templar in the glorious Cotswolds. After making the trip to see it for themselves and being shown around the quaint country inn, they didn’t hesitate to put in an offer. When it was accepted, they were overjoyed. Anxious to make the move and get started with their new, exciting life, Christie and Stephen pushed for a speedy sale. Luckily the landlord was very accommodating and the transaction was soon completed.
Then Stephen dropped a bombshell. It was their last night in Chester. Christie had booked a table at Benedict’s to celebrate. Stephen was joining her there straight from work. As it was his last day at Abbott and Reedley’s, she was expecting him to be in extra high spirits. Instead she took in his grim expression, the dark bags under his eyes, his pale skin, slow walk, and a sense of foreboding filled her. He hardly looked at the menu before ordering a large whiskey. Christie frowned. This was unlike him, who usually enjoyed a glass of wine with his meal.
She looked him in the eye. ‘What’s the matter?’
Stephen knocked back his whiskey, gulped, then spoke. ‘I can’t do it, Christie.’ There was a pregnant pause before he continued, ‘I’m going to be a dad.’ The statement rang in her ears. As though being punched in the stomach, Christie doubled over in pain. ‘I’m sorry, Christie… I’m so sorry.’
‘Who is it?’ she demanded. Anger started to replace shock. She glared at him. He dipped his gaze, unable to make eye contact.
‘Sophie from the office.’
‘Sophie? The one you introduced me to at the Christmas party?’ She pictured a young girl with long, blonde hair and an enormous chest. Typical. How cliché, thought Christie with venom. Stephen dully nodded his head. ‘So it was her earring then?’ she spat. ‘Obviously been going on for months.’
‘I ended it, honestly. But now… she told me she’s pregnant…’
‘And obviously it’s yours?’ Christie threw out sarcastically. ‘But of course, that’s what you want to believe, isn’t it?’ Her voice rose hysterically, causing the other diners to glance over. ‘So, not seedless after all?’
‘Christie, please,’ Stephen hissed.
Christie knew when she was beaten. Sophie was clearly able to give him the very thing she couldn’t: a child. The injustice of it all made her want to vomit.
‘Listen, Christie, this doesn’t change things for you,’ Stephen urged.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. ‘How can you say that?’ she whispered faintly.
‘Go for it. I mean it. The Templar, your hotel, take it. I don’t care about the money.’ He spoke firmly.
Christie looked at him and realised he intended to give her everything to alleviate his guilt. Well, let him. She looked him firmly in the eye. ‘I’d like that in writing.’
‘Of course, yes I’ll… get a contract drawn up.’ He seemed desperate to appease her. Yes, she would go and follow her dream and if he was prepared to say goodbye to her and his share, then so be it.
4
Flora glided through the air with ease, then gently landed the horse. Phoenix’s balance was almost perfect, she reflected with glee. All the long, strenuous days they’d worked tirelessly together had certainly paid off. Flora had known right from the start that he had real potential. The trouble was that he’d been trained in the wrong direction, as a flat racehorse, rather than a jump horse. Having convinced her boyfriend, Dylan Delany, the ex-champion jockey, to keep him at his training yard, Flora had more than proved her point.
Dylan had been dubious initially about taking on the horse, mainly due to its history. Poor Phoenix had been flogged over many a finishing post, trailing in last. His then owner, a ruthless, heartless man called Graham Roper, had lost all patience with him and demanded Dylan do something with his horse to improve his form. In the end, after witnessing how Flora had bonded so well with Phoenix, he had arranged for himself and a neighbouring friend, Gary Belcher, to buy the horse.
Dylan had boxed clever though, never revealing Phoenix’s potential as a first-class jump horse. He just told Roper that his horse would never win a flat race. Which he wouldn’t. The fact that Phoenix jumped like a dream and he and Gary had formed a partnership with the intention to hurdle race him remained silent. It wasn’t just a good business deal for Dylan; he adored Flora and would do anything to keep her happy. Actually, he’d do anything to keep her, which at times had proved difficult, for Dylan had had quite a chequered past. His dark, gypsy looks and deep, blue eyes, not to mention his very toned body, made him appealing to most women. Up until meeting Flora, who he’d encountered in the Treweham Hall stables, Dylan had taken full advantage of all the attention that came his way. He had been the Romeo of the racing circuit, weaving his way in and out of relationships, but never fully committing.
Then he met Flora, who had been employed by his close friend, Tobias Cavendish-Blake, as a groom in his stables. Dylan had been smitten by this young, fresh-faced girl with wavy blonde hair and a kind, caring temperament. Most of all he’d sensed a real connection, their love of horses. He’d never felt this with another human being, let alone a girlfriend.
When Dylan had decided to retire as a jockey and set up his own racehorse training yard, he had had no hesitation in asking Flora to be his assistant trainer. It was a no-brainer. Who else could he trust to do the job better? No one, and the fact she made his pulse race with her curvaceous body in jodhpurs was purely coincidental. Dylan and Flora genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. Not only being girlfriend and boyfriend, but best friends too, meant that both living and working together wasn’t a problem. Although Dylan was ten years older, Flora having recently celebrated her twenty-first birthday, the age gap hadn’t mattered. If anything, Flora had often given wise counselling regarding the running of the yard and Dylan had valued her input; and, she’d been absolutely right about Phoenix. All the staff in the yard agreed, he was going to be a star.