Chapter Three
Following the excitement of Hero’s birth and happy he was doing well after a first feed, Harriet and Isla decided to join Cassie for her walk to Dorothy’s so the ponies could have some peace.
Gil headed into the practice, and she wasn’t expecting Raf to return after he and Allegra had left the lunch.
He decided to join the walk, so Rory opted to come too, the girls still enthusing about the foal when the five of them set off.
A flicker of sorrow pricked at her burgeoning happiness as they strolled, reminding her that Ewan would never be a part of Hartfell as she and the children were.
And with his parents’ imminent move from Galloway, so much of the life she had known with him would vanish.
Was this progress, she mused, forging a new life and experiencing new places without him?
She supposed they had no choice. However bereft she still felt at times, it was her children’s loss that pierced her most. But right now Rory was laughing at something Isla had said, a welcome break in their usual squabbles.
‘I didn’t think you’d want to come with us,’ Cassie said to Raf idly.
In a retro band T-shirt and a pair of jeans ripped across one knee, her stomach somersaulted unhelpfully when his eyes caught hers.
She was determined to keep conversation casual and not stray towards questioning him about Allegra, or the house he had viewed.
‘I’m not that scared of Dorothy.’ He grinned as Harriet dropped back and tucked her arm through his. ‘So this is nice. Am I still your favourite uncle?’
‘Yeah, but don’t tell Freddie.’ Harriet bumped into him on purpose. Jonny’s youngest son Freddie was only four years older than Harriet, and they were more like cousins than uncle and niece.
‘So wait until you see Dorothy’s horse, Raf. He’s huge.’ She’d dropped the ‘uncle’ a while ago. ‘But he’s so sweet, and he really looks after her. She’s teaching me how to drive the trap.’
‘Oh?’ Raf raised a brow. ‘And does your mother know?’
‘Yeah, she’s cool with it.’ Harriet freed herself from him, and Cassie took the opportunity to slide an arm across her shoulders and tug her close, thankful her goddaughter still indulged such motherly gestures.
‘I think you’ve had another growth spurt, my darling. You left me behind about three inches ago. So what’s he called, this horse?’
‘Bob the Cob. He’s crossed with an Irish Draught, which is why he’s so big.
I’d love to have taken him, but Mum said we’ve got enough for now, with the foal and the kittens, plus everything else.
’ Harriet rolled her eyes and Cassie laughed.
‘Gil said it really is like living at work now. He’s taught me how to inject Posy with her meds so he doesn’t have to do it. ’
‘I’m sure that’s a relief all round.’ Cassie had seen Posy’s animosity towards Gil when his back was turned one day, and she’d given him a sharp nip on his thigh.
A couple of cyclists whizzed by, hands raised in greeting.
Rory stared after them, before falling back to talk with Raf.
Cassie was content to walk with the girls and listen to their chat.
Eventually they turned onto a rough track and Harriet opened a sturdy five-barred wooden gate fastened with orange baling twine.
As they approached the old house, set in the centre of a pair of stone barns, a pack of dogs was already rushing to greet them, and the teenagers hurried on to say hello as Cassie hung back.
‘Cass?’
She jumped at Raf’s hand on her arm and that urgent tone. ‘What?’
‘We need to talk,’ he said quietly, dropping the words so close to her ear that she felt his breath skimming her skin. ‘Please.’
‘We don’t. Everything’s fine.’
A small rough-coated terrier growled, and Harriet fondly told it to shut up.
She took hold of his collar just in case as a three-legged lurcher, a black-and-white collie stiff with age and a sleek red setter wagged their tails and nosed greedily in pockets for treats.
Isla had come prepared, and she shared some with Rory so he could feed the dogs too.
He’d spent less time at Dorothy’s than her, and Cassie noticed his caution around the terrier as he gently stroked the setter leaning against his legs.
Harriet loosened the terrier, and he scampered away as Dorothy emerged from a barn, a black-and-white baby goat wedged securely under each arm. The nanny was trotting at her heels, bleating softly, and Isla abandoned the dogs to rush across with Harriet and exclaim over the kids’ cuteness.
Glasses held together with tape rested halfway down Dorothy’s nose, and grey hair spilled from a loose bun on the top of her head, a screwdriver stuck through it.
The stiff waxed coat she wore all year round was open as a concession to spring, instead of tied around her middle with twine, her usual pair of men’s suit trousers and an unravelling woollen jumper visible beneath it.
She peered down her nose at Raf, gaze level with his.
Many people would be thrilled to have a rock star drummer dropping in for a visit, but Dorothy was famed for her disdain towards men.
The only ones she respected were vets, feed merchants and farmers.
Cassie realised it was perhaps one of the attractions of Hartfell for Raf, that not everyone knew or cared about his history.
‘I take it you’ve come to see m’cob?’ The dogs were swarming around Dorothy’s legs, and the smile she gave Isla was kind. ‘Thought we could take him out in the trap if you want?’
‘I’d love that. Thank you.’ Isla beamed back, and Cassie appreciated the flash of excitement in her daughter’s face. ‘That’s okay, Mum, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is.’ Cassie didn’t fancy her chances of saying no if Dorothy had made up her mind, and she did have years of experience even if it was ages ago. ‘Just be careful, okay? Wear your hard hat.’
‘I will.’ Isla had brought her riding hat just in case and she rushed ahead with Harriet and the dogs.
Dorothy led the nanny to a small paddock and opened the gate, calmly ushering it in and putting the kids down.
They took a couple of hesitant steps before scurrying back to their mother’s side, and she bleated softly as she nudged them.
Both kids nosed beneath her and began to drink, and Dorothy closed the gate with a grunt of satisfaction.
‘Right, this way. Chap’s in the barn, brought him in off the grass a couple of hours ago. Can’t have him blowing up or getting laminitis.’ She set off towards the furthest barn, the girls already out of sight as Cassie, Raf and Rory followed more slowly.
Cassie glanced at Rory, wishing she could give him a shot of Isla’s confidence and smooth away his anxiety.
Both her children missed their dad immeasurably, but it was Rory that had been closest to Ewan.
A rush of gratitude for Raf followed. She must make every effort to rebuild and maintain their friendship for Rory’s sake, if not her own.
Perhaps she ought to have listened to what he had been going to say.
Inside the cool shade of a barn divided into stables by wooden bars, at first Cassie thought she was seeing two horses, not one.
But then she realised the smaller of the two was actually a very large dog.
Harriet and Isla were already stroking the stocky dapple-grey horse next door.
Rory went to the dog, which Cassie recognised as an Irish wolfhound.
Even though they were familiar with her parents-in-law’s two Labradors, she clutched at his arm when the dog placed both front paws on a wooden bar and stood on his back legs, taller now than Raf.
‘Be careful,’ she warned quietly as Rory stroked the dog’s head, its tail wagging happily. ‘He might seem friendly, but there’s probably a good reason why he’s not running loose with the others.’
‘Can’t let him out, that’s why. He’s a sighthound and he might take off after something.’ Dorothy slid back the bolt on the door and went in to the dog, who got down. ‘But he’s a friendly chap, aren’t you, laddy? Only been here a few days. Never had a wolfhound before.’
Cassie swiftly decided that Dorothy must have the hearing of a bat.
She released Rory’s arm as he followed Dorothy into the stable.
A huge cosy bed sat on straw in one corner, and he bent to ruffle the dark grey coat.
She longed to join him but didn’t want to crowd the dog, who might feel upset or threatened by too many new people all at once.
‘What’s his name?’ Rory looked at Dorothy, who was holding the dog’s collar and muttering soothing words. Cassie had a sudden image of the dog taking off and Dorothy being towed along behind, like a cape flapping in the wind.
‘Flynn. Came from someone who had to go into care and the family didn’t want to know. Lovely old chap, bred wolfhounds for years, so he knew what he was doing. He’d kept this one from his last litter and didn’t want to part with him. Had no choice in the end.’
‘That’s so sad,’ Cassie murmured. It wasn’t difficult to picture a life drastically changed by illness, and giving up a member of the family must have been an impossible choice.
But she mustn’t be swayed by the joy in Rory’s face as he grinned at Raf, or the friendliness in Flynn’s eyes and the way he nudged Rory’s hand to continue stroking whenever it stopped moving.
‘Hoping to rehome him eventually, but not everyone’s capable of taking on a dog like this.
They’re not straightforward, given their size.
’ Dorothy indicated that Cassie could enter too, and Rory stepped aside so she could stroke Flynn, his coat shaggy and wiry beneath her fingers.
‘Cost quite a bit too, with food and vets and whatnot.’