Chapter 4 #2
As soon as I shut my eyes, images of Chris creep into my head.
I think on my stupidity, how much his betrayal stings, how hurtful it is to read comments from strangers all over the world calling me nasty names, wishing me nothing but ill will.
My heart starts racing, my breathing quickens with panic and I begin to feel just as suffocated by my foolishness as I did in London.
My eyes flash open and I push myself up, getting to my feet so quick, I get a headrush.
Swinging open my door, I head down the stairs and find Jasper behind the bar studying the menus, twiddling a pen in his fingers.
‘I think I’m going to go for a walk,’ I announce as he glances up at me.
‘Good idea. Clear your head and get some fresh air,’ he says with approval. ‘Although, I won’t be able to go with you right now.’
‘That’s fine,’ I say quickly. ‘I want to be on my own. Do some… thinking.’
‘You want some recommendations on where to go? The phone signal isn’t too good around here.’
‘I’ll follow a path and see where it takes me.’
‘You want to change first?’
I look down at my cropped white sweatshirt, green Lululemon leggings and brand new white and red trainers. ‘This isn’t okay to walk in?’
‘It is if you don’t mind it getting dirty,’ he says, seeming amused that he needs to explain. ‘There’s mud around these parts and you’re wearing a lot of bright white.’
‘It will be fine,’ I say dismissively as I head to the door. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘You sure you’re all right going on your own?’ he checks, unable to hide the concern laced in his voice.
I shoot him a look. ‘Jasper, I’m not a kid anymore, okay? You’re right, I don’t want him to make me feel like I have to hide away. Besides, I just got here. I want to explore. I won’t go too far and I promise I’ll be fine.’
‘All right, see you in a bit.’
I give him a parting wave before ducking out into the fresh air.
There’s a signpost for a public footpath through the woodland straight to my left that seems like a good place to start.
I march confidently towards it. Hearing the birdsong in the canopy of trees overhead and sheep bleating in the distance, I take some long, deep breaths as I go, already feeling lighter than I did in the city.
At least here I can walk outside without the fear of bumping into anyone.
Jasper was right about the dirt, though.
It must have rained here heavily recently as I find myself carefully picking my way around pools of squelchy mud and puddles, trying to keep my new shoes clean.
Having successfully made my way around the first few, I’m conned by a patch on the path covered in deeper mud than it looks.
‘Bollocks,’ I huff at the loud squelch beneath my step, lifting my foot and groaning at the mud covering my shoe and splattered all over the other.
From then, I might as well give up on being so careful and by the time the path merges onto an open field, my trainers are no longer bright white and my leggings are covered in mud splatter.
Wiping the sides of my trainers on the grass, I continue down the path that’s lined by a long wooden fence, looking out across the fields that stretch before me.
I come to a stop. The most beautiful horse is a few metres away.
Her chestnut-red coat is impossibly glossy, a white stripe blazing down her nose.
Her long, dark tail swishes as she paws the ground with her front right hoof, whinnying and loudly snorting.
She notices me, her ears pricking, her bright eyes fixed on me.
‘Hello,’ I say, moving to lean my arms on the fence so I can study her properly. ‘You’re a stunner, aren’t you?’
Beyond her, at the other end of the field, are a cluster of horses grazing.
‘How come you’re not with your friends? Have you been ostracized, too? I know something about that,’ I tell her.
She dips her head and snorts again. I smile appreciatively at her response.
Despite the clicking sound I make out the side of my mouth to tempt her over, she doesn’t move closer but she doesn’t stalk off either.
I stay standing near her for a short while, my chin resting on my hands leaning on the fence, soothed by her company.
Eventually, I concede it’s time to get back and climb up onto the bottom rail of the fence so I can reach my arm out towards her.
She lifts her head curiously. My fingertips brush against her neck, scratching her there.
She allows it before deciding that’s enough and lowers her head again to get back to grazing.
I like this horse. She’s not going to fawn over anyone.
Hopping off the fence, I follow it all the way down along the field until it narrows and comes out onto the road. Checking the Maps app on my phone, I work out I have two options: either go back the way I came, or follow the road to the pub. The latter is the quicker option.
It’s a quiet country road and it doesn’t have a pavement, but there is a grassy verge, so I stick to that, my spirits lifted by my new equine friend.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear the car roaring down the road until it’s right in front of me.
I gasp, stumbling back as the green convertible vintage sports car speeds past me, its top down.
The dark-haired, stubbled-jaw driver shows no sign of slowing, even though I know he’s seen me, and I can hear the laughter of his passenger, a blonde, angular-faced woman in large, red-framed sunglasses, carry back to me on the wind as they hurtle past.
‘Slow down!’ I yell after them, adding a mutter of, ‘Prick’, for good measure.
I’m still fuming about the driver’s idiotic, dangerous arrogance when I get back to the pub, walking in to find Jasper carrying a crate of glasses that he’s placing on the bar.
‘Good walk?’ he asks, brightening at the sight of me.
‘I saw some horses and it was all very peaceful until some dickhead came along, speeding around the narrow lanes in his sports car.’
Jasper doesn’t look surprised. ‘What was the car?’
‘A racing-green sports car. Looked retro.’
‘Ah. Sounds like Mateo,’ he tells me. ‘He’s back from the US Open. He may have been driving angrily because his team just lost.’
‘He didn’t seem angry. He had a beautiful blonde passenger giggling next to him.’
Jasper gives a knowing smile. ‘I heard he met a model in Miami who was… uh… a big fan, let’s say.’
‘A fan?’
‘Mateo Pérez is a professional polo player. He’s on the Maycourt team. The horses you saw probably belonged to his patron, Lady Maycourt. Her estate is nearby.’
‘He plays polo?’ I say, deeply unimpressed as I pick up the wine menu. ‘Figures.’