Outsider (2 page)

She showered swiftly, then dressed in a simple navy shirtwaister—a

compromise, she thought as she tugged a comb through her tangle of copper

hair, between the ultra-feminine clothes Grantham preferred her to wear,

and the businesslike exterior she wished to present. She toyed with the idea

of putting her hair up, but decided that would be carrying the new efficient

image too far.

Excitement always made her pale, so she added a judicious amount of

blusher to her cheeks, and a modicum of shadow to emphasise the lustre of

her green eyes under their sweep of dark lashes. *

Daddy's pretty little daughter, she thought with irony as she surveyed the

results of her labours. Only not a cipher any more, but a force to be reckoned

with.

She heard the sound of a car on the drive, and flew to the window. It was the

hired vehicle Grantham had insisted on, having explosively turned down his

wife and daughter's offers to drive him home themselves.

'Women drivers!' he'd snorted. 'I'm not in line for another heart attack, thank

you!'

'Chauvinist,' Beattie had teased, squeezing his hand with love, but Natalie

found her own smile rather fixed.

Now she hung back a little, waiting for her father and his wife to enjoy their

reunion in a certain amount of privacy. Or was that an excuse, because the

thought of facing Grantham on his own ground was suddenly a daunting

one?

Natalie squared her shoulders and went downstairs.

Grantham was ensconced in his favourite chair in the drawing room. He was

a big man still, although he had lost weight since his illness. Here and there

in his thick grey thatch of hair, a few streaks of copper like Natalie's own

still lingered. He had a strong face which could look harsh, but was now

relaxed in the pleasure of seeing his home, and his wife again. His smile

widened for Natalie.

'Well, my girl?'

'Very well, thanks.' She stooped and kissed him. 'And you look fine

yourself.'

He gave her a derisive look. 'A dramatic improvement on last night, eh?'

'A dramatic improvement every day from now on,' she told him steadily. 'As

long...'

'As long as I do what the doctor tells me,' he finished for her, his tone quite

amiable. 'Well, I intend to, lass, I intend to. I've had a shock, and I don't mind

admitting it. I didn't think it would happen to me. So there'll have to be some

changes.' He gave her an enigmatic look. 'And they'll involve you.'

Natalie's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her voice level. No girlish

excitement, she told herself fiercely, and no grovelling gratitude either. I've

worked for this moment, and I've deserved it. 'I thought perhaps we might

talk after lunch,' she said.

'I can say what I've got to say now.' He paused. 'I suppose Beattie told you

I've asked Andrew to lunch.'

'Yes, she did.' Natalie ruffled his hair. 'Bit of a dirty trick, landing her with

last-minute guests.'

'She can manage,' said Grantham calmly. 'And I wanted to get things

settled—put on a proper footing without delay. Owners are queer folk. They

don't like uncertainty.'

Don't I know it! Natalie said silently. The hours I've spent on the phone

reassuring a whole list of them that it's business as usual,, and that there's no

need to take their horses away so close to the start of the jumping season.

Aloud, she said, 'There haven't been any real problems.'

'I should think not,' he said with a touch of his old asperity. 'They know

when they're well off, most of them. I train winners in this yard, not

also-bloody-rans.' He glanced at his watch. 'Where's Andrew? I told him to

be here by twelve. It's these damned motorways—they're always digging

them up.'

Natalie's brows shot up. 'But Andrew doesn't have to use the motorway,' she

pointed out mildly. 'He's coming from Harrogate.'

'I know he is. It's t'other one, driving up from Lam- bourn. Andrew's

bringing him here.' Grantham's tone was short.

'From Lambourn?' echoed Natalie, frowning. 'Who in the world's coming all

that distance?'

'Eliot Lang.'

'Good God,' Natalie said slowly. 'The playboy of National Hunt racing, no

less! And why is he venturing this far north?' Her eyes widened. 'Is he going

to ride for us?'

Grantham snorted. 'Of course not. He's retired. It was all over the papers two

months since.'

She remembered now. It had caused quite a sensation—one of the country's

top steeplechase riders and a former champion jockey retiring in his early

thirties. She'd absorbed the information and then discarded it as having no

significance to her.

Now, suddenly, she wasn't so sure.

She said, 'Then what is he coming for?'

'He's coming because I've asked him to,' said her father. 'It isn't a decision

I've made lightly. If I were still on my own in life, I'd probably have said

hang the doctors, and carried on as usual. But there's Beattie to think of

now.' His face softened. 'We've only been married two years, and I don't

reckon on making her a widow quite yet, so I'm going to behave myself, and

take the advice I've been given as if I was grateful for it—which I'm not.

These are my stables, and I built them up from what your grandfather left,

and I'd no thought to share them with anyone except my own kith and kin.

But with Tony gone, and no grandchild to think of, I had to reconsider. And

they tell me I need a partner to take the weight of this place off my

shoulders.'

Natalie knew what was coming, and was terrified by it. She said urgently,

'Dad, I could...'

'That you couldn't.' One brief phrase smashed her dreams to smithereens.

'You know my views, and they haven't changed. I need a man—someone

who knows jump racing, and can stand shoulder to shoulder with me. Lang's

never ridden for me, but I've always respected him, even if he did get his

name into the gossip columns more than I care for. Well, a lad must sow his

wild oats, I suppose. Anyway, the papers said he was thinking of going into

training, so I got Andrew to contact him, and we've agreed terms. He's

buying a half share in Wintersgarth.'

She felt numb. There was a fold of her dress between her fingers, and she

was pleating and unpleating it endlessly as she tried to assimilate what he

had been saying.

The weeks of struggle, of trying to prove herself, had all been in vain. While

she'd been working her guts out through all the hours God sent to keep

Wintersgarth together, Grantham had been making his own plans. Plans

which totally excluded her, she realised.

She ran the tip of her tongue round dry lips. 'And what's going to happen to

me?'

Her father looked at her as if the question surprised him. 'Well, you'll do

your normal job, same as always. He's quite amenable to that.'

She said thickly, 'How good—how very good of him.'

'And you'll be provided for in the long term, naturally, if there's need.'If there

was need... Natalie's head reeled. All her life she'd been totally dependent on

her father. At school, she'd opted for a commercial course rather than pursue

an academic career so that she could work in the stables office. Because in

those days, naively, she'd thought that might be a foot in the door to better

things.

And marriage had changed nothing. She had met Tony shortly after her

father had employed him as stable jockey on a retainer, and the wedding had

taken place two months later, which meant there were two of them

dependent on Grantham Slater instead of one. Tony had been a more than

promising jockey, and he had enjoyed the fruits of his success, living for the

present. After he had been killed, she discovered he'd been living on

overdraft. She had paid it off, but the way the debts had been incurred still

rankled... She closed her mind abruptly, and focused on what was happening

here in this room, right now.

'I suppose I must be grateful for small mercies. At least I still have a roof

over my head.'

'There's no need to take that tone.' His voice was repressive. 'And don't tell

me you'd thoughts of filling my shoes here, because I know it already. And

you know my opinion on the subject. Or did you think a heart attack would

soften my brain as well? The stables are no place for you, Natalie. They

never were, and they never will be, so make your mind up to it. And keep off

the backs of my thoroughbreds,' he added. 'A time or two I phoned here to be

told you were out with one of the strings. That stops as of now, although I

won't deny you the exercise you need. Maybe old Jasmine's bit tame for you.

I'll find you a good hack...'

'No, thanks.' Natalie shook her head. 'Jasmine suits me very well.'

An hour ago, barely more, she had sat on that hill with the world at her feet.

Now, everything she had ever wanted had been snatched away from her and

given to a stranger, although that was surely a misnomer applied to Eliot

Lang. His career and lifestyle had been described so often in the newspapers

as to make them totally familiar.

Unlike Tony, who had been an apprentice, Eliot Lang had started his racing

career as an amateur. He'd enjoyed a meteoric success, which hadn't

prevented his wealthy family protesting volubly when he became a

professional. And he had been making headlines ever since. He'd spent

several seasons riding for Kevin Laid- law, and then had left in a blaze of

publicity and innuendo which said that Laidlaw had dismissed him because

he couldn't keep his hands off his wife. The Laidlaws had vehemently

denied the rumours, but Eliot Lang had said 'No comment' and gone to ride

for Duncan Sanders, who was divorced. At least from then on he'd seemed to

keep away from married women, perhaps because of the horsewhipping

Kevin Laidlaw was alleged to have threatened him with. But he had never

maintained a low profile. The good life was there, and he enjoyed it, in the

company of a succession of models and actresses, few of them

distinguishable from their predecessors. And at the same time, he took more

winners past the post than his rivals thought decent. His cottage in

Lambourn had been the subject of a colour spread in a Sunday supplement.

Her mouth curling in distaste, Natalie thought, He'll find Wintersgarth dull.

Aloud she asked, 'Does Beattie know what you intend?'

She was thankful when her father shook his head. If Beattie had known, and

not told her, that would have been another betrayal, and she felt bruised

enough.

She got to her feet. 'I'll go and see if we've got any of Andrew's favourite

sherry.'

'That's a good lass.'

That was what he approved of, she thought bitterly as she went out into the

hall—her ability to deal with small domestic details, to shelter him from

unwanted phone calls from querulous owners.

In the kitchen, Beattie was stirring a pan of soup on the Aga. She said over a

shoulder, 'Have a look at the dining-room, and tell me if it's all right.' Then

she saw Natalie's white face and blazing eyes, and her tone sharpened. 'Nat

darling, whatever's the matter?'

'Eliot Lang,' said Natalie. 'The man whose name you forgot.'

'Why, so it is.' Beattie shook her head. 'I knew it was something familiar.

He's some kind of jockey, isn't he?'

'He certainly was,' Natalie said grittily. 'Now he's going to be some kind of

trainer—here.'

Beattie's lips parted in a soundless gasp, then she turned back to her soup.

There was a prolonged silence, then she said, 'But where does that leave

you?'

'Back at square one, where I apparently belong. Only I now have two

bosses.'

Beattie said half to herself, 'He told me he had a surprise, but it never

occurred to me...' She stopped. 'Oh, my dear child, I'm so sorry! It's so

cruel—so unnecessary.'

'So unacceptable,' Natalie completed. 'If I'm going to be a dogsbody, I can

find another office somewhere— preferably as far from racing as possible.'

Beattie transferred her pan to the simmering plate. She said, 'You don't mean

that.'

'Oh, but I do,' Natalie said bitterly. 'I've had enough. I've tried my damnedest

for Dad, but I'm never going to measure up to the standard he

wants—because I don't even know what his criteria are, and I suspect he

doesn't either.'

'All the same,' said Beattie, 'you mustn't leave.'

'You think I'd stay and watch that—that racetrack Romeo help himself to my

inheritance?' Natalie asked fiercely. 'Over my dead body!'

Beattie said quietly, 'If you leave now, like this, it could be over Grantham's.'

She sat down beside Natalie at the kitchen table. 'We're not supposed to

expose him to any kind of upset—the doctor said so.'