Trying Not To Love You - Part Three

Part Three

Martha was still in shock, she’d pulled the huge vehicle past the farmhouse and into the yard with relief. Never more glad to park a vehicle. The trauma of the hospital visit, actually seeing her father was compounded by the physical challenge of actually driving the least responsive vehicle in the world home. The last thing she expected was to see the door at the far end of the coach house open, and then for him to step out, the man she’d seen in the pub the previous night. For a moment she tried to fathom why he was in her home, and as the penny dropped that this was the lodger Aunt Lucy was talking about, he was followed out into the morning sun by the same disruptive blonde he was with the previous night. She looked terrible, her hair a mess, her heels ridiculous on the cobbles of the yard, and her dress making the walk of shame complete. Then like the previous night she wrapped herself around him and proceeded to eat his face.

He stood there, accepting her ardour, much as he had the previous night, talking but not reciprocating, and it was ugly, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away, and when they moved slightly, she met those eyes again, over the blonde’s shoulder. And she almost stumbled.

She didn’t know what had stunned her the most, the fact that THAT man was the infamous lodger, that he had taken that girl home to her father’s farm, or that he had waved at her so arrogantly as she got out of the vehicle. Not that she had much time to think about him, the nameless man; she had to get to grips with things before she went back to the hospital. There was a time and place to deal with all that.

The restaurant office was chaos, though there was a computer there, it didn’t seem to have much on it. She did find a huge file of bills, invoices and hand written accounts and the phone numbers for her father’s accountant and lawyer, so she spent most of the morning up to her eyes in figures, dates and orders, a phone wrapped around her head.

                “So glad...” it was a slur, but Martha knew what her father meant, he was pleased that she’d come home, and the fact that he was talking to her, well that was so special. She tried to blink away the tears, but when one escaped and coursed down her cheek he moaned sorrowfully.

She reached out and stroked his hair, “I love you Dad.” Carl Mansell’s eyes glittered at that, but a reply was clearly too much for him, so she carried on, “I’m on the case with the restaurant.” She explained all that had happened that day. “I’ll keep everything going, but you keep thinking if there’s anything I need to know, ok? I found your journals, so I’ve got some records, though I’m still trying to work things out. The horses I’m struggling with...way out of the comfort zone of a shop manager. Fortunately I’m good with the numbers.”

Her father’s eyes widened, but she merely patted his hand, “I’ll sort it. Don’t worry, just get well. Okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes.

                “You tired?”

He nodded again, eyes still closed.

                “Ok, I’ll leave you for now; I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll call tonight, see if you need anything, the nurses can let me know,” she added quickly.

She drove home through a veil of tears, could things get any worse?

As Martha pulled into the lane that led to the farm she spotted one of her father’s prize mares loose in her path.

                “Shit!” She screeched to a halt, or rather as much as a half tonne chunk of junk could screech. “What the fuck?”

Jumping out of the vehicle, she moved slowly towards the nervous animal. She had no way of restraining her, and no way of leading it, so she had to rely on her tact! As she backed the animal towards the yard, she glanced alongside the building to the damaged fence on one side of the paddock. The empty paddock.

                “Jesus Christ!” She shouted to no one in particular. “Can anything else happen today? Please?”

There were five horses, fortunately the stallion was stabled. She’d found that out earlier. So, she only had three mares and two foals to catch. Easy, hey?  Not in skinny jeans and ridiculous heeled boots, and three inches of mud.

Sonny Carter had had another shit day, he wasn’t getting the information he needed and he was being made to do ridiculous things supposedly for that very opportunity. He’d come back to the coach house earlier in the day, glad to be incognito for a while, he survived on very little sleep, so the lack of it the previous night wasn’t an issue, no, it was the fact that he was having the piss taken out of him, that was what was winding him up. As it had the previous day. Clarity and serenity, that was what he needed, and the four walls, the cold room, they were as good as it got.

Opening the cupboard that sat beside his bed, he pulled out a bottle, vodka, all he could find, but one of his drinks of choice. He had one glass, a crystal one given to him by his mother when he was a kid, and that was what he used to tip two inches of the clear spirit into. Taking a long slug he felt the tension ease slightly, but not enough.

He’d been working for Marcus Thomas for months, the man was a household name in certain decidedly dodgy circles and in certain parts of the country, but here he wasn’t known so well. But the man had placed him there deliberately to sabotage, observe and possibly incriminate Scott Oldbury with every gesture, but obviously without the man realising. In exchange he was expecting information, about who set him up, who made him do time. And that was where this relationship was becoming one sided. Thomas was playing him, and he should walk, but if he did, then he would definitely be none the wiser, and all these months would be wasted. And he hated Oldbury, being part of his downfall was like an aphrodisiac.  So he knew he’d carry on, eager for every drip of information.

Shaking his head he tried to clear the fog of the past, he could head to town, the Oak would be busy, or further afield, he’d been around these parts long enough to make a few acquaintances. He didn’t do friends, hadn’t since he’d been taken into care when his mother died, he’d been just eight. He’d learned the hard way that you didn’t trust anyone, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a drink with one of his fellow snooker players, or the guys who invited him to play poker every once in a while. Or there were the ladies, he’d become acquainted with several over the last few months.  Most were more than keen for a repeat performance.

                “JESUS CHRIST!” The words echoed in through the window and he looked up.

Sonny knew he’d recognise that voice anywhere, even though he’d never actually spoken to her he knew it was Carl’s daughter.

Walking across the room he pulled open the curtains and could barely contain his laughter. Looking down into the yard below he could see Miss Holier-than-thou, in ridiculous boots and the most obscenely tight jeans trying to wrestle a horse, and fail. Looking past her he grimaced at the damaged fence, it was happening again. Poor Carl.

He could help her, not that he was an animal person, as he said that Tinker the half wild cat who insisted on sharing his bedroom looked up at him with a conspiratorial purr, giving the animal a scratch, he surveyed the scene, no he could help, but then he could also sit and watch. And that could be fun.

Martha soon realised it wasn’t catching the horses that was the problem, a trip to the feed room meant she could tempt them with food, and she could guide them back to the field, it was the damaged fence that was the problem, every time she got them in there, turned to work out how to fix things, one would escape again. She was hot, bothered and increasingly angry and the frustration was all set to cause her head to blow off when she moved and the heel of one boot caught within the cobbles and broke with a very audible snap.

                “Will you guys give me a break?” She stared into the eyes of the biggest of the horses with a groan, “please?”

She was covered in mud, she wouldn’t mind but she’d only brought a small bag with her, she hardly had anything else to wear. She hadn’t really been thinking when she’d left the previous day that was for sure. The dogs weren’t making things any easier yapping every time the horses strayed.

Prior to the boot breaking her heels had sunk into the mud, and the standoff with the mare wasn’t going as she planned. Sideways glances around her revealed nothing, nothing that would patch up the gaping hole in the fence. There was a roll of chain link wire in the coach house she knew that, but if she left to get it, then they’d escape again and she’d be back to square one.

                “Portia, Tessa,” she called the two dogs to her feet. “Can you please help me out here?” Tessa looked at her, head cocked to one side, and Martha shook her head, “I’ve been back less than twenty four hours and I’m already talking to animals! You guys are killing me.”

                “And there was me thinking you were a regular Dr Doolittle.”

The voice caused her to freeze, the situation was bad enough, but to be witnessed by someone was worse, to be witnessed by who she presumed was stood behind her was akin to hell.

Turning slowly she took in the man stood in front of her, she remembered the eyes from the previous night, they’d seen through her, but now she had a moment to take in the rest of him. He was tall and slim, but with broad shoulders, and he was wearing a long sleeve grey t-shirt that clung to him, and dark jeans, no more appropriate for the situation than her own attire. Her eyes rose up to his face, and there it was, that arrogant grin, the look that he’d gifted on her this morning. A look of confidence, he was used to women, used to attention, but she wasn’t one of his catches, wasn’t someone who was going to flutter her eyelashes at him. She ignored his eyes, the searching gaze; instead she focussed on his cocky smile.

                “Lowered yourself to help then? Least you could do really!”

He was holding the roll of fencing, he’d obviously had the same thoughts as her, and as much as she wanted to snatch it away from him, push him and his help away, she had to change into her farm boots, so she stormed past him, nose in the air, ignoring the lopsided gait that her broken heel caused.

                “Least I could do?” She could hear him musing over her words behind her, “you think that?”

It took seconds to change boots, then she grabbed the chain link and attacked the job in hand. She’s started to unroll the fencing, trying to work out how best to repair things before she answered. “I don’t have an opinion on you. I hear that my father likes you, that you’re staying here.” She turned to glare at him, “THAT is all I know.”

He nodded knowingly, “he’s a good man, your father, and I’d do anything for him, including helping you when you’re being rude. He’s a true gent, though seems he’s alone in that around these parts.”

She looked back at the job in hand, only offering a mumble of, “you got that right.”

Sonny knew he could take that however he wanted, it was meant as a swipe at him wasn’t it? Or was it something more? This woman had been away years and judging by last night’s performance and the reaction in the pub, something had precipitated that, and a lot of people still hadn’t forgotten. That both intrigued, and pleased him, she wasn’t perfect, no one was.

                “Out the way, I’ll fix that.” He’d brought wire cutters, nails and a hammer out with the roll, he fully intended to repair the gap, he’d watched her struggle for long enough.

Shaking her head she snatched at the tools, “I’ve got it. Thanks for the polite and timely offer though!”

Her sarcasm made him smile, she was right he had enjoyed her struggle, but was now a little pissed off that she wouldn’t take the help he’d offered. So he refused to hand her the tools for a moment, “I said I got it!”

He tutted and rolled his eyes, “knew you’d be one of those!”

Then he stormed off.