Kiss and Tell by Fiona Walker Page A

question her definition of stunning.
    But predictably Rory – an out-and-out boob man – was delighted by the description. ‘Damn! I wish I was coming now.’
    The colour drained from Faith’s face as she held on to the wall beside her to stop herself swaying.
    ‘You what?’
    ‘I wish I was coming. I’ll be at the Scottish Championships.Typical of my best bloody owner to demand that I compete at the opposite end of the country that weekend.’
    ‘But I’m your best owner,’ she bleated desperately, trying to sound jokey but in fact sounding as though she had just seen Bambi’s mother die, ‘and I demand that you come to my party – or I’ll take Rio back.’
    ‘Don’t joke, he’s my only sound advanced horse,’ Rory groaned, not picking up on the desperation in her voice. ‘I have high hopes for him at Bloneigh Castle.’
    ‘You’re taking Rio to Scotland on my birthday?’ She was practically sobbing at the injustice of it all.
    ‘Dillon called me the day entries closed and insisted on Snake Charmer being fielded at the championships – some idea Nell’s got into her head, I should think. But as you know, the horse has gone hopping lame this week. The organisers have been great and are letting me swap around and take Rio into the three-star now. And Dillon is still covering all the costs because we can take his intermediates to make up numbers.’
    Rory now competed several horses for Dillon, but lameness and injury had plagued these expensive investments during their time with Rory, and Faith derived little pleasure from the fact that her own stallion was out-performing the rest, particularly if that meant he was going to Scotland without her.
    ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’ she demanded now, furious that Dillon – and Nell – were unwittingly wrecking her love life.
    ‘I’m sure I mentioned it,’ he said, knowing that he hadn’t. Like most event riders, Rory developed tunnel vision when it came to planning his competition calendar, the desire to field his horses to their best advantage superseding family, friends and, at times, even the owner’s wishes. ‘Bloneigh is a seriously good track to get Rio’s four-star qualification. If he does well we might think about Badminton next year.’ He was dangling a huge carrot in front of Faith’s nose, but she was too upset by his desertion to care.
    ‘But … but … you’ll miss my party.’
    ‘And the busty Essex babes, I know,’ he sighed regretfully. ‘Still, you should be pleased that Rio’s going.’ Accustomed to following his competitive progress like an acolyte and hanging on his every word, he now launched into a long, rambling monologue outlining his strategy for the coming seasons, completely unaware that, at theother end of the line, she was incredibly upset. ‘… and if all goes well there, I’ll get short-listed for Aachen.’ He had always dreamed of being on the British team
    Faith closed her eyes, thinking of her birthday without him – the star guest, the only reason for going ahead with this hellish, man-free unwanted party. Rare tears slid through her lashes.
    ‘… if you’d told me a year ago that I might stand a chance of getting a Union Jack on my hat silk or be in a position to chase the Rolex Grand Slam, I’d have died laughing …’
    ‘Bully for you,’ Faith muttered, hanging up because she was starting to cry and didn’t want him to realise. She was now more determined than ever to wow him with her all-new body, even if it took a year to overhaul.
    Mopping her face and splashing it with cold water, she thundered downstairs to the vast Wyck Farm kitchen, where Anke was ladling homemade vichyssoise into a thermos to take around to her father, who was in a care home in nearby Lower Oddford, and complained endlessly about the food.
    ‘I will go to work for Kurt after all.’
    ‘Of course.’ Anke, who had an iron will, had never doubted it. ‘And will you be taking Rio?’ She disapproved enormously of