Page 7 of Short Stack 3

Chapter Three

The van door opens, and I look up as Ivo stumbles out. He’s wearing pyjama shorts and a T-shirt, his skin golden and his blond hair tangled and wavy. There’s a pillow mark on his cheek, and his eyes are bleary.

“And a good morning to you,” I say cheerfully.

He stares. “What the hell?”

I grin at him. “Breakfast, sir.”

He stumbles to the table and slumps into the chair next to me. “Where? How?”

I pat the camping table on which is set a feast. “Coffee?” I say, passing him the cup.

He takes it, inhaling the smell with a moan of happiness. “Henry, how?”

I wink at him. “I called a taxi, went to the Chatsworth farm shop, and got us breakfast.” I pause. “And a picnic kit with cutlery and plates because Seb has obviously never eaten in the van either. He must fill his time with alcohol.”

“People in glass pubs shouldn’t throw stones.” I snort. “I love you,” he says fervently, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes closed in happiness.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“There’s some fresh croissants and jam here and yoghurt and homemade muesli too.”

“Made by you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He chuckles. “Eat something,” I instruct, handing the croissants to him. “We hardly ate yesterday and drank all afternoon. It was a bit silly. No wonder you had a bad dream. You had a stomach full of alcohol and were in a strange place.” I shudder when I think of that bed. “A very strange place.”

I still as he grabs my hand. “I love you,” he says, his eyes warm and a little wild. I look at him affectionately. We’ve come so far. A few years ago, he would have filled the air with apologies. Now, he knows with an ocean-deep certainty that they’re not needed.

“I love you too,” I say steadily, raising his hand to my mouth and dropping a kiss on his fingers. “Now eat, and then we can grab a shower with the rest of the campers and get over to the trials.”

An hour later, fed and showered, I follow Ivo through the gate. It’s still early, and the dew is fresh on the grass, the sun bright and warm. Ivo locks the gate behind us, hoisting his camera bag on his shoulder. He takes my hand, and we hit the path and start walking, with Bertie trotting along at the end of his lead. It’s not as aimless this morning, as Ivo is focused and ready for work. His face is set and concentrated, and his eyes are busy with thoughts as he focuses on the day.

“How long will you be with Ralph?” I ask.

“An hour for the posed photos. Vanity Fair has set up a separate motorhome for that, and then they want a couple of photos with Poppet.”

“Is that Ralph’s partner’s nickname?’

He smirks. “No, it’s his horse, but Poppet is infinitely more important to Ralph than his legions of women.”

“When does the event open?”

“At ten. We should have plenty of time. I sent on all the kit a few days ago, and Rowan is there setting up so we can go straight into it.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll follow Ralph, taking photos while he jumps.” He pats his bag, obviously considering his lens choices. Then he shoots me a look. “I’m sorry, but I never considered you might be bored, Hen.”

“Why would I be bored? I like watching you work.”

He relaxes a little. “Still, I’m all yours once I’ve got the event photos done.”

“You’re that anyway. Where are you meeting Ralph?”

“At the side gate. He slept here last night.”

I eye Ivo affectionately. I love to see him in work mode. There are two sides to the man I love. When he has a camera in hand, he’s different from the painter who is usually dreamy. As a photographer, he’s harder — more focused and incredibly sexy.

We come up to a side gate with a figure leaning against it who’s instantly recognisable.

Ralph is very handsome, with olive skin, a head of dark curls, and a mischievous expression. No wonder he has so many groupies.

He’s dressed in white jodhpurs tucked into brown boots but hasn’t donned the rest of his riding gear. His shirt is open to mid-chest, and he’s smoking a cigarette contemplatively. He looks up when he hears our footsteps, and his face lights up. He stubs out the cigarette, putting the end in his pocket and then rushing over to us.

“Ivo,” he says, hugging him. He pulls back, cupping Ivo’s face. “How are you? You look good.”

Ivo grins at him. It’s the grin his friends see, unguarded and wide. “I am fine.”

Ralph smiles and then looks beyond him towards me. “Is this Henry?”

Ivo’s smile widens. “This is my Henry. Come and meet him.”

Ralph lets Ivo go and grabs my hand, shaking it. His hand is callused and his grip firm. “It’s great to finally meet you. I think you were at a conference last time I was in London.”

His eyes are twinkly, and he has a raffish charm. I like him immediately. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Surely not as much as I’ve heard about you. Ivo invokes your name more than Max uses the word ‘fuck’.”

“Goodness. That much?”

He lets go and pats my shoulder. “Thanks for coming. It’ll probably be very boring.”

We walk through the gate and into a busy warren of motorhomes and caravans. Windows are open, letting out the sound of music playing. Men and women walk around half dressed in riding gear. Horseboxes are everywhere, and grooms are walking horses around in a field nearby. They’re huge up close with shiny coats and wild eyes — the horses, not the grooms.

“Do you ride, Henry?” Ralph asks.

“I can ride. I just don’t do it often now.”

“Henry has a very good seat,” Ivo adds rather lecherously.

Ralph sighs. “I’ll take your word for it, thank you very much.”

He leads the way towards a huge navy blue motorhome with Ralph’s name and logo printed on it. The door is open, letting out the smell of bacon cooking. He pokes his head inside and shouts, “Guy?”

A few minutes later, a man appears. He’s thin with a head full of chestnut waves. He’s wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and has a rather green expression.

“Alright?” the man says faintly and then gags. “Who the fuck put that bacon on?”

“Me.” A girl appears dressed in riding clothes. She’s beautiful with long waves of blonde hair that she’s pulling back into a bun with sure movements.

“Why?” the man groans. “Fuck. I don’t need that smell this morning.”

“Then don’t drink so much the night before.” She pats his cheek. “You look dreadful,” she adds in a rather motherly voice. “Like lost hopes and bad choices.”

He grins at her, his face lighting up. “It’s good that my outside echoes my inside. Will that make me Zen?”

“You’d only be Zen if you were dead.”

Ralph chuckles. “Come and meet Henry and Ivo.” He turns to us. “This is Isabel, who’s a fantastic rider and keeps us on our good behaviour.”

“I’m not sticking the latter on my CV. I’d be laughed out of the building,” she says morosely.

Ralph laughs. “And you probably recognise Guy.” I do. He’s a very famous rider and the face of one of the Durand colognes. “He’s one of my oldest friends.”

Isabel waves at us. “Sorry, I can’t stop and chat,” she says as she jumps down the steps of the motorhome. “I’ve got to go and relieve my groom, Sammy. He’s walking my horse, Pongo.”

Ralph groans. “Please do. He bit me this morning.”

She pauses. “Sammy or Pongo?”

“Take your pick. They’re both more temperamental than Jennifer Lopez.”

Guy hugs Ivo and then shakes my hand, his thin face full of a lively charm. “Lovely to meet you,” he says. He lights a cigarette with a shaking hand. “You can watch me fall off a horse more times than a stuntman.”

“And probably less gracefully,” Ralph adds. He looks at me. “We were with the sponsors last night, and they misguidedly put on a free bar. Guy is regretting all his choices this morning.”

Guy nods. “If I can do a clear round without throwing up, I might marry Isabel.”

“Surely life holds more for me than that,” she says, offering me a wink before walking away. She disappears around the side of a bright pink motorhome, and I turn back to the others.

Ivo shoulders his bag. “Ready?” he asks Ralph.

“Of course. Vanity Fair rented a motorhome for the day. All your gear is in there.”

I fall into step next to them, waving goodbye to Guy, who is now sitting in a camp chair, his face turned to the sun.

“How was Avignon?” Ivo asks Ralph.

“It was good. We did well. We were at a huge equestrian event there,” he says for my benefit, and I smile in acknowledgement.

We get to the shiny silver motorhome. The door is open, and the light spilling out is ultra bright and clear, a sign that Rowan is here and Ivo’s lights have been set up.

I come to a stop. “I might have a wander around the showground while you’re doing that.”

Ivo stops immediately, his face clouding. “Are you sure?”

I grin at him. “Absolutely. I’ll take Bertie for a quick walk.”

“I’m sure there are some concrete roads around here somewhere.”

“Cheeky twat,” I advise him, and he laughs. “I’ll meet you later. I’ll be the one who doesn’t know anything about horses.” I grin at Ralph. “Good to meet you, Ralph.”

“And you. Did Ivo mention dinner?”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Bring Guy.”

“Will do, if he promises to behave himself.”

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that,” Ivo observes.

Ralph waves and vanishes into the motorhome, and Ivo grabs my arm, dropping a kiss on my lips. “Be good,” he instructs me.

“When am I ever not that, Ivo Robinson?”

“Too many times to count.”

“I don’t hear you complaining. It’s when I’m at my most fun.”

“Be off with you.” He steals a final kiss and goes into the motorhome.

I stick my head through the door, watching as he unpacks his camera, his face set and concentrated.

“This way, I think,” he says, eyeing the lights and pushing Ralph into a chair.

“I’m not Barbie.”

“She’s much prettier, but I’m sure I can create enough magic to make you appear a little bit attractive.”

“Wanker,” Ralph says, laughing.

I hear a sigh behind me, and I turn to see Rowan, Ivo’s assistant. He’d come on as a temp last year when Ivo was busy with a show and several commissions, but he’d stayed afterwards, which we’re all happy about. He’s wild, snarky, and inappropriate at least ten times a day, so he fits perfectly in our little family of friends.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” he whispers. “Bit wild, though. I’ve heard some tales.”

I look back at Ralph. “Tales you will be telling me. I need every detail.”

“Pimm’s tent later?”

I brighten. “They have one of those?”

“Oh yeah. And food stands. And loads of shops.”

“ What ? There are shops here?” I look down at Bertie, who’s attempting to sidle closer to a nearby Great Dane whose lead is being clutched rather ineffectively by a woman. “Bertie, our day is looking up.”

“And then the doctor said to me that a prolapsed womb is nature’s way of telling you to slow down.” I blink, but my companion continues undeterred. “He’d obviously never experienced the feeling of one’s womb attempting to escape while on the pirate ship at Alton Towers.”

I raise my latest glass of Pimm’s and drain it. “Goodness, where has that gone?” I say brightly. I gesture, and a waiter pops up next to me with all the verve of a pantomime performer. “Oh, thank you. Could I have another Pimm’s, please? Julia?” I ask my companion.

“Thank you, darling. That would be lovely.”

I settle back into my chair, giving Bertie’s ears a rub and hoping that the waiter has broken my companion’s story run — no such luck.

“And did I tell you about the time that I got fibroids?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ve only known you for an hour, Julia, so I could be mistaken.”

She chuckles and gives me a gentle shove. “You’re far too charming for your own good, Henry. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I think I might have said it a few times myself.” Ivo’s voice comes from behind me, and I look up, grinning at him. His jeans are smudged with dirt, and there’s a dusty streak on his forehead, but his golden eyes are bright and full of life.

“Alright, dearest?” I ask.

He drops a kiss on my nose and slides into the seat next to me, bending to pet Bertie, who’s greeting him as though he’s been away for a few years. Once he’s appeased our canine lodger, he straightens, placing his bag on the table.

“How did it go?” I ask. “Julia, this is my boyfriend, Ivo.”

“Oh, the photographer,” she coos. “We watched you for a while. That’s how I met Henry. He told me all about your job.”

It had been fun to watch Ivo in his element. Ralph had been treated as though he were Harry Styles on a horse, and even now, a bunch of his groupies are lurking near the flower troughs, giggling and talking in heated whispers.

Ivo had attracted his own share of admiration, though. It’s not just that he’s beautiful. He’s also charismatic and has the same aura about him as his mother. They command attention, as if the fairies sprinkled them with magnetism dust when they were born.

“It’s very boring,” he says, smiling at her and accepting with thanks the glass of Pimm’s that our waiter hands him. “I’ll just have this one because I’m driving home later.”

“Well, I must be off,” she says, standing up and draining her drink in the manner of a sailor on shore leave. “It’s been lovely talking to you, Henry.”

“It really has,” I say. She’s nice, even if I know more about her insides than her gynaecologist.

“Nice to meet you, Ivo.” She nods, smiling, and wanders away.

Ivo sips his drink and gives a happy sigh. “God, that’s nice,” he says, smiling at me and tangling his feet with mine under the table. “It’s hot out there.”

“Ralph seems to have done well. I kept hearing his name mentioned. How’s Guy?”

“Rather chaotic. He fell off his horse three times before he got round and then threw up in the water jump. The judges aren’t happy with him, and I just left him listening to the shrill tones of his agent.”

I snort. “I liked them both.”

“They like you too.” He looks to the side and then freezes. “What are all these bags, Henry?”

I brighten. “Oh my god, there are real shops here. I’ve had such a lovely morning. I ate waffles and drank mimosas and then went shopping.”

“What?”

I nod. “So many nice shops.” I reach for the bags. “I bought a lovely tweed flat cap.”

“Is that for your career as a soft-ground-avoiding farmer?”

I raise my middle finger at him, hearing him laugh, and then I turn back to the bags. “I bought a lovely little gilet, a couple of cashmere jumpers, and a pair of Le Chameau wellies.”

“Why?”

“Well, I know I don’t like mud, but they’ll be great when we go to Cornwall for all those dreadfully energetic things Oz wants to do. And Kate Middleton likes them.”

“Hopefully, she’s got her own pair. You don’t share very well.”

“I also bought a special whistle for when we walk Bertie. It’ll improve his recall, according to the shop owner.”

“Why are we buying whistles when I know you can make that sound all by yourself?”

“Well, it came with a lovely rainbow ribbon.” When I look up, he’s shaking his head. “What?” I ask.

He snorts. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You could find a shop if you were shipwrecked. What else did you get?”

I search for the bag and exclaim in triumph. “Here they are.” I grin at him. “I bought you a present.”

“You did?”

I nod. I tap my wrist where my Cartier bracelet is. “You bought me this, so I bought you some horsey chic. Go on and open it.” He opens the bag and extracts the two wristbands. They’re made of some sort of sturdy thread that’s tightly woven in red and purple colours. “I saw them and immediately thought of the friendship bands we all wore when we were kids.” I fasten his around his strong wrist, admiring the golden skin before sitting back. “That looks lovely. You know how it works. Now we’re wearing them, it means we’ll be best friends for life.”

He looks down at it, running his finger over the threads. When he glances up, his eyes are bright and fierce, like the inside of a flame. “Always. I love it. I love you, and I’ll never take it off.”

I smile at him. “It’s a memento from our camping trip. I got one too.” I put our wrists together. “Lovely. We match.”

He turns our arms so the little tattooed stick figures join their rope. “Perfect,” he agrees. I drop a kiss on his hand. “So, do you want to shop some more, Henry?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, staring longingly at the white tents where the shops are. “Bertie rather disgraced himself in the sheepskin tent.”

“Why?”

“He peed up the impala.”

“A real one?”

“God, no. Even Bertie’s not that brave. No, it was a woollen one, and the shop owner shouted at us. I only managed to escape by hiding here, but I had my comeuppance when I met Julia. I don’t think I’ve been treated to so much medical information since your mother had her hysterectomy.”

He winces. “That was all very graphic, and I don’t think the village carnival committee appreciated all the details at their meeting.”

A few hours later, we walk back to the van. We pack the chairs away neatly, and I take the rubbish to the bins. When I get back, Ivo is leaning against the van, his hair shining in the afternoon sunlight.

“So, what did you think?” he asks me. He looks rumpled and very sexy in shorts and a T-shirt. Both items of clothing are very old, but he wears the outfit as though it’s couture. “Want to do it again?”

He winks, obviously thinking he’s a comedian, but I consider him for a few seconds. I’m sunburnt, my Prada shoes probably still bear minute traces of horse shit, my hair is a mess, and my clothes are creased. I know more about horses and strange women’s medical ailments than I feel is necessary for my continued survival, but I feel… I feel happy.

“You know, I might,” I say.

“ What ?”

“Yes.” I wave a careless hand. “You don’t know me quite as well as you think, Ivo. I have hidden depths.”

“You have about as many of them as a puddle.” He cocks his head to one side. “So where do you see us taking the van next if Seb will lend it out again?”

“Hmm. I think Chi an Mor .”

He hums thoughtfully. “And where will we be sleeping, Henry?”

I slump. He knows me too well. “Probably in the house with a bathroom all to ourselves and a huge bed we can make some noise in.”

His eyes kindle. “I like the way you think. So basically, we will use the van to travel and then stay in a house so we can fuck loudly.”

“You do twist my words, Ivo.”

“Yes, I’m sure I do.”

“But the kids would love it in the van.”

He snorts. “You would leave two young children unattended in a van not owned by you?”

“Yes,” I say hesitantly. “Why? Is that bad?”

“Let’s just say it’s probably good that we’re only responsible for a terrier.”

“I think he’s more responsible than us.”

He nods. “Plus, those two children are being reared by Oz. Have you seen him driving the minivan that Silas bought?”

I shudder. “The memory still makes me jerk awake at night. It was like Lewis Hamilton in an ice cream truck.” I reach out and cup his chin, loving how he leans into me. “But I would go anywhere with you, darling.”

He winks. “How about the Savoy for afternoon tea?”

“ Now you’re talking.” I climb into the van and smile at him as he does the same. “Home, James. And don’t spare the horses.”

“Is that another one of your funny English phrases?”

“Ivo, you’ve lived here for over thirty years now.”

We set off bickering lightly and laughing. Just the way we like it.