Kiss and Tell Read online

  ‘Her what?’ Kurt and Magnus asked in unison.

  Anke waved the question away guiltily. ‘She is in such desperate need of her birth father to approve of her, acknowledge her.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Magnus scoffed. ‘She just wants Rory.’

  ‘And where might he be?’ Kurt asked acidly, irritated to find his stepdaughter still enamoured of that scruffy event rider when she’d been born into such a dressage dynasty.

  ‘No idea. But I know somebody who will.’ Magnus loped off.

  When Dillon Rafferty knocked on the bathroom door and announced himself in that familiar cocky, gruff voice, Faith buried her face in her hands and groaned, her artificially enhanced mind spinning and accelerated heartbeat pounding. Her lifetime shame moment had come after just eighteen years on the planet. The country’s number-one recording artist, voted the man most women would like to wake up in bed beside, was standing just a few feet away in her rosette-decked bedroom, surrounded by the detritus of two teenage girls tarting themselves up for a party.

  ‘Go away! This is all your fault,’ she wailed, rendered even more confrontational than usual by two legal pep pills and Carmina Burana on Classic FM.

  ‘My fault?’ The muffled voice of a legend came through the door.

  ‘You sent Rory away to Scotland.’ She marched around the tiny room in time to Orff. ‘Then Magnus said you were going to come here tonight – like Prince William visiting a bloody orphanage – and my best friend thought I was lying about it and anyway I know you’re completely crap and unreliable, being a rock star and all that, so I went on the internet to make sure I had lots of lovely men here for her to get off with, only too many have come – and lots of bloody girls – and my parents will be mad at me now and you have come after all, and what does it all matter because Rory’s not here. Rory. Isn’t. Here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Faith.’ On the other side of the door, Dillon was clearly trying not to laugh at her.

  ‘Oh bugger off to an awards ceremony or a tropical island or something.’

  ‘Stop acting like a spoilt brat.’

  ‘I am so not a spoilt brat.’

  ‘Tell that to your family who’ve worked their butts off organising this for you, only to find you’d rather spend it admiring your sanitaryware.’

  ‘They’re the ones who kept banging on about me having a party. I wanted to go to see the Kür at the Olympics this week instead.’

  ‘The what?’

  She ceased marching as Classic FM went to a break – the wart removal advert was back on, she noticed – and addressed the bathroom door: ‘The Kür – the freestyle dressage to music. It’s quite breathtaking and beautiful. My mother won her gold medal for it a long time ago, only now she’s refusing to go because Kurt got left off the team this time.’

  She could hear whispering beyond the door and realised her brother was still there. Faith secretly hoped they’d go away. But then, just as a jolly piece of Vivaldi struck up, Dillon spoke again. ‘I’ve got a birthday present for you.’

  ‘Give whatever it is to my poor, long-suffering mother.’

  ‘I thought you just said she wouldn’t appreciate tickets to the Kür?’

  The door flew open.

  ‘You liar!’ Faith wailed when Dillon darted inside empty-handed.

  He immediately clocked the bottle of vodka, the wild eyes and the disturbingly high hemline. He’d never realised she had such cracking legs, not that he had the time or inclination to linger upon them right now.

  ‘What have you taken?’ he demanded, brows locked together as he marched up to her and stared into her eyes. In his time Dillon had taken pretty much every narcotic known to man – and had the broken marriage, lost friends, stop-start career and rehab bills to prove it. He knew the signs in an instant. There was no denial.

  ‘The box is on the side,’ Faith muttered.

  ‘Tampons?’

  ‘No, not that box. The one by the mirror.’

  Dillon picked up the garish empty Brain Candy packaging. ‘These things can be bloody dangerous, you know. They’re not sweets.’

  ‘Duh? I’m not stupid. I know. I’m a responsible adult. I feel fine.’

  ‘Could have fooled me. Have you been drinking plenty of fluids?’

  She nodded at the vodka bottle and started to giggle.

  ‘Little idiot.’ He filled her tooth glass with water from the tap and handed it to her, before starting to empty the vodka into the basin.

  ‘Oi – that’s perfectly good Smirnoff.’

  ‘You may want to jump into Rory’s pants, but believe me this isn’t the way.’

  ‘Have to be a jolly good bloody long jumper to get into his pants tonight. He’s in Scotland thanks to you.’

  He glanced across at her. ‘He is there trying to redeem himself for failing to make anything of the horses I bought him,’ he reminded her lightly. ‘He’s already broken the two best ones, I hear.’

  ‘He didn’t break them,’ she said scornfully. ‘They were broken already. You were the one that bought an ageing dud on the recommendation of a friend who wouldn’t know a top-class horse from a camel.’

  ‘Jules is a bloody good mate.’

  ‘Magnus says she’s a washed-up record producer with a coke habit.’

  ‘Does he now?’

  There was a groan beyond the bathroom door.

  Realising she had just dropped her brother right in it Faith blustered on. ‘No disrespect, but she obviously knows nothing about the sport. Sid was over-competed and ridden into the ground by a hamfisted amateur last year. No vet worth his salt would pass him sound to compete at four-star again.’

  ‘Rory seems to think he’s great.’

  She marched up to him. ‘Can’t you see he’s so desperate to please you and your little clique of friends he’d have agreed to ride a seaside donkey for you? All Rory wants to do is impress you, his biggest owner, this mega superstar who he thinks spotted his talent from afar.’ She started pacing around again now, on hot coals.

  Dillon sighed, regarding Faith with guarded affection, seeing the tough, tomboyish loner in the garish raver outfit, as much fancy dress as a toddler in a fairy princess suit. ‘We both know that up until a year ago I thought an event rider was some sort of stuntman hired for corporate parties.’

  ‘You know differently now,’ she insisted, picking up speed. ‘Rory could be the best in the world.’

  He held up his hands. ‘I don’t doubt his talent. Nell tells me often enough that he has something special.’

  An involuntary sneer curled at her lips at the mention of Nell. ‘And she should stop interfering in Rory’s competition schedule.’

  ‘I suppose that’s your job?’

  ‘I never interfere.’

  ‘Oh no?’ He laughed incredulously, remembering only too well how he had got to know Faith better. She’d been the teenage stablehand who’d always looked so disapproving when he and his friends had come to ride at Rory’s yard, treating Dillon with the same spiky, no-nonsense attitude she did Magnus and even Rory at times. Yet, of all of them, it was Faith who had the longest-standing friendship with Dillon, a fact both played down. It was the reason he was here tonight. Part little sister, part pet project, Faith had a special place in his conscience that in truth inspired a great deal more loyalty from Dillon than her boss.

  ‘Rory knows what’s best for his horses,’ she said now, marching so briskly around the room that she swept the loo roll off its holder in her wake. ‘He just needs a more supportive owner.’

  Dillon sighed. ‘In that case, you should be pleased Nell knows more about eventing than me. I have had a busy year, as you might have noticed. I’m almost never in the country.’

  Stomping around by her basin, Faith let out a huff of frustration, all self-control starting to fray as the Brain Candy and Dillon’s presence in her bathroom combined to make her feel like she was in a strange waking dream. ‘It’s obvious Nell just wants Rory to compete wherever’s closest to
a boutique hotel.’

  For a moment it seemed she’d gone too far as Dillon headed towards the door, but he just stooped to pick up a fallen towel before turning back to watch as she lapped the tiny room as speed.

  ‘Lucky Rory’s got you to fight his corner for him, huh?’ he ragged.

  ‘Not any more.’ Her lip began to wobble and she paced faster to stop herself crying. ‘I start work in Essex next week.’

  ‘For long?’

  ‘A year. So you’d better look after him while I’m gone.’ Faith suddenly realised that she was standing in the shower, and had no idea how she’d got there. She hastily stepped out, hoping that Dillon hadn’t noticed.

  He had, but tactfully said nothing. There was a smile tickling his lips and lighting up those blue eyes. ‘I’ll try my best,’ he promised, starting to laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’ve flown in from fucking Italy to see you on your birthday, brat, and all you can do is shout at me.’

  ‘What are they doing up there?’ Nell handed Gigi to Magnus when he’d picked his way down past the partygoers gathered on the stairs.

  ‘Talking about horses, from what I could hear.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake! Dillon doesn’t need this.’ She made to go upstairs, but Magnus put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Leave them be, huh?’

  ‘That’s my boyfriend trapped in there.’

  ‘Faith won’t hurt him, I promise.’

  ‘Says who? Dillon flew back from Milan to come to this ghastly party as a favour to me. Now your sister has him locked in a bathroom and none of your barking mad family seems to care. She’s probably stripped him naked and tied him to the shower rail.’

  Suddenly she realised that Anke was standing right behind her, waiting to get past with a huge tray of sausages. Nell had the grace to look abashed.

  ‘You have nothing to worry about on that front, I can assure you,’ Anke said smoothly. ‘Faith is not interested in men sexually, I believe. Besides, there’s no shower rail in there. It’s built in.’

  Feeling surprisingly at home in the cosy en suite, Dillon had flipped down the loo seat and was sitting on it watching Faith in fascination, knowing the chemical reaction was contained, at least. She was quite bizarre under artificial stimulation; she was driven enough without it, after all. He still remembered his first-ever encounter with her on Rory’s yard. He’d arrived with a house party for a group ride, only to find Rory had forgotten to write it in the diary. Faith, no older than fifteen or sixteen at the time, had calmly brought in half a dozen horses from the fields, riding one bareback and leading two at a time before grooming and tacking up the lot in twenty minutes, by which time Rory had emerged sleepily from his cottage to lead them off and charm them all.

  Then months later, when he’d found himself standing beside her in an auction house that extraordinary day that he had heard ‘Two Souls’ for the first time, Faith’s uncompromising loyalty and determination had taken over his life too.

  Looking at her now, at that fierce little face painted so gaudily, he worried about his motivation in coming along tonight, especially hanging around in the girl’s bathroom. It was a situation that could easily be misread, and yet Faith was one of the few people in Dillon’s life who made him feel genuinely relaxed, who saw him simply as the lucky local farmer who strummed twelve-bar blues on a guitar. Being with her made him wish he was eighteen again too, a shy perfectionist who lived in his father’s shadow and craved friendship. They’d have been mates, he liked to think. He’d have stayed up all night making her mix tapes and writing songs for her. They might have even dated, but she would have always loved another more and he would have been far too polite to fight for her, especially when his own fame had kicked in and the pretty girls started to crowd around.

  But he was a long way past eighteen now, Dillon reminded himself. He was a father of two, and he was here to look out for her.

  ‘Stop marching around like a demented drum majorette and drink your water,’ he told her.

  She cooperated, realising as she did so that the radio was still on and playing the last few refrains of the duet from The Pearl Fishers. Cocking her head to listen, she swayed along, water dribbling unnoticed down her chin and on to her dress.

  ‘You like Bizet?’ Dillon regarded her with amusement.

  She nodded, hugging herself and then flinging out her arms and executing a few ballet élèves with surprising grace, using the towel rail as a barre. ‘Sure beats the crap in the charts these days.’

  ‘Touché,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve asked the record label to withdraw “Two Souls” from sale, but they refuse. The revenue’s massive.’

  She suddenly set him with a beady look, although her eyes were unnaturally bright, the Brain Candy still hard at work.

  ‘You once said that if you ever got to number one again you’d buy Rory an international horse,’ she reminded him

  ‘So I did,’ Dillon sighed wearily, having rather hoped the conversation had moved away from Rory, however briefly.

  ‘“Two Souls” has been number one for weeks and weeks.’

  ‘So it has.’

  ‘A deal’s a deal.’

  He laughed, not taking her seriously. ‘Does that mean you want a horse for your birthday, brat?’

  ‘This is for Rory. You made a promise.’

  He sucked his expensive white teeth and then flashed them noncommittedly.

  He didn’t suppose that, once she’d gone to Essex, Rory would survive more than a month before bedlam overtook him; he was equally worried that Faith would be hopelessly corrupted by friends like Carly as soon as she cast off her Cotswold anchors.

  ‘He mustn’t know, of course,’ Faith danced away. ‘Nor must Nell.’

  ‘Nell?’

  ‘She’d only interfere. Trust me, you have to go to the very top to find what you want.’ Faith had started to dance to Verdi’s anvil chorus now, arms flipping about, hips zig-zagging and feet tapping to the clanking, masculine refrain. Watching her camping it up with legally high abandon, Dillon found it disturbingly erotic.

  He loved Faith’s utter determination in life. She really cheered him up. She had a straightforward, angry honesty he respected totally, and which reminded him of his sister Kat. Faith’s love for Rory might be childlike, but she bore it with so much more certainty than his feelings about anybody. He envied that drive.

  ‘It’s not exactly difficult to identify the best four-star horse by a country mile at the moment,’ she was saying, grooving into the shower cubicle once again.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The Fox. Won two Olympic gold medals this week. Finished on his dressage score. You should have seen him in the individual jump-off. Didn’t so much as touch a pole.’

  ‘You’re in the shower again,’ he pointed out kindly.

  ‘So I am,’ she jigged out, dripping wet from the leaky tap, the flimsy dress now clinging to her body, her wet hair in tendrils. ‘The Fox is definitely your horse.’

  She spun around to face him, arms aloft to emphasise her point, and Dillon watched as she tripped over a bath mat and tipped backwards over the end of the small slipper bath, legs akimbo, with a flash of wholly unexpected and deliciously lacy underwear through her fishnets. He had to exercise a great deal of self-control in order to keep his thoughts big-brotherly.

  Somehow he managed to keep talking. ‘He’s for sale, is he, The Fox?’

  Faith scrabbled upright and stared at him over the rim of the bath.

  ‘Of course he’s for sale!’ She had no real idea if that was true, but she was suddenly aware that she had Dillon’s undivided attention and she had to cash in. ‘So will you buy him?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ He stood up, suddenly finding the en suite far too hot. ‘Now would you like to come to a party?’

  ‘Can I just get changed first?’

  *

  When Dillon rejoined the party, Nell cornered him on the stair turn, livid that the birthday girl had humiliated her by ho
gging her rock-star boyfriend in a bathroom for an hour, quite possibly to create her own Paris Hilton sex tape filmed on her mobile.

  ‘You bastard!’ she hissed. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Fixing her face and putting some clothes on,’ he explained, which didn’t help his case.

  Five minutes later, Graham coaxed Faith outside to stand in front of the double doors of the barn that he had been guarding from gatecrashers all night. Now dressed in familiar jeans and a British Eventing polo shirt, she gaped in guilty astonishment at the huge crowds.

  Trailing behind them, infuriated by her friend’s ungrateful attention seeking, Carly came to a sulky halt between the gayfathers and Magnus, and watched as Graham unlatched the big doors.

  ‘We meant to show you this earlier,’ he pulled open one side, ‘but you’ve been otherwise engaged.’

  The second door opened to reveal a small bright yellow Volkswagen hatchback parked inside the barn and covered with ribbons.

  ‘Happy birthday!’

  Faith burst into noisy, happy tears.

  ‘Ohmygoditsacar!’ she said stupidly. ‘I really don’t deserve this.’

  ‘Telling me,’ Carly muttered in an undertone.

  Faith was ecstatic. Kissing and hugging her parents, she danced inside to take a closer look. Having her own car meant only one thing to her right now: she could drive back from Essex to see Rory as often as she liked.

  ‘Don’t even think about driving it until you’re sober,’ Graham warned as she leaped into the driver’s seat to get a feel, reminding him of Susan Sarandon in Thelma and Louise as she prepares to drive over the edge of the canyon.

  ‘Do you think she likes it?’ Anke asked Carly anxiously, deeply concerned by her daughter’s behaviour that night.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Carly conceded resentfully, knowing that the oneupmanship of having a car had now been lost.

  ‘It’s a lovely colour, I think,’ Anke smiled. ‘Like your swimming costume. You do know that we haven’t got a pool?’

  ‘It’s a dress,’ Carly muttered, noting in alarm that Graham had customised the sides of Faith’s new car with silhouetted dressage decals and hung furry horseshoes from the rear-view mirror. She made a mental note never, ever to ask for a lift in it.