River of Destiny. Barbara Erskine

      ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘And sailing is his whole life outside work.’

      ‘Pretty much.’

      ‘And you hate sailing and you haven’t told him.’

      ‘I don’t hate it.’

      ‘That’s not what you said before.’

      ‘I like it in the river where it’s calm. I was frightened before, but that might not happen again.’ She was beginning to resent his persistence.

      ‘Believe me, it will.’

      ‘I am getting to love this place, I am pleased to be out of London, I genuinely am. You leave me to decide when I speak to Ken, Leo, please.’ She spoke so sharply he moved back a step.

      ‘Sorry.’

      ‘These nails,’ she pointed to his draining board where they lay in the saucer amongst some biscuit crumbs, ‘are they rare?’

      ‘No. If you take a metal detector you will find them all over the fields. And this was the forge. I expect the generations of chaps who worked here were both the estate blacksmith and the farrier; they would probably have made them.’

      ‘And Sharon’s boys could have collected them?’

      ‘Easily.’

      ‘So they aren’t necessarily some sort of supernatural thing that has appeared out of thin air.’

      ‘Quite possibly not. Chuck that down the sink if you don’t like it.’ He had noticed her only half-concealed grimace of distaste at the coffee.

      ‘Sorry.’ She tipped it away. ‘Too early in the morning for black coffee for me.’

      ‘You should have said. I do have milk.’

      ‘That’s OK, I’m sure you do.’ She gathered up the nails and held them in the palm of her hand. ‘I’m glad to hear they are quite ordinary. I felt there was something a bit spooky about them before. Cold and otherworldly.’

      He laughed.

      ‘Did you make things like this?’

      ‘No.’ He looked faintly amused. ‘I wasn’t a farrier.’

      ‘And a farrier is …?’

      ‘Someone who shoes horses.’

      ‘I thought that was a blacksmith.’

      ‘Sometimes it’s the same thing, it was in the past, but not me. I did fancy wrought-iron gates, things like that.’

      ‘But you don’t any more.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘So what do you do now, if you don’t mind my asking?’

      ‘A bit of this and that.’ He folded his arms.

      ‘But you aren’t going to tell me?’ She felt strangely hurt.

      ‘You wouldn’t be interested if I tried.’

      She inclined her head in defeat. ‘OK.’ She wasn’t going to let him see that she cared.

      ‘And now you’re going to run back to the barn to have a boiled egg with hubby.’

      ‘I am?’

      ‘You are. I’m busy. I don’t get up this early for the state of my health. I have to go out for the day.’

      ‘I’m sorry. You should have said.’ She slipped the nails into her pocket and turned towards the door.

      ‘Stay safe, Zoë,’ he called after her, but he was already walking through into the other half of the house and she didn’t hear him.

      He held the horseshoe nails between his lips as he hauled the hoof of the heavy horse off the ground and positioned it between his knees. The animal blew through its nose and shook its head up and down, but it stood placidly, balancing on three legs with ease as he set the new shoe in place. He could sense her watching him, had been conscious of her ever since she had appeared at the door of the smithy with her high-crowned hat and veil, and the slender whip provocatively tapping against her thigh. He removed the shoe, pushed it back in the fire, waited for it to glow red before hitting it several times with the hammer, then he plunged it into the bucket of water and waited for the rush of steam to disperse before he fitted it again to the horse’s hoof. This time he was happy with the snugness and set one of the nails in the first hole, ready to hammer it home.

      ‘And will you polish her ladyship’s nails as well?’ The voice was coldly amused as he set the foot down and watched the great Suffolk horse stamp on it experimentally.

      He smiled. ‘She’d like me to. I sometimes give them a wisp of oil and a quick go with a rag.’

      ‘And how is Bella?’ Emily’s voice took on a hardness he didn’t like.

      ‘She does well enough.’ The horse was still lame. Secretly he doubted she would ever be fit to work again.

      It was as if she read his thoughts. ‘If the animal will not recover have her destroyed. It is not worth keeping her.’

      He could feel her eyes on his face; they were bright with triumph. He forced himself to remain impassive as he turned back to the great horse beside him and slapped it on the rump. ‘That’s your decision to make, my lady, but I wouldn’t give up yet. It would be a waste of a fine animal. Mr Crosby paid a lot for her, I believe.’

      Subtle, but he saw her eyes narrow slightly.

      ‘I will allow her a few more days. Have the boy take that great brute away. I need to talk to you.’

      He turned away, hoping to hide his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Ben,’ he called. ‘Take him back to his stall.’

      The boy, who had been strenuously pumping the bellows, had slipped outside as Emily appeared. ‘He’s needed back out in the field, Dan.’ Ben took the horse’s bridle and turned him, leading him out towards the gate. ‘Jem’s waiting for him. There’s work to do yet up at Coppins Wood.’

      Dan stood and watched them go, then he turned back to Lady Emily. ‘So, what else can I do for you, my lady?’

      She reached out and took his wrist, and holding him at arm’s length led him into the forge. There she pushed the door closed with her shoulder and stood, her back against it, looking at him. It was dark after the sunlight outdoors, but he could read the look in her eyes even through her veil. ‘My lady –’

      ‘Don’t speak, Daniel. Don’t say anything. I don’t need you for your conversation.’ She pulled off her hat and threw it down in the corner, then she began to pull open the buttons on her riding jacket. ‘Don’t just stand there, man, help me!’

      He hesitated, half wanting to turn away and run, half fascinated by the sight of her body, emerging from the stiff fabric of her habit. Under it she wore a tightly laced corset out of which her bosom, white and full, rose with a voluptuousness her clothes had hidden. She pulled off her skirt and was left standing in her corset and boots. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying, knowing he was not going to be able to resist. She paused in her disrobing to look at him. ‘For pity’s sake, man, what is the matter with you?’ She moved forward and took hold of his belt, wrenching the buckle open, revealing all too easily the fact that he was finally and massively aroused.

      Dragging him into the corner where there were some old sacks folded on some hay bales, she pulled him against her with a gasp of excitement. He thrust at her again and again, his lust goaded by his self-loathing and shame into a frenzy of angry violence. It was a long time before he fell back on the cobbled floor, panting, leaving her lying spread-eagled on the sacks, her hair tangled, her nails broken where they had raked the flesh of his back, both of them exhausted.