William put the bale down, pulled out a pocket knife, and cut the strings. The bale burst open.
“How?”
“We were filming on the Great Lawn. You rode through our shot, bruv.”
“What? I’m so sorry.” He looked genuinely surprised. “Nobody told me you were filming outside. How was I to know?”
It was a good point. I could see in his face that he could see in my face that I recognised it was a good point.
“Look, when I got that bollocking from your boss lady the other night, I agreed I wouldn’t get in the way of filming and I wouldn’t fraternise with the cast, and she agreed I’d get to keep my balls.”
I nodded. Indira told me she’d threatened to shave £10,000 off his cheque.
“The agreed exception to my imprisonment was that this is a working estate, and there’s still work that needs to be done.”
He looked… fed up. Tired. I remembered what Jonty had said about William being overwhelmed and felt a twinge of guilt for having been so aggressive.
“Achilles needs exercising, every single day,” he said, spreading straw around the stall. “It’s non-negotiable.”
An enormous white horse popped its head over the side of the stall and neighed loudly.
“That’s right, boy. I’m talking about you.” William reached up and scratched the animal’s jaw. My God, it was sexy.
A volley of neighs shot back from somewhere nearby. Achilles snorted, threw his head around, and stamped his feet. I stepped back.
“Is he mad at me or something?”
“No, he’s horny.” William chuckled. “Three of your Cleveland Bay mares are chasing him. The handsome devil.”
The dozen horses that pulled the carriages down the drive on the first day had been hired for the duration of the production. William stood, took his gloves off, and stretched his back and neck, rolling his shoulders. I couldn’t take much more of this. In the name of discretion, I held my clipboard in front of the gusset of my boiler suit. I tried to remember the job I’d been sent here to do—and thought I might be able to do it with compassion.
“We wouldn’t have to be so strict if you weren’t costing us a bomb in reshoots.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your shot,” William said, eyes twinkling with sincerity. “I didn’t mean to. Believe me, I want this TV show to go as well as you do.”
“You keep saying that, but the evidence?—”
“Listen, we both want the same thing here.” The piece of straw finally fell from his hair. It landed on the sweaty round bulk of his pec, right by the signet ring he kept on his gold neck chain. In that moment, I didn’t think we wanted the same thing at all, because all I wanted was for William to ride me like we were belting down the home straight in the last hundred yards of the Grand National. Like, professionally.
“How about you let me know when and where you’re filming outside,” William said. “And I’ll avoid taking Achilles out at those times, or at least avoid taking him anywhere we might be seen on camera?”
I nodded. “That works.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smiled, grabbing a rake and leaning on it. “And we did it all without any of the threats of violence you folks from London are so keen on.”
I held up a hand. “OK, bruv, but if Indira asks you about this, you’ll pretend I had you quaking in your boots, right?”
William snorted. “Quaking, bordering on incontinent.”
I laughed, William smiled. A crackle of static burst from my headset. I grabbed it from my belt and stuck it to my ear. I was barely able to make out the words “catfight in the Orangery.”
“Sounds like you’re needed,” William said. I nodded, waved a thank you, and turned to bolt out the door.
“Watch out!” he called as I planted my foot straight into the huge pile of horse shit.
Chapter 14
William
