‘Dylan, I’m afraid Flora from Treweham Hall stables refused the roses.’
‘What?’ he spat. ‘Did she know they were from me?’
‘Yes. Do you want to know what she said?’
No he didn’t. ‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Well, to quote her,’ there was a pause, he could hear the laughter in the florist’s voice, ‘she said, tell the bastard to stick his flowers where the sun don’t shine.’
‘Oh.’ He stared into space.
‘Looks like you’re losing your touch, Dylan,’ she giggled down the phone.
‘Hmm, we’ll see about that.’
Well, he hadn’t seen that coming. Deciding to face her, he set off with resolve to Treweham Hall.
Flora had had a busy morning mucking out the stables. Feeling hot, sweaty and tired, the last thing she wanted to see was Dylan making his way across the yard. She hated her traitorous heart for beating so wildly. Did he really think she would forgive him because he’d sent red roses? How stupid did he think she was? Pretty stupid, she thought dully. Look how easily she had fallen under his spell. Well, not any more.
He stood in front of her while she carried on brushing the stable floor. After a few moments he spoke. ‘Flora, please, talk to me.’
She stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘I think it’s you who needs to do the talking.’
‘Look, I’m sorry for—’
‘Ignoring me in The Templar? Shagging behind my back? Actually no, that wasn’t behind my back, I saw everything.’ Dylan stopped. So she had been there. His feelings of guilt started to build.
‘Flora, I’m sorry. I… I was drunk.’ He cringed at how lame he sounded.
‘Yes, I saw how drunk you were. I watched everyone buy you drinks, celebrating the money you’d made them. Nobody cared that you could easily have lost that race. I watched you get boxed in by the rails. Your horse lost his balance and you could have been badly injured!’ she screamed, tears falling down her face.
Dylan’s stomach contracted. He felt sick with shame. He tried to touch her arm, but she flung it away.
‘And don’t ever touch me again!’ she bellowed, making him flinch.
My God, this had gone badly wrong. He didn’t know what to say, or do, he just stood frozen. All her words were true. Nobody in The Templar but she would have realised or understood what he had experienced in the race, making all the celebrations seem so shallow in retrospect. Flora was the only one who would have worried about his welfare – and the horse’s, for that matter.
Swallowing, he whispered huskily, ‘I’m so sorry, Flora.’
She glared at him, then spat, ‘Get lost. I mean it, Dylan. Piss off.’
