One Silver Summer Read online

  Sass sat down cross-legged beside him and picked a dandelion clock. She blew on the gossamer-white seeds and watched as they spun in the air before floating down and settling on his chest.

  “I think I’d like your life, or at least your job,” she said, thinking how wonderful it’d be to spend whole days with Bo and the other horses.

  Alex opened one eye. “No, you wouldn’t.” He spoke a little crisply, though it might have been the accent.

  “Sure I would. How many horses do you have to look after?”

  “It’s not really about them, it’s the rest of it …” Alex rolled on his side and propped his head on his elbow. He studied her face until her cheeks grew hot. “Why do you ask? I mean, do you wish you could change your life?”

  Sass’s mouth opened and shut, and no sound come out. All she could hear was the water in the creek.

  “Sorry … random question, don’t answer that.” He sat up on his heels, spooking Bo, who’d been dozing behind them like an elderly aunt.

  “No, no, it wasn’t,” Sass answered, “and the answer’s … yes. Maybe more than you know.”

  Alex didn’t reply and stood up instead. Offering her a hand, he pulled her up too, the space of a heartbeat between them.

  “So why don’t you change it?” he asked, more curious than confrontational.

  “None of it’s really in my control.”

  She waited for him to say something about making her own destiny, but instead a sympathetic look came into his eyes. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

  “You’re not the impulsive type, then?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that. I never get the chance.”

  There was a faintly awkward pause.

  “So, come on, then. Truth or dare?” Sass burst out in the thrumming silence.

  “Dare?” he replied, tilting his head in a question.

  “I dare you to take me riding again. I want to gallop like you did across the sand.”

  Sass looked in his face. Had she gone too far? Was today a one-off, nothing more? How could she even assume that he’d want to spend any more time with her?

  Seconds ticked by.

  “When?” he said finally.

  “How about the end of the week?”

  Alex whistled through his teeth. “Come on, that’s a dare for you, not me. What if you fall off?” Doubt creased his forehead.

  “Answer the question!”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, “you’re on, but you’ll need more lessons.”

  Sass swallowed a teeny-tiny squeal because words weren’t enough to express how she felt, which was everything good rolled into one.

  “How about tomorrow?” he continued. “You’re going to have to work hard if you want to gallop that soon.” A gruffness had crept into his voice. He clearly took his riding seriously and expected the same of her.

  Sass managed a nod because her tongue had gone the way of her squeal. As she turned to leave, he reached out and caught her elbow, his fingers touching the soft crease in her arm. They slid to the bones of her wrist.

  “Same time tomorrow, then? Don’t be late …”

  In the drowsy heat of the afternoon, the long grass trembled in the breeze. The only sound: the chirp of a million winged things clapping.

  Sass skipped home, or at least, her heart did the skipping; her head was spaghetti. Was it the prospect of riding again … or seeing Alex? No. It had to be the riding. She knew better than to fall for the first boy who looked her way. She threw open the back door so hard that yellow paint flakes flew off like sun rays in a little kid’s drawing.

  “Anyone home?”

  She kicked off her shoes and dumped her bag, looking around the tiny cottage built for fishermen, now home to artists, with its bulging chalk walls cluttered with so many paintings that the sea was inside and out.

  Harry came out of his downstairs cupboard and jumped up at her, and Sass was still making a fuss of him when Jessie walked out of the kitchen.

  “Hi, Sass,” she said with a smile.

  “Jessie, you’re back!”

  “Yeah. Couldn’t stay away.” She made a rueful face. “Cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please. Milk and two sugars.”

  Tea with its magical healing powers. Sass sipped it slowly so she didn’t burn her mouth. Since coming to this country, she’d drunk more tea than ever before. She’d never be a convert, but it worked, and not just for her. Jessie was back, and whatever fight she and David had going on seemed to have sorted itself out. And Sass felt … happy about that. The accident hadn’t just turned her life upside down. Besides, Jessie cast a warmth that was impossible to resist. She was look-at-me-beautiful without even trying. Sass glanced down at herself. She pulled off her hair band and shook out her hair. She was like that girl raised by wolves. She was the original Wolf Girl. What must Alex think of her?

  When David got back that evening, they walked up the road to meet the fish-and-chip van. Sitting on the seawall side by side, they unwrapped their oily newspaper parcels and tucked in. Sass was used to takeout, but not like this: fish in crispy batter dipped in ketchup with hot, thick fries, fresher than a sea breeze.

  In the distance, two triangles of sail raced across the horizon, and her world tilted too. Was it possible to feel sad and happy? Losing Mom, moving on, finding Bo and then meeting Alex seemed as bittersweet and unexpected as … salted caramel. Maybe this was how life would be now? Things that shouldn’t go together just did, and she’d get used to it like peanut butter and jelly, which she’d always be true to, however good the fish and chips.

  Alex had been lugging straw bales down for the horses. Rubbing the sweat from his face, he strolled through the pale stone archway from the yard. As he rounded the corner, his heart stopped. His father’s Aston Martin stood parked at the front of the house: the driver’s door open, a gash of red leather against gleaming silver paintwork. He almost backtracked, then changed his mind with a furious swipe at a rosebush, snagging his hand on its thorns. Blood splattered on his breeches as he took the front steps two at a time.

  His father stood with his back to him in the faded silk drawing room, where a solitary bluebottle head-butted the French windows.

  “There’s no point to you being here,” Alex said, managing to keep his cool for about a minute. “I won’t go back, you can’t make me.”

  In the mirror above the marble fireplace, he caught his old man’s gaze: still proud to see his son despite the lousy welcome.

  “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  “Then there’s no need for you to raise your voice.” His father’s only comment as he turned to face him at last.

  Alex shut up, stunned into silence by his own confusion. He gripped the back of a wing chair for support, the old leather cracking. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the Summer Ball, when his father’s call had come too late, the journalist’s words already stinging in his ears.

  Was his mother heartbroken at their breakup? Alex didn’t know, but she was the one betrayed, and that had to count for something, didn’t it? Everyone loved her, except Father, it seemed. Mum had visited him at school just before the news broke. Hinted at it, maybe, as she charmed them all. She’d told him she was going away for a few weeks and not to worry, that she’d call, which she had, last night. Probably prodded by Gran. Said she was “so up and down” by way of explanation.

  “If you won’t take my calls, then what am I supposed to do? You’re my son.” His father had been speaking. He hardly ever raised his voice because he didn’t need to.

  “Not something I’m likely to forget.”

  His father’s self-control snapped and frustration spilled out.

  “For God’s sake, sit down. I’m here now.”

  Alex looked up straight into his eyes. Not many people did that, and he felt a brief rush of triumph.

  “I don’t want to. I can’t explain, it’s all a mess, so just go. Leave me alone to figure it out like you usually do!�
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  And he left his father standing there. Alex got as far as the old scullery, where he slumped behind the door and kicked it shut. Who did he think he was, just turning up?

  Alone in the stuffy heat of the room, the Prince of Wales thought rather differently.

  Cressida Slater, gossip columnist for the Daily Sun, yawned behind her hand and slouched in her Jimmy Choos. She tilted her sunglasses and squinted at the polo ponies galloping up the field. The Prince of Wales was taking the game very seriously. He’d arrived late and was making up for it. She watched the red-faced older man furiously trying to ride off his rival, a smooth Argentine, who it was rumored had dazzled his wife, Seraphina, the Princess of Wales, the most glamorous woman on the planet. It didn’t look like a royal reconciliation was likely anytime soon.

  Cressida was pleased with her latest scoop: delivering the news of the split to the son. It hadn’t been easy. She’d had to cycle a mile up a boggy towpath, skulk about in bushes, and then screech across a river. Had totally floored the poor boy, though. She allowed herself a slight smirk. The look on his face? Priceless. Literally. The photos had sold worldwide. Alexander was growing up fast and had girls in a twitter all over the world. Not that he enjoyed the attention. Quite the opposite, like his father. But the delightful thing was that the moodier he got, the more interesting the young prince became. And now she had new information from a reliable source, the boy’s disgruntled ex-copper, always an advantage. After she’d delivered the news, there had been a school ball and some gossip with an heiress called Plum that had led the boy to bunk off to his grandmother’s in Cornwall. His minder had got the boot, et voilà, she had the beginnings of her next story.

  The trouble with scoops was that one was never enough. You needed dollops of the mush and the Daily Sun wanted more. “That boy,” her editor had said over a cigarette out the back by the Thames, “is the future. I want it all. How he’s doing, who he’s snogging, the name of his pet hamster. The lot. Readers are tired of his parents, a squabbling middle-aged couple, and you … Cressida …” A puff of blue smoke. “Are the one to make it happen!”

  Since the moment Alex said “same time tomorrow,” the words had been swimming in Sass’s head like shiny silver fish. She tried to walk calmly to the meadow but couldn’t keep herself from skipping, and it wasn’t long before Bo was looking up at her as if to say, “Back so soon?”, her black eyes blinking in the dappled sunshine by the creek. Each time, the walk got a little shorter and the wall a little lower. Sass had arrived first and it was Alex’s turn to be late. For ten minutes or so, she sat on the step to the trailer. The first time she’d been there, she hadn’t been welcome, and it felt odd even now to be sitting outside.

  Inside the narrow door swinging on its hinges, she could see Bo’s halter hanging on a peg, next to a beat-up cream sweater with a trailing sleeve that she guessed was Alex’s. She reached up and touched the hand-knitted wool. Unmistakably English, it had a deep V neck and stripy trim.

  One minute, it was hanging there, and the next it had dropped in her lap. Sass bunched it up and went to hang it up, and it was then that she noticed what was behind it.

  The black bridle matched Bo’s halter, with its beautiful stitching, padded leather, and brass buckles. She touched it and the metal bit that went in the horse’s mouth clinked slightly. Sass looked across the meadow. “Come on, Alex!” she whispered. Surely he hadn’t forgotten? Maybe he couldn’t get away? He did have a job, after all. She stilled a small anxiety that he’d gotten in trouble after last time, or worse, he’d changed his mind about wanting to come.

  Sass took the bridle and went outside to wait; she’d need it for when he came. She held it up next to Bo, but the mare flicked her tail and put her head down again to eat. If she could figure it out, she could show Alex that she wasn’t just some useless city girl. Besides, a bridle looked a lot like a halter, and Alex had showed her how that went. Sass put the reins over Bo’s neck so she had something to hang on to. She could see how it worked, it was just a question of getting the mare to lift her head …

  “Open wide … Ew!”

  Bo’s teeth were huge. With a hand on the horse’s nose, Sass held the metal bit in her palm with a Polo Mint from her pocket. Wet lips, green with drool, made a lunge for it. Sass nearly dropped it. Luckily, Bo knew exactly how it went and Sass managed to slip the whole thing on. It was a little lopsided and she had no idea what to do with all the straps, so she just did them up loose.

  “Hey!” She stood back. “Good job.”

  She kissed Bo’s minty nose: they were ready. All she needed now was her instructor. Where was he? Sass led Bo over to the hay bale that propped up the trailer. She could get on and wait, couldn’t she? Having come this far, Alex might be pleased that she’d gotten ahead.

  Even from the haystack there was a gap between her and the horse. She took a breath and counted. “One, two, three … oomf!” Sass threw herself on just as Bo began to wander down to the creek. Somehow Sass got her leg over and wriggled up her spine, the mare’s back muscles wobbling like Jell-O on a plate. No wonder they invented the bicycle. Sitting there, she remembered her lesson with Alex. That time, she hadn’t steered because he’d been leading her, but now, holding the reins, she was doing it for herself.

  “Okay, girl. Come on.”

  She prodded the mare’s sides with her heels, alarmed when it worked and Bo leapt forward.

  “Okay, easy on the gas.” She straightened up and as she adjusted her weight, she was surprised when the horse slowed down again. What should she do now? Maybe once around the meadow?

  At first, Sass was happy with Bo wandering along stopping to snatch at the long grass like it was her own personal snack tour, but it was a little aimless. More initiative was needed. Next time Bo put her head down, Sass gave her a little kick and flapped the reins. Startled, the mare flung up her head and broke into a ragged, bone-rattling trot.

  “Okay, all right. I’ll ask nicer next time.” Sass didn’t feel scared; the opposite was true. Sure, she was sitting on a living, breathing, hairy trampoline, but it was kind of wonderful. She practiced it again. Gentler this time. A squeeze and a click with her tongue like she’d seen. Walk, trot. Walk, trot. Until they got it. The last time, Bo broke into a lope. It only lasted a few rocking-horse strides, but Sass felt the moment she was airborne. Cloud nine slid across the sky. She was staying on board forever.

  What next? She couldn’t just go around and around. She’d follow the creek path downstream and probably meet Alex coming the other way. Anyway, Bo seemed to know where she was heading, so Sass let her, and they puttered along the damp springy grass next to where the water shimmered with dragonflies. At the end of the meadow, they came to a gate propped up on its hinges.

  Maybe she should have turned around and gone back, but instead Sass dragged it open. She went through and was just bending to shut it again when a fat ginger cat streaked out from underneath with a yowl. Bo shied sideways and Sass fell off. A clumsy fall that landed her with a splat in the churned-up gateway on the other side. By the time she looked up, Bo had hightailed it over the hill. Sass’s solo adventure had come to a messy end.

  Alex had almost finished mucking out. He dumped the last loaded wheelbarrow, shrugging off more than a slight feeling of emptiness. His father had gone, had a charity polo match to play. Alex hadn’t waited to see him off; there wasn’t much point, since they still weren’t speaking. At dinner last night, Grandma had done her best to smooth things over, but Alex was glad to see that her pearls were put away by breakfast.

  His thoughts turned to Sass. He pictured her shooing those bulls and immediately felt slightly better. She really didn’t seem to know who he was, though he still couldn’t quite believe it was true. Where had she been all his life? If he hadn’t been so down, he might have found it funny. Yesterday, when she burst out with Truth or Dare, the dare had been a no-brainer, compared with truth. Why did she want to gallop before she could walk? He’d seen shado
ws under her eyes. Did she have parent hassle too? Or was she just a speed freak like him? Fear made things clearer like cold water on skin. He stretched his back. There was something different about her and … Another girl slid uninvited into his mind: Plum Benoist.

  He’d first met Plum down at the school boathouse a few months ago. He and the rest of the First VIII had been training for the National Schools Regatta. He loved the freedom of the river, even in winter when it was freezing and all they saw as they swept along were ducks and the occasional swan. After a two-mile run that morning, they’d warmed up and were ready to row, conscious of a group of schoolgirls pointing on the opposite bank.

  “Looking good in your shorts, Your Highness,” Gully had joked. He sat in the bow, all six foot five of him, like a Viking warrior. Loved all female attention. As stroke, Alex sat in the stern, setting the rhythm and pace.

  “Yeah, waggle your bum for the cameras. You know that’s what they’re here for.” His crewmate Ollie showed him how to do it as he bent to pick up one of eight painted oars on the ground, the school shield a flash of gold in the morning sun.

  “Who’s standing in for Will, then?” Alex asked, ignoring their jeers. Their own cox was injured.

  “It’s a girl …” Ollie drawled.

  “Yeah, right.” Alex had joined in the banter. It seemed easiest.

  “No, really! Don’t look now, but here she comes,” smirked Gully.

  Alex had turned, of course … and put his foot in the fat hole that was his mouth.

  With a swish of pale blonde hair, Plum had walked toward them in skintight purple Lycra.

  “Now you know how she got her name,” Ol whispered evilly.

  But it was her eyes that Alex noticed first. Beautiful like a sleek cat’s. And fixed firmly on him.

  Alex shook his head and parked the wheelbarrow, whistling for Susan, chuffed when the old Labrador shambled after him toward the park. He’d be late meeting Sass, but when the old dog lagged, he slowed down too and took in his surroundings. High up in a sky so white that it dazzled, a kestrel hovered as if Trist was on her watch today. The bird floated on the air, awesome and free, while down in the shadow of the oaks, Alex could see the old estate was showing her age. The post-and-rail fencing around the lower paddocks was warped and flaking. Twigs and leaves filled the empty water troughs, while ragwort, cow parsley, and nettles choked the field gates. His inheritance. Was it possible to have too much? He just wanted to be left to live here instead of dealing with the chaos that followed his parents. He knew he had responsibilities, but didn’t he have a right to a life of his own?