Outsider. Sara Craven

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      ‘I don’t suppose you are.’ Beattie was silent for a moment. ‘I’ve never been able to understand why Grantham keeps you chained to that office desk. Doesn’t he realise you have the same feeling for those four-legged monsters that he has himself?’

      ‘He knows.’ Natalie let out the clutch and they moved off again. ‘I thought at first when he refused point blank to let me work with the horses that it was just plain sexism. He’s never employed girls in the stables in any capacity, after all. But it seems to go deeper than that.’ She paused. ‘I hoped—when I married Tony—that his attitude might soften, but he seemed more determined than ever to keep me out of things. It took me quite a while to realise that he saw in Tony the son he’d always wanted—an heir apparent for Wintersgarth. All I was needed for was to—carry on the succession.’

      ‘Nat, my dear!’ There was shock as well as compassion in Beattie’s soft voice.

      ‘Do I sound bitter?’ Natalie asked ruefully. ‘Well, I was, even after Tony was killed. Father seemed to blame me for not being pregnant.’ She forced a smile. ‘If I’d been a mare, I think he’d have sold me.’

      ‘Or found a better stallion,’ said Beattie thoughtfully.

      Natalie nearly stalled the car.

      ‘Or even that,’ she agreed, her voice quivering a little. ‘As it is, there’s no one left but me, and somehow I have to persuade him to make the best of it, and take me into full partnership. My God, good women trainers aren’t exactly unknown in steeplechasing! And I could be good—I know it.’ She sighed. ‘It isn’t my fault I was born female.’

      Beattie shot her a dry look. ‘Some people might regard it as a distinct advantage.’

      ‘But then you’re prejudiced,’ Natalie returned affectionately.

      The memory of the exchange made her smile as she rode Jasmine sedately under the archway into the stableyard, glancing around her as she did so. Everything as far as she could see had been honed to its usual pristine state. The boxes were gleaming, the gravel had been raked, and there was a busy, excited hum round the place.

      All the lads, she knew, were looking forward to seeing her father restored to health, and back where he belonged. Grantham Slater had the reputation of being a hard man in many ways, and an exacting employer, but he was also fair, and paid good wages for good work.

      ‘We know where we stand with the boss,’ Wes had once explained it simply to her.

      Well, the boss would have nothing to complain of when he did his round at evening stables, as he undoubtedly would, thought Natalie as she rode Jasmine into the second, smaller yard and dismounted.

      Beattie was talking optimistically of persuading her husband to take it easy, but Natalie was sure he’d have other ideas.

      She led Jasmine into her stall and began to unsaddle her. It had done her good to ride out, helping her to get things into perspective, see how best to tackle her father.

      He was a logical man, she thought, as she began to brush Jasmine down. When he realised how well she’d coped in his absence, he’d change his mind about having her as a partner. Besides, what real choice did he have? For once in his life, Grantham Slater would have to bow to circumstance, instead of bending it to his will as he usually did.

      ‘Excuse me, Miss Natalie.’ The voice behind her made her jump. She’d been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to hear Ben Watson’s approach. ‘Mrs Slater’s been on the phone, asking for you. I can finish off Jasmine if you want to get up to the house.’

      Natalie forced a smile. ‘It’s all right, I’ll see to her myself, thanks.’

      Watson lingered. ‘I thought you might be in a bit of a hurry. It’s a great day, after all.’

      She nodded, and concentrated her attention on Jasmine, hoping he would take the hint and go. She’d no idea why she didn’t like Ben Watson. He was quiet and polite, and Wes had no complaints about his work, but there was something … something about the way he looked at her which had made Natalie wish more than once that she was several inches taller, and a couple of stone heavier, and looked like one of the horses. At the same time, she told herself she was probably imagining things. His attitude to her was always respectful—even deferential.

      I’ve just taken agin him, she thought ruefully, and knew by the sudden slackening of some inner tension that he had departed.

      When she got to the house, Beattie was rushing into the dining room with a vase of flowers.

      ‘Would you believe it?’ she flung at Natalie. ‘Grantham’s just rung to say he’s invited two extra people to lunch. Bang goes our quiet family party!’

      ‘Oh, Beattie!’ Natalie was taken aback. ‘That’s too bad of him, it really is! Did he say who they were?’

      Beattie flapped an agitated hand. ‘Well, there’s Andrew Bentley, for one—and he did mention the other name, but I’ve forgotten.’ She paused. ‘I just hope there’s enough food.’

      Natalie sent her an affectionate grin. ‘Of course there will be. Judging by last night’s preparations, you could feed the entire membership of the Jockey Club, if they turned up, let alone Dad’s solicitor and some unknown quantity. Is there anything I can do?’

      ‘Not really.’ Beattie secretly revelled in domestic crises, her stepdaughter suspected. ‘Although—darling, you might put on a dress.’

      ‘I’d already planned to.’ Natalie grimaced. ‘I don’t want to give Dad any cause for complaint, today of all days.’

      She was thoughtful as she went up to her room. It seemed odd that Andrew Bentley was coming to lunch on Grantham’s first day out of the clinic. Was he coming as legal adviser, or family friend? she wondered. If it was purely a social visit, then Liz would probably be coming with him, and that would explain the extra person. But that can’t be, she thought rather restively. Beattie and Liz are friends. She wouldn’t forget the name of Andrew’s wife, no matter how much of a flap she was in.

      She showered swiftly, then dressed in a simple navy shirtwaister—a compromise, she thought as she tugged a comb through her tangle of copper hair, between the ultra-feminine clothes Grantham preferred her to wear, and the businesslike exterior she wished to present. She toyed with the idea of putting her hair up, but decided that would be carrying the new efficient image too far.

      Excitement always made her pale, so she added a judicious amount of blusher to her cheeks, and a modicum of shadow to emphasise the lustre of her green eyes under their sweep of dark lashes.

      Daddy’s pretty little daughter, she thought with irony as she surveyed the results of her labours. Only not a cipher any more, but a force to be reckoned with.

      She heard the sound of a car on the drive, and flew to the window. It was the hired vehicle Grantham had insisted on, having explosively turned down his wife and daughter’s offers to drive him home themselves.

      ‘Women drivers!’ he’d snorted. ‘I’m not in line for another heart attack, thank you!’

      ‘Chauvinist,’ Beattie had teased, squeezing his hand with love, but Natalie found her own smile rather fixed.

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