A WILD INHERITANCE

A WILD INHERITANCE Chapters 3 - 5

She urged the young horse onto the bridleway towards the wood, keeping him on a close rein to remind him of what was expected of him, and then relenting, giving him his head up the gradual incline of the field, feeling him take off like a bullet from a gun, his mane streaming in the wind while exhilaration filled her lungs with cool air. 

The strong wind cleared her head as they galloped across the moor, watching the morning sky change and lighten. She rode right across to Barton Combe, then turned back to skirt her own boundaries and inspect the stretch of land she hoped to buy. It was a twenty-acre field, bordering her land and that of Leigh Barton, sheltering down there in its cosy hollow. 

Halting Vengeance on the brow of the hill, she looked down at the soft lines of the house in the valley. The mellow, honey-gold of its brand-new thatch gave it a luxurious air, emphasised by the royal 'E' shape of the buildings, fashioned centuries ago by one of Elizabeth the First's courtiers as a mark of loyalty to the Crown. Francesca had always loved Leigh Barton. She hadn't been furious, as her father had, when Aunt Carol had opted to sell when Uncle Harry died, but she'd been sad. It had been Saul's house. And even if Saul had already left home, gone away to university, it had meant that he'd have no base in Devon to return to during his vacations. It had meant that she'd hardly ever see him. 

The overheads were too high, Carol had explained ruefully, and anyway, it was far too big for her on her own, with Saul away. Carol was one of the most unpretentious people she knew. It had been quite easy to believe her when she'd disclaimed any desire to play the widowed 'Lady of the Manor'. But deep down, although she'd always shrunk from admitting it to herself, Francesca suspected that Carol had moved away because of Dad. Without Uncle Harry to act as a buffer between herself and her brother-in-law, Carol must have felt under subtle attack from Dad's disapproval. 

Francesca remembered that as a painful phase. She'd been fourteen, secure and content, combining a love for riding, and an enthusiasm for competing in the junior show-jumping events at all the local shows, with a feeling that life held all kinds of fascinating experiences outside the boundaries of her home environment, and achievements unconnected with horses or the family stables. 

She'd hung on every word of wisdom dropped laconically from Saul's lips, who'd always seen life on a global scale, shown an amused contempt for what he termed 'Gorgio parochialism'. 'Gorgio' was the word the gypsies used for the rest of the human population unlucky enough not to have Romany blood in their veins. It meant peasant, yokel, bumpkin. The Romanies, he'd once told her, considered themselves to be the lords of the earth. How arrogant he'd always been, she recalled with a stab of bitter amusement. It had always been debatable who was the most intolerant, her father or Saul Gallagher. 

But they seemed like happy times now. Abruptly her world had fallen apart when she was fourteen. Without warning, everyone she loved and cared about most had been deserting her. Her mother's death, Uncle Harry's heart attack, Saul's and Aunt Carol's departure. It had all happened in rapid succession. 

She gazed down the hill for a long time, remembering long-ago visits, climbing trees in the apple orchard, racing ponies along the wide stretch of moor encircling the house, games of hide-and-seek in the dusty attics, treasure hunts during birthday parties.  

The house had changed hands twice since Aunt Carol sold up, the latter owner a man from Birmingham who wanted a show-piece Devon country estate to entertain friends and business colleagues at weekends. Unfortunately his company had gone bankrupt, and Leigh Barton had been sold again recently. Who was the rich new owner, she wondered idly, who'd made such comprehensive improvements over the last couple of months, paid for the new thatch and the repairs to the outbuildings and courtyards, yet whose identity was still eluding the gossips in the village post office and stores? The latest rumour was that a stunning ash-blond woman had been seen arriving and leaving, driving a big Audi four-wheel drive, with a high-powered executive air about her. It would be interesting to see.