The first day at work - she'd had so many she didn't usually feel even the smallest of butterflies, but arriving at Low Wood Farm a swarm appeared to have invaded her stomach. She mustn't bugger this up. This place could be her perfect distraction.
Robbie met her at the door, giving her a blatant once-over, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought a smile. Libby didn't bother. She'd dithered for ages over what to wear. A black polo shirt and cream jodhpurs would've been the sensible thing to wear, but after the Charges by the Hour comment, how could she resist something a little more fun?
The denim jodhpurs were bland enough, but her sleeveless Fame t-shirt allowed the straps of her hot pink bra to peek out and she'd layered on more eye make-up than she'd worn to the Mill. Harmless stable yard flirting? Bring it on.
'Morning,' he said, handing her a key, any humour now erased. 'For the tack room. It'll be in the kitchen, on the rack under the mirror. Just knock and come in.'
She toyed with the key. 'Sandra's pissed off.'
'Sandra's always pissed off.' He held out a list. 'That's the usual routine. I'm taking the girls out for the day, but if you need anything, my number's on the top.'
She nodded, a smile growing as she read the incredibly detailed list - tips on dealing with Dolomite's fragile nerves, which horses went in which paddocks, who she should school in the morning, who she should hack out in the afternoon.
'Tilly,' he called into the house. 'I'll be in the yard for five minutes.
'Stay here,' Libby said. 'I'll be fine.'
But he came with her, wandering through to the yard, the horses whinnying, eager for their breakfast. As if she'd worked there for years, she headed into the feed room, and flicked on the light. Robbie followed her, watching as she laid the buckets out on the floor. She leaned down to scoop nuts out of the bin but paused, smiling up at him. If she wasn't mistaken, he'd been looking down her top. He really was priceless.
'You don't have to supervise. Stable yards are the same the world over.'
He leant against the wall with his arms folded as she topped up the nuts with sugar beet, following his instructions perfectly.
'It's your first day.'
'Feeding horses isn't exactly rocket science. And you've put everything on here.' She consulted the list. 'Storm will be the one kicking her door.' She paused, listing to the rhythmic thud. 'That'll be Storm, then.' She went back to the list. 'Dolomite will try to bite you when you drop his bucket in. It's all here. Don't worry. I'll be fine. They'll be fine.'
But he didn't leave. He watched her say hello to each horse, his eyes narrowing as she avoided Dolomite's gnashing teeth by opening his half-door and nudging the bucket in with her foot.
'Tallulah said he'd been mistreated.'
Robbie leaned against the door. 'He was in a pretty bad way when we found him. Half-starved and terrified. Christ knows what they did to him.'
Something nudged Libby's hand, but when she glanced down, instead of seeing the old Lab as she expected, a little girl with long black hair and beautiful green eyes stared up at her.
'Daddy told Mummy you were a tramp, but you don't look like the smelly man in town.' The little girl turned to Robbie. 'Is she a pop star like Hannah Montana?'
Libby pressed her lips together as she tried not to giggle, but Robbie laughed, finally letting go of his reserved attitude and she joined in.
'Thanks for that, Tilly.' He picked up his daughter, tickling her. 'This is Matilda, she's nearly four and the munchkin in the sandpit is Pandora, but we call her Dora. She's two. In my defence, you do look like a tramp, but it's nice to see you've made the effort to match your nails to your bra.'
Libby laughed, blushing a little. 'So we're clear, this tramp isn't brilliant with kids. Now go and enjoy your day out.'
'Hey, less of the orders. Remember who's in charge.'
'Is Libby in charge now Mummy's not here?' Matilda asked with all seriousness.
He walked away shaking his head, telling Matilda off for ruining his attempt to be professional. Libby collected the wheelbarrow, unable to stop grinning.
And she couldn't all day.
By four o'clock, she'd taken to singing along to the radio and an old Beyoncé track had her itching to dance. To her horror, as she hung a hay net for Smokey, a shadow fell over the stable. She turned to confirm her fears and sure enough, Robbie leaned against the door frame, trying not to laugh.
'Oh, so you are a pop star like Hannah Montana.'
'I dance too,' she said, pushing a wayward purple strand off her face. 'Have you had a nice day?'
'Yes. You didn't ring.'
'I said I'd ring you if I needed you. I didn't need you.'
He wandered around, peering into the water buckets she'd scrubbed that morning, checking the hay nets she'd filled ready for the horses in coming in, but he frowned when he noticed the cobweb free ceiling in the tack room.
'I hope you don't mind,' she said, 'but I was at a loose end so I tided the tack and feed rooms a bit. Sorry if you can't find anything.'
'But what about taking Storm out? I said-'
'Oh, god, we had the best ride this afternoon. She's awesome. And this morning, Dolomite actually did some half-decent twenty metre circles...'
She twittered on, as she tied up the remaining hay nets, telling him about Max almost knocking her over, Ebony pinching the Polos from her pocket and Storm clearing the river on the common. It'd been the best day.
He studied the list. 'You cleaned the tack room and the feed room?'
To her surprise, when she nodded his frown deepened. 'Sorry, would you rather... It's just I don't like sitting around.'
He wandered over to the house, shaking his head. 'I knew you'd be trouble.'
How was she trouble? She'd crossed off everything on his list. How could he be mad at her? Oh, please don't be mad at me.
But then he turned, almost smiling. 'Tea?'
It had to be the best first day at work she'd ever, ever had. Ever.
'Want one?' Robbie asked as he wound a corkscrew into a bottle of Rioja.
Want one? Was he serious? Libby hung up the tack room key, stalling. Say no, and leave. In an hour and a quarter, a very cute policeman would turn up at Maggie's cottage to take her to dinner, and god, did she need the mental relief, a distraction from Robbie Golding.
After day one, she'd thought he was easy-going, fun, the perfect boss, but on day two, she'd turned up, wearing a Little Miss Trouble t-shirt, thinking it'd make him smile. It didn't. He'd glanced up from his newspaper, taking the time to look her over, scowl and say, the list's on the side. Mr Golding, it turned out, could be an utter grumpy arse at times.
At times - that was the problem.
Although each morning, he'd barely speak to her, a smile seemingly impossible, when he came home just before four o'clock, he'd make her a cup of tea, steal a cigarette and they'd chat about the yard. He was definitely testing her knowledge and she'd hardly describe him as friendly, but despite being able to ride, school, jump the amazing horses, that afternoon, she'd found herself clock-watching, eager to see him.
Oh, he was married and strictly off limits, but was it wrong to want him to like her, respect her? And god, would it hurt him to flirt, just a little? Sadly, since her first day, he'd only delivered his blatant once overs with an annoyed frown instead of fighting a smile.
But today, four o'clock passed with no tea and chat. Instead, she made tea for two of his daughters, despite both of them intimidating her. And, god, did they know it. He'd called her at three, spoiling her first ride out on Shakespeare by asking if she'd pick up the girls from the child-minder's. He'd been desperate, he'd said please, he'd called her Lib - so of course, she'd said, yes.
When he arrived, not long after half-five, she'd been sitting in the sandpit, while Dora dictated how she wanted her fairy kingdom to be built. Libby stayed in the sandpit, hoping to make her point - he couldn't impose on her like this again. Babysitting wasn't her job.
But she'd watched him scoop up his girls, kiss them both on the head and apologise over and over for being late. For the last four days, she'd watched his life revolve around those two little girls - which hair band did Tilly want to wear, did Dora prefer chicken or fish for tea? He was such an amazing dad. By the time he'd held out a hand, helping Libby up from the sand, her point had gone blunt and the physical contact with him made her blush.
And here he was, offering her a glass of Rioja.
'Christ, it's been a bloody awful day,' he said. 'Steven, the bloody useless accountant, has siphoned off about two grand. How the hell I didn't spot it... so do you want one?'
She'd didn't want to be late, but he was offering a glass of wine for heaven's sake. 'Okay, I could do with the Dutch courage. I do have a life you know.'
He pulled the cork and nodded to the dishes on the draining board. 'You found something to feed them okay?'
Okay? There was half a high-end restaurant in the fridge. 'Ham, cheese and Marmite toasties, with cucumber and grapes, followed by ice cream and raspberries. They chose the menu, not me. Look, they're lovely kids but I don't get them, little kids. They freak me out.'
He pressed his lips together for a moment, clearly trying not to laugh. 'Then don't see them as little kids. Look at them like people, really short people. They'll prefer it too. But thank you. I mean it.' He smiled, handing her a huge splash in a vast glass.
'You're welcome, but don't do it again.'
'Dutch courage? Why?'
She didn't answer, mindful he disliked Andy, but her silence only made Robbie study her before checking the girls were still engrossed in what Libby now recognised as Charlie and Lola.
'Fag?' he asked.
'You should buy your own. You must smoke about ten a day of other people's.'
'If I bought some, I'd go through thirty. How was Jupiter?
'Awesome.' She took a sip of the wine. 'God, that's nice.'
They sat on the herb garden wall, where he could keep an eye on the girls through the living room window, and merrily debated Libby's suggestion that it was Sambuca's back causing his reluctance to jump. Gratified, elated that he sought her opinion, Libby had a second cigarette never wanting her glass of wine to end. A minor skirmish between Matilda and Dora, reminded her to check the time. Six o'clock. She had to leave.
'Why the Dutch courage?' he asked. 'Hot date?'
'Actually, yes.' Her cheeks started to burn but she stared at the floor, pleased he'd found out.
'Who with?'
'Bit nosey, aren't you?'
'There are a lot of untrustworthy, very unsuitable types around here.'
'Here's hoping.'
'Where are you going?'
'Out for dinner.'
'Who with?'
'None of your business.'
'You should've had your roots done if you're going out for dinner.'
'I look a goody-two-shoes when I don't have roots, far too angelic and not the first impression I want to give at all.'
He flicked his cigarette butt into the plant pot, grinning. 'I doubt you could ever look angelic.'
'Oh, I can.' She handed him her empty glass. 'But where's the fun in that?'
'Remember, play hard to get,' he called after her.
'Where's the fun in that?'
She walked home with clouds of happiness lifting her along the bridleway. Robbie had smiled at her, joked with her, took an interest in her life. Her confidence soared, exactly what she needed for a first date.
At the knock at the door, Libby swore, regretting not wearing black or purple, instead of streetwalker red. Why did she agree to a date with someone she barely knew? Oh god, why were first dates so terrifying? She paused, calming herself. He was a normal person, Sheila's son. It's a date, not a marriage proposal. She slipped on her nude pumps hoping to tone down her hooker image and hide her fugly feet before she opened the door.
'I would've brought flowers,' he said, his easy-going smile brightening up the grey day. 'But the grocer's was right out of roses.'
She invited him in, unsure how to react. Understandably, the grocer's might be out of roses, but as he'd delivered the line, Andy had fiddled with his watch strap, glancing up to the right. She let his lie pass as he stepped in, instead evaluating him out of uniform. Hair a little tousled on top. Nice. Distressed shirt just the smart side of casual. Very cool. Jeans, designer scruffy and showed off his arse. Excellent. All in all, PC Andy was hot.
'It was really sad about Maggie,' he said, frowning at the staircase.
He no doubt wanted to come across as sympathetic, but the insincerity in his voice had her shaking her head. Enough.
'Clearly, you didn't like Maggie, so please don't pretend to care about her.' She almost laughed at his bemused frown. 'And I'm sure you could've scrounged a bunch of peonies off your mum, if you'd wanted.'
He put his hands in his pockets, simply looking at her for a moment, but then he laughed. 'And I thought I was good at reading people. Poker player?'
'My father taught me when I was seven.'
'Ah, a real hustler.'
'No. I will take advantage of stupidity if it presents itself, but I'd never con someone. Zo? I'm going.'
Zoe dashed out, mixing bowl tucked into the crook of one arm, wooden spoon in the other hand, and a perfect smudge of flour on one cheek - all intentional.
'Oh my god, Andy. Hello.'
Libby crossed her arms, mentally cursing her best friend in the whole wide world, but Andy barely glanced at Zoe's Forties pin-up legs in hot pants.
'She didn't look like that when she was ten, I can tell you.' He flashed a smile at Libby. Ready?'
Trying not to grin, Libby nodded, picking up her denim jacket. Tomorrow, she'd owe Sheila a massive thank you drink.
'Mum said you've left the livery yard.' He put on a pair of aviator sunglasses and placed a gentle hand on her back as they crossed the road in front of a Fiesta, the driver guiltily dropping their mobile phone. 'How come?'
Libby explained as they made their way to the far side of the village, trying not to smile when she realised everyone they passed might say a friendly hello, but they'd turn away, unable to face Andy for any length of time. In the pub, the landlord greeted Andy, shaking his hand, catching up while he poured their drinks, but several customers stopped talking, focussing on their beer-battered cod not their local bobby.
'Is it me,' Libby whispered as weaved their way to a reserved table in a sun-trapped corner of the beer garden, 'or does everyone look guilty when you're around.'
He laughed as he sat opposite her, handing her a large glass of Pouilly Fumé. 'Some have good reason to. Makes me wonder what the rest are hiding.'
'Do you think everyone's got a dirty little secret?'
'What's yours?' His tone was innocent, but he fought a smile as he studied his menu.
'I have a question,' she said, before sipping her wine.
'Is it the obvious Met question?'
'No.' What obvious Met question?
'Then ask away.'
'Why's your mum playing matchmaker? Can't you find your own dates?'
'I'm twenty-nine. She thinks I should be settled down and producing grandkids by now.'
'Why aren't you?'
'Maybe I haven't met the right girl.' His cocky smile fell when she sighed, raising her despairing eyes to the sky. 'Sorry. She's just being my mum, fussing. I... I got divorced a year ago. It wasn't easy and Mum, well, she worries.'
His embarrassed laugh, his shy smile... Oh god, he was adorable.
Over a shared plate of potted Morecambe Bay shrimps, they chatted about her move to Gosthwaite, the small but rustic cottage he owned and the death trap she resided in, but by the time the waitress delivered their main courses, his leg rested against Libby's and his eyes twinkled as he spoke. Libby stopped noticing the other customers' guilt.
'So how is working for Mr Golding?'
'Awesome, but I gather he doesn't like you. Why?'
Andy cut into his steak. 'It's tricky. Look, I don't want to cause a problem between-'
'The truth should never cause a problem.'
He lifted his glass of red, saluting her. 'I had to charge him for ABH. He thought I should let it lie.'
Libby's stomach was in free-fall. Robbie had attacked someone? 'What happened?'
'Robbie laid into some farmer he thought had mistreated a horse, one Robbie used to own. '
'Dolomite. I'd have kicked the farmer's arse too.'
'But the farmer pressed charges.' Andy put his knife and fork down. 'I had no details about the horse. All I knew was the farmer had a broken nose and he wanted to press charges against Robbie. What was I supposed to do?'
Protect the horse. Punish the animal abusing arse. Or... do what's right.
'And here's me thinking it was because you hit on his sister-in-law when she was pregnant.' She feigned shock but he went back to his chips without answering, his brow furrowed. 'Sorry. I was taking the piss.'
'I realise that.'
For a second he scowled at her, but she stabbed a mange tout, offering it to him.
'Peas offering?'
He laughed, letting her feed him.
'So what happened with Rob?'
'He had a very persuasive lawyer and the farmer saw sense, dropped the charges.'
'I'm glad.' She dug back into her food. 'I hate the idea of someone hurting an animal. Do you like horses?'
'There's something sweet about how you say horses. You're really rather posh, aren't you?' He'd mimicked her accent perfectly.
'Well dragged up, that's all.' In an effort to give as good as he'd dished out, she put her elbows on the table and waved her fork at him, mentally preparing her best New York Italian Gaga-esque accent. 'So do you like horses, or what?'
'I've ridden a few times. It was fun, pretty cool. What did you do before you came here? Actress?'
'I worked for a wedding planner. Awful job.'
As she finished her prawn and pea risotto, she made him laugh with stories of brides in enormous dresses, drunk Father of the Brides hitting on her, and finally losing the job.
'Maybe I should've kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't let that poor girl marry that lying tw...it.' She sipped her wine, wondering if she'd had enough wine to ask, and if he'd had enough to tell. 'So when do I get to ask the obvious Met question?'
He laughed quietly. 'Go for it.'
'Why did you leave the Met?'
The other customers were taking no interest in their conversation, but Andy leant forwards, keeping his response as private as possible.
'A few years ago I worked for SCO19.'
'Is that the armed response police?'
He nodded, puffing out his cheeks, staring at his glass. 'One day, our response wasn't the best.'
'You don't have to talk about this, if you don't want to.'
'I shot and killed a woman. I thought she was armed. Officially, she wasn't, but there's a lot of grey.'
'Transfer or trial?'
'We don't discuss that.' He finally looked up at her, but only briefly, before resuming his examination of his wine. 'One moment, a split-second decision and I lost my job. The wife followed.'
'What happened?'
'She buggered off with my best mate.'
'Oh my god, that's awful.'
He shrugged. 'I was unhappy, which made Holly unhappy. I don't really blame her. We're friends now.'
There was more to it than that. He'd toyed with his watch again, but while she didn't quite believe him, she did feel for him. 'Do you see much of her?'
'A bit. I can't believe we're sat here talking about my ex. Sorry.'
Clearly, you still care about her. Libby smiled as she sipped her wine. 'What will you do? I mean, don't get me wrong, being a police officer around here must be a great job, but you seem to... Well, the fact you went for SCO19 says to me that being a village bobby isn't really your bag.'
He swirled his Merlot around in its glass, sitting back in his chair, but when he glanced up at her, his eyes were filled with desolation. 'I fucked up, Libby. I killed someone innocent. I've had my life, everything I'd dreamed of, ripped away from me. I don't know what I'll do long-term. Maybe this will be okay. Or maybe this is my punishment. Not being SCO19... I miss it, every single fucking day.'
I know that feeling. She couldn't look away, his raw honesty mesmerising her. Or was it his eyes, such a vivid shade of blue? She leaned on the table, her chin in hand.
'Do you miss London?' she asked.
He nodded.
'Me too,' she said without thinking, still too focused on his eyes.
'You lived in London, whereabouts?'
'Covent Garden.'
'Were you a wedding planner there too?'
'No. I went to university there. Where did you live?'
'Are you aware, every time you answer a question with what I'm guessing are half-truths and more questions, your mouth twitches, just a little?' He leaned forwards, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. 'Just here.'
She nodded, still staring. His hand didn't leave her face.
'What secrets are you hiding, Ms Wilde?'
'Nothing of any interest,' she whispered. 'Why didn't you like Maggie?'
'She had an affair with my dad.'
'Does your mum know?'
He leant closer, his lips hovering beside hers. 'No.'
Was he going to kiss her, here? 'Isn't this a bit public?'
'You have purple stripes in your hair and you're worried about what people might think?' He laughed softly, his lips hovering millimetres from hers. 'Are we done here?'
'What about dessert, coffee?'
'I have a kettle.'
She blinked, breaking the intoxicating eye contact. 'I was warned you'd try to get me back to your place.'
'If it makes you more comfortable, we could go to yours.'
'Cute, but I'm not a one night stand sort of girl. Sorry.'
'Don't be sorry. Just come with me.'
'Pun intended?'
His smile grew. 'Would you like to come round for dinner tomorrow?'
'Yes.'
'Then it's not a one night stand.'
'Are you that desperate to take me to bed?'
'It's better than going home alone.'
'Sorry.'
'You need to drop a few inhibitions.'
'I'm not inhibited.'
'Then let's go.'
'What, you're daring me? No.'
'You worried I won't respect you in the morning?'
Her cheeks flamed as his leg slipped between hers. Was she inhibited?
'We can go to your place,' he said, his voice a low murmur, his breath brushing her cheek. 'I'll kiss you goodnight and arrange to meet up for dinner tomorrow or...' He kissed her, slowly. 'You can come to mine and we'll fuck in the hallway, up against the wall. It's your choice but either way, I won't think any less of you.'
Libby stared at him. The idea of shagging in the hallway, up against the wall on a first date that was likely to be a one night stand appalled her. At least she wanted to be appalled. The reality was it turned her on more than she cared to admit to herself.
It was wrong.
‘No.’
Andy sat back, rapping his fingers on the table. ‘No?’
‘Does dinner still stand for tomorrow night?’
A slow smile, took over his face, dimples appearing in his cheeks. ‘Hell, yeah.’