Sometimes, when the weather was fine, and when sleep seemed like a bit of an unnecessary luxury, Lady Tara Thornfield liked to look at her horses. It was a deeply pleasurable experience, in her eyes at least, to wander through the fields of her wealth, examining each animal with her practised eye, stopping to talk to them occasionally, and offering out the odd piece of carrot, or handful of straw. They seemed to enjoy it just as much as she did, even though she usually refused them the sorts of treats that the other visitors to the stables were forever handing out. Peppermints and apples didn't exactly make up a healthy diet, after all.

The stables were beginning to awaken, despite the early hour. Horses didn't need lie-ins, and neither did they try to hide from the morning's light beneath their blankets. Tara usually did, and for her this was a rare event indeed - but she was still getting used to her newly reacquired life of independence and wealth, and wandering around the stables - even driving herself to the stables in the first place - was a good way of checking that everything truly was for real. She hadn't imagined the business partnership with the Tates, she hadn't dreamt about the horses, and the stables, and the money. The only galling factor to the whole affair was the fact that her horses grazed on Tate land, and lived in Tate buildings. Still, she could compromise. She could compromise occasionally, anyway; or at least, she could when there were horses involved.

A horse nearby whinnied, and she turned in surprise, assuming that it had spied some early-arising stable hand. It bothered her that her employees didn't wake with the lark. Didn't country workers rise early, and work all the hours of daylight? And if not, why not? They always did so in the books that she read, and she thought that it sounded like a fine arrangement. Even better when they paid their employers a tithe for the privilege of being allowed to live and work in the first place. Still, times were different now she supposed. People didn't work as hard anymore, she had to put up with the fickleness of modern living, and she couldn't really complain when her stable hands didn't get to work until eight o'clock in the morning. All the same, she wondered what Chris was paying them - then winced when she realised that it was probably her paying the salaries. Damn Laura for telling everybody how much she had won from her divorce settlement. She might have been able to claim cash-flow problems, and have gone on letting the Tates foot the bill for a while longer. She had rather enjoyed doing that.

All fired up with righteous enthusiasm, she opened her mouth in mid-turn, fully prepared to launch into a long list of tasks that her hapless employee could begin with. There was her prize stallion to exercise for starters, for he already looked as though he were on the verge of kicking down his stable door. Presumably he could detect the scent of the recently acquired mare several doors down. That was bad housing, putting them so close together. Yet another thing to throw at whichever one of her assistants had managed to drag himself out of bed first. Instead of a flannel-shirted assistant armed with hard hat and boots, however, she found herself looking at Chris Tate.

"Oh." It was said with the embarrassment of mutual surprise; the surprise that came with their apparently matching attack of insomnia, not to mention the shared desire for solitude. Somewhat surprisingly it was Chris who first broke the uncomfortable silence that had stemmed from her sharp utterance. He smiled.

"Hello. You're here early."

"I have a new client coming today. I thought I would get things ready." It was a lame excuse coming from somebody who had never in her life made the effort to get anything ready. Chris nodded nonetheless.

"New client? Local?"

"Lancashire." She shrugged. "Old friend actually. She used to be married to a friend of Michael's, so we're being comrades in divorce." She fell into another silence, which was a commonplace event following one of her more hasty eruptions of chat. "Er... were you wanting something?"

"No." He looked about, as if immediately negating his denial by searching for something. "I just thought I'd take a wander round. See how everything's going up here. We all tend to be a little busy later in the day."

"Yes. Don't we." She smiled, although it was strained. Going into business with the Tates had been one of those useful stopgaps that was now no longer quite so necessary, and was beginning to become a little awkward. She had her own money now, and yet was stuck in a business deal that she was no longer sure that she wanted. Certainly it was the Tates that provided the stables, not to mention the work ethic; but it was Tara who liked to think that she owned the business. It was clear that neither Tate had forgiven the misdemeanours they felt her to have committed during her last stay in the village; and she certainly had not forgotten all of their differences. She was capable of getting along when she had to be friendly, but playing at happy business partners was something that was quite beyond her; and probably would have been even had she gone into business with her greatest friend in all the world. She hesitated.

"So, er... are you busy today?"

"Not especially. I was thinking of taking the day off actually. Zo‘ is going to busy up at the vet's all day - that's if she ever manages to drag herself out of bed. Sean might appreciate some time up at the haulage yard on his own. He can get in some serious lounging about without me there to make him feel guilty."

"Quite." She frowned, not being one of Sean Reynolds' greatest fans. It was quite beyond her why Chris put up with him. Business wasn't nearly as cut and dried as she had always imagined it to be. Apparently it was all about co-operating with irritating people. Where was the fun in that? "So you're, um... going to be here today are you?" As a way of sounding him out, she thought that it was pretty tactful. He smiled one of his small smiles, of the kind designed to tell the world that he was far above it.

"Probably not. I don't plan on getting in your way, at any rate."

"Oh, I don't mind that." She smiled again, this time putting rather more effort into her act. His smile became even more amused, shot through with a wry sarcasm.

"You want to be careful Tara. I might just start believing that you're actually sincere."

"What makes you think that I'm not?" Her haughty tone was invariably sign enough that she had been caught out, but Chris was not really in the mood for verbal jousting that morning - or at the very least, not with a target as witless as Tara Thornfield. He didn't bother replying to her indignant question.

"I'll probably be at the house all day." He spoke in an entirely different tone of voice, changing the direction of the conversation completely. "If your client would like some refreshments, I'll make sure that there's something available. We want to present a good image, don't we."

"I suppose." She sounded as though the subject was already tiring her; as if the idea of spending the morning talking shop, even with an old friend, was too much like hard work. Clearly she would far rather leave such things to other people, and spend her days reading OK magazine. Her attention was already wavering at its most extreme limits, and the presence of something that caught her eye with its presence pleased her greatly by virtue of the distraction it seemed to provide. She glanced up, intrigued by the presence of other life forms at the stables at such an early hour, and a hard expression crossed her face.

"What's she doing here?"

"Who?" Chris turned, looking in the direction of Tara's frosty stare. The unmistakably pseudo-glamorous figure of Charity Dingle was coming across the cobble stones, struggling gamely in her high-heeled shoes.

"Emmerdale's answer to Holly Golightly." Tara sniffed. "If she can be thought that sophisticated. "Surely she's not here to see one of the stable hands?"

"Perhaps she's interested in the horses." Chris was trying not to smile, although more at the evident displeasure on Tara's face than through any great gladness caused by Charity's arrival. He watched her approach with the same half-smile, enjoying the view even if he wasn't especially pleased to see her when he had company. She stumbled again, took off one shoe to remove a stone, and then put it back on again to complete the final twenty yards. By the time she arrived she looked decidedly disgruntled.

"This isn't the easiest place to get to, is it." Glad to have reached the level concrete by the stables, she let out a long sigh, and smoothed her dress. It was more or less dry by now, although there were still one or two small darkened patches, that showed where the dew had splashed the tight, iridescent material. Tara frowned at her.

"Most people come through the entrance - and it's not exactly designed for your kind of dress code anyway. Now what is it that we can do for you?" Charity's eyes strayed to Chris, who was regarding her with a polite disinterest that told her they were supposed to be strangers.

"I've come for a riding lesson." She tried not to sound too much as though she were taking the proverbial. Tara glowered.

"This is a stud farm, Miss Dingle. Although I appreciate the similarity between your kind of work and the things that we do here, you can be sure that we--"

"Er, if I may?" Interrupting with his usual smooth disregard for Tara, Chris turned to Charity. "We do have horses here that are unconnected with the stud farm. If Miss Dingle wants to ride one, I don't see any reason why she shouldn't."

"Chris, this is a professional stables, not a--" She broke off, rather unwilling to insult Charity further given her status as a Dingle. Tara might not have been one to back down out of compassion or tact, but she certainly had no desire to summon the assembled wrath of the local branch of the Dingle clan. "Fine. You see to this." She turned around and stalked away, head held high. Charity laughed out loud.

"How do you put up with that?"

"We all have our crosses to bear." His eyes glittered, and she realised that she might have made a mistake coming here. "Now what is it that you really want? I don't plan to have our... arrangement made public knowledge. Tara might be a bit lacking in the higher brain functions, but she does possess a certain instinct for gossip."

"Ouch." Charity couldn't help a grin. "You really don't like her, do you."

"She's a necessary evil. Hers is the money that might just make this place into something resembling the way it used to be. I can put up with her for as long as I have to."

"Ruthless, aren't you."

"Yes." His voice was cold, and it grew colder still. "What are you doing here, Charity?"

"I came to talk to you. We didn't exactly separate on good terms last night."

"And you came to apologise?"

"No." She sounded more than merely indignant, but he merely smiled at her evident anger. "I came... well just to--"

"Just to make sure that you're still going to be getting a regular wage from this place." He turned away. "Rest assured, Miss Dingle, that one little argument doesn't constitute a sacking offence. If it did, I wouldn't have any employees left."

"I did not come here to beg for further employment!" She went after him, voice rising in volume, and reached out as though to catch hold of his arm. She changed her mind at the last moment, and came to a standstill. "If you really want to know, I came here because I didn't know who else to turn to. I'm scared, Chris, and I don't think that I can get Zac to deal with this. It's too much, and he'll only dig me deeper into trouble. You know what he's like. When subtlety was being handed round, he was off poaching with his mates." She sighed. "I witnessed a murder, and I thought I could run away from it; but it's caught up with me again, and now I don't have a clue where to go from here."

"What am I supposed to do about it?" His gaze was steady and appraising. "I can help you if you decide to go to the police, so that you can be sure of getting a fair hearing. I might even be able to see that your name is kept out of things. I can't promise that it'll be subtle, though. Like I told you yesterday, I have a problemn with one of the local inspectors, and once my name comes up in an investigation, he'll be round here in a flash with every policeman he can lay his hands on. You might be better off keeping it in the family."

"No. I can't do that." She stared at the ground, watching a fly wandering across the path, straying dangerously close to Chris's wheels. "You don't understand. The way that they deal with things like this... well Tony isn't exactly working alone. He has a lot of friends, and there's no way that Zac and the others can handle this without getting hurt. Even if they deal with Tony today, somebody else will come - a whole gang of them probably. The chances are that my family would never be safe again. This has got to be done so that the whole lot of them go down in one go."

"Well that means going to the police." He looked up at her, his steady gaze unnerving her somewhat. He had the most perceptive eyes, and she felt as though they could see straight through her. No wonder he had a reputation for always coming out on top; he could probably tell what his rivals were planning just by staring at them.

"Are you going to help?" It hurt so much to have to ask him, but the alternative was to go to Eric Pollard - and if there was one person in the whole of Yorkshire who would exploit a situation like that, it was Pollard. Chris was probably just as untrustworthy; and he was certainly more than Pollard's match so far as deviousness and manipulation were concerned; but somehow she felt more inclined to trust him. Well, not trust him, exactly, in the sense of actually, completely trusting him. She was almost prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt though. If nothing else, he at least gained points in her esteem through the simple fact that he didn't constantly eye her up the way that Pollard did.

"You really want my help?" He seemed to understand that she was in an awkward position, and that it was by no means easy for her to turn to him of all people. Whether or not he was sympathetic as well as understanding was anybody's guess. She certainly couldn't tell that from the unreadable expression in those dark and fathomless eyes. She shrugged.

"What'll it cost?"

This time his smile was one hundred percent genuine, and she could tell as much by the lightening of the calculating stare. "You have to have dinner with me next Thursday."

"Here?"

"No. I'll think of somewhere. I'll call you to arrange it properly."

"You're a strange man, Chris, you know that?" She managed to summon a smile, although the tension in her lithe frame would not lessen enough to allow a proper grin. "I used to have you down as a sort of an... Eric Pollard junior."

His eyebrows shot up. "Please. Keep your bizarre impressions to yourself." He paused for a second, looking vaguely distressed by the notion. "You have changed that opinion, I trust?"

"Yeah. About a minute after I first met you properly. It was there for a moment though, especially with all of the stories I keep hearing."

"From your family?"

"From my family."

"Yes, well." A vindictive look flickered across his face; a hardness in the mouth and eyes that did not hide the very real pleasure that came with the unpleasantness. "Coming from that bunch, an insult is hardly something to flinch at. When a bunch of thieves and loud-mouthed yobs find you not to their liking, you know you're on to a good thing." She frowned, but refrained from saying anything. He smirked. "Sorry. Was that offensive?"

"Not necessarily." She kept most of the ice from her voice, although it showed through in places. "Most of my family are thieves, and a fair amount of them are loud-mouthed yobs as well. But most of them are rather more trustworthy than your average businessman."

"Maybe." The smirk still lingered. "But then I never asked for your trust, Miss Dingle. Just your... other assets. If you want to listen to the things that the local population have to say about me, that's fine. It's probably very wise. Just remember that, for all those stories, and all those alleged misdemeanours, it's me that you're coming to for help. Not the Dingles or their slow-witted, parochial friends."

"Point taken." She spoke between her teeth, cross that he was still playing his little games even now. "So what happens? Do we go to the police right away?"

"Not yet." He smiled, once again catching her off guard with a sudden display of honest pleasantry. "I should get back to the house, and make sure that Joseph hasn't driven Zo‘ insane just yet. His latest nanny is a bit ineffectual."

"Latest?"

"Yes." His smile became one of wry self-amusement. "They don't tend to stay very long. Zo‘ seems to think that it's something I say to them, but..." He shrugged. "I don't know what that might be." He gestured towards the stables. "Stay here. Amuse yourself for a while. We'll talk when the others have gone, and the house is empty."

"What am I supposed to do here until then?"

"I don't know. Look around. You were supposed to have come here through an interest in horses, remember. Pretend that it's genuine. Even Tara can put two and two together to make four sometimes, and the last thing I want is to have her suspecting something. She'd make my life hell."

"You're kidding." She stared at the stables in something close to horror. "The nearest I've ever been to a horse is when I used to watch Bonanza as a kid."

"Then pretend. You're good at that."

"Am I?" She did not sound convinced. "I don't pretend very often, Chris." It was a veiled compliment, and she saw by the look in his ever-changing eyes that he had understood it - but he gave no outward response.

"I'm not asking you to go riding. Just wander around. Stroke a few horses. Look as if you know one end from the other. You don't have to be a mastermind to fool Tara. That woman barely knows up from down."

"I'll try." She still sounded doubtful. "If I haven't been trampled to death, I'll meet you at the house in an hour."

"Better make it an hour and a half." He was already moving away. "We can talk about your riding lessons."

"You are not getting me on a horse." She put her hands on her hips, ready to yell at him despite Tara's supposed close proximity. He spun around to face her, still grinning.

"You'd love it. I might even see my way to a little private tuition."

"You?"

"Why not? I was quite interested in horses once. I'll fix you up with Joseph's pony, and get Terry to lead you round on a guiding rope. You'd both enjoy that." She glowered at him,

"If you're not careful, I won't still be here come ninety minutes."

He shrugged, the good humour put on hold. "Your loss, not mine." She contemplated some suitably scathing riposte, but when it came to the crunch, she felt unable to think of one. Instead, amused in spite of herself, she gave her head a weary shake.

"Just go and check on your son, Chris." He was still smirking as he turned about and left. She sighed. Sometimes her life could be very complicated; and she still wasn't sure that she wasn't on the verge of making a very big mistake - but as she watched Chris vanish around a corner, and weighed up the pros and cons of her unfathomable relationship with the infuriating shyster, she found herself beginning to relax for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Life might be complicated, she mused, in a moment of quiet reflection, but at least it was now beginning to look on the up.