Secret Of The Manor Read Online Free PDF

and Carl, whenever possible, left the children to his wife. “Sounds like you need some time out.” Warren checked his watch. “I can be at my place in half an hour. Why don’t I do you a sandwich for lunch, instead of the other way around?”
    “I’m in. I’ll bring a bucket for Argo.” Warren heard desperation for escape in Carl’s voice. “See you soon.” The phone clicked dead before Warren could say goodbye. Warren laughed and enjoyed some peace and quiet before what was sure to be a lunch of Carl letting off steam.
    His prediction was correct. The moment Carl’s battered Land Rover rolled to a halt on the gravel driveway Warren could hear the man’s grumbles through the open window. Carl hobbled out and continued complaining while he retrieved Argo’s feed and was led to the head-collared beast, who was happily sucking in long gulps of water from a bucket.
    “Bloody kids! Left ’em with a flea in the ear, I have. And I’ve told the girls, if any of ’em hurts my horses, there’ll be hell to pay.” Carl mumbled and fussed as he removed his boots. He didn’t begin to settle until seated at the table with a mug of tea and a ham sandwich.
    Warren left him to simmer down before he asked, “Are the children always like that?”
    After stuffing the remains of his crust into his mouth, chewing it well, and swallowing it with a gulp of tea, Carl answered. “Nah. Just got a bad bunch. Saturdays are usually busy, but there’s an own-a-pony party going on. Unfortunately, there’s a couple of Veronica-Josephines amongst ’em who seem to think the stable’s an extension of the playground and that horses are bigger teddy bears that should do as they’re told. An ‘orse isn’t a bloody toy. Oh, and shit is something other people shovel, not them. After the talkin’-to I gave em, we’ll see what they’re like when I get back. No one’s going to mollycoddle and wipe their arses at my place, even if it is a party. If they haven’t improved, I’ll be calling their parents to come pick ’em up. The rules were laid down when they booked.”
    Another cuppa later, Warren gave Carl a tour of his home. He’d not been there before. The man was suitably impressed and gave Warren food for thought, too. Carl suggested there was enough room in his barn for a couple of stalls and a small paddock outside. That way Warren could have Argo over for the odd holiday.
    Conversation halted for a while as Warren mulled over ideas for a barn reorganisation. Then, Carl surprised Warren by asking, “How come you haven’t got a missus, then?”
    Warren countered the direct line with evasion. “I could be divorced.”
    “By the look of this place, you’ve got too much money for a divorced man, and there’s nowt here left from a woman.”
    “I’ve been big on career—too busy for a relationship.”
    A look of horror graced Carl’s face. “You ain’t no middle-aged virgin, are ye?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The wife got me watching that film
40-Year-Old Virgin
. Just got me thinkin’, is all.”
    It was Warren’s turn to look horrified. “No, not a virgin. I’ve had relationships, but none of them have fit in with work, so they didn’t last, and none has been significant enough to adjust my professional life for.”
    Carl studied him for a while. “You said relationships, not girlfriends. You into blokes by any chance?” Before Warren could reply, Carl held up a finger. “And just so we’re clear, it doesn’t bother me. In my time, I’ve seen as many blokes rolling around in the hay together as anything else. In my youth, when I did the competition circuit, stable liaisons were rife, particularly at international riding events. Sometimes the hayloft saw more action than the competition ring. Oh my God, the stories I could tell you.” Carl chuckled.
    “You mean there’s more than fables and village gossip?”
    “Oh, hell, yes! Are you going to give me an answer or not?” Carl’s directness wrong-footed