The Boss

By Mike Upton

The Boss is a work of fiction and Mike Upton's fourth novel.

The book is a challenging story set in the world of business and tells how Helen Buckley an accountant by training and profession, attempts to fight her way to the top in a highly competitive and difficult corporate world controlled and dominated by men.

It follows her early life, her many love affairs, her marriage and the reasons for its failure, as well as charting her progress as she struggles to prove that she is as good as a man in solving company problems and confronting business difficulties.

Innovative in finding solutions to business problems she gains a reputation as an expert wheeler dealer which leads her to decide to branch out on her own by setting up her own business consultancy which soon becomes highly successful.

However the stress of her business life leads her on an increasingly steep downward path towards alcoholism which threatens to destroy her business, her personal relationships and ultimately her life.

Her battle against the ravages and effects of alcoholism are well and accurately documented, as are her attempts to overcome the effects of this awful illness.

A moving and sensitive story, with an interesting twist in that there is a choice of endings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 12, 2009
• ISBN: 9781467886390

Mike Upton

MIKE UPTON is a retired businessman who for many years worked extensively in industry as Managing Director or Chief executive running several companies in Britain and America. This, his second novel (like his first AMBITIONS END) is a work of fiction, but it again draws from his extensive knowledge of business and large multi-national corporations and their involvement and approach to selling off parts of their business, or acquiring competitors. Living in Norfolk he has been married to Brenda for 42 years and has tw daughters and one granddaughter.

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© 2009 Mike Upton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/31/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4389-5764-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-8639-0 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTE

CHAPTER 23

SECOND AUTHOR’S NOTE

AMBITIONS END©

WINNERS NEVER LOSE©

ARROW OF TRUTH©

The Boss as with my previous novels is dedicated to many people.

To Brenda my wife, Catherine and Victoria my daughters, Holly my granddaughter and of course Sarah my former secretary.

To Anna for the kind, considerate and very professional help she gave to someone close to me who was ill and suffering the ravages of alcohol addiction and in great need of her expertise.

To all the dedicated team at The Priory, Chelmsford (the hospital that helps those addicted to something) for the support, understanding, help, rehabilitation and importantly the way they helped my relative regain control of and hence re-start a life of abstinence.

Also as always to Geraldine and all the rest of the team at Authorhouse for their terrific help and support.

Lastly to all friends, relatives and acquaintances who continue to encourage me with their constant interest in my writing career.

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To all of them I say thank you.

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This my fourth book, although set within the structure of business also deals with the serious and dreadful affliction of alcoholism. It is an illness that grips some people and for those affected it is debilitating, all embracing and potentially fatal.

Treatment is available to help those struck down by the illness if they decide for themselves that they want to be helped.

The road to sobriety is long and hard but immensely rewarding.

To all my readers I hope that you not only enjoy The Boss but are challenged and perhaps most importantly encouraged by it.

MIKE UPTON

For Louise

"Being the boss anywhere is lonely.

But being a female boss in a world of men is especially so."

Alison Gomme

It’s a long time between drinks.

Robert Browning

CHAPTER 1

Helen had always had a soft spot for her old Aunt Mary who for as long as she could remember had lived alone following the death of her husband Bert.

He’d been killed in the early days of the Second World War during the retreat of the British Army to a small coastal town previously unheard of by most people but soon to become famous and permanently etched into the history of the world. Dunkirk.

He should have won a medal as he and one other soldier had for a little while held back a small troop of well armed and highly motivated victorious Germans who thought that they would soon mop up the fleeing Tommies.

The rest of Bert’s platoon had made a run for it to the coast to be eventually plucked from the beaches by the flotilla of small boats that set out from England to bring back the retreating British soldiers, but the Corporal had told Bert to keep the Jerries busy while he got the five badly wounded, two less seriously wounded and three unwounded chaps back to the coast, then after holding the Jerries up for an hour or so Bert and his mate were to withdraw and make their way to the coast as best they could.

So the two soldiers had hidden in a culvert running close to a barn and had thus been in a very strong position after they were left alone to face the advancing Germans. For a while it was quiet and they chatted and smoked until suddenly they heard the sound of vehicles approaching. Quickly they stubbed out their cigarettes as their hearts started to thump.

When they opened fire the enemy were surprised as they hadn’t expected any resistance at that point. As a result one German soldier lay dead and one rolled on the ground grimacing at the bullet wound in his thigh.

The rest of the British troops had left Bert and his mate plenty of ammunition for their tommy guns and rifles, and to start with they were able to use them effectively keeping the enemy pinned down.

But the Germans fanned out into three small groups to work their way closer to the two Brits until finally they were close enough to lob some bombs from hastily set up mortars towards the brave two. The first salvo of the deadly mortar shells missed their target because Bert and his mate had run a little way along the culvert, but as in a game of chess where the losing king gradually gets squeezed into a corner and eventually has nowhere to move, so it was with the two of them.

Although they would fire and then move along the culvert, the Germans crept ever closer taking advantage of whatever cover they could find until they were near enough to lob hand grenades towards Bert and Sid.

‘I reckon we’ve about ‘ad it’ said Bert to his mate and then ducked as a stream of machine gun fire whistled closely overhead.

‘Yep your right there Bert lad. I’m just about out of ammo. Ain’t got ‘ardly enough……’

But no-one ever knew what he had hardly enough for as another German hand grenade landed right beside Sid and blew him into bloody pieces.

Bert went deaf from the explosion and then felt the terrible pain as he looked at where his left leg should have been but was no longer. Seconds later another grenade mercifully put an end to his suffering.

When all was quiet for several minutes and there was no further sign of any activity, the young German lieutenant in charge of the enemy soldiers advanced carefully and looked down into the muddy and now very bloody ragged hole that was the last resting place for the remains of two brave British soldiers.

‘Tapfer aber vergeblich’. (Brave but futile) he muttered then clicking his heels together he stood up straight, saluted, paused for a moment then shrugged and walked quickly back to the grey half track and climbed aboard, shouting ‘Bewegen Sie auf schnell jetzt’ (Move on quickly now) to his troops and in a few minutes they were again on their way towards the coast.

The whole engagement had lasted less than ten minutes. It achieved nothing in the course of the war except the deaths of three soldiers, one German and two British. Unfortunately no-one except the Germans saw the short but brave fight that Bert and his mate put up, so it was unreported and Bert was simply posted as

Missing in action presumed killed

His body was never found and for weeks it lay, partly hidden alongside the few remains of his mate Sid rotting in the ditch that had been their last dwelling place on this earth. Eventually when the ditch flooded as the remaining bits of human beings were washed along and blocked a pipe that ran below the road some local Frenchmen simply shovelled the remains out of the way and dumped them together in a hole they dug in the grass bank alongside the barn and covered them over. No-one thought to look to see if there were any tags or identification markings and so that was where Bert and Sid completed their tenure of this world.

One local farmer who was a member of the Resistance though knew that it was two British soldiers who were buried there and vowed to give them a proper burial when the war was over but he was shot by the Gestapo and so the two Tommies remained there – unknown and unmarked.

***

Mary and Bert had only been married for six months and hadn’t spent much time together since the wedding. In fact their longest time in each other’s constant company had been on their five day honeymoon in Winchester. They stayed in a little pub, the Red Lion just off the High Street and had been very happy with each other.

Mary didn’t become pregnant, and she never married again or got close to another man. After the war she went out with one or two men but no one could ever replace her Bert and so she quietly went through her life as a secretary/clerk initially to the works manager of a small engineering factory and then after some years she secured a job in an estate agent in Aylsham a small market town in North Norfolk where she had been born and brought up. She saw no reason to move away and eventually having saved enough for a deposit bought a little two up and two down terraced house where she lived uneventfully, wanting little except sometimes to wonder what life would have been like if her Bert had survived the war.

She looked forward though to seeing her niece Helen from time to time when her younger sister Susan with her husband Phillip came over for Sunday tea. On these occasions she made cakes and scones and enjoyed watching over the years as Helen went through the various stages of growing up from a little girl to big girl; to gawky teenager; and finally to a very bright hard working student. Always pretty but as she got older Helen turned from just attractive to beautiful and by the time she went to University she was stunning.

Her three years at Bristol University reading Accountancy and Business Studies were very enjoyable for her. She excelled in and loved the academic work. Socially she was very popular and constantly received invites to parties, or drinks, or to go home for weekends to their parents by a succession of young men.

But she was determined not to become committed to any man at this time of her life although enjoying the fuss and attention that was paid to her she duly accepted many different invitations to various functions and events.

She lost her virginity one weekend towards the end of the first year at university to an earnest polite young man called Brian. They had been out to pubs on a few occasions and once to a rock concert. On this particular Sunday they had spent the afternoon pottering about in a rowing boat on the River Avon drinking from a bottle of cheap Spanish wine.

Afterwards they walked hand in hand along the riverbank back to Brian’s old Ford car where they cuddled and chattered and kissed and gently groped around each other’s bodies. Being early summer it was still light in the early evening as they drove back to Helen’s digs where they very quietly crept upstairs into her little room.

Undressing each other slightly self consciously they lay on the little single bed where Helen shivered as Brian’s fingers traced their way around her breasts down her belly and into her bush before he gently caressed her pussy. She reached for him and looked at his hardness.

She’d seen a few pricks before, had played with them, squeezed them, rubbed them and grimaced when there’d been no handkerchief or tissue handy resulting in them ejaculating over her hand and wrist, or on one occasion all over a new purple skirt that she’d been wearing which she’d had to wash several times before she was convinced that she’d properly removed the stain. But this was the first time she seen a penis and testicles completely naked.

Before they’d been poking out of the zip of trousers or jeans, or on a couple of occasions the jeans and pants had been pushed down the man’s legs but shirts, sweaters or the fact that it was night time had partly hidden it. Never before had she seen a completely naked man in the light with a full erection, and never lying on her bed.

Fascinated by the sight of it she stroked it and then felt her head being gently pushed towards the thing. She instantly knew what he wanted. The guys always talked about blowjobs and some of her female friends had discussed it but she had never done it before. Leaning down she nervously kissed it and then as it twitched slightly in response she slowly kissed her way from the tip down to his pubic hair, then back up again. Cautiously she put out her tongue and licking the wet end of it heard Brian sigh. He put the fingers from one of his hands down to her mouth and prised her teeth apart and then with his other hand pressed her head down onto himself.

Helen wasn’t sure about this, but deciding to try it gagged as his helmet hit the back of her throat. She eased back a little and closing her lips slowly moved her mouth up and down on his erect penis.

‘That’s it baby real slow and suck’ whispered Brian.

She did as requested and started to worry about whether he would come in her mouth and didn’t know how she’d cope with that or what it would taste like.

Some of the other girls when talking about blow jobs had joked about spitting out or swallowing male cock emissions when they erupted. While her mind was tumbling around with this and what she’d do when the moment arrived, fortunately Brian eased backwards out of her mouth and pushed her flat onto her back. His fingers worked again at her pussy lips and she felt herself getting really wet. Quickly he slid on top of her and she felt his prick nudging her.

‘Gently’ she whispered urgently. ‘I’ve never done it before. I’m…….I’m a virgin so don’t hurt me please’.

‘It’s ok, just relax’ he grunted pushing himself inside her. She felt a sharp momentary pain and then he was thrusting in and out giving a sensation which was nice but not earth shattering as she tried to match his rhythm which was progressively getting faster.

‘Don’t come in me’ she said urgently. ‘Brian I’m not on the pill, don’t come inside me’.

‘Alright stay cool’ he replied thrusting more quickly and more urgently now. The bed started to creak and thump but worst of all the headboard started banging against the wall. Quickly Helen reached up behind her head, grasped the offending board and pulling it away from the faded rose covered wallpaper held on to it as he continued to pump in and out of her.

‘Brian, please don’t come…….’ but as she was making yet another plea to him not to ejaculate inside her he jerked back quickly and flopped forward on top of her. A couple of rubs of his loins against her and he groaned loudly as he squirted semen all over her lower belly and pubic hair.

‘Oh baby, oh baby’ he repeated as he slowly relaxed and then gently slid off her to lie by her side.

Letting go of the headboard she raised her head and looked with some distaste at the white globs of his emissions on her body. Reaching down she scraped them off her belly and wiped her fingers on the sheet. The stuff in her pubic hair was more difficult to shift so she decided to leave there what she couldn’t easily get out.

‘That was great thanks’ said Brian softly as he kissed her.

‘Your welcome kind sir’ she replied and smiled. She would have liked to say that it was great for her too, but it wasn’t really. There were no choirs of angels singing in her head. No earth trembling sensations. Just a quick sharp pain and then some pleasurable sensations but no climax or orgasm. Ah well, she thought, at least I’ve been de-flowered, I won’t get pregnant and I’m a full woman now. They lay there together for a while.

Brian dozed off next to her although Helen remained awake thinking about what had occurred until her arm went numb from being trapped under him but in trying to wriggle it free she woke him up.

‘Hey’ he said rubbing his eyes and peering at his watch, which was now illuminated by the light from the street lamp outside. ‘It’s nearly nine thirty. Fancy a drink at the pub?’

‘No thanks’. She couldn’t help feeling that he had used her and now wanted out. Well serve her right. She’d let him have her but at least she’d now joined the ranks of the fucked. ‘I’ll have a shower and an early night’, so she stayed in bed and watched as he quickly dressed before he walked over and leaned down.

‘Thanks that was terrific. Hope it was for you. Meet again soon eh?’

‘Yeah sure that’d be good’ she smiled as he kissed her quickly then left.

She lay there for a little while wondering if he would now be in the pub boasting to his mates that he’d bedded her and saying whether she was a good screw or not. A few tears trickled down her cheeks. Oh well. He hadn’t forced her. She’d wanted it and let him so there was nothing that she could do about it now.

Wrapping a towel around herself she made her way along the corridor to the bathroom where she turned the shower on full blast and stood under it gasping at the force of the jets.

The shower was the one good piece of electrical equipment in the student house. Everything else was either clapped out or nearly so. The grill, oven and electric fire were all challenges to get working or keep going properly, but the shower was great. After a few minutes of washing her hair and then her body especially her bush to get rid of his sperm, she turned the lever to bath and lay down to allow the water to fill up and rise around her.

Helen had a long soak and thought about Brian, sex and life for a while until there was a banging on the door and a voice yelling for her to hurry up.

‘OK two ticks’ she called and jumping out of the bath pulled out the plug, wrapped the towel around herself again and went to open the door.

‘Ta. I’m bursting for a wee’ said Patty one of Helen’s other housemates. Helen went back to her room and then a few moments later Patty came in. They all had an unwritten rule that if their bedroom door was open anyone could walk in, but if closed they needed to knock. ‘Ooh that’s better. Do you fancy a coffee? Jo’s in the kitchen so we could all have a late night girl chat?’

‘Yes that’d be good. Just let me put something on and I’ll be right down’.

Rummaging through her chest of drawers, she slipped a jumper over her head, pulled on a clean pair of knickers and her old jeans and wandered barefoot downstairs towards the kitchen. When she went in the other two girls stopped talking and looked up at her.

‘Well’ smirked Jo, ‘have a good time this evening did you? Sounded pretty hectic I must say. Perhaps you forgot I’m in the next room. I bet they could hear that bed of yours banging away all over town. You made more noise than the fireworks on November fifth. Brian always seemed such a harmless sort of chap …… I never knew he had it in him’.

‘He didn’t he had it in her’ giggled Patty.

They both collapsed in fits of laughter and then to show there was no malice Jo said ‘Good luck to you girl. I hope it was as good as it sounded. Was it?’

‘Yes it was lovely thanks very much’ replied Helen. ‘Now shut up as you’re only jealous and by the way …… where’s my coffee?’

The moment of intimate banter passed as they talked of other things until around midnight Helen said she was going to turn in for the night. As she left, Patty and Jo both stayed and watched Helen go upstairs.

‘Well well well’ mused Patty ‘She’s a dark horse and no mistake. But she’s right you know I am jealous. It’s been ages since I had a shag. I must get myself sorted out. Might even have a go at Brian after all he’s not bad looking in an odd sort of way and it all sounded pretty hectic when he and Helen were rutting away’.

‘Oh now come on Pat. That’s not fair. Helen and Brian have been going around for a while. I didn’t think it was serious but if she’s screwing him I suppose it must be’.

‘Yes …….you’re right’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘We don’t want a bust up in the house over a bloke do we? No I’ll look elsewhere, after all there’s plenty of men here aren’t there? Want a beer before nite nites?’

She did and so they spent an hour or so reminiscing about past boyfriends before going up to bed around one o’clock and soon the house was silent.

Helen though, lying awake for a long while tossing and turning eventually heard her two house mates giggle their way to bed shortly after which she dropped off and slept until her alarm shrilled and brought her back to a new morning where she dressed, made a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee before rushing off to her first lecture of the week.

***

And so her life continued at University. She visited the campus doctor who after some quite detailed questioning and issuing of dire warnings about the perils of intercourse and sexual permissiveness did finally prescribe the pill. Amazing thought Helen after collecting her prescription from Boots that these little tiny tablets would stop her getting pregnant.

She remained greatly in social demand and although not promiscuous she slept with a few of the boys who took her out and for whom she developed some affection but she was quite clear that she would not enter into any serious relationship as she wanted to continue to study and leave with the best possible grades.

The skills of her various lovers varied tremendously. Some were good while others were hopeless and she learned that frequently those that boasted and swaggered most about sex were often pretty ineffectual in bed. They might be good looking but were useless lovers.

One afternoon she wondered into a little bookshop in one of the back streets in the City and spotted a copy of a book called Better Sex which she bought and spent a fascinated afternoon and evening reading and thinking about the descriptions, positions and varied options for sex. Holding the book in one hand she practised alone contorting and twisting herself as she copied some of the more adventurous suggestions and over the following few months from time to time she tried out many of these opportunities with her various lovers. Some thought it fun but most preferred to just get her on her back and screw her.

Until she met James Orton.

CHAPTER 2

The Orton family were Norfolk farmers. Wealthy farmers.

Straight after the first world war James’s grandfather Albert had moved up to north Norfolk from the border of Essex and Suffolk where he had been getting a reasonable living from their two hundred acre farm near Manningtree. However, he wanted to expand and had heard that farm land was cheaper in Norfolk especially in the north of the county and so he had spent a week trudging around land agents, reading advertisements in local papers until he had found Daffodil farm. It was ideal.

Only a few miles inland from the coast close to the village of Burnham Market, there were four hundred areas of reasonable quality land available for sale. Working out that he could just about afford the larger enterprise in Norfolk if he could sell his farm in Essex, he was lucky and without too much trouble he sold, he bought and he moved the family up to Norfolk.

Over the following years he toiled hard as he sought to improve the quality of the land. He worked the manure from the cows, sheep and pigs into the poorer quality land. He drained the wet pastureland. He dredged out the small river that ran through the bottom of his land to stop it flooding every spring after the winter snows melted.

Eventually he had established a mixed farm of animals and crops and when his son Robert was born he couldn’t wait for him to grow up so he could bring him into the family farming business

Initially he did much of the work himself but as the farm grew he employed some local labourers to help with the work and the farm really started to take off. He established a reputation for growing quality wheat and barley. His milk yields were among the best in the county and his beef herd became the envy of many other farmers around.

‘Look after your animal’s health …. they’ll look after your wealth’ he used to preach to Robert. ‘They’ll reward you with good milk, good meat and minimum disease. Hard work and attention to detail are vital. That is what makes a good farmer’ he constantly said to his son who happily joined in various farm work as he grew older.

To start with young Robert did the minor tasks. He fed the chickens, collected the eggs, fed the pigs, the sheep and the cows. Gradually he learnt about milking, about beef cattle growing big and fat from being spindly new born calves. He learnt about death when an animal died and realised that it wasn’t just the sadness at the loss of an animal that mattered. It was the loss of income that resulted.

Some of his happiest times were leading the huge yet so gentle cart horses that worked on the farm and he loved hay making time when the whole family, his father, mother, two sisters and most of the farm workers worked from dawn to dusk cutting, turning, stacking and finally carting in the dried grass that would provide not only the winter fodder but also feed for the spring and early summer. Haymaking was a vital part of the economy of the farm and without it they would be in dire straights and have to buy at inflated prices from others.

Robert went to the local school but as soon as his school day was over he would run home to help out on the farm. At the age of sixteen he finally finished with school and went to work full time on the farm. He had no other desire at the time. Helping his dad run the farm was what he had been brought up to do and that is what he did.

Old Albert as well as being as good farmer not only taught his son well but was clever in building up his business. As and when he could afford to, he bought up parcels of land that adjoined or were close to his own farm, and after many years he had doubled the acreage to nearly eight hundred areas. He was a canny buyer and only bought land that was either good or capable of being made good. He didn’t buy land for the sake of it.

With hindsight Robert sometimes wished that he’d had a better education but overall he was happy with his lot in life. He loved being a farmer and when he got married to Susie, another farmer’s daughter he thought that his life was complete.

They lived in one of the little cottages on the farm while Albert and his wife Freda continued to live in the big old rambling farmhouse which had been extended and renovated over the years. That was the order of things. The older generation had the big house and the next generation had a cottage but that would change when Albert died which he did one autumn day, aged eighty two after a long fight against cancer of the lung brought about by inhaling too much farm and grain dust compounded by being a heavy smoker.

Shortly after the funeral which was attended by scores of local farmers, feed suppliers, agricultural merchants and family members, Freda moved out of the big farmhouse and into the cottage previously occupied by Robert and Susie who moved into the big old farmhouse.

This was the way of things in Norfolk. It would happen again in the future. When Robert died then his widow would move out and their first born son and wife would move into the big house. And so it would always continue.

Robert and Susie had four children. The first-born was James. Next followed two girls, Rebecca known as Becky, Tamsin and finally their second son Phillip arrived.

James grew up and followed his father with an abiding interest in farming, but unlike his father he benefited from a good education as Robert wanted to ensure that his son had the best possible start in life. So James went to a very good public school, Greshams in Holt in North Norfolk and did well academically. After getting good A levels he went to Cirencester College for two years to gain some qualifications in farming and agriculture as Robert was determined not to make the mistake of failing to ensure that James had a good education in general and agriculture in particular.

It worked out well and James proved an avid learner with a great aptitude for farming. And sex.

He was fair-haired, over six feet tall and ruggedly good looking. He excelled at sport and was equally good at rugby in the winter and cricket in the summer. He had a natural talent for ball games and played a mean game of tennis, squash and was a brave skilled hockey player.

After he discovered sex he liked to get in as much practice as he could and returning from college he soon built up quite a reputation with the young ladies around East Anglia.

He loved to ride and particularly enjoyed hunting with the West Norfolk Foxhounds which although not one of the most fashionable hunting packs did profess to be the second oldest fox hound pack in the country. Its other great claim was that it wasn’t snobby or standoffish and had a wide variety of members to ride. There was one titled minor lord, but the majority of its members were farmers, businessmen, housewives, solicitors, one barrister, an artist and assorted others.

James was a bold rider and usually to be found at the front of the field closely following the hounds as they chased after the fox across all sorts of country. Nothing worried him and he jumped hedges, ditches, dykes, streams, wooden fences and stone walls fearlessly and competently. Although he rode hard he never abused his horse, and after a days hunting he would carefully check over his mount before rugging it up, bandaging its legs, loading it back into his horse lorry and driving back to Daffodil Farm where he and his horses lived. As he hunted two and sometimes three days a week he kept two hunters fit and ready to serve his needs.

He had also been known not infrequently to serve the sexual needs of some of the female members of the hunt in various locations, including his horsebox.

***

And so one day in February he noticed and met Helen who was having a rare day out hunting as a guest of her father’s friend Douglas Winter.

Helen was a good rider but not as bold as James and more careful and thoughtful of the way she rode. She hunted a few times a year with her local Lincolnshire hunt, the Blankney, but she enjoyed her days out with the West Norfolk when she and her parents came up to stay with daddy’s old friends Douglas and Fran Winters.

She’d driven herself to the meet in Fran’s old horse lorry. The morning’s hunt had started well and during a particularly good run after the hounds, most of the mounted field had got left behind. However she with a few others including James were keeping up well at the front, but as she was approaching a wide thick hedge she noticed another horse that had unseated its rider also approaching the fence but coming in at an angle to her.

Loose horses on the hunting field, as in horse races such as the Grand National were a menace because they were unpredictable. Helen had to make an immediate decision. Keep going and hope that she cleared the fence before the loose horse got in her way, or try to stop and not jump, but this would certainly result in her horse skidding to a halt and tipping her over its head into the hedge or onto the ground.

She had a split second to decide so taking a deep breath and a firm grip of the reins, squeezing her legs hard onto his flanks to kick him on she launched him at the fence.

Her horse called Gossip did as asked and jumped but when out of the corner of his eye he saw the other loose horse also jumping and closing up on him he twisted in midair and tried to move to the left before landing. He very nearly made it but in changing direction dropped one front leg which caught in the top of the fence completely unbalancing him, so he landed all wrong footed and crashed to the ground with a huge thump that knocked all the wind out of him. He lay still. Helen was thrown clear and landed heavily on her shoulder and hip with her face squishing into a particularly muddy patch of ground.

Realising that she wasn’t seriously hurt she muttered ‘Oh shit’ and rolled into a ball waiting until other horses and riders had passed and she was no longer in danger of being jumped on by half a ton or more of horse. Gossip having recovered his wind scrambled up and galloped off after the other horses and riders.

‘Are you alright’ called a male voice.

She looked up and saw a good-looking man in his twenties staring down at her with a facial expression that was a mixture of concern and amusement.

‘Yes, I think so. I don’t think anything’s broken’ she called as she stretched out and started to gingerly feel her leg, hip and shoulder. Realising that everything moved and seemed to be in the right place, she slowly got up and looked more closely at her enquirer.

‘Hang on there then’ called James. ‘I’ll go and catch up your horse. Be back in a tick’ and off he cantered to the far side of the large field into which they had jumped. Gossip having given up chasing the rest of the mounted field was now calmly grazing, although favouring his left foreleg which had caught the brunt of the awkward landing.

Helen felt around in her pockets and found what she wanted. A packet of cigarettes which were somewhat squashed, a lighter and her hip flask filled with sloe gin. She lit up and then took a good pull of the liquor. The combined effect of the strong drink, the nicotine and the shock of the fall made her wobble for a minute then she felt herself steady and come under control.

Walking back to the fence of her undoing she sat down, leaned back against the stone wall that formed the base of the obstruction, drew deeply on her cigarette, took another large swig from her flask and watched James slow his horse down and ride calmly up to Gossip who raising his head watched them approach and then allowed his reins to be gathered up and led back towards her. He looked very lame.

‘Looks like he’s knackered a leg’ called James as he approached her. She stood up and saw from the way that her horse was walking that he had indeed hurt himself but at least it wasn’t broken.

James slid down off his own mount. ‘Here hang onto Prince while I take a look for you’ he said and handing her the reins of his own horse bent down, took off his riding hat and slowly felt up and down both of Gossip’s front legs. ‘Yes I reckon he’s done a tendon in the left leg. Nasty but not fatal. Needs a good vet and then plenty of rest but that’s an end to his days of hunting for this season I’m afraid’.

Helen stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Shit. I’m going to need help to get him back to where we left the horseboxes at the meet. I can’t ride him in that state and soon as the pain grows he won’t be able to walk there on his own. It’s a few miles isn’t it?

‘Ok. I think the best thing will be for me to ride back to the lorries. If I cut through Chase Wood, over Long Hill and nip along Low Lane it won’t take long. Then I’ll bring my horse box over there to that track’ he said pointing towards the west. ‘That’s about as near as I can get it to you. Shouldn’t take too long. Alright?’

‘Thanks that’d be great’ replied a grateful Helen and as James cantered off she loosened Gossip’s bridle to let him put his head down to eat some grass and lit another cigarette. When that was finished she carefully squashed out the glowing stub then started to walk slowly in the direction James had pointed. Gossip hobbled along painfully behind her. ‘We’ll soon get you safe and sound fella’ she said soothingly to the injured horse.

As she arrived at the stony track a couple of other riders who had been a long way behind the rest of the hunting field approached her and asked if she was all right. She explained what had happened and that she was waiting for a man who had stopped to help and had now gone to get a horsebox.

She didn’t know the name of her Samaritan but with her comments that she was all right the two rode off to try and find the other hunt riders and she was all alone again.

Suppose he couldn’t find where she was? How well did he know the country where they had ridden? ‘Pull yourself together’ she told herself. He’d named a local wood and pointed out the track, so obviously he did know where they were. All she had to do was wait calmly. Shivering partly from the cold wind that was now starting to chill her and partly she guessed from the delayed shock of that thumping fall and noting that her shoulder was now starting to ache and her leg felt quite stiff, she had another drink from her flask and lit a further cigarette, her third in quick succession, more than she’d normally smoke in a morning.

Soon she heard the sound of a vehicle coming slowly and from round the corner of a copse about half a mile distant she saw a large blue horse lorry reversing slowly down the twisting track. Puzzled she watched it approach until with a hissing of brakes it stopped and her helper jumped out.

‘Sorry to take so long but it was a real bugger to back down here through that wood. You see I didn’t think the ground off the track would be firm enough to take the weight of the box when we’ve got two horses on if I’d come down forwards and then tried to turn round after loading them. I wouldn’t want to take a chance off the track and get stuck’.

‘Sure, no problem I’ve only just got over here as he’s very lame and so we took it really slowly’.

‘Well let’s get him up the ramp shall we and then we can get him and you home’, he paused ‘wherever that is. I’m James by the way’.

‘Helen’.

‘Pleased to meet you. Now come on lad’ he said taking Gossip’s reins. Slowly yet firmly he led the horse up the ramp of the horse lorry. Gossip limped, tripped and stumbled up the ramp but eventually made it to the top and then turned to fit across the vehicle into one of the stalls that ran from side to side alongside James’s own horse.

‘There we are’ said a pleased James who had been worried that an injured horse might not want to get into a strange lorry. Horses could be fickle things at times and the last thing that either he or Helen wanted was to be arsing around with an injured horse that was being difficult. Still all was well now and throwing a spare horse rug over Gossip he swung up the ramp tailgate, snapped the bolts home then held open the passenger door for Helen who climbed stiffly into the lorry. Shutting her door James walked round to the driver’s side, climbed in and smiled at Helen.

‘Right ho. Where to?’

Helen explained that she was staying with friends at Beech Tree Farm in a small village near Fakenham.

‘Oh yes, I know. Well at least I know the village so you can direct me to the farm when we get there’ and with that he started the engine and drove off slowly and carefully down the rutted track until after about a quarter of a mile of bumpy twisting and turning they came to a minor road, which led eventually to the main Cromer to Fakenham road where they could pick up speed.

They chatted comfortably to each other. James asked her about herself and she explained that she was in her last year of University and wanted to be an accountant. He said that he looked forward to the time when he could inherit his father’s farm which now covered over one thousand areas.

After about half an hour they reached the village and Helen directed James to Beech Tree Farm where he expertly swung the lorry in through the narrow gateway and pulled up by the stable yard.

Getting Gossip off the lorry took longer than getting him up onto it as he’d stiffened up considerably and was now in very great pain but eventually they managed it and he hobbled slowly into his stable where Helen swapped rugs and gave back to James the one he had lent her.

‘Look I’ll be fine now’’ she said. ‘I really don’t know how to thank you enough. I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d been there on my own’.

‘Well you weren’t so that’s all right isn’t it. It’s been a pleasure to help. That’s the thing about hunting. In fact that’s the thing about the country. Country people help each other. You don’t get that in towns where each is to his own minding their own business and with no thought for others. Rush and push but here in the country we know when we need to help out and we do it. Are you alright, ‘cos it looked like one hell of a tumble you took’.

‘Yeah I’m fine. Expect I’ll be a bit stiff tonight but nothing a good soak in a hot bath and a large whisky