Country Pursuits Read online

  About the Book

  The gorgeous women of Churchminster know exactly what they want – a constant flow of champagne and the love of a good man. But faced with the likes of beer-guzzling farmer Angus, foul-tempered Sir Fraser and conceited banker Sebastian, their attentions are increasingly drawn to more attractive possibilities . . .

  Meanwhile, when a part of their beloved village comes under threat from a villainous property developer and his bulldozer, the entire community is united by a different kind of passion. Can they raise enough money to save Churchminster? Will Mick Jagger turn up to the charity ball? Will good (sex) overcome bad?

  Introducing a glamorous and unforgettable cast, Country Pursuits is a raunchy, rip-roaring, gloriously romantic début.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Country Pursuits

  Jo Carnegie

  To Mum, Dad, Ali and Joe

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my literary agent Amanda Preston for believing in me and inspiring me to write a juicy bonkbuster in the first place. I would also like to say a huge thank you to my wonderful editor Sarah Turner and the team at Transworld for their support and enthusiasm, which has turned Country Pursuits from a happy dream into an even better reality. Not forgetting the real life, very female (and very glamorous) DC Helen Rance for all her words of wisdom on police matters. Finally, thanks to Sotheby’s Leonora Gummer and Mark Griffiths Jones, and Caroline Offord and Andre Farrar from the RSPB.

  Chapter 1

  SEBASTIAN BELMONT ADMIRED his naked body in the full-length mirror. Not bad for a chap of thirty-six, he thought smugly, his eyes taking in the broad shoulders, tapered waist and muscular thighs. He turned sideways to study his washboard stomach. Maybe to compensate for a lack of height (much to his chagrin he only reached five foot nine in his Ralph Lauren loafers), Sebastian worked out furiously four times a week. Squash on a Monday, weights on a Tuesday, a hellish ten-mile run with his personal trainer on a Thursday, and, on a Friday lunchtime, a ninety-minute Pilates session with an adorable little Spanish girl called Lola. His rugger-playing work colleagues might take the piss out of him for doing what they considered a girly activity, but they hadn’t got a set of abs you could bounce coins off. Yes, it was fair to say Sebastian was bloody proud of his physique.

  He was also very taken with his teeth, freshly whitened by a Harley Street dentist a week ago. Sebastian flashed a wolfish grin at his reflection. God, he was irresistible! Bright blue eyes dazzled back, made even more distinctive by the perfect caramel tan he sported all year round, thanks to regular skiing and sailing jaunts. The teeth and eyes managed to deflect from a slightly weak chin, the only flaw in his handsome yet bland face. Sebastian ran a hand through his blond, slightly bouffant hair in a self-satisfied gesture and turned back to look at the bedroom.

  She’d done a good job on it, even if it was slightly too boudoir for his tastes. The walls were decorated in toffee and mocha striped wallpaper, giving the room an extravagant yet intimate feel, and thick, rich cream curtains hung ceiling to floor from the sash windows, now filtering in the milky early morning light.

  A black and white picture of the two of them laughing into each other’s eyes stood in a solid silver frame on the dressing table. It had been taken several months earlier, on the terrace of the romantic five-star Ferreti hotel in Capri. Sebastian had whisked her off as a surprise on their first anniversary, and the couple had spent four magical days there, only occasionally surfacing from the penthouse suite to wander round the vibrant cobbled streets. The concierge, well accustomed to love-struck newly weds on their honeymoons, had exclaimed he’d never seen a more beautiful and blissfully happy couple. Sebastian stretched out on the bed like a cat basking in the sun, and smiled expansively at the memory.

  Despite his luxurious surroundings, the room was in a complete state of disarray. Expensive designer clothes lay strewn across the floor, where they had been ripped off or stepped out of, and the dressing table’s surface was covered with pots of Crème de la Mer, Dior make-up and various Asprey jewellery sets he had bought her. She was a messy bitch, thought Sebastian. God knows how many thousands of sparklers there were just lying there for any old Tom, Dick or Harry to pick up.

  Speaking of dick . . .

  ‘Sabrina!’ he called out lustily through the en suite bathroom door. The sound of running water stopped.

  ‘I’ll be out in a sec, darling!’

  He lay back and waited. Shortly after, the door opened, followed by a gust of steam, and Sabrina sashayed out. Fresh from the shower, her head was encased in a fluffy white towel and her damp, magnificent body was bare. Sabrina wasn’t the kind of girl to cover up her assets. Almost as tall as Sebastian – even when he was wearing his Gucci shoe lifts – Sabrina was the kind of woman who made Range Rovers and BMWs crash into each other when she walked down the nearby King’s Road. Endless tanned legs reached a pert, peach-shaped bottom and a tiny waist. Further up were a pair of even more pert boobs you could rest your champagne flute on. In fact, Sebastian often did. Sabrina’s face didn’t disappoint either: heart-shaped with full red lips, it had a delicate, haughty nose that turned up ever just so, and bewitching, green eyes. When she wore it down, her expensively streaked, wavy blonde hair cascaded over sun-kissed shoulders.

  Yes, Sabrina was a bloody good catch, thought Sebastian, his eyes travelling lazily down her perfect form. All his mates and business colleagues told him so. Even if she was a God-awful housewife.

  ‘Come here, sexy, I’ve got something for you,’ he said, watching his erection grow upwards like the Eiffel Tower.

  Sabrina giggled. ‘We can’t, you’ll be late for work.’

  ‘Bugger work. Nothing starts without me, anyway,’ said Sebastian.

  Sabrina adopted that sexy come-to-bed look that made him just want to shag her brains out (not that she had many) there and then. Sh
e knelt on the bed above him and slowly lowered a tantalizing nipple into his mouth.

  ‘Mmmmm. God, you taste good,’ said Sebastian, sucking and biting hungrily.

  ‘Not as good as you.’ Sabrina pulled herself away and travelled down his body, kissing it hungrily. Her turban fell off and wet hair spilled out.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ moaned Sebastian, as her mouth found his penis. She ran her tongue up and down the shaft, slow at first, and then faster and faster, like a snake flicking its tongue. Sebastian felt himself about to explode. ‘Come up here, you dirty bitch.’ He pulled her up by her arms until she was on top of him, her neat Brazilian nestling against his throbbing cock. ‘Ride me,’ he instructed. Sabrina needed no further encouragement as she manoeuvred his penis to slip inside her. She began to rock rhythmically back and forward, throwing her head back and arching her spine in ecstasy.

  ‘Oh God, oh God,’ they both moaned in unison.

  ‘Faster!’ said Sebastian urgently, gripping her hips and pulling her deeper and further towards him.

  Small rivulets of sweat formed and fell between Sabrina’s perfect breasts. ‘Yes, yes . . .’ she gasped.

  ‘Oh God,’ Sebastian groaned again. ‘Keep going, that’s it . . . OH GOD!’ They both let out a cry as they climaxed together and then Sabrina flopped down on top of him, her heart hammering against his.

  ‘Who needs Ready Brek to start the day when they’ve got you?’ Sebastian said huskily several minutes later, as he eased himself out of her and stood up.

  ‘Well, I do like to wash and blow in the mornings,’ she giggled. She pushed herself up on one elbow. ‘Darling, remember we’re meeting the Coutts-Nobles at Ciprani for dinner tonight. Oh, and the garage called. The Porsche is back from being serviced. Shall I get them to drop it round?’

  ‘Yah, that’d be great,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can compare notes . . .’ He headed into the bathroom, and was just about to turn on the power shower when Sabrina called out. ‘Darling, your phone’s going!’

  ‘Who the hell is it?’ asked Sebastian irritably, even though he knew the answer.

  Sabrina reached across to the bedside table, looked at the phone and threw it across the bed, sticking her tongue out suggestively.

  ‘It’s your wife.’

  ‘Hi, darling, how are you? Is Milo OK?’ Sebastian rolled his eyes at Sabrina. ‘Yah, yah, mmm.’ He was only half listening as he started to insolently swing his now flaccid willy back and forth between his legs, making Sabrina burst into a fit of giggles.

  ‘Who’s that? Oh, it’s just my secretary, Bethany. I came, er, in early this morning.’ Sebastian shot a wicked look at Sabrina. ‘Mmm. Oh, I don’t care, chicken or fish or whatever . . .’ He listened again for a few moments. ‘OK, fish then, it’s only a bloody meal!’ Sebastian checked himself. ‘Sorry, sweet pea, it’s just been a tough week at work. I’m exhausted.’ He shot another saucy look at Sabrina, lounging on the bed like a wanton cheerleader. ‘I’m fine, I’m getting the 5.03 train from Paddington tomorrow, I’ll see you about seven. Love you, too. Bye, darling.’

  Sebastian flung the phone on to the bed. ‘Who gives a flying fuck what we eat? Honestly, the old girl needs to get out more. Still, at least I’ll get a good nosh-up this weekend.’ He advanced on Sabrina. ‘You, my dear, are stunningly gorgeous, but it has to be said that any man who ended up with you would starve to death.’

  ‘I’ve always been quite good with meat and two veg,’ breathed Sabrina provocatively.

  Sebastian flashed his best wolfish grin.

  ‘Well, Nanny always told me to eat my greens, so I’d better take you up on your offer.’

  ‘What about work?’ asked Sabrina.

  ‘Bugger work.’

  Chapter 2

  NEARLY A HUNDRED miles away in the picturesque Cotswold village of Churchminster, 34-year-old Caro Belmont put down the phone and sighed. She knew she annoyed Sebastian with her mundane little details, but she couldn’t help it. Mundane was her life now.

  She looked round the designer kitchen, spotless after Mrs Potts’s morning clean. It looked like a spread from Wallpaper magazine. A huge, polished Aga that Caro hardly ever used dominated the room. The concrete floor was set off by sparkling stainless steel worktops, and exposed brickwork and chrome finishes gave the room a modern, trendy feel. That was the brief Sebastian had given the interior designer he had hired to decorate the whole house. Caro would have preferred to do it herself, with a more homely approach, but Sebastian wouldn’t hear of it. ‘You’re exhausted from looking after Milo. Just concentrate on him and leave the rest to me. Besides, you know you’re not very good at things like that, darling.’

  Actually, having spent every minute of the last six months with their first child, Caro was screaming for a break. Her brain had turned to mush, and she could hardly remember life before she was two stone overweight and regularly covered in baby sick. But Sebastian was probably right: she was pretty useless at decorating. So she had let the interior designer, a flamboyant red-headed stick insect from Hampstead, come in and decorate their six-bedroom, three-storey half of the converted Mill House on the village green.

  Aside from the kitchen, the place was white throughout, with exposed floors, overstuffed chaise longues, and dramatic pieces of graffiti art Sebastian had bought for a huge sum from a dread-locked Hoxton artist who had been touted as the next Banksy. In their bedroom was a huge four-poster bed with a frame carved from burnt timber, lights that came on as you walked into the room, and two floor-to-ceiling ladder radiators that the designer had assured them would ‘make a statement’. Sebastian loved the masculine, stark feel of the house. Caro, on the other hand, hated it. The place felt like a museum, and she was terrified that once Milo started crawling he would hurt himself on the sharp edges of the granite stairs or Perspex furniture. She envied her sister Camilla’s pretty little cottage on the other side of the green, with its soft furniture, low ceilings, little nooks, and pink roses curling round the front door.

  It had been eighteen months since Sebastian had suggested moving from their Georgian townhouse in posh Holland Park to Churchminster, the village where Caro had grown up, and she hadn’t been sure about it back then. After all, her parents had emigrated to Barbados, and she could pop back and see her sisters and grandmother whenever she wanted. She loved her life in London, her work friends and yoga buddies, their lively social life of dinner parties and long weekends skiing in Verbier. The idea of returning to her childhood home, with its one pub and endless memories of an awkward, chubby girlhood, had held absolutely no appeal.

  But then Caro had fallen pregnant and, almost overnight, Sebastian had decided they should leave the rat race and retire to the country. She had protested weakly at first, but Sebastian had known how to manipulate his wife’s soft nature, and before Caro knew it the Holland Park house had been sold and Sebastian had bought one half of the mill conversion in Churchminster. He had also bought a loft apartment in Clerkenwell, close to his trading job in the City, to live in during the week – although he had neglected to tell her about it until later. ‘To avoid that hellish commute, darling. You understand, don’t you?’

  Of course Caro had murmured her assent, as Sebastian had expected her to, but inside she hadn’t really understood. She was being shipped out to the country, going from living a sociable, full life with her husband to seeing him only at weekends. She’d feared the whole dynamic of their marriage would change, but Sebastian had carried on as though nothing was happening. And he had been so persuasive: ‘Think of all that fresh air, it will do you tons of good. Your complexion has been looking quite pasty lately. And I know your grandmother will be thrilled to have her first grandchild living so close. You wouldn’t let her down, would you, darling?’

  Of course Caro wouldn’t. So she had dutifully left her London life behind, with friends’ hollow promises of coming to visit ringing in her ears. That had been nine months ago, and she had been suffocating ever since.

  Caro
wandered into the hall and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall. A pretty, natural blonde with soft brown eyes and an attractively curvaceous figure looked back. What Caro saw was a tired, spotty old wreck facing an uphill battle with her baby fat. Sebastian hadn’t said outright she needed to lose weight, but they hadn’t made love in months, and she had caught him looking at her critically several times as she had got changed for bed. Already not someone with the highest self-esteem, Caro’s confidence had plummeted.

  Milo started crying upstairs, snapping her out of her moment of self-loathing. He was going through a grizzly stage at the moment. In a rare bout of forcefulness, Caro had declined Sebastian’s suggestion to get a nanny, and declared she would bring their son up by herself, but Milo was a difficult baby and Caro hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since he was born. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to admit to anyone that she couldn’t even bring up her child.

  Milo’s cries intensified. ‘All right, darling, I’m coming!’ Caro called. Running up the stairs, she stubbed her bare toe on one of the sharp steps, and tears of pain sprang into her eyes.

  ‘How did my life get like this?’ she sobbed, as she flopped down on the stair, rubbing her injured foot.

  Chapter 3

  ACROSS THE GREEN, Caro’s sister Camilla was going through her own drama. Camilla was the middle daughter of Johnnie and ‘Tink’ Standington-Fulthrope. Until four years ago, Camilla and her younger sister Calypso had lived with their parents in the family home – a beautiful, Jacobean country house called Twisty Gables, close by on the Bedlington Road.

  Everyone had loved having Johnnie and Tink as neighbours. He was such a darling, so tall and dashing, and often taking time to help the old ladies of Churchminster across the road. His wife (whose real name was Tessa, but who had been called Tink since girlhood on account of her girlish, tinkling laugh) was the life and soul of the village, with her warm character and sunny disposition. But gradually, over the years, Tink’s ubiquitous laugh had started to dwindle, until one day she couldn’t get out of bed. The doctor had diagnosed clinical depression and seasonal affective disorder, and put Tink on anti-depressants.