Jump. Part 30

53.

Much earlier in the day, Tommy had been woken by Mrs Wilkinson irritably banging her food bowl against the stable wall. Running downstairs, she found kind Sir Cuthbert shoving hay to her through the hole in the wall.

'She mustn't eat on race days.'

Count Romeo was still asleep, looking so sweet, his handsome head tucked between his curled-up forelegs.

'You mustn't let me down, Wilkie,' begged Tommy. 'Or you, Romeo, or you'll get sold despite your good looks.'

Alas, Mich.e.l.le had been getting at Marius for not making her head lad, so in a weak and last moment he told her she could go to Newbury instead of Tommy, and lead up Mrs Wilkinson and later History Painting. The easy-going Tommy, protective as a lioness over her horses, had flipped.

'Mrs Wilkinson's only just got used to loading. She trusts me, so does Romeo. She'll be traumatized by Rogue riding her again and she needs me to calm her down. Mich.e.l.le doesn't know anything about Mrs Wilkinson, she doesn't care about horses,' she shouted at Marius, who shouted back at her not to be so f.u.c.king insolent and spoilt.

'You think you're b.l.o.o.d.y G.o.d around horses. You went last time, it's Mich.e.l.le's turn today.'

So Tommy handed in her notice.

It was arguable who was more distraught, Tommy as she led a trusting Mrs Wilkinson up the ramp and then abandoned her, or Sir Cuthbert, left behind with a bleating Chisolm, as his lady love set out with his rival Count Romeo.

'Rafiq and I'll keep an eye on Wilkie, don't worry,' Amber told Tommy as they rumbled off down the drive.

Amber was driving because Rafiq, with his police record, was having difficulty getting a licence. Mich.e.l.le, who had taken the seat by the window, was pleased to be leading up Mrs Wilkinson. She had a crush on Rogue. Marius, who was foul-tempered and talked in his sleep about Olivia, wasn't proving a satisfactory lover. Although he refused to put Amber or Rafiq up on Count Romeo or Mrs Wilkinson, Mich.e.l.le was jealous of Amber. The way Rogue constantly mobbed her up and Marius was so hard on her were disturbingly indicative that neither man felt neutral towards her.

Rafiq certainly didn't either. The haughty crosspatch was always doing things for Amber, skipping out, haying and watering her horses. She noticed his thigh was four inches from her own but comfortably rested against Amber's.

Both of them were furious that Tommy had been left behind. Rafiq had wanted to take her part against Marius, but was terrified of losing his job.

'Tommy really loves her horses and invests everything in them,' said Amber, for once shaken out of her normal languor.

'And I don't?' snapped Mich.e.l.le.

'I didn't say that. It's just Marius being b.l.o.o.d.y-minded.' Amber groped for a cigarette, which Rafiq lit for her. 'By forcing Tommy into handing in her notice, he doesn't have to pay her redundancy money. And why the h.e.l.l's he put Rogue on Mrs Wilkinson? She won't go for him.'

'Rogue can ride anything.' Mich.e.l.le took out a make-up bag and started doing her face so the punters could admire her when she led up Mrs Wilkinson.

Amber was almost more fed up with Marius giving the ride on Count Romeo to the famously thick jockey Andrew Wells, known as 'Awesome'.

Awesome's claim to fame was some years ago when while working his way up as a conditional jockey he had forgotten to load one of Marius's horses, entered in the second race at Wincanton. He had therefore saddled up the young Ilkley Hall, which had been destined for the third race but won the second easily. Terrified of Marius's wrath, putting Ilkley Hall in blinkers to hide his distinctive white zigzag blaze, Awesome saddled him up again for the third race, which he also won without breaking sweat.

When Marius discovered the truth, that he'd acquired a brilliant staying chaser for next to nothing, he forgot to be angry and because Awesome was such a natural and sympathetic rider, used him when he needed a second jockey.

'b.l.o.o.d.y stupid, putting him on Count Romeo,' fumed Amber. 'Village idiot squared.'

Mich.e.l.le's freckles were now covered with base and blusher, her mean green eyes enlarged by shadow, her thin mouth by coral gloss. She was darkening her pale lashes and swore as she nearly rammed the mascara wand into her eye when Amber jammed on the brakes.

'Sorry,' murmured Amber, 'thought that deer was going to jump out.'

Rafiq smirked, and as Mrs Wilkinson's stamping grew more panic-stricken, he launched into the Pakistani lullaby that had soothed her before. Immediately the stamping stopped.

The moment he finished, as they turned off the motorway, Amber took over. '"Early one morning/Just as the sun was rising/I heard a maid singing/In the valley below."' She looked at Rafiq under her lashes.

Mich.e.l.le was angrily reading the Daily Express Daily Express.

'Another suicide bomb, expect you lot were responsible.'

'Shut up, Mich.e.l.le,' said Amber furiously.

'I can say what I like, it's a free country.'

'Not any more it ain't. Here's a song from the Crusades,' Amber told Rafiq.

'Gaily the troubadour touched his guitar,' she sang, in her pure, clear treble: 'When he was hast'ning home from the war Singing from Palestine hither I come, Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.'

'War in the Middle East's still going on,' said Mich.e.l.le sourly.

'Not between Rafiq and me, it isn't.'

Amber took her hand off the wheel and held Rafiq's.

'Singing from Palestine hither I come,' sang Rafiq. 'Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.'

'For G.o.d's sake concentrate on the road,' spat Mich.e.l.le, furious with Amber for encouraging that sullen beast. She couldn't wait to get to the races and have a good b.i.t.c.h with Rogue or tell Marius how insolent they were being.

Rancid with animosity, they rolled into the racecourse.

An hour later, Mich.e.l.le had just tacked up a restless, sweating Mrs Wilkinson when Marius raced up, already reeking of whisky. Rogue, who always left everything to the last moment, was stuck in traffic and wouldn't make the race in time.

'Let me ride her.' Amber stubbed out her cigarette, leaping to her feet. 'I know her. Don't risk another cack-handed man getting bucked off. I've got my saddle.'

Marius glared at Amber. Behind her he could see Mich.e.l.le frantically shaking her head.

'OK,' he growled. 'Get a move on, you've got to go through the scales fifteen minutes before the race.'

But he spoke to the air, as Amber grabbed the silks and her saddle and fled to the weighing room under the big gold clock, which told her she'd only got ten minutes. Fortunately the valet there was a friend of her father's, loved him on A Question of Sport A Question of Sport, and with lightning speed fitted her up with boots, breeches, body protector, knee guards, unders.h.i.+rt and whip.

Mich.e.l.le was absolutely furious.

'I'm not leading up that b.i.t.c.h. Rafiq can lead Mrs Wilkinson, I'll lead Romeo.'

Rafiq was equally furious. He'd really worked on Count Romeo, who was wearing a sheepskin noseband, in the hope that he might concentrate on that rather than the world around him. The Count looked sensational and would probably win the turnout and the 50 that would have enabled Rafiq to ask Amber out for a drink that night. Instead he was left with Mrs Wilkinson, who was sweating up, probably ashamed of the sloppiest plaits in the world.

Because the meeting was midweek, and cold and dank, the crowd consisted of serious racegoers rather than the kind who roll up for the champagne and to be looked at. All the same, Seth was being mobbed by autograph hunters and was now being interviewed by At the Races At the Races. In shot behind him, Trixie could be seen taking swigs from a bottle and alerting friends on her mobile.

Etta, distressed to receive a distraught telephone call from Tommy, was relieved to see Mrs Wilkinson being led up not by Mich.e.l.le but by Rafiq. She was further relieved when the big noticeboard announced a jockey change to Amber Lloyd-Foxe.

A lot of women in the crowd wished they were on the handsome Rafiq as he prowled round the paddock stroking and singing under his breath to Mrs Wilkinson, who was psyching herself up for battle with Rogue.

There were some good horses in the race. Oliver's Travels, a big bay, was the favourite. Stop Preston, whom Etta liked, had been deliberately given a 'very easy ride' in his last race, resulting in him finis.h.i.+ng last. This meant longer odds and a lowered handicap. Today, his jockey, Johnnie Brutus, Irish, feline, out-wardly delicate but hugely strong, would get his whip out and annihilate the opposition. Harvey-Holden and Shade had consequently had ma.s.sive bets in utter confidence of victory.

Neither Shade nor Olivia was present. Keen to avoid Marius and punch-ups, they had gone with Collie to Uttoxeter.

'Talk about a donkey derby,' b.i.t.c.hed Harvey-Holden as Mrs Wilkinson jogged past followed by Count Romeo, desperate to bury his head between her quarters.

Preston, who'd always been so jaunty and boisterous when he was trained by Marius, was sweating up and didn't seem happy.

Nor was Phoebe happy. 'Shame it's not that gorgeous Rogue on Wilkie any more, I've already put on a fiver.'

'Amber's ten times more gorgeous,' snapped Alan. Amber, as green with nerves as the Willowwood silks, which clung enticingly to her long high-breasted body, came over to talk through chattering teeth to the syndicate.

'If Mrs Wilkinson wants to make it, I'd let her,' said Marius, who was commuting between Willowwood and a disillusioned Bertie and Ruby Barraclough, who hadn't bothered to hire a box this time.

'Handsome is as handsome doesn't,' grumbled Bertie, who wanted his 50,000 back. 'If you pay that money, you expect your horse to at least finish.'

Today Romeo wasn't even being ridden by the champion jockey. Awesome Wells, however, had huge brown eyes, long blond lashes and a sweet little boy's face. He never took in the trainer's instructions but loved chatting to owners.

'What a good idea!' he was saying to a slightly mollified Ruby and Bertie. 'I must try that.'

'Get on, Awesome,' snapped Marius.

Mich.e.l.le, to Rafiq's rage, won the turnout, and posed for a photograph with Bertie, Ruby and Count Romeo.

A bell ordered the jockeys to mount. Suddenly Ruby descended to her knees in the churned-up parade ring, exclaiming, 'Dear Lord G.o.d, please help Count Romeo,' and nearly getting trampled underfoot by Oliver's Travels on his way out.

'Get up, Mother,' ordered Bertie.

'Unlike Count Romeo,' sneered Harvey-Holden as Ruby scrambled to her feet. 'That horse is so lazy, if he falls over on the gallops he can't be bothered to get up.'

'Good luck,' chorused Willowwood, as Marius legged up Amber.

'That's unlucky,' piped up Phoebe. 'Say "Break a leg" as they do on stage, don't they, Seth?'

'Good luck to you both,' a beaming Awesome Wells called out to Bertie and Ruby.

Willowwood, nerves fortunately cus.h.i.+oned by alcohol, retreated to the Owners and Trainers.

Looking down the flat, oblong course flanked by woodland as jagged as a growing-out mane, Etta noticed more poplars. More witches had rolled up to watch Mrs Wilkinson. Trixie took Etta's hand. 'She'll be OK.'

'I just don't want her to be b.u.mped about too much and lose heart.'

Across the course, they could see horses circling with intent, the jockeys' colours s.h.i.+fting like shaken Smarties.

Mich.e.l.le and Rafiq, having let their charges go, waited unspeaking by the Hamps.h.i.+re stand, on the right of the grandstand, for their return. Mich.e.l.le had insisted on keeping the turnout money so bang went Rafiq's drink with Amber. Please G.o.d, bring her and Mrs Wilkinson safe home.

Marius, preparing for ritual humiliation, retreated to the bar.

54.

The starter on his rostrum called them into a barging, b.u.mping start and they were off. Mrs Wilkinson was at the end of her season. Once they were racing, Count Romeo, who was fooling around at the back, suddenly realized he'd lost her. Catching sight of her l.u.s.trous, newly washed white tail disappearing round the first bend, he hurtled down the course after her. He was so incensed that she totally ignored his shrill call, he forgot to be idle and overtook her to get her attention. Mrs Wilkinson in turn was so outraged to be headed, she fought back and overtook him, grinding her teeth and las.h.i.+ng her tail, so he overtook her, and on it went.

Count Romeo gave every hurdle a lot of air while Mrs Wilkinson skimmed them, but Romeo displayed such a turn of foot he caught up between fences and didn't even pause to check his mane on the big screen.

'And Shade Murchieson's orange and maroon silks are moving up,' said the commentator, as Johnnie Brutus got to work on Preston, giving him not at all an easy ride as he thundered down, pa.s.sing everyone to take the lead.

'Come on, Wilkie,' howled Willowwood.

'Romeo, Romeo,' screamed Ruby Barraclough.

Thwack went Johnnie's whip again and again, clunk went his booted heels into Preston's ribs, but he couldn't catch the lovers. Encouraged by the mighty roar of the crowd, Mrs Wilkinson made a heroic last effort and, throwing herself forward, overtook the Count by a pale pink nose.

Miraculously Marius's horses had come first and second, to bring him racing out of the bar, spilling whisky everywhere.

The Willowwood syndicate were yelling their heads off. Alban, braying like an old mule, was hugging Etta. Seth was hugging Trixie, what a body. Tilda hugged Alan, who turned his head slightly so as not to get bayoneted by her teeth. The Major hugged Phoebe, scratching her with his moustache, and sidled off to hug Etta, as Phoebe sidled off to hug Seth. Chrissie and Joey launched into a wild ecstatic jive, then, as she stumbled against him, he kissed her on the mouth, harder and harder.

Woody found himself hugging Niall and drew away, meeting his eyes. Then, with a bewildered smile, he hugged him again, realizing what a lean, elegant body Niall had.

Dora was on her mobile talking to the press: 'Mrs Wilkinson's seen off Preston and Oliver's Travels.'

Harvey-Holden, on his mobile, was changing colour from sallow to olive green as Shade blamed him totally for Preston's failure and Marius's victory.

Except for her gleaming white teeth and the two pale circles round her eyes where her goggles had been, Amber was caked all over with mud, and so was her brave grey mare. For once Rafiq was all smiles as he ran towards her, patting Mrs Wilkinson over and over again, pulling her ears and hugging her.

'Well done, Amber, well done, Wilkie.'

He looked so handsome with the tears spilling out of his pale grey eyes and his black curls ruffled that Amber was tempted to kiss him. She was only distracted by an At the Races At the Races microphone thrust under her nose. microphone thrust under her nose.

'Well done, Amber, great ride,' said a delighted Robert Cooper.

'What a credit to her connections,' babbled Amber. 'She's a one-eyed wonder. Only one eye but the biggest heart in the world. Preston was our only worry and he couldn't get near her, thanks to Count Romeo. Mrs Wilkinson has to be up there, and she sticks her neck out and really tries.'

Mrs Wilkinson loved praise and nudged Robert Cooper's microphone.

'And she's beautifully looked after at home by Tommy Ruddock and Rafiq here.' Amber tapped a bemused Rafiq on the head with her whip.

'Is that really our ice-cool Amber?' said Josh in amazement, as back at Throstledown the stable lads who'd been watching the race were dancing round the yard. Tommy decided not to resign after all, as she joyfully clocked Amber touching her hat with one finger to acknowledge the cheers as she rode into the winners enclosure. Mrs Wilkinson was delighted to disappear under a hailstorm of patting hands.

'Darling, darling, darling little girl.' Etta hugged her, then, looking round at a phalanx of snapping cameramen: 'We must have Rafiq, Amber and all the syndicate in the picture with her. Where is Mr Poc.o.c.k?'

'He fainted with excitement,' giggled Trixie. 'Painswick revived him with a handkerchief drenched in lavender cologne. She and Dora have taken him to Casualty. Could this be the start of something big?'

'We must go to him,' gasped Etta. 'Poor man.'