for the safety of Mrs Wilkinson. It was a bit difficult as Beethoven’s Ninth had just reached the third movement, with the incessant drumroll sounding like the thunder of horses’ hooves.
‘Turn it down,’ barked the Major.
Noticing what fun Woody seemed to be having with Trixie, Dora and Seth, Niall prayed to be delivered of his hopeless passion. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on writing his sermon yesterday, with Woody swinging his lean body round in his harness as he pollarded the church limes.
Flashing orange balls on either side of the road warned of fog. Hoar frost silvered the tops of trees and the ploughed fields. Would the going be too firm for Mrs Wilkinson?
As they entered the outskirts of Newbury, singing along to the ‘Ode to Joy’, the traffic slowed to a crawl. They passed a ghostly church hidden in the trees, with a canal beside which people were walking their dogs or sitting together on benches. How lovely, Etta mused, to sit with Seth and hear his deep voice quoting poetry: ‘“So well I love thee as without thee/I Love nothing.”’
On a roundabout a racy metal sculpture reared up of a woman with high, pointed breasts playfighting with a man with a dangling willy.
Probably the effect I’d have on Seth, thought Etta.
‘Why hasn’t he got a hard-on?’ asked Seth.
‘Probably gay,’ said Trixie.
Crossing the river with its willows, swans and fleet of coloured barges lifting the grey day like jockeys’ silks, they reached a sign saying ‘Welcome to historic Newbury’.
‘Will be ’istoric if we get there on time,’ grumbled Joey.
They were driving across a common, down a road flanked with leafless poplars as though a flock of witches had parked their broomsticks in a hurry and rushed off to cheer on Mrs Wilkinson.
‘Come on,’ groaned Trixie.
Ahead at last was the great red-brick stand with its flags, glass doors, little triangular turrets and gold-numbered clock over the weighing room. The roofs of the hospitality-stand rose like egg white whipped into points.
‘Tommy’ll be walking her around the parade ring by now,’ fumed Dora. ‘We won’t even see Mrs Wilkinson saddled up and I’ve alerted all the press to look out for Seth’s first appearance as part of the syndicate.’
Thank God Tommy’s there, nothing can go far wrong, thought Etta.
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, Michelle 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. Michelle 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 fucking insolent and spoilt.
‘You think you’re bloody God around horses. You went last time, it’s Michelle’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. Michelle, 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, Michelle 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,