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 Michelle.
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just Marius being bloody-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 hell’s he put Rogue on Mrs Wilkinson? She won’t go for him.’
‘Rogue can ride anything.’ Michelle 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.
‘Bloody stupid, putting him on Count Romeo,’ fumed Amber. ‘Village idiot squared.’
Michelle’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.
Michelle was angrily reading the Daily Express.
‘Another suicide bomb, expect you lot were responsible.’
‘Shut up, Michelle,’ 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 Michelle 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 God’s sake concentrate on the road,’ spat Michelle, furious with Amber for encouraging that sullen beast. She couldn’t wait to get to the races and have a good bitch with Rogue or tell Marius how insolent they were being.
Rancid with animosity, they rolled into the racecourse.
An hour later, Michelle 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 Michelle 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, and with lightning speed fitted her up with boots, breeches, body protector, knee guards, undershirt and whip.
Michelle was absolutely furious.
‘I’m not leading up that bitch. Rafiq can lead Mrs Wilkinson,