her bedroom. She’d never liked the smell before, but thought what a lovely day she had had and how nice Alan was.
Dora achieved such widespread national and local coverage over the next few days, what with Marius’s comeback, Valent’s ‘horse guest’ and Holby City’s latest heart-throb bopping with ecstatic vicars, that the rest of the syndicate decided to come to the races in future either to keep an eye on errant other halves or, in Corinna’s case, to cash in on the publicity and have a crack at Valent.
The Major was euphoric at getting his name and photograph in the Telegraph beside Valent Edwards. He had played the video of the race, freezing on himself in the winners enclosure so many times the tape had scrambled. He was also thoroughly over-excited that Corinna was back and he could spy on her opulent curves through the trees with his powerful new racing binoculars. What a shame that Valent’s conifers shielded Etta.
Debbie, flipping through her husband’s photographs of the Royal Box, burst into tears.
‘I should have been there, I should have been there.’
58
Mrs Wilkinson’s next race – the 3.15 Novice Hurdle at Ludlow on a soggy, gloomy fourth Monday in January – was supported by a very different mix of the syndicate.
So many Greycoats teachers were away with flu, Tilda didn’t feel she could justify another day off, even though her beloved Shagger had decided to go. To Shagger’s disappointment, the fair Woody had cried off to attend a preservation meeting to save a beautiful horse chestnut which grew in Lester Bolton’s garden but overlooked the village green. Lester wanted to cut it down because it impeded the CCTV view of Primrose Mansions.
As Woody wasn’t going, Niall, who’d thought of no one else since Newbury, was only too happy to respond to Parochial Church Council pressure and stay away too. He had, after all, prayed for a safe outcome for Mrs Wilkinson in church on Sunday.
‘I thought the church had Mondays off like Sunday newspapers,’ grumbled Dora. ‘It’s good for Mrs Wilkinson’s image to have her own vicar in attendance.’
Having failed all her exams, Dora was outraged to have been gated at Bagley Hall.
‘How can I achieve maximum coverage for Corinna Waters’s first trip to the races if I’m not on the spot?’
Facing a two-hour journey to Ludlow along winding roads, the minibus, parked outside the Fox, was due to leave at eleven. Alban (who’d only been allowed to go if he didn’t drink) was revving up. Ione had rolled up to wave them off, bringing a large thermos of lentil soup to keep out the cold. She was now scowling at the minibus.
‘Stop revving up, Alban, it’s so wasteful. Those monsters bingedrink petrol.’
‘Oh, put a sock in it, Ione,’ shouted a shivering Alan, who was having a Bloody Mary and a fag outside the pub. ‘This bus is carrying eleven people who could all be driving their own cars. I suppose you’d like us to bike to Ludlow.’
Chris, whose turn it was to go instead of his wife, was loading up the boot.
‘Poor ’en-pecked sod,’ he murmured, laughing fatly.
From the warmth of the pub, Chrissie watched her husband, poised the moment the bus left to ring Joey, who’d virtuously announced that he couldn’t justify another day’s skiving, Valent had been so decent about it last time.
Inside the Fox, a video of Mrs Wilkinson’s last race played continually on the television. A framed photograph of the syndicate flanking her hung on the wall. Phoebe, on a bar stool sipping hot Ribena, was delighted to be the baby of the party again, but with fewer people on the jaunt she might not have the excuse to sit on Seth’s knee. But at least Toby had risked the wrath of Carrie Bancroft and, braving the cold, was chatting to Uncle Alban.
A minute to the off, the Major, who’d recorded another half-inch in his rain gauge, was forecasting rain and arctic conditions. Thrilled about seeing Corinna, he rolled up with Debbie, who, not realizing Ludlow didn’t have a Royal Box, had invested in a beetroot-coloured trilby with a lilac feather. She was also hopping. Corinna Waters, the great Shakespearean actress, might have the perfect diction that could be heard in the gods, but it could also be heard all over Willowwood.
‘She and Seth were rowing and hurling plates all night,’ Debbie was now telling the entire pub, ‘playing loud music to drown each other and with so many kiddies in the village their language was