‘Fink Joey’s kids could teach Corinna and Sef a few new words,’ said a returning Chris with an all-embracing wink.
‘That’s a lovely one of me,’ said Phoebe, admiring the cuttings pinned to the noticeboard. ‘I must get Dora to get me a print.’
‘The correct procedure,’ said a returning Alan, ‘is to ring up the picture editor and ask to pay for it. Dora’s done more than enough.’ He held his glass out to Chrissie for a refill. ‘We ought to go,’ he told the Major.
‘Who are we missing? Seth, Corinna, Etta,’ the Major consulted his clipboard, ‘that’s not like her.’
On cue, Etta crashed through the door.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I forgot Poppy and Drummond’s lunch boxes and had to go back, and the Polo’s got a puncture so I had to walk. I hope I haven’t held everyone up.’
‘No panic.’ Alan handed her his Bloody Mary. ‘Seth and Corinna haven’t arrived yet.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ said Etta. She had time to whisk into the loo and do her face.
Once inside, she realized she’d forgotten her make-up bag and she had no foundation to tone down her flushed face or to hide the red veins and dark circles, or eyeliner to enlarge her tired, bloodshot eyes. As she hadn’t been able to afford to have her hair streaked and cut since the summer, she’d curled it up, but it had now dropped in the mist and rain and hung to her shoulders – a grey-haired crone, an awful old bat stared back at her from the mirror. What would Seth and Valent think? Not that they’d look at her anyway. She took a slug of Bloody Mary and returned to the bar, where Debbie and Phoebe were of the same opinion. They must smarten Etta up and decided to club together to give her a decent haircut and a smart hat.
Everyone then waited and waited and waited. Toby returned to the warmth of the pub and, lips moving, read Shooting Life before moving on to Country Life. Etta would have had masses of time to retrieve her make-up bag from Little Hollow. Alan called Seth: ‘Where the fuck are you?’
‘Madam’s been doing an interview for Radio 4, we’ll be along in a minute.’
Shagger returned to the attack and accosted the Major.
‘You sure we’re insured? What happens if Mrs Wilkinson injures herself or anyone else? What about Amber Lloyd-Foxe? I’ve looked into it, I could provide total cover for Willowwood and you could waive my subscription.’
‘Which I haven’t yet received,’ said the Major.
‘Nor should you. Mrs Wilkinson won two and a half thou at Newbury, that divided into ten shares should cover it.’
‘Doesn’t quite work that way,’ admitted the Major. ‘Minibus has to be paid for, and the catering,’ he lowered his voice, ‘was very expensive last time.’
‘Thought Valent picked that up.’
‘Only bubbly after we won the race. Champagne charged at pub prices and food came to sixty pounds a head.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Debbie’s going to look at special wine offers in Tesco’s and I think we’ll have to start bringing our own grub. Or having a hot dog at the races.’
‘Hardly Corinna’s style, where the hell are they?’
‘If they don’t come in five minutes, we’ll go without them.’
‘Here they come,’ said Chris, as Seth and Corinna came down the high street, ten yards apart, obviously in the middle of a blazing row.
‘They’ve brought that dreadful dog,’ fumed Debbie, as Seth swept through the door, holding it open for Priceless but letting it swing in Corinna’s face. Priceless proceeded to greet Etta with delight, sweeping the cuttings off the table with his tail before lifting his leg on the curtains.
‘Can’t bring that dog to the races,’ Chris told Seth.
‘I know,’ apologized Seth, ‘I hoped darling Chrissie might look after him for the day, he’s no trouble. For a fee,’ he added.
He was followed by Corinna, who smiled around:
‘Hello, darlings, we better get going or we’ll miss the first race.’
She was wearing a blond fox-fur hat, whose shaggy fringe flattered her long dark crafty eyes, a short scarlet coat, shiny black boots, and she looked a billion dollars.
‘Outrageous,’ spluttered Debbie.
‘Steady on, Mother,’ murmured the Major.
‘Hiya, Seth,’ twinkled Phoebe, ‘hiya, Miss Waters.’ Then, as they climbed into the bus: ‘We’ve left you the comfy seat along the back so you can spread yourselves.’
‘I get sick in the back,’ said Corinna rudely, ‘particularly when I’ve got lines to learn.’ She picked up Debbie’s bag on the third row, threw it across the gangway and settled into the