get out of blinkers and at least recognize how well the horses went for him and help him get a licence as a conditional jockey.
Back in the Ford Transit, a lurking Shagger descended heavily into the seat beside Corinna.
‘You have such exquisite diction, Miss Waters, have you ever thought of insuring your voice?’
‘Will you also insure my exquisite dick? I know you’d like to,’ said Seth maliciously.
Shagger blushed. He felt ambiguous about Seth, responding to his magnetism but aware of his ability to make mischief as well as love.
‘How’s little Trixie?’ murmured Seth to Alan.
‘Gated like Dora.’
Next moment Etta’s mobile rang: it was a gated, gutted Dora.
‘You’ll never guess what utterly bloody Rogue has done. You know, with Killer banned this season, Rogue’s determined to nail the championship. He’s already got ninety-seven winners. Well, racing at Down Royal’s been cancelled because of flooding, so Rogue’s flown back to Ludlow and told his agent to pinch rides off as many other jockeys as possible. I’ve just heard one includes Johnnie Brutus on Bafford Playboy in the two fifteen so Rogue’ll be riding against Mrs Wilkinson.
‘There’s no way Wilkie’s going to beat Rogue and Playboy on that right-handed track,’ stormed Dora. ‘And Marius will go ballistic Rogue’s riding for Shade. And it’s so unfair to Joey, Alan and everyone who’s had massive ante-post bets on Wilkie – but all Rogue cares about is getting his hundredth win.
‘The flip side is that the press will be out in force to see if Rogue gets his ton, and Corinna will think they’re all for her.’ Dora giggled. ‘I’ve just rung Painswick, neighing down the phone pretending to be Mrs Wilkinson and asking her to take poor deserted Chisolm a piece of carrot cake for her tea.
‘And Etta, if you get a moment, you won’t forget to show Corinna those pictures of Paris. There’s a fantastic part for him in Phèdre if they bring the production to England.’
60
The sun kept making brief appearances in a sky dominated by inky-blue clouds, either tasselled by falling rain or with rainbows leaping up into them like chasers. Gradually, as the road twisted and turned, stone walls gave way to neat fences, sheep-coloured fields scattered with sheep, blue mountains topped with fir trees and square Georgian houses in white or faded red.
Once again Alban kept slowing down to discuss who lived in the larger ones.
‘They put Phoebe and me in separate rooms, last time we stayed there,’ brayed Toby, ‘so I got into Phoebe’s bed. Next moment our host marched in and jumped on us. Bit put out to find me there, then tried to join in.’
‘Look, there’s a signpost to Much Wenlock,’ said Seth. ‘“On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble.”’
‘So will we be if we don’t get a move on, Alban,’ called out Alan.
‘Housman was born on the borders of Shropshire and Worcester actually,’ said the Major, determined to keep his literary end up.
‘Housman was a very difficult, introverted man, rather like Marius,’ mused Seth.
‘Housman was gay,’ protested Alan.
‘Marius isn’t exactly jolly,’ grinned Seth.
‘I guess it’s worth putting money on Rogue and Bafford Playboy,’ said Chris.
Corinna, on her third half-pint of champagne, was pretending to learn Phèdre. Etta sat down beside her.
‘I hope you don’t mind, darling Dora Belvedon’s boyfriend Paris is determined to be an actor. Just wondered if you knew of anything for him? He’s awfully good-looking, they’re still talking about his Romeo at Bagley.’
‘No, no, no, no!’ exploded Corinna, so everyone in the bus stopped talking. ‘Every day the post is a Niagara of demands, every telephone call, every email wants something, a favourite recipe, a doodle, a tile painted, a thirty-minute trip to a studio to talk up some lousy dead actress, a fête to open, a request for a piece of jewellery, a signed T-shirt. Me,’ raged Corinna, ‘in a T-shirt, free seats for a play, a sponsored walk. Even worse are the endless execrable scripts that thunder through the letter box, the letters from parents demanding help for their children. Find me a director, a producer, most of all an agent. Watch this DVD of my play about recycled gerbils, watch this video of me in Hamlet, give me a part in your next play.’
Her rage was terrifyingly eruptive, the spit flying from her lips, mad eyes glittering, emotions going to work on her face like a jockey on the run-in, all the time brandishing Phèdre as though she was going to bash Etta on the head.