she’s got guts.’
‘This is the most exciting day of my life,’ Corinna was telling the press, as she took up her position next to Mrs Wilkinson.
It was while Amber was weighing in that she heard the horrible news that although Dare Catswood had only wrenched his shoulder, Stop Preston had had to be put down. She then escaped to the women’s changing room, which was part of the ambulance room, in which she would probably have ended up if Rogue hadn’t dragged her back on to Mrs Wilkinson, and burst into a flood of tears.
‘You don’t want to do that,’ said a soft voice. ‘You’ve got to talk to the press.’
It was Rogue. Having shed Shade’s silks, he was dressed in a black undershirt. His face was still spattered with mud, making his smile wider and whiter. As she wasn’t wearing heels, his blue eyes were on a level with hers.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you glad I let you win?’
‘You did not.’
‘I did too, I wanted Marius to put you op for Wetherby next month.’
‘He won’t, he hasn’t. You did not,’ sobbed Amber, ‘I won on my own.’
Frantically wiping her eyes, she was about to slap his face when Rogue caught her hand and brushed it with his lips, sending a thousand volts through her. ‘I’m going to Wetherby too,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to take you out to dinner, and later in the evening we’re going to make peace, not war.’ Then, at her look of bewilderment: ‘Well done, darling, of course you won and that’s one hell of a brave little horse. I better go and win the last race.’
62
Sadness was cast over the day by the death of Stop Preston, who had showed such promise.
‘The horses that die in their glory, and never grow old,’ sighed Alan.
‘Congratulations to Mrs Wilkinson and all her connections,’ crackled the loudspeaker.
‘Sounds just like Jane Austen,’ mocked Corinna as she went up to collect Mrs Wilkinson’s cup, watched with differing emotions by the rest of the syndicate.
‘Oh I have been to Ludlow Fair
And left my necktie God knows where,’
quoted Seth.
‘And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:’
continued Alan,
‘Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad.’
‘Tommy’s a sterling stable lad,’ observed Seth.
‘And she’s got such a crush on Rafiq, and poor Rafiq’s got such a crush on Amber,’ said Alan.
He and Seth, having both made a grand on Mrs Wilkinson, were getting drunk on the way home. Corinna, who’d passed out, was sleeping peacefully in the back. Chris, also drunk, was pouring his heart out to the Major, who was well aware that he and Chrissie had lapsed on their subscription but, unlike Shagger, not through avarice.
‘We’re frankly havin’ to live on the Fox’s takings, the rental’s so bloody huge. Previous landlady lied about the takings,’ Chris was saying. ‘Shouldn’t have joined the syndicate, haven’t got three thousand to put in, let alone the subscription. Smoking ban and drink driving’s hit us hard. IVF’s cost us a fortune. Chrissie won’t be happy until she has a baby.’
Meanwhile back at Badger’s Court, in a room intended one day to be Bonny and Valent’s master bedroom, Joey and Chrissie made love on an old divan, to which Joey often retreated for forty winks after lunch.
‘Oh Joey,’ sighed Chrissie.
‘Oh Chrissie,’ sighed Joey, ‘I ’ave longed for this.’
‘Oh Joey, that is so naughty,’ squeaked Chrissie, feeling something deliciously cold up her bottom.
‘No, it ain’t, it’s Priceless,’ said Joey. ‘Get that long nose out of there, Priceless.’
‘I’ve got an idea, Chris,’ said the Major. ‘Let me make a call.’ As he retreated to the back of the bus, where Corinna snored lightly, he longed to put a hand on her splendidly heaving breasts.
The full moon peering in through the window must be checking her reflection in my shiny face, thought Etta wearily. She had no right to feel so despondent, except that she was heartbroken about Preston, her lucky horse, and sad about losing her betting slip. Fifty pounds would have paid for her share of the picnic and enabled her to buy something for Tilda for looking after Drummond and Poppy.
She had terribly missed Dora and Trixie on the trip, and Woody and Joey, and the vicar, and dear Pocock and darling Joyce. Etta wondered how she’d got on holding the fort at the yard.
She ought to be overjoyed that Mrs Wilkinson had won. Ludlow was such a lovely course, but somehow winning at Newbury had been