shoulders, touchingly slender neck and long fawn’s legs. She had the huge-eyed, hauntingly sad face of the Little Mermaid. Life would be spent treading on knives.
At that moment, Corinna’s mobile rang. It was Phoebe.
‘Quick, quick, Miss Waters, so exciting, Bonny’s on television, she’s won a BAFTA.’
‘We know,’ said Corinna and hung up.
‘Just look at her gorgeous diamonds,’ murmured Alan. ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star.’
‘Valent must have emptied Asprey,’ grumbled Corinna.
Bonny was now paying tribute to everyone who’d helped her on her life’s journey.
‘Why doesn’t she mention Mr Whiskers the gerbil and Gordon the goldfish?’ snorted Corinna. As she threw a cushion at the television, lots of feathers fell out. ‘I’ve always thought BAFTA stands for Bloody Awful Film and Television Actress.’
Seth laughed and topped up her and Etta’s glasses.
‘I wonder if she’ll make the races tomorrow,’ asked Etta. ‘After such celebrations, she’ll have a hangover.’
‘She doesn’t drink,’ said Alan.
‘That’s a hammer blow,’ said Seth. ‘Christ, you can see why Valent’s besotted.’
The Major was also turned on. Debbie, who had wanted to look as nice as possible tomorrow, was irked when her beauty sleep was disturbed again by the Major’s cock nudging her coccyx.
‘Wakey, wakey,’ murmured the Major, ‘here comes Snakey.’
Debbie sighed and rolled over.
Before she and Phoebe even met Bonny, they had decided to hero-worship her, knowing how much this would enrage Corinna.
The telephone was ringing as Etta got home from watching the BAFTAs. It was Valent to say he had a meeting in North Yorkshire tomorrow so he and Bonny would be joining the syndicate at Wetherby.
‘I’m sending you a DVD of her new film, The Blossoming.’
‘I’ll watch it then we’ll have something to talk about,’ said Etta, not sure how au fait she was with abuse and rape.
‘Bonny comes across as super-confident but underneath she’s shy, talks a lot of highfalutin stoof.’
‘She’s very young,’ said Etta, then, regretting it: ‘She adores you, lovely the way she singled you out this evening.’
Then she told Valent about Furious making his debut at Wetherby with Rogue. ‘I wish Rafiq was riding him, he’s the only one who can get a tune out of Furious. If only Marius’d send him on a jockey’s course, then he could get a licence. He feels he’s not going anywhere and he’s so worried about Pakistan. He’s such a sweet boy.’
‘Wilkie’ll be getting jealous,’ said Valent. ‘Don’t forget the orchard’s booked for her and Chisolm in the summer. And thunks so much for the bulbs, Etta, the garden looks smashing and thunk you for writing to Bonny and for the birthday card, so nice of you to remember. See you at Wetherby.’
Etta always felt so much happier when she’d been talking to Valent.
64
There are great problems for trainers in having horses owned by a syndicate. You never know when and if a horse is going to run. People take a day’s holiday from work, fly down from somewhere, charter a plane or a box, then horses get colic or pull muscles on the gallops. It’s desperately difficult to get it right.
Racing is also ruled by the weather. A scorching day of sun or thirty-six hours of deluge or a sharp frost can put a horse out of a race. But it’s a brave trainer who pulls a horse if the entire syndicate is descending from all over the country to watch it and is booked into hotels, having cancelled board meetings, sports days, major speeches, and arranged later liaisons with mistresses, only to discover their horse has been withdrawn. Owners, in addition, are often rich men and women used to calling the shots.
Unlike Harvey-Holden, who overran his horses to appease his owners, Marius frequently drove horses miles to races then refused to run them unless the going suited them perfectly, particularly if a horse had been off as long as Sir Cuthbert or was a beginner like Mrs Wilkinson or Furious. Painswick’s new job involved a lot of time emailing apologies or fielding expletives.
Due to leave at nine, the Willowwood syndicate set off very late for Wetherby. Stefan the Pole, making Corinna up and attempting to repair last night’s ravages, had great difficulty applying lipstick because she kept yelling at Seth. A new short citrus-yellow coat, worn with a big black Stetson, needed different make-up. Tempers were not improved by four hours in a hot bus.
The traffic was frightful. Marius’s horses had a nightmare six-hour journey through gales and torrential rain. Mrs Wilkinson arrived in a terrible state, sweating up despite the cold and badly gashed in