Cindy were permanently on their mobiles, reporting on ‘our ’orse’.
‘Probably ringing each other up,’ Seth murmured into the very clean ear of Bonny, who’d been feeling unusually upstaged and gave him a smile of radiant gratitude.
‘Surprising he hasn’t tattooed LB on Cindy,’ she said.
‘We all know that stands for Little Bugger,’ said Seth and they both creased up with laughter.
Cackling at weak jokes was a sign of burgeoning love, reflected Alan, putting an arm round Etta: a rictus grin beneath her huge magenta hat.
‘All right, darling?’
‘Of course she is,’ cried Debbie. ‘We must make sure she wears her lucky hat every time Wilkie runs.’
Etta was in despair. Lester adored going into the winning owners’ room on the left of the weighing room to drink more champagne and watch the race again, but he was still hopping mad with Marius. So was Bertie Barraclough. Count Romeo had come last. Bertie was even crosser when Lester, complacent in victory, sidled up and suggested Bertie’s bouncing bed sales would rocket if he included a special offer of Cindy’s latest erotic fantasy. Marius, felt Bertie, should not lower the tone of the yard by taking on scum like Bolton.
‘Beware of winning,’ Alan murmured to Marius. ‘Bolton will expect it from now on.’
71
Bolton kept up the pressure, urging the syndicate to invest in a flat horse to race through the summer. He was particularly keen on a glossy black mare with four white socks, ‘and “useless” written across her forehead’, muttered Jase the farrier.
Bolton wanted to call the mare Cindy Kate. He was furious when Marius was disparaging about her prospects.
‘God, give me ugly winners.’
Bolton continually infuriated Marius by rolling up un-announced at the yard with clients. He also rang constantly for inside information on Marius’s runners – not many because Marius was still struggling to get back on track – and other trainers’ horses. He continued to march into the paddock and give Marius’s jockeys spurious advice. Rogue always ignored this, particularly after Bolton, while instructing Amber, left his hand a little too long on her succulent thigh.
In her next outing, to Wincanton in late April, Mrs Wilkinson was entered for her first novice chase over two miles. Bolton proceeded to take a box for some of his important clients, demanding an excessive number of owners’ badges.
Marius had told Amber to settle Mrs Wilkinson in third or fourth place and pull her up if she got tired. Mrs Wilkinson, however, took to chasing with alacrity, gaining with each fence she carefully jumped, preferring it to the rush and bash-through of hurdles. Out of a large field she came fourth, beating some very good horses. Marius was delighted. Cindy, a symphony in lilac after spending a fortune at Karen Millen, and looking forward to leading in Mrs Wilkinson, was not happy. Nor was Bolton, who made a frightful scene, to the amusement of his important clients, who were fed up with him boasting about his horse and his tasty blonde jockey.
The syndicate was upset by the row, however, and were surprised the Major, as their chairman, seemed so reluctant to call Bolton into line.
‘Harvey-Holden’s horses are raced every few days, that’s why they’re so fit,’ spluttered Bolton.
Marius snarled back that Mrs Wilkinson tried so hard, she really took it out of herself during a race and needed to rest afterwards. ‘I am not going to push her.’
Not could the yard go on substituting Cheesecake for Furious when Cindy dropped in. On one occasion, tipped off by Michelle, she had turned up unexpectedly and flung her jangly braceleted arms round Furious, only for him to take a bite out of her. An enraged Bolton threatened to sue and, asking around, discovered he’d paid far too much for Furious and muttered about wanting his money back.
In his first race for Bolton, Furious had kicked the starter’s car and two other horses and refused to start. In the next, he wouldn’t even go into the parade ring.
The National Hunt season traditionally ends in April but jump racing continues throughout the summer for less good or less experienced horses or those suited to firmer ground. To appease Bolton, Marius entered Furious for a handicap chase at Worcester on Ladies’ Day, which was held in aid of a wonderful local hospice called St Richard’s. Bolton, in rare magnanimous mood, invited a party to join his table for lunch in the marquee.
Etta was touched to be asked. Petrified, however, that Debbie would frogmarch her into Larkminster and a pillarbox-red suit to