complement the magenta stovepipe, she was relieved when Martin and Romy decided they’d like to accept Bolton’s invitation and pick up tips and big fish for their own charities, and left her at home to look after Poppy, Drummond and Priceless.
The syndicate were happy to be back at the lovely wooded course with the river running behind the Owners and Trainers bar.
Marius didn’t expect Furious to do anything, particularly as he himself had at last responded to pressure and sent Rafiq away on a course at the Northern Racing School in Doncaster to enable him to get a licence. But at least Tommy, whom Furious tolerated, was leading him up – and as it was summer they hadn’t had to go through the battle of trying to clip him.
*
The lunch tables in the marquee were crammed with glamorous people, but easily the noisiest, most glamorous and stared-at table was Lester Bolton’s, which included Shade Murchieson and Olivia Oakridge, Seth and Corinna, Martin and Romy, Alan, Bonny and of course Lester and Cindy with Harvey-Holden, Shade’s trainer, popping in for a bite and a glass of champagne between races.
None of his guests liked Bolton but the invitation gave them the opportunity to talk to each other and enjoy an excellent free lunch. Aware he was among peers, the people with whom his princess should be mingling, Bolton had pushed the boat out, offering ever-flowing vintage champagne, wonderful white and red, and a fabulous pudding wine to go with the glazed strawberry tart.
Bolton himself looked absurd. Having observed Alban and Toby at the races, Cindy had persuaded her husband into an avocado-green check tweed suit, into which he was now sweating buckets. She had also talked him into shaving his head, comb-over and all. Lester was now sporting a pancake-shaped spinach-green check cap.
‘Don’t he look the country squire?’ Cindy crowed to Alan, as they sat down to a first course of Parma ham and mango.
‘Lester Squire,’ grinned Alan, who, noticing the vicious cross-currents at the table, was determined to get drunk.
Bonny looked exquisite in a strapless grey silk dress topped by a shocking-pink and grey striped kimono jacket, with her hair up and tucked into a little pink pillbox.
She had been asked to judge the turnout in the first race and had given the prize to a mare ‘with her mane falling on the wrong side’, an increasingly impertinent and knowledgeable Cindy had told her scathingly.
‘I guess Cindy knows all about comb-overs,’ a furious Bonny hissed to Seth.
Corinna, stunning in a violet satin suit and a big black cart-wheel hat, had, to irritate Bonny, taken a public shine to Cindy, asking about her work, expressing huge enthusiasm for Lady Godiva in the wood. ‘You’re so ravishing, darling, the whole of Willowwood will be auditioning to play Peeping Tom.’
As admirers kept stopping at the table for autographs, ‘We’re so looking forward to your season at Stratford, Miss Waters,’ Corinna would insist Cindy sign their race cards as well. ‘This young woman is a serious actress, her autograph will be worth its weight one day.’
Bonny was hopping. She’d skipped her first course and was only drinking water, which didn’t add to her merriment. Corinna, suspecting a tendresse developing between Seth and Bonny, was further irritated that Valent hadn’t joined the party for her to flirt with.
‘Where’s your beau, Bonny?’ she called accusingly across the table.
‘Back in China.’
‘You ought to go away together, you must need a break,’ said Romy sympathetically.
‘We tried,’ sighed Bonny. ‘Valent doesn’t really do holidays. Like Sir Philip Green, he answers telephones in different parts of the world. And he hates sightseeing, not mad about the arts generally.’
‘Thinks Hedda Gabler is a footballer,’ drawled Seth.
Romy and Bonny shrieked with laughter.
‘Bonny and Clod,’ murmured Seth.
‘Oh shut up,’ murmured back Bonny.
‘I’ve always thought me-time was rather selfish,’ said Romy, crinkling her eyes engagingly. ‘Martin and I believe in we-time, that we should take time off together to celebrate our marriage.’
‘I believe in wee-wee time,’ said Corinna rudely. ‘Where’s the lavatory?’
Shade, in a beautifully cut white suit and black shirt which set off his dark tan, was being eyed up as much for his good looks as his bank balance.
He was now showing off to Bonny, who was on his left. ‘We’re campaigning Ilkley Hall next season, starting with the Paddy Power followed by the Hennessy, the King George and the Gold Cup.’
‘Why not enter him for Wimbledon, Henley, Cowes and the Grand Prix?’ mocked Seth. Shade was just thinking up a withering reply,