lost it. When greeted by an even more shrilly shrieking Cindy: ‘Oh Marius, our horsey’s run away,’ he had yelled back, ‘It’s your fucking fault for making such a bloody awful din.’
‘How dare you insult my wife,’ yelled Lester, secretly delighted to have even more of an excuse to hate Marius.
This hatred was intensified when Count Romeo, wearing blinkers for the first time to make him concentrate, ran a blinder for Rogue Rogers and took the next race.
And even further intensified when Tommy, in the winners enclosure chucking buckets of water over Count Romeo to cool him down, caught sight of Cindy, waiting as Best Dressed Lady to present the cup. Tommy was so cross with her for spooking Furious, she deliberately drenched her at the same time.
Furious had banged a hock while running around Worcester. Examining it, Charlie Radcliffe got kicked again.
‘The sooner you get that brute out of your yard the better,’ he roared. ‘It’s a pit bull. You’ll be done for murder soon.’
Marius didn’t care. He had looked across the paddock and seen his wife, infinitely lovelier, in beautiful clothes, no longer exhausted, and hadn’t returned her shy, tentative smile.
Coming in next morning, Miss Painswick found Marius passed out in the dog basket clutching an empty bottle of whisky, with a shivering Mistletoe on the floor beside him.
‘That’s not the way to get your wife back,’ she said tartly.
73
Goaded by Bolton, nagged by the Major, Marius reluctantly entered Mrs Wilkinson for a novice chase back at Worcester later in June. He grew increasingly worried that the going was too soft. It had rained heavily in the night and as they arrived at the course, behind the Owners and Trainers, the River Severn, the colour of strong tea, was rising steadily.
‘Any moment you expect a crocodile to jump out and gobble you up,’ observed Alan, whose birthday it was. He was dispensing champagne to a skeleton syndicate in the car park.
Dora, Trixie and Tilda were all tied up with exams. The vicar was taking a funeral. Woody was beautifying North Wood for the filming of Lady Godiva. Joey was flat out at Badger’s Court, being appropriately badgered by Bonny to alter things while Valent was still away in China. The paint in the bedroom had been changed five times. For Valent’s office, once the home of Mrs Wilkinson, Bonny had ordered a special wallpaper of leaping salmon as a surprise, not least because it cost £9,000 a roll.
Bonny had several times nearly caught Joey in flagrante. On one occasion, Chrissie had to hide in a wheelie bin. What horrors if a nocturnal spying Ione had surprised her with a wind-up torch.
Leaning against a nearby Bentley at Worcester, Bonny was telling Seth about the vast heart-shaped bed she was installing in her and Valent’s bedroom.
‘Tin man with a heart-shaped bed,’ quipped Seth. ‘Want me to give it a trial run?’
‘If you want to spice up yours and Valent’s love life,’ interrupted Cindy, ‘you orta screw a levver swing into the ceiling. We’ve got one hanging down the stairwell, it’s great for sex. We have to unscrew it when Lester’s mum comes to stay.’
As part of the economy drive, the syndicate were enjoying a cold picnic in the car park. Chisolm had proved most useful, eating up Ione’s contribution of chopped veggies and homemade dip. She had even drunk two bowls of nettle soup but drew the line at the little pork pies, past their sell-by date, provided by Phoebe.
Having eaten a bag of chips and read the Racing Post, Alban was off to put a tenner each way on Mrs Wilkinson.
‘D’you think she’s got a chance?’ he asked the assembled company.
‘According to Marius, she was given a good blow on Monday,’ said the Major.
‘Sounds so rude,’ giggled Cindy. ‘That’s what I’d like to give her trainer.’
‘Cindy!’ exploded Debbie.
‘That is so gross,’ said Bonny furiously. ‘Must you always vulgarize everything?’
‘That’s because I’m vulgar, me, Miss Toffee Nose.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with that.’ Bonny turned back to Seth.
‘As I was saying, every time Bonny Richards is on the cover, magazines fly off the shelves.’
Alan had brought a tape recorder and was idly making notes for a life of Mrs Wilkinson, for which Valent had given him a five-grand advance. Alan didn’t think it would see the light of day, but he had better look keen.
The syndicate had realigned, he reflected. His friend Seth and Bonny were drifting together. Phoebe, aware of a faint neglect from both of them and with feet that