Martin was so appalled that his darling Bonny should be so despised and rejected, he called on Corinna to mediate and got a bucket of water tipped over his head. All this provided a great deal of chunter-fodder in the minibus on the way to Cheltenham.
Dora, who’d fed the story to the press, pointed out that the three radio masts on Cleeve Hill looking down on the racecourse must be Seth, Corinna and Bonny playing the three witches in Macbeth.
‘“When shall we three meet again?”/“In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”’ intoned Dora, glaring at the Major. ‘That’s very symbolic. If the syndicate folds and this is Wilkie’s last race as our horse, heaven knows when we will all meet again.’
‘She’s got to win,’ quavered Tilda, or how would she ever see Alan?
Alas, from Mrs Wilkinson’s point of view, it had rained very heavily in the night, but at least a watery sun was breaking through a gap in the charcoal-grey clouds.
When they arrived Rupert Campbell-Black’s Lusty, mean, moody and magnificent, as was his master, was prowling round the parade ring, followed by Ilkley Hall looking sleek but slightly porky after his summer break. He was followed by Cosmo Rannaldini’s Internetso, who’d won his last three races, and a flash French gelding called Julien Sorel, on whom Lord Catswood had rather ostentatiously spent £250,000, as a twenty-first birthday present for his son Dare.
Mrs Wilkinson had been reluctant to get into the trailer, but the moment she and Chisolm stepped out on to the Cheltenham courtyard leading to the stables and heard the cheers of her admirers, many of whom waved ‘Welcome Back Wilkie’ placards, she perked up.
‘You’re a Saturday horse now, Wilkie,’ Tommy told her fondly.
Down in the parade ring, more well-wishers fighting for space laughed and applauded as she strutted past, big grey ears flopping through the holes in a silly green straw hat Dora had brought her from Mexico as a publicity gimmick.
‘There’s Tommy,’ cried the punters. ‘There’s Etta, where’s Valent? There’s Chisolm. There’s Amber in the green silks. Isn’t she pretty? There’s Rafiq who rode her earlier in the year. He’s hot. He’s riding that big brown one today.’
Bullydozer, huge, lumbering, pouring with sweat because Vakil had shaken a fist and cursed him in the pre-parade ring, was madly in love with Mrs Wilkinson, who’d protected him and admitted him to her gang shortly after he arrived. Now he followed her everywhere and looked round in admiration as Mrs Wilkinson, who had no desire to be held up by anything, dragged Tommy across the grass, sending owners and trainers leaping for their lives, to greet her syndicate, nudging Marius in the ribs: ‘I’m going to win for you today.’
‘Not unless you take off that bloody hat,’ grumbled Marius, as shaking hooves with Painswick, pretending to fall asleep on Etta’s shoulder, showing off, Mrs Wilkinson demonstrated once again how she adored an audience.
Brandishing a microphone, Alice Plunkett sidled up to a seething Harvey-Holden. ‘Nice to see your old mare back on form,’ she said slyly.
‘Looking like the seaside donkey she is,’ snarled Harvey-Holden. ‘What possessed Marius to think she’s got a hope in this race? And don’t think the Rev Niall giving her the last rites is going to help. She and Bullydozer don’t stand a chance.’
In retaliation, as soon as Amber mounted her, Mrs Wilkinson gave three terrific bucks to show how well she was, then, thrashing her plumy tail, giving a squeal of rage, took a lunge at her old enemy, Ilkley Hall.
‘Keep control of that brute,’ howled Harvey-Holden. ‘Neither of you have learnt any manners since you’ve been off the track.’
‘Hear, hear!’ sneered Killer, who’d been surreptitiously texting illegal tips from the weighing room.
The wolf whistles of the crowd did not appease blonde Tresa. Being the head lad’s partner had not brought her any perks. She was overworked, had not been paid for the last month and now she was leading up Bullydozer and Rafiq, who’d joined the yard long after she had.
Michelle, who was leading up Ilkley Hall, smiled at her smugly. ‘Let’s have a drink and catch up next week.’
‘I’d keep her on a loose rein to relax her,’ called out Dare Catswood from the heights of a quarter-of-a-million-pounds’ worth Julien Sorel, as a hopelessly over-excited Mrs Wilkinson carted Amber down to the start.
Next moment Bullydozer, having caught another glimpse of Vakil, fled past, startling Julien Sorel, who immediately took off, scorching past Amber.