Dora had also revamped an earlier refrain about the great jockey Aubrey Brabazon.
‘Amber’s up,’ sang the fans, ‘The money’s down, the frightened bookies run / So come on punters give a cheer for Mrs Wilkinson.’
Marius’s other horses, Furious, History Painting, Bullydozer, Count Romeo and Oh My Goodness, to name a few, were all doing well. It was hoped that Mrs Wilkinson’s beau, Sir Cuthbert, after his long, long lay-off might race again soon.
Marius had notched up fifty wins by the end of January. He kept seeing Olivia at the races looking lovely and cherished by Shade. But when Mrs Wilkinson, despite carrying another 13 lb due to her successes, had her glorious victory in the King George, beating Playboy, Shade’s Gold Cup hopeful, Olivia rang up to congratulate him.
‘They talked for twenty minutes and Marius was so un-grumpy afterwards,’ Phoebe delighted in telling Amber, who was still not praised enough by Marius.
But at least the sapphire and crimson flag was flying continually again at Throstledown. And when Marius complained that Killer and Ilkley Hall had once again cut up Rafiq and Bullydozer at Sandown, Killer was banned for a week and no stewards ignored Marius’s objection because his wasn’t a big enough yard.
The flip side was the press hanging around the whole time. Marius loathed this. Not only did it disrupt the peace of the yard, but he was far too superstitious to enjoy pronouncing on the likelihood of his horses winning races.
The syndicate, however, was reaping benefits. Because of his diplomatic skills, Alban had also got a consultancy job with World Horse Welfare, heading up a campaign to put an end to the dreadful transporting of live horses abroad. Ione had been invited to go on Celebrity Big Brother and as Green Queen was frequently asked on telly, usually to shout at tycoons because of their excessive carbon footprints. Willowwood’s own tycoon, Valent Edwards, had been away. Following the worldwide success of Guardi, the lit-up Guardian Angel who dispelled children’s fear of the dark, Valent’s Chinese factory was working on other toys.
The Major was kept busy controlling the parking of all the tourists who poured into the village. All the local businesses were prospering. The Fox, renamed the Wilkinson Arms and with an inn sign of a white-faced Mrs Wilkinson with her tongue lolling out, was always packed. A betting shop called Easy Lay had opened in the high street. The village shop and post office, threatened with closure, had to stay open to cope with Wilkie’s fan mail.
Painswick and Pocock, growing even closer and also padding through the frozen grass, were planning to move in together and spend their winnings and the money from the sale of Pocock’s house on opening a teashop.
Miss Painswick’s adored former boss, Hengist Brett-Taylor, whose photographs she had taken down in the drawing room, had meanwhile become a huge television star. A second Simon Schama, he was making a drama-documentary about the legend of Willowwood and the rise of Beau Regard the Second. He was working closely with Alan, whose publishers had suddenly become wildly excited about his inside story of Mrs Wilkinson. Both Hengist and Alan were delving into her past.
To rub acid into the wound, fans and press never failed to remind an increasingly maddened Harvey-Holden that he had let the mare who had so helped racing slip through his fingers.
Even more wickedly, Dora had taught Mrs Wilkinson to yawn for the cameras every time Harvey-Holden’s name was mentioned.
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Stardom, however, invites jealousy. Morale may rocket in a yard that brings home winners, but Josh and the other lads, who considered themselves far better riders than Rafiq, were irked by his success. It was worse now Dora had got to work, organizing features in the nationals, which led to a piece in Hello! that included moody, sexy photographs of Rafiq, the tigerish ‘Shere’ Khan of racing. This resulted in a lot of ragging, but also some snazzy clothes and a small car, thanks to Dora. She had craftily explained that, if Rafiq were given money, he’d send it straight home to Pakistan.
Furious was also becoming a cult figure, an alpha mule captivating the crowd with his wayward antics. In big races he was now allowed to miss the parade before the start because he bit and kicked both people and horses. Having refused even to be tacked up at Ascot, his finest hour had occurred in the Larkminster Cup, his prep race for the Cheltenham Gold Cup, when as