slid up and took Wilkie’s place, on the inside rail, further blocking her vision. As she lost her bearings, Wilkie was unable, without her whiskers, to feel her way through the solid line of horses in front of her.
‘Wilkie, Wilkie, Wilkie,’ roared the crowd.
‘Let me through,’ screamed Amber, ‘give me some daylight.’
Then she saw Killer’s teeth flashing beneath his black goggles, like a highwayman chancing on a coachload of bullion. Thrusting Ilkley Hall up on the left between her and Last Quango, he edged her even further away from the rails. Wilkie was also having trouble tugging her feet out of the mud but somehow she scrambled over the big fence four out on the first circuit.
Ahead loomed three out, flanked by trees and daffodils, known as the field of Hope, but there was no hope for Wilkie. To avoid Killer, she jumped wildly to the right, skidding across the wet grass on landing. As Amber struggled to stay put, Wilkie tipped over, crashing to the ground, throwing Amber into a pounding seven-strong pack of horses.
The crowd’s massive bellow of encouragement, briefly drowned by whoops of joy from Shade’s box, turned to screams of horror and anguish as both horse and rider lay motionless, Amber’s face whiter beneath the mud than Mrs Wilkinson’s.
The convoy of doctors, vets and paramedics accompanying the runners screamed to a halt.
As silence fell over Cheltenham, a hundred thousand hearts broke. Despite the tracking cameras following the other runners up the hill on to the second circuit, all eyes were turned down the course to the People’s Pony and her brave jockey, as the screens hid them from sight.
Valent’s binoculars swung round to the Owners and Trainers. As Etta’s hands flew to her face, he saw Seth put an arm round her.
‘Doesn’t necessarily mean a fatal accident,’ quavered Debbie.
‘Where are the loose horses?’ sobbed Etta, peering through the mist in the hope of seeing Wilkie appear over a fence.
‘Here’s one,’ said Niall hopefully, but it was only a returning Merchant of Venus who’d dumped Eddie Alderton, fortunately, out in the country, because Eddie’s language was worse than Drummond’s.
‘My book,’ groaned Alan. As he put down his pen Tilda slid a hand over his in sympathy.
The Major was looking almost smug. If they’d listened to him …
‘What a fucking tragedy we didn’t sell her last week,’ Shagger echoed his thought.
‘Shut up, you revolting man,’ screamed Tilda.
‘I hope she’s properly insured,’ said Bonny.
‘Shagger should know,’ hissed Woody, then, taking Niall’s hand: ‘Pray for us.’
‘Our Father,’ began Niall in a choked voice.
Marius, who always watched races on the members’ lawn, had vaulted over the rails, run across the track and jumped into an official’s dark green 4×4 Mitsubishi, ordering it to drive him down to three out. Legendarily concerned only with the welfare of his horses, he leapt out, pushing open the screens, totally ignoring a panting, supine Mrs Wilkinson and, to the horror of the ambulance men, gathered Amber up into his arms, his face frantic with worry.
‘Amber, darling, oh my baby, please be all right.’
‘She’s been kicked in the back and the head, for God’s sake,’ hissed a paramedic.
With infinite effort, Amber opened her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry I let you down,’ she mumbled. ‘Is Wilkie OK? I couldn’t hold her together. The bastards blocked us in, she couldn’t see. She’s so little. I’m so sorry I screwed up.’
‘You didn’t. You rode a blinder.’
‘Hardly the operative word. Wilkie’s only half-blind.’
Realizing she could still joke, Marius’s grip tightened.
‘Oh Amber,’ his voice cracked as, looking into her mudfreckled face, feeling her body protector rough beneath her green silks, unable to resist a temptation that had taunted him since Leopardstown, he kissed her passionately and at great length, only pausing to groan, ‘Thank God you’re OK.’
Mrs Wilkinson, meanwhile, was most put out. She had been given oxygen, had the ignominy of a hunky horse ambulance man sitting on her head to keep her down. She had had needles poked into the coronet bands of her pretty feet, her tail rotated to see if she was suffering from a spine injury, and her legs tugged back to see if they were broken.
Mrs Wilkinson was a serious horse. Seeing her trainer and her jockey locked in each other’s arms, she nudged them. When they ignored her, not amused by such dalliance, she struggled groggily to her feet.
A deathly silence hung over Cheltenham. The public address system was playing up, it was hard for the stricken crowd to understand what was going on.