Profoundly grateful for something to fill an afternoon, Etta did just that the following day and it was a huge success. Marius was at the races, so everything was much more relaxed.
‘Pooh, what a stink,’ complained a horrified Drummond when confronted by the muck heap, but he was soon caught up watching the horses being brushed down, skipped out and watered and in helping the stable lads take round hay nets and feed buckets.
India bore Poppy off to meet Horace, her skewbald Shetland pony, who refused to move an inch until he’d been given several whacks. Poppy was even more excited when Josh, a merry-eyed, red-headed stable lad often seen riding or driving much too fast through Willowwood, lifted her up for a ride in front of him on Oh My Goodness.
Etta was in heaven, so busy hugging the horses and patting the swarming pack of lurchers and Jack Russells that she hardly noticed how run-down everything was. Paint was bubbling and peeling, railings were chewed, doors gnawed and most of the horses wore hand-me-down rugs.
She was enchanted to meet Stop Preston, whose huge blaze was splashed over his face like whitewash. He was delighted to eat Etta’s carrots and a whole packet of Polos. Graciously receiving her words of gratitude, he kept nudging her.
‘As if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,’ called out Olivia, arms full of exercise rugs she’d just taken down from the washing line. ‘He’ll probably refuse to go down to the start next time.’
Ilkley Hall, on the other hand, flattened his black ears and darted his teeth at Etta.
‘He’s missing Collie, our head lad, who’s gone to the races with Marius. Look, you can see your house across the valley.’
Glancing across, Etta was fascinated to see the cricket pitch, the village green, Willowwood Hall, more of Badger’s Court than from her own garden, and the high street, a gleaming parting up the centre.
Oh dear, like a star in a haze of willows, the colour of French mustard now their leaves had gone, a light was shining in Etta’s bungalow.
‘Mrs Travis-Lock will slap your wrists,’ said Olivia. ‘She’s an old duck really, just bossy.’
‘What a beautiful valley,’ sighed Etta as they looked over yellowing fields falling down to the river.
‘In the old days trees were cut down so you could see your enemies coming. Marius had to gouge a gallop out of the hillside. It’s very steep but it gets the horses fit, and we’ve got a lot of turnout area. It’s also very exposed, which hardens the horses – and their trainer,’ said Olivia cryptically.
‘They lead a four-star life, our horses,’ she went on slightly defensively. ‘We don’t have holidays, the horses do. Marius is up at five and out in the yard at ten o’clock, putting on another rug, giving them some more hay. Come and have some tea.’
‘Have you got time?’
As Olivia ran off to answer the telephone in another room, Etta examined the lovely kitchen, where horse photographs were joined on the wall by India’s drawings. A big sofa was covered with dogs, and rugs where dog paws had torn the upholstery. A large ginger and even larger tabby cat snored in baskets on higher shelves. Any animal smell was driven away by the scent of a huge bunch of white lilies in a dark green vase and apple logs, flickering and crackling merrily in the fireplace.
Returning, Olivia switched on the kettle and said Poppy and Drummond were having tea in the stable lads’ cottage.
‘You haven’t met Marius,’ she went on, getting a last loaf out of the bread bin and putting two slices under the grill. ‘When I met him, I used to pray he’d be as forthcoming to my friends and my family as he was when we were alone.’
She looked so slim and gorgeous, with her windswept curls, tight jeans and a turquoise jersey which turned her eyes green.
‘Do you ride in races?’ asked Etta.
‘Not much since I had India. I lost my nerve at the prospect of having half a ton of horse falling on me, but I break in the young horses and go to the sales.’
Etta, still looking at the photographs, found a familiar face: ‘There’s Shade Murchieson.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘Not to speak to. He came to my husband’s funeral, and gave a fantastic donation to help fight the illness that killed him.’
‘Shade’s very generous.’
Olivia took out the toast, spread it with butter and, after scraping off the mould, home-made strawberry jam.