easily the smallest runner, shying nervously, eye darting everywhere, searching the crowd until she caught sight of Etta and dragged Dora over to her, whickering with pleasure, nearly sending Judy’s Pet flying.
‘Isn’t that darling,’ said Tilda to Alan.
But as the public took in Mrs Wilkinson’s lack of inches and her one eye, her odds began to lengthen dramatically.
The bell went for the jockeys to mount.
‘I don’t have to give you any instructions,’ murmured Shade. As he gave Olivia a leg up, Michelle the stable lass couldn’t fail to notice his hand moving up her thigh.
The crowd cheered again in real excitement and Shade’s face blackened as Rupert Campbell-Black, the trainer who had rejected him, stalked into the paddock, followed by his son Xavier, wearing Rupert’s famous dark blue and emerald silks.
‘What a treat.’ All the women in the crowd and Niall the vicar patted their hair.
It was as though the north wind had blown in from the Arctic as Rupert looked through Shade and, nodding bleakly at Olivia, asked her, ‘Who’s your fat friend?’
Shade went purple.
Rupert then caught sight of Dora. ‘I want a word with you.’
‘Later,’ said Dora, quailing inside, ‘I’m just getting Mrs Wilkinson sorted.’
‘So this is Mrs Wilkinson,’ said Rupert softly. ‘Brilliant novice indeed. Did they cover a donkey with a woodlouse?’
‘Don’t be horrible,’ flared up Etta. ‘You wait till the race is over.’ For years she’d dreamed of meeting Rupert, and now her idol had an entire body of clay.
‘Here’s Amber and her father,’ cried Dora in relief.
The crowd was in heaven. Rupert, and now Billy Lloyd-Foxe, the darling of the racing world. A couple of punters who’d been in the bar started singing the Question of Sport theme tune.
Billy was also a bit drunk. There were no buttons on his over-coat, not many on his shirt, but his smile warmed the day.
‘What a darling horse.’ He patted Mrs Wilkinson. ‘Isn’t she sweet?’ Then, turning to Etta: ‘Thank you so much for giving Amber the ride. I had a small horse once called the Bull. God, he could jump and he tried so hard.’ Turning back to Amber: ‘Just put her to sleep in the back, darling. Keep out of trouble and move up slowly.’
‘You won’t use your whip,’ begged Etta, noticing Amber was carrying one.
‘Only to whack off Xav and Dare Catswood,’ said Billy.
‘Hi, Amber,’ shouted Xavier, riding past on Toddler. ‘Let’s catch up on the way round.’
‘Hi, Amber,’ called out the handsome Dare Catswood on Judy’s Pet. ‘How about dinner tonight?’
Shade gave Amber a smouldering glance as she set off.
‘Safe journey,’ he murmured. Good thing to keep Olivia on her toes. Sod Rupert! He couldn’t wait for Bafford Playboy to win by ten lengths.
36
Nancy Crowe and a huntsman in red, both mounted, arrived to take the jockeys down.
The Willowwood gang retired to a little hill where they could see the whole oblong course round which the horses had to gallop twice and jump sixteen fences. Amid the wintry bleakness of the day, there were signs of spring, blossom foaming on the blackthorn and blurs of crimson, violet and ruby where the buds on the trees were bursting through. Down at the start, marked by two rugger posts without an adjoining bar, Mrs Wilkinson, trembling violently and already hepped up, was further upset when Bafford Playboy bashed into her, half a ton of snorting muscle, sending her flying. Olivia, who didn’t like Shade ogling blondes, didn’t even apologize.
The other jockeys were discussing tactics.
‘Mine likes to make all.’
‘Mine idles when she gets in front.’
‘I’m going to hold mine up,’ drawled Dare Catswood.
‘I’m going to try and stay on,’ quavered Woody.
Chisolm took advantage of everyone’s preoccupation to eat a Bakewell tart, half a bunch of grapes and a blue woollen glove.
Etta felt sick. God would smite her down for supporting the hunt. She had stupidly put her old age pension for this month on Mrs Wilkinson, but was far more distraught that she might lose her darling horse as she had lost Bartlett.
‘It’s all right,’ whispered Alban, squeezing her hand. ‘She carried me all day out hunting, this’ll be a doddle.’
‘May God bless our little village horse,’ cried Niall. ‘And bring her safely home, and Not for Crowe and Family Dog as well.’
‘Have another Bull Shot, Mrs Malmesbury.’ Alan waved a thermos.
‘Not too many,’ said Painswick nervously. Chisolm ate another Bakewell tart.
The huntsman’s horn rang thrillingly round the valley and they were off. Mrs Wilkinson was so hidden by the larger horses that no one could see