On a desk by the window was a large, dilapidated diary that listed which horses were running where, its pages torn and covered with muddy footprints where Mistletoe the lurcher had leapt up to see who was approaching the office. Now she shivered and swallowed in her basket, her light grey eyes filled with foreboding.
‘Poor old girl.’ Taking the chair next to her, Etta stroked her narrow striped head. Alan was gazing at a beautiful picture of Olivia, in a new pink hat at Cheltenham. Marius had poured himself another large whisky, and appeared singularly un-impressed when Etta showed him the video of Mrs Wilkinson winning her point-to-point, adding that Rupert’s great stallion Peppy Koala had been her sire.
‘She’s had a terrible time. We don’t know what unimaginable hell she went through but it never soured her,’ said Etta, thinking, react, you beast. ‘And she’s blind in one eye. Amber’s a wonderful jockey,’ she stumbled on. ‘I do hope you’ll consider using her, that’s if you felt like taking on Mrs Wilkinson. They’ve established a fantastic rapport.’
Outside, the hot high wind was scattering rose petals like confetti over the parched lawn.
‘She’s not great at loading,’ admitted Etta. ‘We had to hack her to the point-to-point, but she’s so kind she’d tow the lorry if you asked her.’
It was getting hotter, and Marius hadn’t even offered them a cup of tea. At first she thought he was so shattered he wasn’t taking anything in, but the next moment he’d got up, removed Mrs Wilkinson’s video, handed it back to Etta and switched back to At the Races to watch Don’t Interrupt running in the last race.
Damn cheek, thought Etta, then said, ‘Mrs Wilkinson is the sweetest horse you’ll ever meet.’
‘Presumably you want me to train the horse, not fall in love with it?’ said Marius rudely.
‘If it’s a problem,’ Etta was getting shirty, ‘we’ll leave it.’
What was the matter with Alan? He was being no help at all.
As Don’t Interrupt was beaten by an outsider, they could see the punters racing for the train home.
‘Mrs Wilkinson is a lovable and much loved horse,’ repeated Etta defiantly.
Next minute an anxious-looking Tommy pushed open the door with a tray containing cups of tea and shortbread.
‘I saw Mrs Wilkinson in the paper,’ she blurted out. ‘Such a sweet face, I love her long white eyelashes. Beauticians would probably suggest her appearance might be improved if she dyed them but I think she looks great.’
Marius put three spoonfuls of sugar in his tea and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he mused. ‘As a left-eyed horse, she’ll need left-handed tracks so she can focus on the rails, and she can’t exactly walk to places like Cheltenham or Newbury.’
There was suddenly such a look of desolation on his face that Etta leapt to her feet, took his hand and put an arm round his shoulders.
‘I’m so sorry about Olivia. She can’t really love Shade. He’s such a beast. During the court case, someone told me he blacked his ex-wife’s eye.’
‘She wears so much make-up, I’m amazed anyone could tell,’ said Marius, and he reached for a cigarette. ‘Anyway, you still want to bring Mrs Wilkinson here?’
‘Yes we do,’ said Etta stoutly. ‘The syndicate want to come down and meet you, if that’s all right?’
‘Might be put off by the empty boxes,’ then, with a bitter half-smile: ‘I’ll have to borrow some horses from Rupert Campbell-Black.’
As they left, stable lads were skipping out horses, brushing them, feeding them nuts and hay and changing their water. Etta noticed handsome Josh deep in conversation with Tommy as he pretended to sweep the yard and made a thumbs-up sign to them, ‘See you very soon.’
As Alan drove down the drive, he nearly ran over a man with a camera and another talking into a tape recorder, who peered into the window and asked: ‘Marius Oakridge?’
‘He’s not here,’ said Alan quickly, ‘he’s at the races.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘York, I think he said.’
‘Bugger,’ said the photographer.
As they entered Willowwood, they turned away two more press, who gave Alan their cards.
‘Let us know if you hear anything.’
They were from the Scorpion.
‘Good thing Dora isn’t with us,’ murmured Alan, tearing up the cards the moment they rounded the corner.
‘Poor, poor Marius,’ sighed Etta. ‘I loved Olivia when I met her but she has behaved horribly. I do hope Shade will be kind to those sweet terriers and the horses won’t miss that darling Tommy too much. Do you think the rest of the syndicate