in summer which had included Ilkley Hall and Preston. He remembered how long Alizarin Belvedon had taken to paint the picture, how absolutely fed up he, his daughter, dogs and horses had got standing about and how only Olivia had kept the peace.
‘Oh dear God,’ he moaned, ‘please bring her back.’
Driven mad by Horace’s incessant whinnying, he was tempted to turn his shotgun on himself. Instead he picked up the photographs Etta had left him of Mrs Wilkinson, whom Harvey-Holden had gone to court with the finest lawyers to repossess.
She looked as though she’d been rescued from a donkey sanctuary, but she had beaten Bafford Playboy and Marius knew how good a horse he was. The only revenge would be to turn her into a world-beater.
It was the same old story. When training was going well, it was great, when badly, it was crucifying. Even though you got up at five and were seldom in bed until after the ten o’clock news, you still had sleepless nights. And you had to smile for the troops.
He reached down and stroked a shuddering Mistletoe. Tomorrow he must screw up the courage to ask Rupert to take Shade’s place in guaranteeing his overdraft for a few months.
As he switched on his mobile, it rang immediately. Hope flared but instead of Olivia’s voice it was the velvety soft, Irish mist brogue of Rogue Rogers.
‘You poor darling boy. She’ll come back. I’ll come down and school the horses next week.’
43
Early in September, the syndicate visited Throstledown, lured by an invitation to watch the horses on the gallops followed by breakfast. Everyone turned out except Seth, who was doing a voiceover in London, Shagger, who had a board meeting, and Toby, who was slaughtering wildlife in Scotland.
Tommy, who welcomed them, explained away so many empty boxes by pretending most of the horses were turned out in a distant field, which in fact only contained Furious, because he bit people, and his sheep friend Dilys. Tommy smiled and smiled. Rafiq scowled and looked beautiful.
A week of incessant rain had painted the valley green again and closed up the cracks in the ground. Mist curled upwards from the river like steam off a Derby winner. Cobwebs, silver with raindrops, stretched from blades of bleached grass like fairies’ dartboards. The fountain in the centre of the yard was flowing again. Everything sparkled in the sunshine, giving a feeling of optimism.
Once again the visitors were fascinated to gaze at their houses across the valley, their chimneys rising out of the turning trees like children’s hands put up in class.
Direct Debbie, wearing a scarlet straw hat to keep the sun off her fat neck, admired the blaze of dahlias and chrysanths in Cobblers’ garden, but bristled to see how close to their adjoining fence Joey had pushed the trampoline on which his children had bounced noisily all summer. Debbie had also had several words with Joey and Mop Idol about washing on the climbing frame, loud music and raucous drinking sessions, and was not looking forward to being in a syndicate with such riff-raff.
‘Are you ever going to get Badger’s Court finished?’ she asked Joey sourly.
‘Look,’ Phoebe put her arm through Debbie’s, ‘there’s Wild Rose Cottage. You will come and help me with my indoor bulbs, won’t you?’ Then, smiling accusingly at Tilda: ‘After your long, long holiday you must be looking forward to a new term.’
‘Not so much as Granny, who’s been looking after Drummond and Poppy all summer,’ drawled Trixie. She was tossing newly washed hair and rolling the shortest shorts even shorter at the prospect of seeing Josh again.
Tilda in fact was just as exhausted as Etta. Having spent her holidays cleaning Lark Cottage, washing and changing sheets and providing loo paper for Shagger’s holiday lets, she was now hiding her bitter disappointment that he hadn’t turned up this morning. Miss Painswick was also in a melancholy mood. The smell of mouldering leaves and wet earth reminded her of the start of the school year and no Hengist Brett-Taylor to get things shipshape for.
The solar panelling glittered on the roof of Willowwood Hall. Pocock furtively tugged down his cap in case Ione picked up her binoculars and saw he wasn’t at the dentist. Joey, taking photographs of Badger’s Court to show Valent, and Chris, who didn’t need to be back at the Fox until opening time, were eyeing up the more lissom stable lasses, Tresa, a soft-eyed blonde and all smiles, and Michelle, the pouting, sulky redhead, as