will you, Dora? If you do, Debbie will pull the Major out.’
‘Course not, I never dish dirt,’ lied Dora.
‘Hum,’ said Trixie, ‘that Rafiq rides like an angel.’
Back at the yard, Phoebe and Debbie were moaning about the state of the place.
‘Aunt Ione says the house hasn’t been touched in thirty years.’
‘Nor has the garden,’ sniffed Debbie. ‘Are we sure Marius is the right trainer? He should have been here to receive us.’
Instead they were welcomed by Niall the vicar, who’d walked over, hoping such vigorous activity justified skiving. His nostrils were flaring at the smell of frying bacon from the kitchen.
‘I dropped in on Old Mrs Malmesbury on the way. Thought if I met Marius casually, he might be receptive to some counselling. He appears very troubled.’
‘And very good-looking, you silly woofter,’ muttered Dora.
‘Wow,’ sighed Trixie, as a bright blue Ferrari roared up the drive, making the returning horses toss their heads and leap about. ‘That really is hot.’
It was Rogue Rogers, rolling up to school the horses, his laughing eyes bluer than his Ferrari, who tipped the balance and reassured any waverers that this was the right yard.
‘Josh says Olivia was being shagged by Rogue Rogers as well as my dad,’ murmured Trixie to Dora. ‘That’s why they’re both absolutely livid about Shade going off with her.’
Today, however, Rogue Rogers was out to charm all the syndicate, many of whom knew him already from when he had lived in Shagger’s cottage in Willowwood.
Back in the house, a very tall, slim and pretty woman with cloudy dark hair and silvery grey eyes was serving up the most delicious breakfast of kedgeree, bacon, sausages, fried eggs and mushrooms fresh from the fields. Rogue made everyone laugh by leaping on to a chair to kiss her, like a perky Jack Russell making advances towards a gentle Great Dane.
‘This is Taggie,’ he announced, ‘the loveliest woman in racing, easily the best cook and married to my incredibly lucky friend Rupert Campbell-Black.’
‘Oh Rogue,’ blushed Taggie. ‘Please help yourselves, everyone.’
‘Wouldn’t mind if she was on the menu,’ muttered Chris to Joey, thinking he might introduce kedgeree in the Fox.
‘Oh hello, Taggie,’ called out Phoebe. ‘I was at school with your step-daughter Tabitha. Does she still see …?’ and went into an orgy of names, while Taggie was trying to sort out who wanted coffee or tea or Bull Shots.
‘I’m not sure who Tab sees,’ she said apologetically. ‘Mustard’s over there.’
Phoebe, Trixie, Debbie, Tilda, Etta and Dora, even Painswick, proceeded to drool over Rogue as he toyed with a black mush-room, sipped even blacker coffee and, in an Irish brogue softer than the thistledown drifting past the window, assured them they’d chosen the best trainer in the country, ‘except Rupert’, he added, winking at Taggie.
They were even more excited when he lied that he’d watched the video of Mrs Wilkinson’s point-to-point and she looked a very decent hoss.
‘Do you know Amber Lloyd-Foxe, who rode her?’ asked Etta. ‘A very good jockey.’
‘Miss Amateur Lloyd-Foxe,’ said Rogue dismissively.
‘That’s naughty.’ Phoebe giggled in delight.
‘Who spends her life in Boujis,’ added Rogue. ‘She was lucky to have a good horse under her.’
‘She’ll be a different horse with you on her back,’ simpered Phoebe.
‘As long as you don’t use your whip on her,’ said Etta.
‘Not now!’ Alan shut her up sharply.
‘How do you keep so slim, Rogue?’ gushed Phoebe.
‘One meal a day.’
‘How long have you done that for?’
‘Since I was at school. I always put my dinner money on a hoss.’
After breakfast, everyone wanted to have their photograph taken with Rogue. Alan, the Major, Woody and Joey, who knew something about racing, were equally impressed when Rogue took Asbo Andy, Oh My Goodness and History Painting over a row of fences.
‘He’s so bloody brilliant,’ sighed Alan. ‘Look how he moves with the horse, cuddles it up on the bit, balances it, gets the maximum ounce out of every muscle, like honey on its back.’
‘See the expression of relief on History’s face, with Rogue on him rather than Michelle,’ observed Dora.
‘Josh says Rogue’s got the biggest tackle in the weighing room,’ said Trixie blithely.
As Etta moved away trying not to laugh, she noticed Rafiq had left the yard, where he had been sweeping up, to watch Rogue, an expression of passionate longing, admiration and envy on his face.
‘You ride beautifully too,’ stammered Etta. ‘We all noticed how well the horses went for you.’
Rafiq started in terror, gazing at her uncomprehendingly until Michelle made them both jump. She shrilly ordered him to stop