At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (10 page)

‘Perhaps not.’ Julien’s eyes twinkled. ‘But give it a while.’

‘Give what a while?’ Ginny snapped.

‘Time. As you say, a lot can change with it.’

*

Despite the dampening threat of Julien Larocque and Silver Sabre, Ginny was still high on Caspian’s win the next day. She arrived at their home track at Newmarket for Kenya’s second race. Feeling the support of the world behind her, she was confident they could make it a double for the bay filly.

A bigger crowd than usual had turned up at the Rowley Mile course. Feeling the glow of the sun warm her face, Ginny smiled to herself as she passed two young children playing on the lawn in front of the yawning grandstand. Their parents lounged on a picnic blanket sipping Pimms and keeping half an eye on them. Mark was waiting in the trainers’ lounge, and despite the heat, was wearing a dark grey suit, which he carried off with a pale blue shirt and tie and a look of cool self-confidence. He stood leaning against the bar, one ankle crossed casually over the other, and cradling a drink in long lean fingers.

‘You look lovely. What would you like?’ he said, admiring the cream and gold fern-patterned shift dress which Ginny had so painstakingly decided on earlier.

You, she was appalled to hear herself think, not able to resist a self-indulgent once over of Mark’s figure. He gave her a lazy smile and Ginny felt her stomach do a back flip.

‘Just a Coke, thanks,’ she said hastily.

‘Nervous?’ he asked a few moments later as he handed her her drink.

‘So-so. I’m always a little jumpy before a race. Cheers.’ Ginny clinked her glass against his and rested her elbow on the bar. ‘How about you?’

‘The same. I hope Kenya wins, for her sake and for yours.’

‘What about yours?’

‘I don’t have a reputation to uphold. You do.’

Ginny grimaced.

‘Thanks for reminding me.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to put pressure on you.’ Mark gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I have complete faith in you.’

‘Thanks,’ she chuckled, grateful for his support. ‘The
Racing Post
was forecasting Kenya at six-to-four this morning. If that’s anything to go by, then we shouldn’t have too much trouble. She’s certainly fit enough, and has done everything right at home.’

‘It’ll give us a good excuse to crack open the champagne tonight then.’

Ginny grinned. She’d had the same thought earlier on.

*

The six furlong race had been a popular choice for trainers, and although a sixteen-strong field of talented horses lined up, Kenya was the pick of the paddock. Because of the crowds, Ginny and Mark went back to the trainers’ lounge after seeing Damien off onto the track. Ginny said a silent prayer as she stood beneath one of the television screens watching the horses erupt from the stalls. This time Kenya got off to a good start, and was quick to take up a cosy position on the rail. With two rows of horses in front of her and the ground riding as hard and fast as it was, the race was run at a breakneck pace.

Some horses were already struggling to keep up, but Ginny was relieved to see their filly travelling hard on the bridle. As the tempo quickened, so did Ginny’s heart rate, and mentally she gave the signal for Damien to make his bid. But in despair, she realised he couldn’t. He was blocked in against the rail, with three horses in front of him and two alongside. Waiting as long as he dared for a gap to open, Ginny saw time was fast running out for them as the horses swept past the one furlong lollipop. Damien, making a split-second decision, hauled Kenya to the outside, risking interference with his neighbour and picking up his whip. The filly, feeling the sharp sting against her flank, bolted forward, reaching her head and neck out, valiantly trying to peg back the leaders. But to no avail. Ginny groaned as Kenya swept under the wire in third, two lengths behind the winner.

‘God, what a disaster,’ she said, raking a hand through her hair then holding it up in defeat. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. I really thought she’d win.’

‘Don’t be.’

Ginny was a little surprised he didn’t seem all that perturbed.

‘It’s not your fault. Just bad luck in running that’s all.’

Ginny looked at his sincere expression and gave a short chuckle of disbelief.

‘Wow, I wish I had more owners as understanding as you.’

Chapter Eleven

The following day, Ginny sat astride Libran Charter, Jim’s old favourite racer. She let the gelding bowl along, listening to the wind rush past her ears as they swept up the Heath. It seemed to breathe the strong caressing tone of Mark’s voice murmuring her name just as he had done after the races yesterday evening when saying goodnight. Ginny reprimanded herself, knowing the proverbial cliff she was walking along was laden with hazards. If she couldn’t get a grip on her emotions, she could imagine the height from which she would tumble if she lost her balance. A balance which she hadn’t been able to keep with Charlie. Yet why was she always so tempted to walk along the edge? Was it the adrenalin rush of imminent danger? Mark certainly gave her a rush but he wasn’t dangerous. Charlie on the other hand…well, Ginny considered, he had been like a hand-reared lion cub: huge fun, adorable, but with a dangerous untameable instinct.

Crouching evenly over her horse’s withers, she followed the rolling bay hindquarters of Caspian, breezing ahead beneath Kerry. Behind her, Alex followed on another two-year-old, racing alongside Darragh. After their canter up the hill, Ginny drew up next to Kerry. The pair of them led the way over to the starting stalls, which were set up for training purposes. They pulled up and waited for the horses in front to take their turn. Stiffening in her saddle as she recognised them, Ginny looked around for her nemesis, Julien Larocque. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him further up the track on the other side of the stalls. He hadn’t noticed Ravenhill and while they waited, Ginny took the opportunity to study him. He was a natural horseman, there was no denying that, she admitted. He was much too tall to be a jockey – he looked more suited to a
Dolce & Gabanna
advert – but he had a natural fluency about his posture which made up for that. Shaking herself back into the present, Ginny pushed Libran Charter forward as their predecessors disappeared over the rise. The stall handlers, skilled and efficient in their work, coaxed first Caspian, then Alex’s mount into their compartments, leaving Ginny last to be loaded with Darragh. Ginny glanced across the framework as Caspian let out an anxious squeal and reared in the stall beside her. She frowned. True, the young colt didn’t have a lot of stall experience, but he was being unusually fractious.

So far so good, she thought after about fifteen seconds. Caspian wasn’t exactly quiet, but with the soothing influence of Libran Charter beside him, he wasn’t boiling over.

‘Blinds off!’ the starter called and pressed the button which released the gates in a sharp magnetic bang. Libran Charter came out the stalls straight and well-balanced, and as they surged forward, for a moment Ginny forgot her concerns about Caspian. But then out of the corner of her eye, she saw panic get the better of the colt. Rearing up in the stalls and sinking back against the rear gates, he twisted in midair, throwing Kerry clear off his back. Unable to stop Libran Charter who, with Alex by their side, thought he was in a race, she swivelled her head round to see the drama unfold. Caspian leapt forward, as if stung, landing hind legs first, and in his frightened frame of mind, did what was instinctive to him – follow the herd. Picking up speed, he bore down upon his stable companions, swerving to the right of Libran Charter before cannoning into the big gelding’s shoulder. Ginny made a swipe for the colt’s flapping reins but missed. Her already pounding heart plummeted when she saw Caspian suddenly prick his ears at the sight of the Cobalt Lodge horses further up the track. He quickened his stride, heading straight for them.

‘Caspian,
no
!’ Ginny cried. With a quick look over her shoulder to see Kerry getting to her feet, she urged Libran Charter forward in pursuit. Beyond, she could see Julien Larocque, who was bringing up the rear of his string in a steady jog, turn when he heard the thunder of Caspian’s hooves approaching.

Please catch him, Ginny prayed. A loose horse on the Gallops was a danger to himself as well as others. To her horror, she watched as if in slow motion as the Ravenhill colt barged into the string, bouncing off one body to another like a dodgem car, before finally coming to a tense standstill beside one of the horses. His head came up and he crested his neck, lifting his tail and squealing. Before Ginny could do anything, Julien Larocque had briskly muscled into the string and brought his whip down on Caspian’s hindquarters. The colt screamed with rage. He reared, receiving another forceful belting for his troubles, and plunged through the group, and careered off over the rise and out of sight.

‘What are you
doing?’
Ginny’s despair was replaced with rage. She pulled up next to Larocque and glared at him. ‘Why didn’t you catch him?’

He glared back at her.

‘What am
I
doing?’ he exclaimed. ‘What the hell are
you
doing? If you’re going to let colts run wild over the Gallops you have no business here.’

‘I didn’t just let him go!’ Ginny retorted.

‘Then get some riders who actually know how to ride!’

‘It was an accident. You beating him like a pit pony sure as hell wasn’t.’

‘That mare is in season. What did you expect me to do? He was about to mount her!’

‘You could have just caught him. Now, God knows where he is or what state he’s in. If, by some remote chance he’s okay, then it’ll be no thanks to you!’

‘Go back to your playpen, Kennedy,’ the Frenchman sneered. He gave her one last contemptuous look then signalled his string, who were all standing there agog, to move on. With emotions riding high, Ginny felt a lump swelling in her throat.

Is that what everyone thought? That she was just playing at being a trainer? Was everyone just humouring her?
Let the girl have her fun
, she imagined them saying.

She sat astride an impatient Libran Charter, watching Larocque’s proud broad back as he rode away, not entirely sure what to do, immediate or otherwise. Who was she fooling? How could she seriously have imagined she could train a Dewhurst winner?

‘Ginny,’ Alex ventured, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I think we should go find out the damage.’

*

Urging her horse into a trot she led the way down the Gallops in the direction Caspian had disappeared. Although there was a fence between the Gallops and the main road, a loose and terrified horse could cause a lot of harm, especially at this peak hour. Fear gripped her chest as the road came into view and she saw traffic at a standstill. Usually, the cars would be whizzing by. Where was Caspian? Ginny imagined his body torn and broken against the crumpled bonnet of a car or beneath the monstrous wheel of a truck. Had he hurt someone?

The last few hundred metres between them and the road seemed to take forever, but as they approached she moaned in relief when she saw Caspian standing by the roadside, with someone, presumably a thoughtful driver, holding his bridle.

‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ Ginny called as soon as she was within earshot. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘He’s very lame but otherwise no damage done,’ the man said as she came to a halt beside him. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep thankful breath.

‘Thank you. Thank God. Did he get onto the road? How lame is he?’

‘He ran straight into the fence. Didn’t appear to even see it. He’s lame in both his front legs I’m afraid.’

‘Badly?’ she said, dismounting and handing Libran Charter’s reins to Darragh.

The man shrugged.

‘He turned a somersault. He’s lucky not to have broken his neck.’

Ginny approached the trembling colt, and stroking his sweat-soaked neck, which was caked in dirt, she ran a practiced hand down his foreleg. A gash on his chest and a long cut on his shoulder looked pretty bad, but Ginny knew they was only superficial. It would be the wounds which weren’t visible that would be the most dangerous. She felt heat radiating out of his forearms all the way down to his fetlocks, and his knees were already swelling up. It was hard to say whether he had broken anything.

‘Thanks for your help, I’m sorry to have caused you trouble,’ Ginny said to the man, straightening up. ‘I’ll get a box down here to take him to the equine hospital. Get some x-rays done.’

‘No problem, I hope everything turns out okay.’

‘I hope so too. Thanks.’

*

Half an hour later, Ginny paced up and down the waiting area at Newmarket’s equine hospital. Coaxing Caspian into the horse ambulance had been heartbreaking. He had been a wreck of frayed nerves. With the assistance of a blindfold and a sedative they had managed to help him in, Ginny propping up his side as the crippled colt hobbled up the ramp. The vets had taken x-rays of his legs, leaving Ginny waiting for the results. What would happen if he had fractured a leg or chipped a knee? Would he still be able to race? Would he have to be
put down?
Ginny closed her eyes, trying to block out the thought.

If it came to that, it would all be Julien Larocque’s fault, she told herself. But a small irritating voice in her head kept telling her it wasn’t. What
had
he been able to do? He couldn’t have risked his own horse, risked possibly serious injury to both the filly and her rider. What would have happened if Caspian had succeeded? Nobody wanted an unplanned pregnancy in a racehorse. It had been a split-second decision. Perhaps Julien
could
have just caught him, but in the heat of the moment, getting Caspian away had been his only intention. Perhaps she wouldn’t be trying to pass the blame onto him if he hadn’t hurt her so much with those careless words. To say he was furious was an understatement. Ginny’s temper hadn’t been that much more restrained either. With a shake of her head, she acknowledged she had to take as good as she gave. God, how could she live with herself if Caspian had to be destroyed? She hadn’t realised just how heavily she had been relying on the colt to bring Ravenhill back to prosperity. She gave a silent groan of impending doom and dragged her fingers through her hair when she thought of her father. What would he say about this fiasco?