At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The receptionist at Newmarket Equine Clinic smiled in recognition as Ginny pushed open the glass entrance door.

‘Morning,’ Ginny greeted her. ‘Just come to check on Caspian. Is Ray around?’

‘Yes, he’s in his office. Go on through.’

Ginny walked down the carpeted corridor off the reception and knocked on Ray’s open door.

‘Anyone home?’ she said, peeping round the corner.

Ray was sat at his desk, a messy pile of paper in front of him and a fat veterinary reference book at his elbow. His face lit up with pleasure at her arrival.

‘Thank God,’ he said, throwing down his pen. ‘I have a distraction.’

Ginny grinned and sat down in a chair.

‘Working hard?’

Ray groaned.

‘The breeding season’s just about over now so most of my days are taken up with writing reports and certificates saying half of Newmarket is now pregnant again.’

‘Sounds like fun.’

Ray snorted in derision.

‘How did last night go?’

Ginny pulled a doubtful face as she tried to decide.

‘Overall, I guess it was a pretty successful evening,’ she said. ‘The food was good, Mark was lovely…’

‘But?’ Ray prompted.

She opened her mouth to describe the dance she and Julien had shared and the awkwardness of his and Mark’s meeting. It would be too complicated to explain to her brother.

‘Julien Larocque was there,’ she said.

Ray chuckled.

‘You just can’t keep yourself away from him, can you?’

‘I suppose our circles can’t help but overlap.’ She paused but couldn’t resist telling someone. ‘We danced.’

Ray’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

‘By choice?’

Ginny grinned.

‘Actually, no. We were kind of forced into it together.’

‘And you managed not to strangle him?’

Vivid memories of Julien pressing her closer and the intimacy of his hold on her brought a faint flush to her cheeks.

‘I managed to restrain myself, hard as that might sound. It was – it was quite nice in fact – after a while, of course.’

Ray whistled.

‘And how did Mark take to you dancing with the most sought after bachelor in town?’

‘I don’t think he was terribly pleased, to be honest. I don’t know whether it was because of me or not but when Julien walked me back to our table, they were a bit offish with each other.’

‘It must have been because of you. They don’t know each other otherwise, do they?’

Ginny leant her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin in her palms as she tried to decide.

‘Mark said their paths had crossed, so I don’t think they know each other very well. But Mark doesn’t come across as the jealous kind so when their paths did cross, it couldn’t have been very pleasant.’

‘Or,’ Ray countered, ‘he’s realised just what a catch you are and became abnormally possessive. Maybe he knows Julien’s reputation.’

‘A catch?’ Ginny giggled. ‘I’m just a small fish in a very big pond. God knows how I managed to land Mark.’ A frown flickered across her forehead. ‘Julien was definitely living up to his reputation though. He was there with Marianne Cole.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Clinton Cole’s daughter. He owns Silver Sabre,’ she explained when Ray’s face remained blank.

‘Ah, the almighty Silver Sabre,’ he mused. ‘The horse you are going to topple in the Dewhurst.’

‘With any luck if we have a sound horse. Speaking of which, how is Caspian?’

Ray shrugged.

‘Recovering.Slowly. Shall we go see him?’

Ginny nodded eagerly.

‘Yes, please.’

Ray pushed back his chair.

‘Come on then. At least out there I can pretend to be working.’

*

Out in the crisp sunshine, Ray led the way round to the clinic’s stable block.

‘How long will it be before we can take him home?’ Ginny asked.

‘Not long now. He’ll be on box-rest for a while yet though.’

‘And then?’ Ginny said, hardly daring to hope.

‘Horse-walker and if all goes well, you can start light exercise midsummer.’

‘Won’t leave us long before the Dewhurst. I might not be able to get another run into him. Damn.’

Ray shrugged as they rounded the corner.

‘Best to have a sound green horse for the Dewhurst than a lame veteran.’

His words didn’t register with Ginny. She stopped in her tracks and stared. Caspian had his head over his half-door and was soaking up the fuss he was receiving from Julien Larocque.

Ray saw him a moment later.

‘Bloody hell, your circles are more conjoined than the Olympic rings.’

Ginny gathered her composure and cleared her throat.

Julien looked up, a wave of guilt passing over his features like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. He stepped away from Caspian’s stable.

‘Julien,’ Ginny uttered. ‘What –’

‘I had a few things to drop off. Thought I’d check on Caspian while I was here,’ he mumbled.

‘Oh.’ Ginny dropped her gaze, not knowing what else to say. ‘Um, thank you.’

Julien’s searching eyes found hers again.

‘How is he?’ he prompted.

‘He’s – er –’She looked to her brother for assistance. Ray gave her a look of sweet ignorance. ‘Still lame. Yes, he’s – um, still lame.’

‘Oh,’ Julien frowned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will he race again?’

‘Yes, hopefully.’

‘That’s good, very good,’ he nodded.

Ginny swallowed when he continued to look at her. He wrung his hands together and Ginny was transported back to the previous evening when he’d placed them on her body and led her through the dance. She inhaled sharply when she realised she’d stopped breathing.

‘Did you – er – get home all right last night?’ he asked. A deep frown cut across his forehead and a muscle leapt in the hollow of his jaw.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied with a small smile.

Julien nodded abruptly.

‘Anyway, I must go. I have racing this afternoon at Sandown.’

‘Yes, me too. Kenya is running.’

‘Oh.’ Julien looked uncomfortable. ‘Okay, we might see you later then.’

‘Yes. Goodbye.’

He nodded and walked away in the direction of the car park, his shoes clicking in rapid departure on the concrete pavement.

Ray beamed at her.

‘Well, that went well!’

Ginny glared at him.

‘Yeah, thanks for helping me out.’

He held up his hands in surrender.

‘I was curious to see how you would react.’

‘Are you satisfied now?’

Ray shook his head, his eyes wide.

‘On the contrary. What the hell happened last night at the ball? He looked about as wrong-footed as Caspian.’

‘Not funny. Nothing happened.’ She reached out and stroked Caspian’s nose to distract herself.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘All that happened is we danced and Mark got frosty, that’s it.’

‘Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll drop it for now,’ Ray grinned. ‘But I’ll get it out of you eventually.’

Ginny shook her head and returned his smile.

*

Later that afternoon, Ginny walked away from Sandown’s grandstand beside Mark and his American associates.

‘You can’t win ’em all,’ one of them said, patting Mark on the shoulder.

‘So it would seem,’ Ginny muttered under her breath. She told herself not to blame Damien. Racing tactics could go completely out of the window when a race didn’t go according to plan. Reminding herself he was also Mark’s nephew prevented her from confronting the jockey after Kenya’s poor fourth place.

They stopped beside the saddling enclosure.

‘Well, we’d best get going,’ Mark said. ‘The London Eye is waiting for us.’

His colleagues laughed in anticipation.

‘Okay,’ Ginny said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. ‘I’m really sorry we didn’t win. I thought she’d have a good chance. She was favourite after all. I don’t know what else I can say.’

‘Nothing much you can say,’ he replied with an Armani-clad shrug. He flashed a winning smile at the Americans. ‘We’ve still had a pretty good day though, haven’t we?’

Amidst their enthusiastic responses, he turned back to Ginny and squeezed her shoulder.

‘I’ll call you,’ he murmured.

Ginny gave him a grateful smile.

‘Okay. Speak to you later.’

She watched them disappear into the crowds of race-goers with a sigh. Her attention was caught by a throng of spectators lining the fence to the pre-parade ring. Beyond them, she recognised the focus of their excitement. Silver Sabre was being led around the perimeter by his Cobalt Lodge handler. Ginny darted a look around for his trainer. She exhaled with relief when he was nowhere to be seen. She moved closer, transfixed by the flawless colt. His muscles rippled beneath the bright silver sheen of his coat as he glided in smooth sweeping lines. Ginny was reminded of car television adverts, where lines of blue and white laser streaks follow the vehicle’s every manoeuvre. A ball of trepidation formed in her stomach as she considered the clash which would inevitably happen between Caspian and this ghostly colt. She had faith in Caspian’s ability, but this horse was simply perfection. How do you beat perfection?

*

Half an hour later in the trainers’ bar, the ball in her stomach had swelled in size. Ginny stood at the bar, sipping her wine and trying to calm herself.

‘Ginny Kennedy, right?’ a voice interrupted her thoughts. A young man dressed in a casual suit stood before her.

‘Yes, hello,’ she smiled in reply. She wracked her brain trying to place his vaguely familiar face.

‘Nick Stone,’ he provided. He grinned at her relief. ‘Don’t worry, I get that most of the time. I’m the voice behind racing rather than the face.’ He stepped closer to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. ‘Now racing is over, I can have a drink. They frown on commentators slurring their words on the job.’

Ginny chuckled.

‘I can imagine. ‘ShilverShabre wins by sheven lengths’ probably wouldn’t go down well.’

‘Ha! And the rest. That performance just now was closer to seventeen I’d say – oh, speak of the devil.’

Ginny followed his gaze in time to see the winning connections of the last race burst through the doors. Clinton Cole headed affairs, his raucous laugh interrupting everyone’s conversations. Julien and a handful of hangers-on followed him over to the bar where Ginny and Nick Stone stood. Catching sight of Ginny, he gave her a brief nod before his attention was summoned by Cole again.

‘Jameson’s for you, Larocque?’ he boomed, slamming his newly-acquired bronze statue of a horse and foal onto the bar.

‘Please,’ the Frenchman replied, his voice much less intrusive.

‘Congratulations, Mr Cole,’ Nick Stone spoke up. ‘You must be very pleased with Silver Sabre’s performance out there.’

The American looked at the commentator in much the same way Ginny had.

‘I’m Nick Stone.’

Clinton Cole’s face still remained blank. Ginny hid a smile.

‘I called your horse’s race,’ he went on.

‘Hey, fantastic! Did you see the way he made mincemeat of those other horses? They didn’t stand a chance!’ Clinton Cole laughed.

Ginny winced at his blatant pomposity.

‘You must have big plans for his future,’ Nick probed.

Ginny recalled the commentator also had a column in one of the racing newspapers. He was obviously digging for content.

‘Hell, this colt could beat Eclipse.’ His chest swelled and he hitched his belt higher up his considerable waistband.

‘He certainly looks top class. Are you looking at the Dewhurst Stakes or the Racing Post Trophy?’

‘He’ll be in the Dewhurst all right,’ Clinton Cole said. ‘Hell, I wouldn’t miss that race for the world.’

‘The Dewhurst is always a tough race to win. It has all the best two-year-olds entered in it. What do you think of the likes of Vintage Secret and Quillan and –’ He flashed a mischievous grin at Ginny, ‘– and Caspian?’

Ginny’s grip on her wine glass tightened.

‘Who?’

‘Caspian, Ginny Kennedy’s young star.’

Ginny caught Julien’s eye as he tried to speak up.

‘I think maybe –’ he began.

‘That gymkhana pony?’ Clinton Cole overrode him. ‘Ha! Silver Sabre could eat him for breakfast!’

Ginny felt a growl rise in her throat. Julien shook his head.

‘Mr Cole, may I introduce you to Miss Kennedy,’ he said in a resigned voice, gesturing towards her.

‘Hey there, little lady!’

Ginny’s mouth fell open.

‘Eat him for breakfast?’ Nick smiled, amazingly unperturbed by Clinton Cole’s bloated ego. ‘That’s a very bold statement to make.’

The owner put his arm around Nick’s shoulders in a fatherly gesture, nearly taking Ginny’s eye out with his bronze work.

‘Well, I’m telling you, this is the best racehorse in Europe, and –’ He chuckled to himself, ‘– and if he doesn’t win the Dewhurst, then it’ll be because of his prep work because that’s the only thing that could stop him.’

Ginny looked at Julien for his reaction. For once, he seemed subdued, as if he wasn’t hearing anything new.

‘Julien?’ Nick said, stepping out from beneath the deadweight of Cole’s arm. ‘What do you have to say to that?’

‘I’m confid-’

‘He knows the score!’ Clinton Cole boomed. ‘If Silver Sabre loses the Dewhurst then I’ll pack all my horses off to someone who can train top class winners. And I’ve got a few of them, let me tell you.’

The hairs on the back of Ginny’s neck stood up. Granted, she might not be particularly fond of Julien Larocque, but she was incensed on his behalf that this awful man should be allowed to undermine his ability as a trainer. Even though everything he said was with a chuckle and a happy smile, there was an underlying nastiness in his words.

‘When you say
packing
them off, do you mean to another British-based trainer or maybe you’d prefer an American?’

Ginny noticed the first signs of annoyance in Nick Stone’s voice.

‘I think I’ll stick around here a bit longer, take a few more of your trophies, ha! The plan so far is to take on the big stakes races here in England. And if we run out of competition then we’ll take him overseas.’