At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (18 page)

‘Didn’t look very happy, did he?’

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he was jealous,’ Kerry added.

‘That’s ridiculous. Julien can’t stand me.’

‘That look said differently,’ Kerry insisted.

‘Kerry,’ Ginny warned. ‘Julien Larocque is the last person to be jealous of me or Mark.’

‘Suit yourself,’ she shrugged. ‘But he knows now that Mark scored a double yesterday, beating him twice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mark’s horse, Symbolic Band won last night at Lingfield, beating one of Larocque’s well and truly, then of course Mark scored with you…. And he didn’t,’ Alex added with extra emphasis.

‘He won? He didn’t mention it.’ Maybe he hadn’t wanted to make her feel awkward by telling her his horses with other trainers were winning when the one she had wasn’t. That was the only possible reason.

*

After a disappointing run from Raccoon, Ginny was almost begging Kenya to win her race. They had dropped the filly back in class, hoping to get a win out of her.

The start of the race was delayed, and anxious to see what the hold-up was, Ginny reached for her binoculars only to find they weren’t there. She had lent them to Mark to watch the previous races.

‘Mark, have you got my binos?’

‘Dammit, I must have left them down at the saddling area. Sorry, Ginny. Can you see okay?’

Not really, Ginny wanted to say, feeling a bit miffed. Her binoculars were expensive and not something which you put down and forgot about. But what would be the point in saying it?

‘No, it’s fine. Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll catch most of it.’

The cheer of the crowd signalled the start of the race and Ginny screwed up her eyes to follow the race closely. The pace was quick, ideal for Kenya’s style of running, and the filly bowled along in fourth place, behind a row of three horses. Ginny’s breath quickened with excitement. Kenya was moving so strong, she knew she would take the world of beating to stop her. The horses skimmed the inside rail coming into the home straight, the jockeys getting to work, scrubbing their hands up and down extended necks and fanning their whips. Ginny realised she and Mark hadn’t chosen the most ideal position from which to watch the race, and she struggled to pick out their horse amidst the bunched up field. Just able to make out Damien, Ginny was excited to see he was hardly having to do any work on Kenya. Her eager smile faded however, when she noticed Samurai Prince, Julien Larocque’s entry, racing on her outside. Razor Sharpe wasn’t moving either, but more than that he was blocking Kenya’s side door and stopping her from making her run.

‘Come on, Razor, stop it!’ she yelled, forgetting Mark by her side and right-hooking the air. ‘Get out of the way!’

The horses in front of Kenya began to fade, and it was only when the filly began to lose momentum, that Razor flicked his reins and fired his mount down the centre of the track. Wrenching Kenya’s head sideways, Damien went to follow, throwing his reins at the filly and slicing the air with his whip. But having to build up momentum again, Samurai Prince was impossible to catch. Kenya could only reach the Larocque gelding’s flank as they hurtled under the shadow of the winning post. Ginny was so furious she could hardly speak.

‘I’m going straight to the stewards,’ she said through clenched teeth, but stopped when Mark placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

‘Don’t, Ginny. What’s the use?’ he said. ‘They won’t change the placings. I don’t think Kenya would have caught him, even if she was a little boxed in. She’s just had such bad luck. Poor girl.’

‘You’re going to let them get away with that?’ Ginny retorted. ‘Mark, we would have won!’

‘I’m sorry; I know how much you wanted to win this. But I don’t think we would have.’

For the first time, Ginny almost lost her patience with Mark.

‘It’s not about
me
wanting to win, it’s about what’s right and
fair.’

‘Ginny, please don’t make a scene,’ Mark said, lowering his voice and holding her shoulder. ‘Not now. Let’s just go home and take a look at where we go from here.’

She sighed.

‘Fine, I won’t go to the stewards, but I’m bloody well going to have it out with Larocque.’

*

Ginny’s fury was fuelled even more when she found Damien’s rough handiwork had cut Kenya’s mouth, evidence of pink froth flying from her lips as Kerry led her back to the saddling stalls. Referring to her race card, she saw Julien Larocque didn’t have a runner in the next, and she waited, like a cat abiding her prey, for him to return from Samurai Prince’s prize giving. She pulled him aside as he walked past her towards the stables.

‘
What
do you think you were doing out there?’ she demanded.

‘
Pardon
?’ Julien replied, inclining his head.

‘Out there, you and Razor. Did you plan it all beforehand?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Julien looked insulted.

‘Oh, don’t play innocent with me. You
knew
we had this in the bag, but you went and told Razor to keep Kenya boxed in. You were out to stop her!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Julien said. He glanced around to see if anyone was listening in then pulled her into the shadows behind a pillar.’You really think I cheated?’

‘The proof was right there!’

Julien looked at her with disdain.

‘Then why didn’t you call a Stewards’ Enquiry if you’re so sure?’

Ginny hesitated for a moment.

‘I wanted to, but Mark didn’t want to cause a fuss.’

‘I’m sure,’ Julien said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘Mark Rushin didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Likes to keep a low profile, does he?’

‘You’re bloody lucky, because I would have you and Razor straight up there on the carpet in front of the stewards!’

‘Will you shut up! You are being rude and a bad sportsman. Your father would be ashamed.’

‘He taught me to stand up for what I believe in.’ She lifted her chin in defiance and gave him a challenging glare.

‘What – what you believe?’ he uttered. He shook his head, as if lost for words. Finally, grabbing her arm, he swung her round to face the stables. Ginny gasped in pain. Jabbing a finger towards the hosing bay, where Kerry was cooling Kenya down, he said,

‘See that?’ Then swinging her around to face the track, he stabbed the air again. ‘Now see that? That…’ he paused for emphasis and glared at her, his eyes flashing, ‘…is where angels fear to tread.’

‘What?’ Ginny said in complete bewilderment. Julien let go of her arm so abruptly she staggered backwards. The air in her lungs was knocked out as she collided with the pillar.

‘Go home and watch the race again, Ginny,’ he advised, before turning on his heel and carrying on his journey.

‘What the hell?’ Ginny was too puzzled to stop him. Was he
threatening
her? Was he warning her off the racetrack, telling her to watch her step?

Chapter Nineteen

With venomous thoughts of Julien Larocque pushed to the back of her mind, Ginny continued with Ravenhill’s battle to regain its form. Her one ray of hope was Caspian, now back in light training. The competition for the Dewhurst was now hotting up, the main contenders separating themselves from the rest of the crop. On the day of the July Stakes, Ginny knocked on her parents’ front door before letting herself in. She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl as she passed the dining room and joined her father in the lounge, where he was already watching the racing.

‘Hello, lovie,’ he said without looking up.

Ginny crunched on her apple and made a greeting noise in return.

‘July Stakes at 2.40,’ he said.

‘I know. The Norfolk Stakes winner, Quillan, is running. Thought I’d watch it with you?’

‘Good, good. Oh, before I forget. This came in the mail today.’ Jim leaned over and picked up a white envelope that was lying on a side table and handed it to her. Ginny opened the gold-trimmed card.

‘Oh,’ she said in surprise. ‘It’s an invitation from Monica and Henry to attend their wedding reception. You remember Monica Sutton, don’t you?

‘I went to school with her,’ she added when Jim’s expression remained blank. ‘Anyway, I bumped into her at the Charity Ball the other week.’

‘You must go. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. When is it?’

‘End of next month. She’s left the invites a little late. I might have been an afterthought, mind you.’

‘Are you going to take Mark?’

‘Probably. If he can make it, that is. His work seems to take him away on business a lot of the time. We’ve got Kenya running tomorrow and he can’t get away for that either. You like Mark, don’t you, Dad?’

Jim hesitated before replying.

‘He’s very
smooth
,’ he said with diplomacy.

Ginny pulled a face of torn loyalties.

‘Okay, I’ll give you that. But a nice smooth, don’t you think?’

‘Oh, yes, don’t get me wrong. He’s so charming he could sell ice to an Eskimo. Just don’t introduce him to your mother just yet or she’ll be asking Monica which printers she used for her wedding invites.’

Ginny laughed and sat back in comfortable silence with her father to wait for the running of the July Stakes.

*

Beth, who had come to ask Jim what he wanted for tea, stopped herself as she walked in, midway through the race. Seeing the two of them leaning forward in their chairs, their eyes glued to the screen, they were both oblivious to her presence. Ginny perched with a cushion gripped in her hands and Jim beat a soft rhythm on the armrest of his chair with every stride the horses took. She knew life could sometimes be lonely, being the wife of a trainer, but Jim was so passionate about his horses, a trait Ginny had inherited, that she could forgive them. Her father had also been a trainer, dedicated to his work, and as a child she had sometimes felt excluded, at times even resenting the animals which had so completely dominated his attention, but here, watching Jim and Ginny, she realised these horses could also bring people closer together than in any other normal relationship. Ginny had never had any time for boys as a teenager, and it was to Beth’s relief that she had taken the big step of leaving Newmarket to follow a man, even if it had taken her halfway across the world. She desperately wanted to see Ginny in love with a man rather than a horse, and maybe Jim didn’t help matters by always encouraging her passion for racing, but perhaps one day Ginny might change her priorities. She watched the race from the doorway in silence, glancing at the focussed expressions on her husband’s and daughter’s faces. A horse called Quillan seemed to be the only name on the commentator’s lips, and even she, a no-hoper when it came to judging horses’ ability, was impressed by the way the colt moved to the front of the field and ran out the easy winner. Beth looked at Jim and Ginny for their reactions. Neither had been cheering, instead they had remained unnaturally quiet throughout the race, and Ginny now looked a little pale. Jim looked grim.

Catching sight of her at the door, his expression changed, the tense line of his mouth breaking into a smile, and Beth realised why she had fallen in love with this man. He had so much love to give, it wasn’t all for the horses. Putting a smile on her face, she asked what he’d like for tea.

‘Whatever is easiest.’

‘Shepherd’s pie?’

‘Sounds great.’

She turned, heading back towards the kitchen when Ginny stopped her.

‘Mum? Can I stay for dinner?’

Beth tried to mask her initial surprise and delight as Ginny spoke up.

‘Of course, lovie.’ Sensing a rare opportunity to connect with her daughter, she stepped back into the lounge and asked, ‘Was – was that a good race?’

‘Quillan won,’ Ginny groaned, falling back against the sofa.

‘Oh, who did you want to win?’

‘Anything but Quillan really. We’re going to be up against him with Caspian in the Dewhurst.’

Beth searched for something to say with which to reassure her but Jim was too quick.

‘He wasn’t up against a very strong field, remember. Quillan was able to dictate the whole thing. He had it easy.’

Not completely sure if this was true or not, Beth was about to back him up for Ginny’s sake, but she stopped, when she noted her daughter’s attention was diverted by the television. Ginny was sitting very still. Looking from her to the screen, Beth saw a man being interviewed prior to the next race. He had a low murmuring French accent, and was devastatingly handsome, and right now Ginny seemed as engrossed in him as she had been in the race. And she had no problem in identifying him either. It was hard not to when he had lived next door for the past two and a half years.

Chapter Twenty

The punters had deserted Kenya the next day at Sandown. Ginny crossed her fingers and prayed that they were wrong as the horses cantered down to the Start, the sun bouncing off their muscular rumps. She and Mark had agreed on a Listed race, a step up in class from her previous runs. Jarred by their past misfortunes with Kenya, Ginny had needed some convincing but Mark had been adamant they should give the filly a chance. She knew that Kenya’s performance today would impact more than just her personal attachment to her. A Listed winner, although not in the same class as a Group winner, was still a good achievement to have on a yard’s CV.

The horses were loaded into the starting stalls in quick succession. They were almost too quick for Ginny, as she prepared herself for the adrenalin rush that would flood through her body when the nine horses jumped out. The joint favourite, Desert Rain, sprinted to the lead, spearheading the rest of the field down the centre of the course. He was tracked by three mid-market rivals, followed by Kenya and a similar outside chance. The pace was quick, and Desert Rain opened a gap of three lengths on the chasing pack.

Ginny scrutinized the field, deciding on who would be their biggest threat. At the halfway stage, Desert Rain seemed the obvious target, having extended his lead to four lengths. Half the field was already being pushed along, and the only horses still going strong were the joint favourites and Kenya.