At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (2 page)

‘Ginny!’ he exclaimed, limping over to them. ‘Been a while since I saw you last.’

‘Hey, Des. How’s it going?’

‘Listen to you! You even speak like a South African now! I’m okay. Arthritis in my hip still playing up but I don’t complain –’

Kerry snorted and Des glared at her.

‘Kerry, why don’t you go grab Alex and Darragh?’ Jim suggested.

Appeased at her dismissal, Des turned to Ginny again with a smile.

‘So you’ve come back to save the day?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ she said with a strained laugh.

‘Sure she has,’ Jim said. He wrapped a proud arm round her shoulders. ‘We’re going to have our best season yet this year. You mark my words. She’ll give Larocque a run for his prize money, I guarantee.’

Jim and Des’ chuckles drowned out Ginny’s puzzled ‘Larocque?’

Chapter Two

Later that night, Ginny flinched in her sleep, beads of sweat expanding on her cool skin. She moaned as Ray’s words floated across her dreamscape.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny. He didn’t make it.’

Ginny woke with a start, her cry still fresh on her lips. Turning onto her back on her rumpled sheets she gazed up at the high shadowed ceiling and recalled her dream’s vivid scenes. It had started three weeks ago, following Ray’s phone call. A phone call that had rocked Ginny’s world on its axis and the reason she now lay in her childhood bed in Newmarket, rather than the Egyptian sheets of her bed in Cape Town.

*

It had been a scorching hot summer afternoon in the Western Cape, the only respite being provided by the blustery wind tunnelling through the long double-sided stable yard. Ginny had been walking a horse across the concourse when she was summoned to the office for a phone call from her brother.

‘Ray?’ The tell-tale echo of her own voice confirmed the long distance call.

‘Hi, Ginny.’ Her younger brother’s voice had sounded tired.

‘This is out of the blue. Is everything okay?’

He hesitated and Ginny heard him taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and braced herself, gripping the edge of the desk with her free hand. ‘Listen, there was an accident this morning... with Dad.’

Her heart plummeted.

‘Dad?’ she croaked, fear constricting her throat. ‘What happened?’

‘He’s had a heart attack.’

Heart attack
. Those two ugly words stood out in her mind’s eye like dirty blemishes splattered against a window. She struggled to catch her breath, the telephone receiver slipping through her damp palm.

‘Is he – is he –’ she tried but hadn’t been able to say the word. To say it was almost like a confirmation, tempting fate. To say it would be to believe it.

‘No. He’s in hospital though,’ Ray replied.

A small squeak of relief escaped from Ginny’s mouth as she slumped in her chair. She felt like Ray had just snatched her from teetering over the edge of a very high cliff.

‘They think they have him stable, but he might have a second one,’ Ray continued. ‘We’re not out of the woods just yet.’

‘Oh my God,’ she groaned, raking her free hand through her hair. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘I dunno why. He was out on the Gallops this morning as usual when it happened.’

‘What? Riding?’ she asked, sitting up faster than a released mousetrap.

‘No, of course not. When was the last time Dad rode out? Ten, fifteen years ago?’

‘Okay. Sorry, stupid question. I – I just can’t get my head round it. Dad’s healthy – or rather he was. He’s fit, he keeps active. How could he have a heart attack?’

‘I dunno,’ Ray repeated. ‘He might be fit, but he’s not getting younger. The yard hasn’t been doing so great, so he’s been pretty stressed.’

Ginny’s tumbling emotions switched to indignation cycle.

‘Why didn’t anyone tell me? Dad always sounds so optimistic on the phone.’

‘Didn’t want you to worry, I guess.’

‘What about the yard now? What’s going to happen to that until Dad gets back to work?’

There was a pause before Ray replied.

‘Well, that’s the other thing we need to talk about. Dad’s not going to be coming back to work, at least not this season anyhow. The doctor said he should take the year off to get his strength back.’

Ginny scoffed. Their father’s role as a racehorse trainer wasn’t a simple one to take a break from.

‘Easy for him to say. Sure, just store the horses away for a year, they don’t have a use-by-date or anything.’

‘I know. But the doctor knows what he’s talking about. If he says Dad’s got to take time out, then, well, Dad better take some time out.’

Ginny grudgingly agreed. But where did that leave them? Their father’s racing stable certainly couldn’t run without him there, even if it
was
just for one season.

‘We’ll have to sell, won’t we?’ she concluded.

‘That’s one possibility. Send the horses elsewhere and sell the yard. Mum and Dad could move into a nice low-maintenance place,’ Ray considered. He waited a few seconds before continuing. ‘But doing that’s more likely to kill Dad, giving up the yard he’s built. He’s been there for more than twenty years. The only other option is for you to come home and run it.’

*

Lying in her childhood bed, Ginny chewed her bottom lip as she recalled how a new reality had set in, like an uninvited guest suddenly re-organising her routine. She knew that running her father’s racing yard would be no easy task. Following in his footsteps was one thing, filling his shoes was another. Glancing across to the window, she saw the first signs of a new dawn seeping into the murky heavens. It was pointless trying to go back to sleep now. Instead she switched on her bedside lamp and gazed at the glossy posters still hanging up on the walls, unaltered since her departure three years ago. They were all of racing’s champions of yesteryear.

That’s where I want to be, Ginny thought with a wistful sigh. But she felt afraid to dream of it, in case her subconscious scoffed at such ridiculous ambitions. On the other hand, look at her father. No one, himself included, could have predicted the life-changing season when their filly, Just Kidding had won The Oaks and the King George all those years ago. The photos to prove these victories adorned her dressing table and chest of drawers. Of herself, barely ten years old, beaming with pride as she led in the filly on Oaks Day, and her father striding along on the other side of the horse, a youthful bounce in his step. Despite having some horses with decent ability over the years, none had shown the spark of Just Kidding, and Ginny was afraid time was running out, and there would never be another Oaks heroine like her for Ravenhill Stables.

Things were going downhill with increasing momentum, and Ginny knew she wasn’t here just to give her father a break, but to breathe some life into a yard that was rapidly suffocating. Was it possible? And more importantly, was it possible to do it in just one year? Her boss had promised she could keep her job if she was back at the end of the Northern Hemisphere flat season. It was a good job if sometimes a bit tough, being assistant to Rijk Swanepoel, one of South Africa’s top trainers and she knew she couldn’t chuck away the opportunity.

Ginny hefted the makeshift file of Ravenhill’s residents her father had given her the evening before onto her raised knees. She turned immediately to Shanghai Dancer’s page. Jim said he was daring to hope that he had a potentially Classic-winning horse on his hands, the dream of all trainers. But Ray had told her on the journey home from the airport that they had only twenty-odd horses in the yard. He had failed to add that only eighteen of them were paying customers, the remaining three belonging to Ravenhill Stables.

Memories of that car ride seeped into her thoughts as she turned to the page of one of the Ravenhill-owned horses, an unraced two-year-old called Caspian. But instead of seeing the bold print on the page, she saw the tall dark-haired Frenchman holding her in his intense gaze as she’d handed him his car’s bumper.
Larocque
, that was his name. A frown flickered over her face. She didn’t like the way her memory had already imprinted that name on her brain. Men were nothing but trouble, especially ones in racing and judging by Jim and Des’ earlier conversation, he must be a trainer as well.

Staring blankly at the page, Ginny wondered if their paths would cross again. If so, would he add to her troubles? She frowned again. Yes, he could only mean trouble. Even at this very moment, he was distracting her from what should be her priority: Ravenhill Stables. Intent on pushing the Frenchman as far from her thoughts as possible, she studied Caspian’s page. She stopped suddenly as, with widening eyes, she read the pedigree of the young colt. The names jumped out like neon lights. Why hadn’t her father said so?

*

Pulling her boots on and stepping out into the early spring morning, Ginny took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. She could hear the snorts and whinnies from the stables, her charges letting her know they were ready to face the new day – her first day, as Ravenhill Stables’ new trainer.

She met Kerry securing her bicycle against the brick archway. Both girls smiled in greeting.

‘Hi, how are the butterflies?’ Kerry grinned.

‘Active,’ she admitted. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to help me out with your routine in the morning. I know what it was three years ago, but things might have changed.’

‘Doubt it. Des mucks out while Alex, me and Darragh ride out.’

Ginny nodded.

‘I know my dad didn’t ride any of the strings out in the morning but that’s something I like to do, so things might go a bit quicker. When do the others get in?’

‘Des will already be here, having his cup of tea in the tack room. Alex and Darragh’ll probably be here in a minute.’

‘Great, let’s get going.’

‘Er, one question,’ Kerry said as Ginny made to head for the horses. ‘How would you like us to – um, address you?’

Ginny looked thoughtful.

‘Ginny sounds okay, doesn’t it? Of course, you could call me Miss Kennedy and make me feel like a middle-aged spinster. Or Virginia, except I only get called that when my mum is cross with me.’

Kerry grinned in relief at having this initial hurdle cleared.

*

In the first lot they took out onto Newmarket’s rolling Heath, Ginny rode a gangly horse called Pacifist, who was anything but peaceful. Waiting to cross the road he had refused to stand still, but when the cars stopped to give way, he rolled his eyes and did his best not to set foot on the tar. Alex took the initiative and led the way across to the Gallops.

Alex, corkscrew blond curls escaping beneath his helmet, was originally from Philadelphia, Ginny learnt. With the rapt attention of Kerry, who Ginny decided already knew the story but was more than happy to hear it again, he explained how he’d arrived in England two years ago after leaving school, to visit some relations and, after discovering Newmarket, had never left. He chatted the entire way to the Heath, keeping Kerry and young Irishman, Darragh in stitches. Ginny couldn’t help but laugh at some of his antics and his failed attempts to mimic the English accent, but was only listening with one ear as she concentrated on Pacifist’s unpredictable behaviour.

They jogged their mounts along the edge of the Heath, separated from the morning traffic by only a wooden post and rail fence. Ginny smiled to herself, revelling in the magic of the landscape, the muffled drum of shod hooves beating the dew-damp grass and the sound of cold foggy snorts and the cheery banter of riders. The smell of early spring stemming from the trees and the youthful daffodils which bordered the path lingered in the crisp air.

How could she have left this heavenly town? It seemed an outrageous notion now but at the time the reason had been completely logical. To have stayed wouldn’t have made sense. Ginny set her jaw, her smile vanishing. Three years had passed and that very important reason was no longer a factor.

*

As they neared the gateway which led onto the Gallops proper, Ginny pulled up Pacifist, and hitched her left leg forward. Telling the others to do the same, she struggled to check the nervy horse’s girth. But as the team stopped, another string of riders trotted up behind.

‘You are holding up traffic,’ an impatient voice called out.

Ginny swivelled round in her saddle to see who the owner of the voice was. It took her less than a second to recognise him as the man Ray had collided with at the Clock Tower Roundabout. It would be hard to forget a face like his. His look of impatience was replaced with subtle surprise as he likewise, recognised her. ‘Again,’ he added.

For a moment, Ginny basked in the wondrous knowledge that someone as attractive as this could remember her from their brief first encounter. Pacifist took advantage of his rider’s preoccupation and did a smart pirouette, leaving Ginny sitting on air, which very abruptly became the ground.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. How could she have fallen off? And on her first day too, in front of everyone! Ginny inwardly cringed. God, how embarrassing! Clinging to Pacifist’s reins like a life raft, she scrambled to her feet, not without noticing the Frenchman raising his brown eyes to heaven.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry!’ Ginny said, a little indignant, now feeling slightly hard done by. She wouldn’t have fallen off if he hadn’t barged up to them. Not even attempting to stop, he gave Ginny a withering look and nodded to the initials on their horses’ dark green saddlecloths – JRK – James Reginald Kennedy.

‘Ravenhill Stables?’ he assumed. ‘I thought things couldn’t get any worse there. Guess I was wrong,’ he added, before riding past.

Ginny stared after him, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’, still too surprised to say anything. However, she soon found her voice as the string of horses cantered off and Pacifist tried to bolt after them.

‘Of all the stupid things to do!’ she ranted. ‘How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is?’

Kerry sighed, gazing wistfully after the seven disappearing figures.

‘Julien Larocque,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

Annoyingly so, Ginny conceded to herself.