At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (23 page)

She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.

Ray looked at her, a doubtful pout to his mouth.

‘You sure? You don’t look it. I know I’m not the most observant brother in the world, but you seem a bit pale.’

Ginny smiled and shook her head.

‘I’m fine. I’ve just seen off Kenya, that’s all.’

‘Ah, that explains it.’ He gave her a woebegone look. ‘Tell me you have coffee in the office then tell me your troubles.’

Ginny motioned for him to follow her through to the yard.

‘Why the desperation for caffeine?’

‘Was out in Cambridge last night celebrating a friend’s twenty-fifth. I feel age creeping up on me now.’

Ginny grinned and led the way into the office.

‘You’ll be twenty-five soon,’ she teased. ‘Over the hill.’

Ray sent her a wry glance.

‘It only means two weeks later, you’ll be twenty-six,’ he replied.

‘And destined to live out my days as a spinster,’ she sighed, giving him a mug of percolated coffee. ‘Here you go, old man.’

Ray took a slurp.

‘Aah, bliss,’ he breathed. He settled himself on the tattered two-seater sofa along the one wall and patted the cushion next to him. ‘So have you picked out the cats you intend to live out your lonely days with?’

Ginny laughed as she made herself comfortable beside him.

‘I already have Jack to get me started. He’s Sally G’s cat.’ She shook her head. ‘And he’s a lot less complicated than most males I know.’

‘What happened with Mark?’

Ginny took a sip of her coffee. It was only lukewarm.

‘We broke up a few days ago.’

‘I know that much. Care to expand or are you going to bottle it all up like you usually do?’

Ginny shrugged.

‘You’re only making it harder on yourself by doing that. Tell me, come on. And I won’t get embarrassed if you cry either.’

She smiled.

‘I won’t cry,’ she reassured.

‘Phew, thank God for that. Can’t handle tears. You’d have me in floods if you’d started. So what happened?’

Ginny hesitated. It would be so easy to tell Ray the truth. To shift the burden onto somebody else’s shoulders.

‘We – we came to the conclusion we wanted different things,’ she compromised. ‘We walked in different social circles. I mean you just had to look at the difference in our cars to see it.’

‘If I may say so, anyone who drives a Jaguar X-type and is under fifty is going to be a bit of a prat,’ Ray said supportively.

‘Maybe, but it was a lovely car to travel in,’ Ginny said, unable to snide the car just because it belonged to Mark.

‘What about Kenya? That was a bit harsh taking her away when he must know how hard you’re working to keep Ravenhill going.’

She shrugged and dropped her gaze.

‘Mark likes to play an active role in where his horses race. We figured that to avoid any arguments in future, it was best that he take her some place else.’

‘Bastard,’ Ray grumbled. ‘How have the parents taken it?’

‘I think Mum’s more disappointed that I’ve lost a boyfriend rather than a horse,’ she smiled. ‘And Dad – well, you know what Dad’s like. He just said “These things happen” and carried on reading the paper.’

‘How many horses are you down to now?’

‘Eighteen,’ Ginny replied, shaking her head. ‘But three of those belong to Ravenhill. Caspian’s still recuperating, Libran Charter and that other two-year-old Dad bought, Pico, haven’t managed to get in the frame this season. I think Libran is ready to be retired. He’s nine now anyway.’

Ray nodded in sober silence.

‘How is Caspian doing?’

‘Back exercising. I’m hoping to have him ready for the Solario Stakes. If he can win that and God forbid, the Dewhurst, then Ravenhill might stand a chance.’

‘Well, just be mindful of his accident. Don’t be a fool and rush into anything or you might end up causing more damage.’

Ginny felt a private smile steal across her lips.

‘I shall be as fearful as an angel,’ she replied.

Ray looked puzzled.

‘What?’

Chapter Twenty-Four

The days leading up to the following Saturday, Ginny lived on tenterhooks. Sequella was running in the Goodwood Cup. She didn’t know whether she was more nervous about Mark’s threat to make things difficult for Ravenhill or because it was her biggest race yet as a trainer.

‘How are you feeling?’ Jim said as they drove down from Newmarket in his car. As the wheels on Ginny’s old Ford Fiesta were threatening to detach themselves after making the journey yesterday, Jim, who was intent on coming to watch Sequella run, had suggested he drive them both in his car.

‘A bit nervous,’ Ginny replied. ‘But strangely confident in Sequella. I don’t know that she’ll beat Jethro. He did win the Ascot Gold Cup after all, but I think she might give him a run for his money. I’ll be pleased if she beats Storm Chaser.’

‘Ginny, let it go,’ Jim said, chuckling.

‘No, it’s not that. I think I’ve come to accept Forrester’s horses weren’t stolen from us. I just feel Sequella spent so much time in Storm Chaser’s shadow, she was the “work horse” for her really…’

‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. They worked well together, they’re very similar mares. Storm Chaser might have stolen the limelight a bit because she’s won so much black type. Sequella has only come into her own this season. Don’t discount Forrester’s mare though. He likes his horses to be entered only if he thinks they will win.’

‘Julien said much the same thing.’

‘He’s a very wise head on young shoulders,’ Jim nodded, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

Ginny could think of a much more attractive way of saying that. His shoulders were so broad and… Ginny gave herself a mental shake.

‘He’s also got the weight of the world on those shoulders,’ Jim continued. ‘More so now than ever.’

‘What makes you say that?’

Jim paused as he concentrated on changing lanes. Flicking off his indicator he explained.

‘Silver Sabre. He won comfortably enough yesterday but Vintage Secret, whom he beat back in June, looked a different horse in the Richmond Stakes.’

Ginny murmured in agreement.

‘Not good for Caspian either if they’ve got him in the Dewhurst.’

‘No. And don’t forget Quillan. He’s the one everyone’s worried about. He might not win his races in the same spectacular style as Silver Sabre does but he’s a very smart horse. Only just does enough.’ He gestured to a newspaper lying on the dashboard. ‘They’ve written a comparison between them all in the
Racing Post
this morning. Have a read.’

Ginny flicked through the pages and settled it flat on her lap when she found the article. The writer praised Silver Sabre and Quillan in two different lights and very cleverly left his readers thinking both horses were on a par, even though Silver Sabre had achieved so much more.

‘Do you think we’re being overambitious entering Caspian in the Dewhurst?’ Ginny asked.

Jim shrugged.

‘To be honest, I don’t know, Ginny.’

She looked at her father, anxiety etched across her face. He’d always bolstered her confidence with his belief in the Ravenhill colt. To hear him express doubt over Caspian’s ability shook her.

‘But we have to be in it to win it, as they say,’ Jim added. ‘And we could sure do with a win.’

Ginny folded the newspaper but a photograph on one of the back pages caught her eye and she opened it again. It was of a chestnut horse with a wide blaze, wearing a white bridle. His jockey crouched low over his neck, a bright blue pom-pom on his riding cap. The whole image looked strangely familiar to Ginny but at the same time so very foreign. A feeling of déjà vu shuddered through her.

Bouncebackability takes the Durban July

Bouncebackability showed an electrical turn of foot to land the Grade One Durban July in South Africa from hot favourite Rasputin. The four-year-old, trained on Rijk Swanepoel’s Cape Town satellite yard by Dan van Rooyen showed only mediocre form last year after a promising juvenile season and certainly lived up to his name when taking South Africa’s premier horse racing event…

Ginny gulped and closed the newspaper, preoccupied by the thoughts this article aroused. She thought back to Charlie’s words after Royal Ascot. Was her job in South Africa really in that much jeopardy? Dan van Rooyen, her substitute, was certainly a good trainer but even she could have trained Bouncebackability to win the Durban July. She tried to convince herself that Rijk would see that.

*

The run up to the big race seemed to drag for Ginny. Her earlier confidence knock was given a steadying hand though as she went to saddle Sequella. The big black mare stood strong and resilient and Ginny’s worries eased. She hopped out the way of the horse’s decidedly large teeth as she tightened the girth and Darragh, her faithful handler, took a firmer hold on the bridle.

‘Enough of that, missus,’ he said in a firm but unmenacing tone.

With a final pat, she sent the young Irishman and his charge out into the mild sunshine towards the parade ring.

Ginny glanced at the betting boards as she and Jim made their way over to the owners and trainers stand and acknowledged that Jethro was now clear favourite, with Storm Chaser second in the betting. At the time of her last race, Sequella had been joint favourite with Jethro. It didn’t matter a jot, Ginny told herself, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. Nobody had told Sequella that she wasn’t favourite.

*

The fourteen horses broke from the stalls, looking almost laidback. They slotted themselves into the most economic space available, settling down for the stamina-sapping two mile journey around the course. As instructed, Alex manoeuvred his mount into second position, right behind Jethro. As the horses reached the furthest and highest part of the course, Ginny scrutinised their performance thus far. They were all well strung out, each wanting an inside rail position to save ground.

Ginny noticed Sequella was getting fractious that she wasn’t allowed to lead the field. She exhaled with relief, feeling an encouraging smile tug at her mouth when she saw Alex ease his mount out as they reached a straight bit of the course and draw up alongside Jethro.

Seeing her appear at his side, the Ascot Gold Cup victor flicked back his ears and put more effort into his running. Clearly, he was a front runner too. The pace increased as the pair argued over the lead. Razor Sharpe, biding his time on Storm Chaser stalked just behind. Winging around the curve into the home straight, Jethro, Sequella and Storm Chaser stretched their necks out, at last given complete release from their riders. Ginny couldn’t believe her eyes. Some horses were thirty lengths behind and hers was battling out the lead with the Ascot Gold Cup winner!

‘Come on, Sequella!’ Ginny yelled, punching the air. ‘Come on, girl!’ Not thinking of what she was saying, she yelled every encouragement she could think of as the three horses came thundering down the centre of the track, so close to one another a picnic blanket could have covered the trio. Ginny became more hysterical and more frantic in her adrenalin-fuelled leaps as the horses swept into the final furlong. Storm Chaser began to weaken. It was sudden, almost like the mare had held up her hands – or hooves – and said ‘Forget it, I can’t do it. What’s the point in trying anymore?’ Jethro was moving like a steam train burning a bottomless pit of coal. Sequella, on his outside, had her head and neck stretched out so far, her ears pinned down and her teeth bared, Ginny’s heart swelled with pride.

This mare had guts!

Treating the last furlong as viciously as Ginny’s continuous swipes and punches at the air, the mare wore down Jethro’s defences, at first getting her nose in front, then her head and her neck. The Ascot Gold Cup winner fell back to her flanks and finally, as they streaked beneath the shadow of the post, was far back enough to get a clod of earth kicked into his chest by a triumphant Sequella.

For a moment, Ginny was reminded of Persian Punch, the gutsiest horse to rule over Goodwood, and with that thought, the water works were triggered. She clung to her father, staining his jacket with her streaming make-up. Dabbing her eyes, she looked around, shell-shocked. A familiar face caught her attention further across the owners and trainers stand. His brown eyes twinkled and a small smile tugged at his lips. Julien gave her an almost indistinguishable congratulatory nod, which even Basil Forrester standing beside him didn’t notice.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Following Sequella’s victory in the Goodwood Cup, Ginny’s outlook on life was improving. Winning her first Group race had left a smile on her face for days after. Her momentary lapse in confidence over Caspian had also passed as his workouts on the Gallops started to show further development. It had been almost two weeks since her split with Mark and she hadn’t heard a word. It had leant reassurance to her fragile nerves that he was going to keep his side of the deal. Neither had she heard anything from her South African boss to tell her she no longer had a job. He hadn’t called her to assure her it was still hers, but she took the attitude that no news was good news.

Riding high in her stirrups astride Libran Charter on the Gallops, she pushed him into a brisk canter, cajoling him to lengthen his stride, until they were galloping hard with the wind whistling in their ears. Mid-flight up the track, balanced over his withers, Ginny glanced behind her to check on the progress of the others. But she didn’t have time to assess them. As she leaned ever so slightly to her left so she could look over her shoulder, her leg suddenly lost its steadfast hold. A loud snap, like the crack of a whip, interrupted the rushing wind. She gasped as her stirrup fell away and she made a desperate grab for Libran Charter’s mane. But she was already falling, spinning off balance, like having a carpet whipped from beneath her feet. She tumbled over the horse’s powerful rolling shoulder and straight into the path of his pummelling hooves.

*

After drifting in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days, Ginny finally came around. Still only vaguely aware of her surroundings, she awoke to a throbbing pain that battered her body, a dull skull-filling ache which swelled inside her head. Closing her eyes to shut out the assault, she tried not to move, hoping it would go away if she just lay still. Opening her eyes again, she gleaned that she was in hospital. She could see the open door beyond the foot of her narrow bed and people passing by. Why was she here? What had happened? She tried not to think too much, as the pain seemed to intensify if she thought too hard. Now she remembered. She had fallen off, that’s right. Had she been on the Gallops? She must have been. She must have been knocked unconscious. A nurse stopped at the door and came in, smiling at Ginny.