At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (25 page)

Ginny looked pained, knowing she was in denial.

‘But he wouldn’t go that far, surely? Mark? He could have killed me.’

‘He has a lot to lose if you talk. I doubt whether he was trying to kill you though. Just to scare you.’

‘He had no way of knowing I would use that saddle,’ she argued.

‘It didn’t matter. The message would still be clear.’

‘Why are you so sure?’

‘Gut instinct. Do you have the strap here?’

Ginny had brought the offending strip of leather home with her from the stables so that she could reflect on the incident in private.

‘Yes.’

‘Go get it. We’ll see if I’m right.’

She hurried back inside to fetch it and returned, dutifully passing it to Julien. She pulled her chair closer to his so they could both scrutinise it. He placed it flat on his palm. Ginny suddenly became aware of just how near he was to her, so close that she could smell the very faint scent of his cologne. She stole a tentative glance at his face, at such close proximity, seeing the appealing shadow of a day’s growth of stubble across his strong jaw, the frown on his straight brows as he examined the evidence. He looked up and caught her eye, making Ginny blush that she had been caught ogling him. He held her gaze for a few excruciating seconds until Ginny dropped her eyes to the offending strap.

‘See here?’ he said after another moment, pointing. ‘The stitching has been worn away, not by natural fatigue. These are scratch marks on the leather, where it has been roughed.’

‘Couldn’t that have been caused by overenthusiastic cleaning?’

‘What do you use to clean your tack? A scurrier?’

‘Well…’ Ginny said, not convinced by her suggestion either. ‘It does get cleaned often.’

‘If you did clean it that often, then you would have seen the state of it before it broke,’ Julien reasoned.

Ginny at last admitted to herself what this could mean.

‘Oh, God,’ she moaned, leaning back in her chair. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at the trellised canopy in despair. ‘Why is he doing this?’

‘Maybe you should tell the police now.’

‘I can’t. He was just trying to scare me, that’s all. Just making sure I didn’t say anything. I can’t go to the police now; he’ll do something much worse.’

‘Ginny,’ Julien said, a slight impatience creeping into his tone. He exhaled with controlled effort, before continuing in a gentler tone. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘I can’t, Julien. I can’t risk it.’

‘Risk what? He’s
already
putting you at risk.’

‘Exactly! What more will he do if I tell anyone? I don’t want to even think about it.’

‘So you will let this continue? For how long?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ginny said, hanging her head. She swallowed the swelling lump in her throat and blinked back the tears which stung her eyes. She couldn’t cry in front of Julien. ‘I don’t know when this’ll end. But I can’t say anything to anyone.’ She looked at Julien, helpless. ‘I don’t know when things will go back to normal. Will they ever?’

‘I don’t know,’ Julien admitted. His grip on the stirrup leather tightened. ‘We will work through it though, I promise.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The following Saturday, Ginny was in a panic. She had been delayed at the yard after Sequella had ducked out of her head collar and had played Tag with her and Darragh for the best part of half an hour. Now she was desperate to get to the races in time to declare her runner in the Solario Stakes: Caspian.

‘My God, it sounds like an elephant brawl up there!’ Sally G shouted from the foot of the stairs. Ginny flung open her bedroom door and came thundering down towards her.

‘Sorry, Sally G. I’m late as hell and I’ve still got to fetch Dad.’

‘Good luck, darling,’ Sally G smiled, opening the front door for Ginny to dash through. ‘Don’t forget your keys! Here you are. Oh – and this came for you in the mail this morning.’

‘Thanks.’ Ginny grabbed the small padded envelope and her car keys being proffered by her landlady and ran up the front path. ‘See you later!’

She glanced at the envelope, her name and address typed on the front in neat uniform font but stuffed it in her handbag as she struggled to open her car door.

Jim was out and hurrying away from Ravenhill House in seconds after Ginny tooted her horn outside.

‘Cutting it fine, aren’t we?’ he said, bustling into the passenger side.

‘Put your seatbelt on, Dad.’

*

At last, Ginny was able to breathe a sigh of relief. They’d made it to the racecourse in time. Kerry, Alex and Caspian were already there, waiting, as were ten thousand spectators in the grandstand. Everyone was waiting for the running of the Solario Stakes. Nerves threatened to overcome her as it sank in what a big step up in class this was for Caspian. Not only was the competition going to be fiercer in this Group Three event with Quillan heading the betting, but it would be his first race after a four month absence.

Standing in the centre of the parade ring beside Jim, Ginny squinted through her dark glasses at the horses and riders jogging around the perimeter. The sky was blackening by the minute, the threat of rain heavy in the restless air. Practicality at last won over vanity and she removed her sunglasses, exposing her still bruised eye to the public. Absent-mindedly, she went to put them in her bag and her fingers brushed against the letter which she had stuffed in earlier. She’d forgotten it was there. The horses were beginning to file out of the ring towards the track and she considered whether she should open the unexpected letter later when she got home. Curiosity got the better of her though and she tore open the lip of the tan envelope. Ginny’s brow knitted in puzzlement as it appeared empty. She turned it upside down and gave it a shake and despite her sharp reflexes, missed its small content as it fell to the ground. Ginny bent down and picked it up out of the grass. Her breath quickened and her mouth went dry. She recognised the object as soon as she turned it over. It was a name tag, one that would usually be used for key rings but which they used as bridle tags at the stables. Caspian’s had disappeared a couple of days ago but she hadn’t thought anything of it, presuming it had fallen off during a workout or when his bridle was being cleaned. Here it was though, in the palm of her hand. She began to tremble and she looked up, searching for Caspian among the thirteen horses filtering out through the gate. She glimpsed his shining rump and Alex’s black and green back as they jogged away. It was too late to stop them.

‘Everything okay?’ Jim asked, noticing her anxiety.

‘Fine, just nervous,’ Ginny lied.

‘Come on then. No point hanging about here. We’ll be lucky if this rain stays away a few more minutes.’

Ginny looked again at the blue plastic name tag clutched in her clammy hand. That someone had got close enough to steal this was scary enough. What was more terrifying, Ginny gulped, was that a straight red line had been drawn across the colt’s name.

*

Jim’s hopes that the rain would stay away went unanswered and they only just made it to the relative shelter of the stands before the black clouds broke. Thirteen disgruntled horses and jockeys were loaded into their starting stalls, the jockeys’ silks clinging to their bodies as they pushed their reluctant mounts forward. Ginny looked through trembling binoculars at Caspian but could hardly see him through the haze.

The horses jumped out in a straight line, some of them fighting against the needling rain as their faces were stung by the onslaught. Their manes whipped back like tongues of fire. Caspian’s inside position was swallowed up and he disappeared from view behind a wall of horses.

‘Christ!’ Jim muttered.

‘It’s okay,’ Ginny replied, her eyes still glued to her binos. ‘He’s got some cover away from the rain.’

‘But what has he got instead? He won’t be able to see for all the wet kickback he’ll be receiving from those in front.’

Ginny grimaced. Her father was right, of course. The horses, hurtling over the soft ground, were firing clods of earth into the faces of the trailers. Looking closer, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not to see that Caspian was far enough behind after two furlongs not to be getting much kickback at all. Barring one, he brought up the rear, the majority of his opponents bunched together in front of him, whilst at the front, the fancied Dunharrow, was leading by half a length. At the halfway stage, Caspian still had nine lengths to make up and eleven other horses to pass.

Ginny began to worry. Even allowing for the foul weather, the colt wasn’t travelling well and Alex was having to work hard on him. She bit hard on her bottom lip and winced when the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She saw Alex bustle his horse forward with a firm slap on his flank.

Caspian responded but the extra effort was causing him to drift wide. With only two furlongs left to cover, Dunharrow still held the lead and Ginny’s panic swirled into her stomach. One furlong to go, and the panic flooded to her feet.

‘Go on, Caspian! Come on, Alex!’ she shouted in desperation.

They had reduced the leader’s margin by four lengths but they were still eight horses behind, racing down the centre of the track into the sheeting rain. As the thunder of hooves grew louder and the shouts of the crowds more urgent, Dunharrow’s advantage was stolen by Quillan, sweeping through on the inside rail. Alex’s whip was a flurry of fans and slaps as he urged Caspian on. Eight, seven, six, five lengths into fourth place as they reached the grandstand. Four, three, two…

The jockeys stood up in their stirrups as they passed the post. Ginny’s binoculars slipped from her grasp and tugged on her neck as they bounced against her jacketed chest. She looked at her father, unable to return his grim smile.

‘He had to get beaten at some stage, Ginny.’

She hung her head.

‘I know. But it wasn’t meant to be today and it certainly wasn’t supposed to be into third place.’ Caspian’s name tag still burned in the forefront of her mind and she tightened her hold on her bag where it lay. ‘I want a vet to check him over. I don’t think he ran up to scratch.’

*

Ginny sat at her desk, her fingers dredged in her hair as she stared down at the typed reports in front of her. It didn’t look good. Not for her and not for Ravenhill Stables. She glanced up, gazing out of the window to the stables beyond where she could just make out the shapes of equine heads peering over their doors in the dusk. Sequella was tossing her head up and down and Libran Charter, in the next stable along was looking across at her. A dark and empty stable door to his left had Ginny chewing her lip in anguish. It was usually the horse in this stable that had his head over the door, the white star on his forehead as bright as a cat’s eye on a dark road but tonight there was none. Sighing, she refocused on the paperwork in front of her and idly flicked her thumb against the corner of the veterinary report from that afternoon.

‘Bloods normal,’ she muttered, reading the text aloud. ‘No foreign substances detected. Urine normal. No exaggerated levels of toxins. Diagnosis: no symptoms to suggest foul play or untoward effect on performance.’

Ginny sat back in her chair and exhaled, closing her weary eyes. Relief that Caspian hadn’t been doped was evened out by the inability to explain his poor showing in the race. The only thing she could do was believe her father’s reasoning.

‘Maybe he just needed the run,’ he had shrugged earlier. ‘It was horrible conditions. I don’t think today was a true reflection of what Caspian is capable of, Ginny. Don’t take it so hard.’

She’d tried to follow his advice but it wasn’t easy. Beneath the vet reports was the first draft of Ravenhill Stables’ budget for next season. No matter how many things she tweaked, the overall costs of running the yard would outweigh their income if things remained the same. They would need an influx of either new clients or a very big win to keep them afloat and Sequella’s Goodwood Cup winnings weren’t going to be enough to keep them all in hay for another season. Even if she won the Doncaster Cup like they were all hoping she would, it still wouldn’t be enough to save the yard.

In the quiet of the office, the shrill ring of the telephone made Ginny leap nearly a foot in the air.

‘Ravenhill Stables,’ she answered, picking up the receiver.

There was silence, apart from the crackling of the connection. ‘Hello?’ She gulped when there was no reply.

She moistened her dry lips as the seconds dragged. Finally a voice, almost inaudible, in a low even tone, spoke.

‘Tongues are wagging, Ginny…’

‘Mark? Is that you?’ she said, her voice an octave higher with fear.

‘Caspian didn’t run quite up to par today, did he?’

The vet report in front of her seemed to hold no certitude anymore.

‘Did you have anything to do with it?’

A faint chuckle reached her.

‘Dear, sweet, Ginny. You’re still in denial, aren’t you? You seem to want to make things worse for yourself. You just can’t keep quiet, can you?’

‘Mark, I swear, I haven’t said anything to anyone!’ Ginny cried.

‘Do you really want to put Ravenhill at risk?’

‘I haven’t told anyone, I promise –’ Ginny’s plea was cut short as the line went dead. ‘Mark? Mark!’ she exclaimed. Lowering the receiver, she held it to her chest in clammy hands, before clumsily setting it back in its holder. This was becoming the most terrifying time of her life. She had never been blackmailed before, and even the word
blackmail
hadn’t held the same significance as it did now. It didn’t express the terror and fear that it caused. It was a constant iron clasp that only ever tightened around her and she felt powerless in defence.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Unsure of how or when the nightmare would end, Ginny did the only thing she knew that could take her mind off Mark Rushin: work. She threw herself into her usual daily routine with a renewed vigour. Always the first to arrive at the stables, she was the last to leave every evening. Whilst trying to push Mark’s threats to the back of her mind, she still took extra care every morning when inspecting the tack. She didn’t want to risk another accident, and she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if one of her staff were injured.