At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (27 page)

Julien turned away, hands on hips then wheeled back towards Ginny.

‘This is going to keep going on, you realise that? He’s going to have you looking over your shoulder for the rest of your career.’

‘Oh, God, I hope not,’ Ginny moaned.

‘If you tell the police now, he’ll be arrested and taken away. He won’t be able to hurt you.’

‘But he will! He’ll be accused of fraud and then let out on bail!’

Julien was silent for a moment, his nostrils flaring.

‘None of that’s going to happen, though,’ Ginny continued. ‘Because no one is going to find out. I’m not going to say anything, and you promised you wouldn’t either.’

‘That was before this incident.’

‘It doesn’t matter. If it did, then now you should be even more aware not to say anything.’

He looked at her, frustrated.

‘He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this. It’s dangerous –’

‘Look, I’m exhausted. I just want to forget this,’ she said, holding up her hands then slapping all the manuals into a messy pile. ‘I’m going home now.’

‘I’ll walk you back.’

‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine,’ Ginny said, not certain she spoke the truth, but she didn’t want to be walked home by Julien. He had an annoying habit of making her nervy.

‘I’m walking you home and that’s it.’

‘It’s very kind of you but seriously, it’s not even dark yet –’

‘Now.’

‘But –’

‘No buts. Get your things and let’s go.’

Ginny meekly retrieved her bag, and made a final check on the CCTV, before following Julien outside into the warm evening.

*

They walked out of the gate and Julien waited while Ginny padlocked it behind them. They strolled in silence, each caught up in their thoughts, although Ginny’s tended to be dominated by the fact she was walking next to Julien. It was such a ridiculous thing, she knew, but he was being so protective over her, and the fact they were so close and so alone, made their journey feel unnervingly intimate.

‘I noticed you’ve entered Sequella in the Doncaster Cup,’ Julien prompted, breaking the silence.

‘Yes, won’t be long until that race. Have you got anything running?’ She should’ve known really who they were up against but with everything happening, she’d only glanced at the entries list at the first forfeit stage.

‘Storm Chaser. And Shaman holds an entry, but I haven’t decided. Basil Forrester wants his horses to win every time, and running two in one race makes it pretty hard to train for a dead heat.’

Ginny smiled. The roar of a passing horse lorry delayed her reply and she ducked beneath a low hanging branch of trees lining the footpath.

‘Do you have anything entered in the Arc de Triomphe?’ she asked, naming France’s premier horse race. She recognised the wistful expression on his face.

‘The crown jewels. Everyone wants to win that. Shaman has been entered. But he is up against White Eagle and, more than likely, Perseus as well. We’ll probably make a definite decision later on.’

‘Good luck.’ It was out before she realised what she was saying. Even Julien looked at her in surprise. Embarrassed, Ginny lowered her gaze.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his gaze lingering on her. She quickened her step as they approached Sally G’s front gate, eager for release.

‘Well, thank you for walking me home. It was very kind of you.’

Julien gave her a grim smile.

‘The least I could do. Take care,’ he advised before turning away and walking back the way they’d come.

*

Ginny let herself back into the house, forcing herself not to watch him walk away. Once inside, she stamped her foot in frustration, making Jack, who had run through to greet her, turn tail and hide beneath the telephone table. Why was he being so nice to her? It made her want to like him more than she should. Why couldn’t he be the arrogant bastard that he used to be when they’d first met? Life had been so much simpler when she had disliked him. What had she done to deserve his protection – and support? Exasperated, she padded through to the kitchen in her socks, pausing to stroke Jack who was peeping out from beneath the table cloth.

‘Out here, darling!’ Sally G called from out the back. ‘Just opened a bottle. Grab a glass and come and join me.’

Glad of a distraction, Ginny hunted out a wine glass and went to sit out on the patio.

‘Was that Julien Larocque I saw walking you home like a perfect gentleman?’ Sally G fished.

‘Only because of what happened this morning.’

‘Kerry told me. Terrible thing to go through, darling.’

‘He just wanted to find out about Caspian.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sally G smirked.

‘Of course. He is our next door neighbour. I would be concerned if a syringe containing some deadly poison was found in his yard.’

‘Would you walk him home?’

‘He lives at the yard,’ she pointed out.

‘You know what I mean,’ Sally G laughed.

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Sally G.’ Ginny lifted her chin with a stubborn tilt.

‘Course you do. He’s come over to see you before as well, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but –’

‘And Kerry told me what a hero he’d been when you fell off.’

‘My God, does Kerry tell you everything?’ Ginny said in exasperation.

‘Only when you don’t.’

‘And I only tell you things when they actually exist. Julien Larocque and I can hardly hold a civil conversation with each other.’

‘You both looked happy enough just now.’

‘Sally G!’ Ginny couldn’t help smiling. ‘Were you spying on me?’

‘No, of course not, darling. I just happened to be down the side of the house watering some flowers.’

‘Well, okay,’ she conceded. ‘We weren’t arguing then but that’s a rare occasion.’ Or was it though, she wondered? So much had happened in the last few weeks; it seemed a lifetime since she’d had a go at Julien after Kenya’s defeat against Samurai Prince. Since then…well, Ginny supposed that they had subconsciously decided to put aside their differences and try work through the trauma of Mark Rushin together.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tuesday morning of the following week found Ginny in her office, watching recordings of past performances of three of her horses who would be racing that afternoon. She was just about to change tape when she heard a knock on the door. It was Kerry, and Ginny could tell by the pink tinge to her cheeks that something exciting had happened.

‘Have you read today’s
Racing Post
?’ she said, brandishing a copy of the newspaper.

‘No, what’s up?’

‘Mark Rushin has been
arrested
!’

‘What!’ Ginny cried.

‘I know! Shocking, isn’t it? Look, here.’ Kerry slapped the folded paper down on the desk and pointed at the fuzzy picture of Mark being escorted into a police station by three policemen.
Rushin Reined In
shouted the headline.

Early yesterday morning, businessman and racing owner, Mark Rushin, was taken into custody following allegations of race fixing around the country. His nephew, jockey Damien Woods, was also taken in for questioning. It is unknown as yet, the full charges being brought against Rushin, but it is believed that he and Woods are being accused of stopping horses in numerous races countrywide…

‘Oh, God,’ Ginny moaned. ‘How could he?’

‘Did you know about this? Is that why Kenya left so suddenly?’ Kerry barraged her with questions.

‘What? Yes – no! I don’t know. How could he? After he promised.’

‘Sorry, didn’t know you were still on speaking terms.’

‘No, not Mark,’ Ginny wailed, cradling her head in her hands. ‘He’s gone and ruined everything!’

Kerry bit her lip and looked at Ginny with concern.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you this.’

‘Sorry, Kerry. I – I think I need to be by myself right now if that’s okay.’

With Kerry gone, Ginny let the tears of stress and frustration which had been building up over the last few weeks spill over. The Ginny she once knew would have stormed over to Cobalt Lodge, all guns blazing, and demanded an explanation, but now she felt too tired to fight. Emotionally drained, she could only sit there, holding her head in her hands and stare through a kaleidoscope of tears as they fell on the paper in front of her, at the tear-stained colour photograph of Mark Rushin, looking extremely annoyed, being bustled away. First, there had been Charlie’s betrayal. Then she had allowed herself to get close to Mark, and he had done the same thing. Then, against her better judgement, she had let herself feel – well, she wasn’t too sure what, but it was
something
– towards Julien. Now he had betrayed her too. And he had looked so sincere when he promised not to tell anyone. How could anyone be that cold-hearted? She didn’t want Julien to be cold-hearted! She felt like she was balancing on a tiny rock in the middle of a huge ocean, deserted by those she’d put her trust in, just waiting for the big breaker to sweep her to her doom. And that breaker, she knew, would be Mark’s threat against Caspian and Ravenhill.

*

It was harder than she’d expected to avoid Julien. He seemed to be around every corner. She even saw him at Tesco the one evening, and had ended up only buying half of what she wanted, just so she wouldn’t bump into him. She couldn’t face him. She didn’t have any more energy to fight him with, yet she couldn’t forgive him for betraying her.

News reports had confirmed Mark had been charged with fraud, but they had said the authorities had been tipped off by ‘an anonymous source’. Mark would immediately think it was her, and she had lain awake in bed each night imagining what he would do to make her pay the consequences. How foolish could she be, to think that she could’ve persuaded Julien Larocque to do anything – he was a law unto himself – and also have believed him when he promised to keep her secret?

*

The weekend arrived and Ginny stepped out of the ordered taxi, reluctant to face the evening ahead. She hadn’t wanted to come but everyone had insisted that it would do her good. Henry and Monica Saunders, nee Sutton, were now married and judging by the laughter and shouts coming from within the Suttons’ old Georgian house, were celebrating the occasion to their utmost. She didn’t want to be here at their Reception where everyone was so happy when she felt so low. Especially since she had come alone. When she had sent her RSVP, she had written Mark as her partner, naively believing that come the wedding, things would be just as rosy as they had been then. It felt a little daunting as she approached the wide steps leading up to a huge white front door. She stopped at their base, hearing the cheerful banter beyond the red brick walls.

I’m bound to know some people here, she thought, trying to bolster her confidence as a wave of vulnerability washed over her. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down her dress and readjusted her cream pashmina across her shoulders.

‘Right, let’s go, Kennedy,’ she muttered and strode, with what she hoped was a confident stride, up the steps.

There were two vast entertainment rooms at the front of the house, each with their own hallways leading out to the rear. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, she weaved her way through the packed rooms, smiling in greeting at faces she recognised, but giving an inaudible groan as she stepped through the wide French doors onto the deck and saw Julien sitting at one of a number of painted wrought iron garden tables.

He saw her at the same time, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. His face was unreadable, only his dark eyes portraying his annoyance. Not knowing why
he
should be annoyed with
her
, she searched for a hint of remorse or guilt – anything to prove he wasn’t the cold-hearted person who had betrayed her trust, but she couldn’t find it.

Unfurling from his chair like a panther, he walked towards her, and for a moment before the panic sunk in, she indulged herself with admiring his good looks, the white shirt which was moulded against his chest undone by a couple of buttons, and his tall athletic body looking so unforgivably delicious. Reality reasserted itself when she realised he was coming towards
her
. Her eyes darted around, searching for a way to escape. She looked towards the huge white marquee on the lawn and wandered if she should make a dash for it. Before she could act though, someone else appeared in front of her.

‘Ginny, you made it!’ Monica exclaimed, greeting her with a couple of enthusiastic air kisses. Glimpsing Julien over Monica’s shoulder, Ginny watched him stop in his tracks then irritably change course. She gave a small sigh of relief before turning her attention back to her companion.

‘Monica,’ Ginny smiled. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you. Oh, I’m so in love.’ She clasped her hands together and pressed them against her heart. ‘Henry’s so wonderful. And he remembered all his lines.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’

Monica’s expression of bliss was replaced with shock. Her hands flew to her mouth.

‘Goodness, where are my manners! Let’s get you some bubbly.’

Ginny let herself be hustled over to an outside bar lit with fairy lights.

‘This is a lovely place you’ve got here,’ she commented.

Monica passed some fresh champagne to her guest just as a reedy dark-haired man joined them, sliding his arm around her plump waist.

‘I’m having to downgrade to Henry’s little place now,’ Monica replied with a wicked smile.

Under any other circumstances, Ginny probably wouldn’t have recognised his bland looks but here she instantly remembered Henry Saunders, Cambridge law graduate and heir to the considerable fortunes of Saunders Pharmaceuticals.

‘When I ask you to hoover the place next time, I shall remind you of those words,’ he responded to Monica’s teasing. His bride giggled and gave him a quick kiss.

‘Henry, this is Ginny. Ginny, Henry. Ginny and I were at school together.’

‘Of course, I remember Ginny. Great to see you again. I saw you at Goodwood not so long ago. A fine horse you had running in the Cup. Doncaster the next step?’