At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (36 page)

‘This! Here! To me! Why did you come here tonight?’ he exclaimed.

‘Because things aren’t going to be the same after the Dewhurst!’ she cried. Her eyes flickered over his face, so close she could see tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead and her anger quelled. ‘Don’t you see, Julien?’ she continued in anguish. ‘We’re after the same prize…’

He nodded.

‘…but there can only be one winner,’ he finished for her.

Ginny struggled again but with less intent. Julien firmed his grip on her wrists and shifted his body closer so that she couldn’t escape. Everything inside her screamed that she was teetering on the edge of making a very bad decision, but she found herself willing him to move closer. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed and his eyes flickered to her mouth.

Without thought, Ginny bridged the gap, reaching towards him. Julien kissed her back, almost savagely, their teeth clashing. With a low groan, he pushed his body hard against hers, pinning her to the wall. Ginny felt like a live wire being let loose. He relaxed his grip on her wrists just enough to let her clasp her hands around his neck before running his fingers down her body, over the curve of her breasts and down to her waist.

Ginny shivered as his hands slid beneath her shirt. She sucked in her breath as he pulled her towards him. What was left of her self-control disappeared and she tucked her hands beneath the collar of his shirt, feeling the burning heat of his shoulders and longing to feel more.

A soft moan escaped her as he explored her body. She splayed her fingers down over his chest, causing the top button of his shirt to pop open as she delved inside. Against the palm of her hand she could feel his heart thumping.

Suddenly, Julien stopped. He edged his mouth away from hers only far enough for him to speak. His hands trembled on her ribcage.

‘Get out,’ he whispered in her ear.

Ginny faltered.

‘What?’

‘Get out,’ he said, louder and more forceful. Ginny stared at him, seeing his eyes darkening with inner turmoil. ‘Before we do something we’ll both regret.’

After a pause, Ginny nodded. She withdrew her hands and nudged his body backwards.

‘I know,’ she whispered.

Julien let her go, his face tormented.

Ginny attempted a faint smile. ‘There can only be one winner.’

With her heart feeling like lead but with the blood still raging through it, she walked out into the night. She rounded the corner of Cobalt Lodge’s yard into the car park, tears at the back of her throat waiting to be spilled onto her pillow later on. She paused as she heard a crash from within the office as Julien kicked the chair across the room.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dewhurst Day – or D Day, as Ginny had come to think of it – arrived with glorious but chilly autumn sunshine. Nothing could have prepared her for the electric nerves which kept zapping her body and the overwhelming urge to run away as she realised that
this was it
.
Today
was Dewhurst Day, the day she had been looking forward to all season, but now felt too scared to face.

She sat on her bed and towel-dried her hair. She hadn’t been able to resist visiting the hairdressers’ the day before, but the morning’s workouts beneath her helmet had sapped all the life out of her freshly-highlighted locks.

Jack purred beside her and closed his eyes.

‘All right for you,’ she smiled. She tried to manoeuvre that day’s
Racing Post
from beneath him where he was using it as a nest. On the front page was a flattering picture of Silver Sabre winning the Mill Reef Stakes digitally combined with Quillan winning the Champagne Stakes. In large black font, the headline challenged:
Is the Quill mightier than the Sabre?
Ginny brushed her fingers over the small inset photograph of Julien with a sigh and turned to Page Three, ignoring the fat article on his colt.

Caspian showed considerable promise early on in the season when winning a competitive maiden on his debut, beating subsequent Flying Childers Stakes victor, Goinggreatguns. However, injury has kept him out for the majority of the year and he disappointed on his reappearance in the Solario Stakes, falling short of Quillan and Dunharrow. Ravenhill Stables’ form is on the up, however. An optimistic each-way chance but unlikely to threaten in this step up in class.

Ginny wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t expected the press to be singing their praises, especially when everything they said was true. But with the betting forecast of twenty-to-one, she thought the bookmakers’ might be risking their fingers being burnt. She scanned the write-ups of the other nine horses. There were complimentary appraisals on Vintage Secret and Quillan, in particular. It appeared, according to the tipsters, that if anything was going to topple Silver Sabre today, it would be him. She paused over Silver Sabre’s appraisal.

Silver Sabre has done everything that has been asked of him this season, winning all his races with apparent ease. Already with three Group Ones under his belt, Larocque will be out to nab his fourth with the grey colt. Cobalt Lodge has consistently been in good form throughout the season and it will take a powerful Arthur to dislodge this sword from Larocque.

Ginny closed the paper and dug her hairdryer out of a drawer. Blowing life back into her hair, she stared at herself in the mirror, a little bewildered. How could she have spent so many long months thinking of nothing else – apart from two certain men – but a race which would be over in less than two minutes? The answer, she concluded, was the thrill of the lead-up. The preparation of each of the contenders, the eventual clash, the ninety-second adrenalin rush and the consequences and rewards such a victory would provide. An image of Julien rose in her mind and she blinked it away. He would be part of the consequences, but not one she was looking forward to facing.

With her hair, makeup and wardrobe complete, she surveyed herself once more in the mirror. She made a conscious effort to smile as she inspected her lipstick. At this rate, she would have chewed all of it off by the time the Dewhurst rolled around.

Sally G was waiting for her downstairs. The landlady gave a loud wolf-whistle as she and Jack descended the stairs.

‘Wow,’ she drawled, making Ginny blush. ‘You look like something out of a fashion magazine.’

‘What – this old thing?’ she said with an anxious smile and smoothed down her new thigh-length coat over her dress. Nobody liked vanity, but one had to admit, a bit of style and a few compliments could do an awful lot for one’s self-confidence. And although she hated to confess, she also wanted to look good for Julien. Why? She wasn’t sure, since it wouldn’t achieve anything. Dressing up wasn’t going to make him declare his undying love for her. Sally G seemed to read her thoughts.

‘Darling, you are going to have every trainer, jockey and stable lad falling at your feet. I usually only believe in loving someone for their inner beauty, but if Julien can resist you now, then he’s crackers.’

‘You think?’ Ginny asked in a vulnerable voice.

‘Definitely. Now get going. You don’t want to miss declarations. I’ll be along later to watch.’

Ginny, overcome for a moment, gave her a quick hug of gratitude.

‘Thanks, Sally G. You’ve been amazing. Bye, Jack,’ she said, squatting down to stroke the cat and kiss him on the top of his head. The Siamese attempted to add an extra layer of fur to Ginny’s tan suede knee-high boots by rubbing himself up against her. She stepped smartly out of his reach.

‘Good luck, darling!’ Sally G called, as Ginny opened the front door and let herself out.

She paused for a moment, knowing there were no more hurdles between now and the Dewhurst Stakes, nothing to stop the race from happening and its repercussions. It was like being on a roller coaster, completely beyond her control, terrifying but adrenalin-filling, and with the knowledge you couldn’t stop it until it had finished its course. You just had to brave it. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, rallying her nerve, then strode down the garden path towards the gate. The coaster rumbled towards its first dip.

*

The queues going into the racecourse snaked back to the High Street and Ginny had a ten-minute panic attack that she wasn’t going to get there in time. It seemed Newmarket’s population had swelled to triple its size, and everyone, but everyone, was trying to get in at the same time as her.

Eventually, they began to move and with a sigh of relief, she was able to get through the exclusive entrance for horse boxes and such like. For an alarming moment, as she searched for Ravenhill’s lorry amongst the rows of horse floats and Land Rovers, she considered the chance of them being parked next to Cobalt Lodge’s lorry. Relief flooded through her when she first spotted Julien’s blue and mauve lorry, then a couple of minutes later her own, thankfully far away from each other.

Parking the car as close as she could to her team, Ginny staggered over to them, trying to negotiate the bumpy ground in her unfamiliar heels as elegantly as she could, and not quite pulling it off. Kerry was sitting in the cab on the passenger side with her legs dangling out of the open door, flicking through the race card. Standing by the wheel was Alex, who gave Ginny a nervous smile as she approached.

‘Nice boots,’ he said.

‘How are you feeling?’ Ginny said, accepting his compliment with a smile.

‘Nervous.’

‘
Understatement
,’ Kerry piped up. ‘Alex, you’ll be fine. You always ride a good race, and today you’ve got the best horse under you.
They’re
the ones who should be nervous.’ She tossed her head in the vague direction of their rivals.

‘I know, but… there’s Razor Sharpe on Silver Sabre to beat. It’s going to be like having a shootout using your pistol against someone with an AK47.’

‘You’re only thinking that because of the publicity they’ve received. You know how the media exaggerate. And you’ve beaten Razor heaps of times before.’

‘I guess so,’ Alex replied. ‘But not when he’s been riding a machine.’

‘Silver Sabre is not a machine. He is a horse, just like Caspian. And stop insulting Caspian; he’s worth more than a pistol. Besides, it only takes one bullet to win. You’ve just got to be a good shot.’

‘You mean if we lose then it’ll be my fault?’

‘You’re not going to lose, silly. You’re the best gunslinger in town.’ Kerry blushed at her daring compliment.

Alex smiled at her, amusement overshadowing nerves.

‘Thanks, Kerry.’

‘And you know what the best thing is?’ she continued, finding her stride again. ‘Everyone is going to be so focused on Silver Sabre, they won’t see you until it’s too late.’ She beamed, pleased to have mapped out the race for them.

Alex snorted and raised one dark eyebrow below his golden fringe. Ginny could almost hear Kerry swoon.

‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘We’ll do it your way.’

‘Take no prisoners!’ Kerry said, raising her fist and laughing.

Ginny was reminded of her evening spent in Julien Larocque’s lounge discussing their horses and owners. Julien had said Clinton Cole didn’t take prisoners, and it seemed he wasn’t averse to it either, which was fair enough considering what he had to lose. Even if they didn’t win today, Ginny was certain Silver Sabre would still be named Champion Two-Year-Old. Would that be enough for Clinton Cole though? His ego was so high it was snow-capped. It was clear he didn’t like to lose, and never went back on what he’d said. Ginny concluded that even if the grey colt did win the champion’s title, he would still take him away from Julien if he lost today. Rumour had it that if he did lose, Cole would ship Silver Sabre over to the States for the Breeders’ Cup and keep him in training there once they’d arrived.

Who needed to win more? Ginny wondered. That wasn’t a question that she could give an unbiased answer to. Ravenhill’s future hung in the balance, and that was the thing which counted most, not some silly notion of Julien loving her.

*

Ginny thought she had steeled herself for when she saw Julien in the parade ring. However, she was completely unprepared for the overwhelming urge to run into his arms and never let go when, feeling her gaze on him, he turned and looked at her. His eyes clouded with regret. He was wearing a dark suit, looking smart but casual and mouth-wateringly sexy with his pale blue shirt tieless and unbuttoned around his throat. Ginny realised she’d never seen him wearing a tie, only a bow tie at the Charity Ball. She tried to dispel the memory of their shared dance, and turned away from him, dragging her attention back to her party.

Jim was standing beside her, looking much too excited than was good for his heart. The only way he’d been allowed to attend was if Beth accompanied him, and now she stood next to him, trying not to look anxious. Ginny was glad of their support, and especially pleased that her mother had come along. She never came to the races. She showed a polite interest in racing – she had to really, but rarely attended any meetings. She hated the crush of people and the agonising ache in her feet and ankles, standing for long hours on impractical heels. As promised, Sally G was also with them, looking even more flamboyant than usual and seeming to support a craft fair’s worth of rustic beads and jewellery. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head and held together with a red silk scarf and very bright, but fake strelitzias.

*

Finally, all the horses were walking around the ring with their handlers by their shoulders. Caspian was walking fast, his head held high as he looked with interest at the crowds bulging at the ringside. Kerry, dressed in smart black trousers and a green blouse especially for the occasion, had to jog a few steps to keep up. In front of him, Silver Sabre strode out, pricking his ears towards his audience, pausing every now and then so they could take his picture.

A rainbow of colour seeped out over the lawn as the ten jockeys arrived and zoned in on their connections. Alex still looked a little pale beneath his tan but was doing well to cover it up with a charming smile, which he turned on for the benefit of Jim, Beth and Sally G.