At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (4 page)

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised,’ he went on. ‘From Forrester’s point of view, I can see how he might feel he has only one crack at the Classics, and wagering it all on a trainer in her debut season, is a gamble. He’s protecting his own interests.’

Ginny bit hard on her bottom lip. She could deal with it coming from someone else, but to hear her father echoing Basil Forrester’s words earlier, cut deep. Sensing her anguish, Jim continued.

‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s made the right choice. I think you’re just as good as any of that lot out there,’ he motioned outside to the rest of Newmarket’s racing community, ‘including Larocque. And God help the man who underestimates you.’

Ginny managed a small smile with his encouragement.

‘Now, tell me the good news.’

‘The good news? Oh, I was just going to say we’ve now got free rein to get insurance and practically everything else from whomever we want rather than having to go to one of the pies Forrester’s got his fingers in.’ Ginny knew it was lame, but she had to search for one little ray of optimism.

‘That’s my girl,’ Jim said with a smile. ‘I never much cared for his lectures on the stock market anyway. Now, let me finish reading about the Dubai World Cup. I see South Africa has quite a strong hand this year.’

‘They get better every year,’ Ginny replied, high on relief that she’d broken the news without causing her father an angina attack.

‘I also see Charlie du Raand’s name popping up more frequently than before.’

Her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps she was the one likely to have an angina attack. Why did her parents keep going on about Charlie? He was history, anciently so, and had been that way for over a year now. Ever since the J&B Met race. Ever since the party.

‘Really? Good for him.’ She got to her feet and went over to her father, planting a kiss on the top of his head. ‘I’m sorry about Shanghai Dancer, Dad.’

‘Don’t worry, lovie. These things happen.’

*

Saturday night found Ginny entering The Tetrarch, a pub frequented by trainers, jockeys and stable hands in equal measure. Leaving the early spring chill out in the car park, she stepped through the low doorway into the warm friendly atmosphere inside. She caught sight of Ray and joined him at the oak-panelled bar.

‘Hey, you made it,’ grinned Ray. ‘Wasn’t sure whether you would or not.’

‘Figure I should catch up with some old friends,’ she replied. She patted a recently-vacated barstool and crooned ‘Did you miss me?’ to it.

Ray ordered her a vodka and coke and Ginny made herself comfortable on the barstool.

‘Kerry and Alex not here? Kerry said they’re usually here on a weekend.’

Ray nodded and pointed to the other side of the room.

‘Playing pool.’

Taking a sip of her drink, Ginny scanned the sea of heads for a familiar face. There were three or four trainers scattered around whom she recognised, through name rather than acquaintance, a flock of jockeys and work riders and a few stable staff who were making most of the noise. In the far corner she could see Kerry brandishing a cue stick in her hand and concentrating hard on her game.

‘Where’s Sarah?’ she asked, naming Ray’s girlfriend.

‘Up to her elbows in acrylics and papier-mâché at home. She’s got an exhibition coming up in Cambridge so she’s hard at work.’

‘That sounds hopeful. Is business picking up for her then?’

Ray shrugged.

‘Only locally, but it’s a start. The opening night is a private view thing. I’ll see if I can wangle you an invitation.’

‘Thanks,’ Ginny replied. ‘About time I broadened my horizons and took in some arts and culture.’

Ray grinned.

‘So how’s your first week gone? Or shouldn’t I ask?’ he added, seeing her pained expression.

‘Probably best not to ask,’ she replied.

‘Well, I did, so tell your loving brother your troubles.’

Ginny smiled at Ray’s attempt to be supportive.

‘I fell off the first horse I rode – hey, you’re meant to be understanding, not laugh!’ Despite herself, she joined in Ray’s chuckles. ‘And then Julien Larocque, that French guy we crashed into, came along and nabbed our three best horses.’

Ray sobered and gave a low whistle.

‘That’ll teach me to look both ways. And how’s life back in the fold treating you?’

‘What, you mean Mum?’

Ray nodded, his eyes glinting with humour. Ginny hesitated but her frustrations got the better of her.

‘Ray, how the hell did we manage twenty-odd years in the same house as her?’ she blurted out.

‘Come on, she’s not that bad,’ Ray laughed.

‘No, I know she means well. And it’s wonderful being back and being with them, but bloody hell! She wants me to check in with her every time my routine changes. If I walk out the house, she wants to know where I’m going. It’s like I’m sixteen again.’

Ray shook his head.

‘Not easy after living in South Africa for so long, I imagine,’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ Ginny agreed. ‘You know, living by yourself, sometimes you’re happy to have just a peanut butter sandwich or something for dinner. Mum would have a hernia if veg wasn’t eaten every day of the week.’

‘So what are you going to do? You’ve only been home a week and it already sounds like she’s driving you up the wall. You gonna have a chat with her?’

Ginny looked away, undecided. She saw Kerry and Alex shaking hands, having finished their game of pool.

‘I don’t want to make things awkward with her. And to be honest, Mum’s always been like this, one little chat is hardly going to change her.’

Ray nodded in agreement.

‘Also, why should she change? Here I come and bombard their lives and expect
them
to change for
my
benefit? It seems a bit rude, don’t you think?’

‘Well, you have come back for their benefit when you think about it. If Dad hadn’t had his heart attack you would still be sunning yourself in Cape Town.’

‘True,’ Ginny reluctantly agreed. She watched Kerry and Alex thread their way through the crowds towards them. ‘Anyway, I might have a plan,’ she carried on. ‘Actually, it was Kerry’s idea.’

Ray raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Her aunt, Sally, apparently doesn’t live too far from the stables. She’s looking for a lodger so I’m going round next week to see her.’

‘Sounds like a good idea. Have you met her before?’

Ginny shook her head.

‘No, but Kerry thinks she’s wonderful. Kerry?’

‘Hey, Ginny!’ the stable lass greeted her with a wide smile.

‘I was just telling Ray about your aunt, Sally. How did you describe her to me?’

‘Oh, Sally’s wonderful,’ Kerry enthused.

‘So I gather,’ murmured Ray.

‘She’s quite…’ She paused, searching for the appropriate word, ‘…flamboyant, I suppose you could say. You know, all beads and flowing clothes and headscarves.’

‘Sounds quite a character,’ Ray nodded. He winked at Ginny. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. If she’s into headscarves, maybe you can compare collections – hers and your Guns N Roses collection.’

‘I never did!’ Ginny protested.

Alex’s eyes widened in newly-found respect for his boss.

‘Yes, you did!’ Ray argued.

‘I had one! And I never wore it in public,’ Ginny said, feeling her cheeks burning.

Overcome with laughter, Ray had to put his beer down before he spilled it.

A collective cheer from a group of stable lads by the pool table made Ginny look up. She smiled. She hadn’t played pool since… Her smile faded. She and Charlie had taken a month-long road trip up the east coast of South Africa soon after she’d arrived in the country. Just about every hostel they had stayed at sported a pool table and a game before dinner had become their routine. She sighed as the next memory presented itself: of the fist fight Charlie had got into in Durban with another player over who’s turn it was next to play.

She looked away. Suddenly, the person standing in her line of vision of one of the tall tables at the far end of the room moved and Ginny gave an involuntary gasp. Memories of Charlie were smartly vacuumed out of her mind, to be replaced by the man standing at the far table. He saw her at the same time, and the smile on his face faded, like a sail losing the wind. The same walnut eyes that she had first seen nearly a week ago, bore into hers, partly obscured by wisps of dark hair, daring her to look away first. Refusing to be intimidated, Ginny took another ultra-casual sip of her drink, not breaking his gaze.

Dressed in faded blue jeans and a white collared shirt, which intensified the contrast from his café-au-lait skin, he lounged against the table, a lazy hand curved around the waist of a pretty girl. Julien Larocque stood like a panther sated after capturing his prey. The girl, noticing he was no longer laughing with the rest of their party, stroked his chest with gaudy false nails and stood on tiptoe to murmur something in his ear. A brief flash of impatience swept over his face and he broke the deadlock with Ginny to reply to her. Draining his whisky tumbler, he disengaged himself from the blonde, seemed to unfurl to supermodel heights and stalked over towards Ginny.

‘Oh, no,’ Ray groaned, noticing his approach. ‘I swear to God, Ginny, I contacted the insurance company. If they haven’t done anything yet, it’s not my fault.’

Alex and Kerry, warily observing proceedings, snorted.

‘Miss Kennedy,’ the Frenchman murmured, coming to a stop in front of them. ‘Nice to see you on your feet.’

‘Mr Larocque,’ Ginny acknowledged.

‘Julien, please.’ As opposed to her recent English pronunciation of his name, he said it in a French lilt, softening the ‘J’ and exhaling the ‘e’, making it sound, altogether, more attractive. She supposed she could always concede and tell him to call her by her first name, but something about his mocking expression kept her quiet. He moved past her and stood at the bar, waiting to be served.

‘Jameson’s and a wine spritzer,’ she heard him say. The jostling of people around them brushed him against Ginny, and she almost leapt off her stool. She blinked hard, twice, and tried to concentrate on her own party, where conversation had resumed. Still, she felt excruciatingly aware of the man standing next to her.

‘Jules!’ an overfriendly voice just beyond them called out. For a moment, Ginny thought she heard Julien growl beneath his breath. It seemed he was going to ignore the man but his persistence made it impossible.

‘Yes?’ Julien Larocque snapped.

‘Heard you’ve got a couple of good ’uns this season.’

‘I have more than just a couple of good ’uns, as you say.’

‘Of course!’ the man laughed. ‘But I heard on the grapevine you’ve got a late entry in the 2,000 Guineas. That right?’

Ginny, who had been pretending to listen to Kerry’s account of their pool game, stiffened, almost certain she knew who the man was talking about. She felt Julien Larocque’s eyes settle on her. She stared resolutely ahead of her.

‘Perhaps,’ he said.

‘Shanghai Dancer, yeah? Lucky find, that one! Well done!’

‘Luck doesn’t come into it. I have good horses because I am a good trainer, not because I’m
lucky
.’

‘Sure, sure. Got any tips for me this season?’

‘No,’ Julien said and finished paying for his order. For a brief moment, he met Ginny’s gaze. His face was unreadable. Ginny glared at him. He raised his glass and tilted it towards her in a silent salute before returning to his table. Ginny scowled at his retreating back, wanting to throw her drink at the spotless, only slightly-creased shirt. The selfish prat; he had poached her best owner and he didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

Chapter Four

Ginny decided the start of the new week would be a good opportunity to study the latest
Timeform
edition in the hope of catching up on the European racing she’d missed while in South Africa. But as she reclined in her father’s old leather office chair, and turned each page, she was taking little of it in. At the forefront of her mind was her proposed visit to Kerry’s aunt, Sally, that evening. She prayed that the meeting would be a success. When she had returned home from the pub the other evening, it hadn’t been particularly late, yet still Beth Kennedy had fussed, saying how she had worried about where Ginny had got to. Ginny knew something had to give.

A knock on the open door distracted her. Being caught lounging in her chair with her Tweedy Bird-socked-feet up on the desk was embarrassing at the best of times, but in front of a rather attractive stranger was even worse. She whipped her feet down, almost falling off the chair in the process and stood up. The man standing in the doorway was almost as tall as the top of the frame. His wide shoulders, clad in a well-cut, expensive-looking suit, seemed to fill the entrance. Beneath stylishly windswept blond hair, slate grey eyes twinkled at Ginny’s inelegant scramble to her feet, and he suppressed a boyish smile.

‘Ginny Kennedy?’

‘Yes, can I help you?’ she replied, brushing her hands against her sides in an effort to regain some dignity.

‘I hope so. A friend referred me.’

Curious but encouraged, Ginny gave him a broad smile.

‘Come in, come in. Take a seat,’ she ushered.

‘I’m sorry for not calling first before dropping in on you like this. I was in the area and I didn’t have your number to hand.’ Despite his apology, he didn’t look overly phased by it. ‘My name’s Mark Rushin.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Ginny replied, shaking his outstretched hand. She gestured for him to take a seat.

‘A mutual friend told me to look you up,’ he said as he arranged himself comfortably on an office chair. ‘Said you were just the person to help me, one of the best trainers he knows.’

‘Oh?’ Ginny flushed at the compliment.

‘You remember Charlie du Raand?’

Ginny’s smile froze on her face and she struggled to maintain her composure. Maybe this man wasn’t as harmless as she’d imagined.

‘Really? Charlie said that?’

Mark Rushin laughed.

‘Don’t look so surprised. Is it that hard to believe? He said that you take your career very seriously and have your head firmly screwed onto your shoulders,’ he quoted.