At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (5 page)

I’m sure he did, Ginny thought grimly. And it probably wasn’t meant as a compliment.

‘No, he’s right. I do take racing very seriously. I haven’t spoken to Charlie in a while, that’s all. I’m surprised he even knows I’m back over here.’

‘The jungle drums beat loudly in racing.’

Ginny looked at him, still wary. If the jungle drums were that loud, how much else did he know about her and Charlie’s past?

‘I was hoping you might like to train a horse for me…’

Ginny’s heart leapt. Maybe Charlie was trying to make amends. She tried hard to keep the feeling of jubilation rising inside her from bubbling over. It wasn’t good to look too desperate.

‘I’m sure we can sort something out. Tell me more.’

‘Well, I have a few horses in training, but Charlie persuaded me to send one your way. A three-year-old filly called Kenya. Heard of her?’

Ginny wished she had got further than ‘H’ in the form directory.

‘Sorry, no. But then I’ve been in South –’

‘Don’t apologise. She’s a useful horse but she hasn’t set the world alight yet. Would you be interested?’

Ginny’s initial skepticism of this man’s association with Charlie was overridden by the immediate thought of the void left behind by the Forrester horses.

‘Absolutely. Would you like to have a look around?’

Mark’s eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled.

‘I’d love a grand tour if you’re not too busy.’

*

After shoving her feet back into her boots, Ginny guided her guest out into the late afternoon sunshine. The yard looked fresh and clean after the rain from the day before. Making a split-second decision, she led the way to the stables across from the office and stopped outside Sequella’s box. In the absence of Basil Forrester’s horses, the big black mare was probably their most accomplished resident. Keeping a watchful eye on Sequella’s teeth, she placed her hand over the mare’s long bony nose.

‘This is Sequella. She placed last year in a Group Three mile-and-a-half race but we’re hoping we can improve on that this year.’

Mark looked on from a respectful distance and nodded, his arms folded across his broad chest.

‘Powerful-looking horse.’

Ginny nodded in agreement. Jim had spoken fondly of Sequella and was adamant that now as a mature five-year-old, they had a ‘stayer’ to be reckoned with.

‘This is Caspian,’ she said, continuing on down the row. At the sound of their voices, the bay colt poked his head over his half door and looked inquisitively at his visitors. ‘He belongs to Ravenhill. He’s only a two-year-old so we’re not sure what we’ve got yet but my father used to train his granddam, Just Kidding. She won the Oaks for us a few years back.’

‘Also pretty powerful-looking despite being a two-year-old,’ Mark commented.

Ginny nodded again, her smile widening at Mark’s knowledgeable observation. Caspian was heavy for a juvenile. From the work she had already done on him, he reminded her of a swing, rocking back and forth, going higher and higher with each push, gathering momentum until it felt like you were flying, weightless and effortless.

‘We’re hoping he’ll show some of that power on the racecourse later. If he meets our expectations, he’ll be entered in the big two-year-old races later this season.’

Mark flashed a white, even-toothed grin.

‘Charlie said you were ambitious. That’s exactly what I want.’

It wasn’t what Charlie wanted, Ginny thought, a bitter claw scraping against her gut. Nevertheless, she smiled.

‘I’m sure we’ll get on very well then.’

*

That evening, Ginny and Kerry walked over to her aunt’s house in the gathering dusk.

‘What did your parents say?’ Kerry asked as they strolled along. To their left, the Newmarket Heath was swathed in shadow, the last rays of the sunset catching the long plastic running rail, turning it into an apricot snail-trail up the slope.

‘I haven’t told them yet. I don’t want to go upsetting them before I’ve finalised anything.’

‘Oh, you’ll love Sally. Everyone does. They all call her Sally G.’

‘G. for Gardener?’ Ginny guessed.

‘Right. She does an awful lot for charity, volunteering at the RSPCA shop on the High Street and stuff.’

‘Noble woman,’ she mused.

‘Very, but she doesn’t have a big head about it all. She thinks God intended her to help others.’

‘Is she religious?’ Ginny asked, somewhat warily, since she wasn’t a particularly regular churchgoer. Carols By Candlelight more or less summed up her annual association with the Church.

‘Um, I don’t think so. She does the usual weddings and funerals, but other than that I don’t know that she even goes to church.’

‘Sounds pretty much like me then,’ Ginny smiled. ‘I’ve noticed the St. Christopher that Alex has hanging around his neck. Is he religious?’

‘Catholic, but I’m not sure how devout. He swears, and I don’t think you’re supposed to, are you?’

‘The Irish seem to get away with it,’ Ginny said, shrugging her shoulders.

‘Yeah, fair enough. But even though he swears, he’s still a really nice guy. He’s not rude or anything,’ Kerry gabbled.

Ginny glanced at her, a little bemused. Her sudden protectiveness over Ravenhill’s jockey was unexpected, and quite frankly, unnecessary.

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ the girl said, suddenly blasé.

‘Come on, it’s not nothing,’ Ginny grinned. “You fancy Alex, don’t you?’

Kerry grimaced, then surrendered.

‘Just a little. It’s hard not to, don’t you think?’

‘Are you asking me if I fancy him? Really, Kerry, I’m too young to have a toy boy.’ The image of a blond-haired, Armani-suited, Rolex-wearing, Jaguar-driving stranger lounging against her office doorway popped into her head. Ginny smiled at his welcome intrusion into her thoughts. ‘Besides, I’ve decided there’s a lot nicer eye candy around in racing right now.’

‘Julien Larocque?’ Kerry sounded doubtful. Ginny had made her feelings about the Frenchman quite clear on numerous occasions.

‘Oh, God, no.’

They were interrupted by a jogger cutting a gutsy path between them and Kerry paused before reasoning,

‘I’m not saying you want to marry him, but as far as eye candy goes, you don’t get much better.’

Ginny opened her mouth to object but knew Kerry would know she’d be lying. No one sane or otherwise could deny Julien Larocque was attractive.

‘Perhaps, but too much candy will make you ill.’

‘Very philosophical,’ Kerry laughed.

‘Besides, that’s not who I was thinking of.’

‘Oh?’

‘Our new owner, Mark Rushin.’

‘And
is
he Russian?’

‘No, about as English as they come. Probably Eton-educated too. Now,
he
is worth swooning over. Blond, although not golden blond like Alex, more fair. Tall, well-built, dresses well – from what I could tell – and I’ll bet he’s rolling in it. He mentioned he had a few horses in training, so there’s obviously more than just the one he’s sending to us. But that’s what was so nice about him, he didn’t go making a big deal about his wealth, you know, like some people do. He was… modest about it, I guess you could say.’

‘What does he do?’

Ginny frowned. Hadn’t she asked him this? She couldn’t remember him answering her though.

‘Not sure yet, but whatever it is, he must do it well.’

‘I can’t wait to see him. With a name like that, he sounds very dashing.’

‘Well, no doubt he’ll come see how his horse has settled in. It’s her I can’t wait to see.’

*

They had just turned up a quiet cul-de-sac, when Kerry stopped outside a narrow double-story detached house on the corner. The golden electric glow seeping out through front room curtains was as welcoming as hot chocolate on a cold night.

‘Here we are,’ Kerry announced. ‘Let’s go see Sally…’ Pushing aside the rickety garden gate, she led them across the small front garden and rapped on the heavy front door with the brass feline knocker. They waited in silence, the only sound coming from a tinkling wind chime hanging by their heads.

‘Coming! Coming!’ a muffled voice cried from beyond. A distant rumble of footsteps grew louder and the door was swept open to reveal a cosily-lit entrance hall, filled with a particularly large woman who, realistically, was probably approaching fifty, but had the youthful appearance of someone hardly forty. Kerry had described her aunt exactly as she looked now, with a brown gypsy shawl flung over long sweeping layers of rust-coloured silks and muslins. Three rows of wooden and amber beads bounced noisily on her generous bosom.

‘Darlings! Come in. You must excuse the mess, but I don’t want to give you any false impressions.’

Once they’d stepped inside the warmth and removed their coats and boots, Kerry introduced them.

‘Wonderful to meet you, Ginny. Now, why don’t you both come through to the sitting room and I’ll make us some tea.’

Ginny followed Kerry through to the cream and scarlet-painted lounge while Sally G went to prepare drinks and looked round in amazement.

‘Wow,’ she murmured. The soft golden lighting from a tall oriental lamp in the corner cast eerie shadows behind the small limestone statues and terracotta pots lining the shelves. ‘It makes me feel like I’m in a fortune teller’s house.’

Kerry grinned.

‘She’s probably got some Tarot cards tucked away if you ask, but she’s more into hypnosis and herbal healing. I’m sure some of the herbs she has growing in the garden shed are illegal. But she’s harmless really,’ she added hastily, seeing Ginny’s look of uncertainty.

Padding across a vast Persian carpet to a sofa and gazing about her, Ginny went to sit down but sprang up when the cushion squealed in protest.

‘Careful! I forgot to mention Sally’s cats. You nearly sat on…’ Kerry scrutinized the indignant-looking black feline who had now jumped down onto the floor and was frantically washing its back. ‘…Darius. I hope you’re not allergic to cats.’

‘Not as far as I know. I like cats. Sorry, Darius.’ She settled herself in Darius’ chair with a little more caution, just as Sally G returned with three steaming mugs, from which emanated an intermingling aroma of flavoured tea.

‘Mind now, it’s hot,’ Sally G warned, settling the mugs on wooden flower-carved coasters on the side tables. She then retired to a gloriously crafted mahogany rocking chair.

Ginny couldn’t help but stare at this mystical, larger-than-life woman, who seemed to float above the chair, her sandaled feet placed evenly on a raised footrest beneath a long, colourful gypsy skirt.

‘Kerry was telling me you also work with horses?’ Sally G prompted, pausing to blow on her tea.

‘That’s right,’ Ginny replied, wondering how much Kerry had said. ‘My father owns the racing yard where Kerry works. I’ve just taken over there for a year until he gets better. He had a heart attack not so long ago,’ she added at Sally G’s raised eyebrows.

‘How exciting – I mean about you taking over. Is this a new job to you? God knows you don’t look old enough to be out of school.’ For once, Ginny didn’t take offence at people’s inability to see her as an adult. In Sally G’s case, she suspected not that she thought Ginny wasn’t capable, but as a compliment both to her youth and her courage.

‘I’ve been working as assistant trainer for a few years, here and in South Africa. But this is the first time I’m making all the decisions. Not always the correct ones, I might add.’

‘Of course not, nobody’s expecting you to be perfect. But, ah, South Africa.’ Sally G looked dreamily into the distance, which extended to the far wall. ‘A Rainbow Nation. How did you enjoy it there?’

‘Yeah, I enjoyed it a lot – well, for the most part, anyway.’ A fleeting memory of Charlie, laughing as he splashed her with water at Fish Hoek Beach, flashed turquoise and gold through her mind. She pushed it away before the hurt which had followed such happy times had a chance to surface again. ‘The heat becomes a bit unbearable in summer though. Have you been?’

‘Only once. To experience the new South Africa. Such a wonderful time, when everyone was filled with hope, embracing their freedom and all but worshipping their leader.’

‘Nelson Mandela, or
Madiba
, is certainly loved,’ Ginny agreed.

‘And he’s so polite too. He was so accommodating, especially when he knew I was English, and made me so welcome.’

With widening eyes, Ginny stared at Sally G, not sure whether she was really saying she had met the ex-president of South Africa. ‘Anyway, I’m sure it’s nice for you to be home with your family?’

‘Oh, yes. Lovely, although…’

Sally G nodded as Ginny trailed off.

‘They’ll understand, don’t worry. You can have a grand tour of the house once we’ve finished our tea. Do you like cats?’

‘Yes, I like most animals except for spiders.’

‘Well, you’re lucky on both accounts then. Any spiders that dare live here have a death wish. I’ve four… no, four and a half cats living with me.

‘Four and a
half
?’ Ginny echoed, imagining some horribly deformed creature dragging itself around the house.

‘Oh, a cat who doesn’t actually belong to me comes to visit a lot of the time. We’re his other family. The spare room, or your room if you take it, gets used by Jack, my Siamese, but I’m sure he won’t mind sharing if you don’t. He loves the girls.’

*

When Ginny returned home that evening, she was brimming with excitement. Kerry was right, Sally G was lovely, if a bit baroque. Her house was serene and welcoming and Ginny could see herself returning from work in the evenings to a comfortable relaxed home. She grimaced as she reached Ravenhill House’s front door and thought how she ought to tell her parents. Maybe Kerry and Sally G were right, maybe her parents would understand. They had understood when she’d gone to Cape Town, but this, she knew, was different. How could she explain to them without hurting their feelings?

As she let herself in the house, pausing to discard her jacket and boots, she heard her mother call out from the lounge.

‘Is that you, Ginny? Where’ve you been?’

Ginny sighed, realising she was definitely making the right decision. She walked through into the lounge where her parents were sitting, watching
Relocation, Relocation
on the television. The irony struck her for a moment. Jim looked up briefly and smiled. Beth was also smiling, but with raised eyebrows, still expecting an explanation. Ginny took a deep breath and sat down to face them.