At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (7 page)

Ginny took a deep breath before replying. With both of them being associated with her ex-boyfriend, she knew it would be impossible not to talk about him. And anyway, she was well over him now, she told herself in defiance.

‘I was working for my father as assistant trainer at the time, and Charlie was over for a few weeks for Royal Ascot, with a couple of horses. We got on very well, stayed in touch when he had to go back and then he suggested I go over and check out racing in the south. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up really, or so I thought. I was only twenty-two. Charlie was older and a lot more worldly.’

‘And now you’re back here without him.’

Ginny hesitated. Surely, Charlie would have told Mark about some of their past? She got the impression he was looking for her side of the story.

‘When my father had his heart attack there wasn’t much choice about it. But Charlie and I had split up some time before that.’

‘Sorry to hear about your father. Do you regret having to leave?’

‘I do, but I also knew I would be returning to Newmarket one day. It just happened sooner than I thought. How do you know Charlie?’

‘Ah, we just met through friends when I was visiting South Africa, nothing particularly exciting. He didn’t sweep me off my feet or anything.’

Ginny laughed.

Mark smiled, and waited for her to continue.

She took another deep breath.

‘Charlie was a bit of a party animal. I couldn’t really keep up with the all night parties and then getting up before dawn every day for work. Charlie seemed to live on adrenalin and it showed in his riding.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me. You seem the complete opposite to him.’

‘My boss had a horse running in the J&B Met in Cape Town last year and it was my responsibility to find a suitable rider. Charlie was our stable jockey but his style of riding wouldn’t have suited the horse. So the decision was made to put another rider up and Charlie lost out. The horse went on and won and it was a double whammy for him, first losing the ride and then losing on his replacement. He didn’t take too kindly to it.’ She exhaled with relief. There, she’d done it. She’d told all. Well, almost. Mark didn’t need to know about what happened at the party afterwards.

‘A tough decision to make,’ Mark sympathised. ‘But the fact that you take your career so seriously is a positive for us.’

Ginny smiled in gratitude. She wanted to ask Mark about his other horses, but decided if he wanted to tell her about them he would be the first to broach the subject. He certainly didn’t think his life was interesting enough for good dinner conversation. Ginny thought his Jaguar out front spoke otherwise.

‘How do you like the nag I sent you?’

‘Kenya’s wonderful,’ she said, perking up at the thought. ‘She’s got a good honest work ethic and it won’t be long before she has her first start. She’s pretty forward in her coat and was quite far along in her work when she arrived.’ Ginny left her last comment open, wanting Mark to tell her a bit more about where she had come from. He didn’t seem to notice though. He just nodded and gave her a satisfied smile.

‘Great. Just tell me where and when.’

‘How did you get into racing?’ she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity.

‘Long story and nothing terribly exciting,’ Mark said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘I always enjoyed watching it and my nephew, Damien, is a jockey so he got me more involved in the game.’

Ginny balked mentally. Mark had a nephew old enough to be a jockey? How old did that make him?

Mark grinned, as if reading her thoughts.

‘I’m thirty-three,’ he whispered conspiratorially. ‘My sister, Damien’s mother, is twelve years older than me and had Damien when she was very young.’ Mark’s gaze flickered away from Ginny’s. ‘I’ve also a confession to make. I haven’t been entirely honest with you –’

Ginny’s heart began to pound in her chest.

‘Really?’ she squeaked.

Mark sighed and drew a line in the scarlet tablecloth with his knife. Ginny held her breath.

‘Damien’s like a brother to me and brothers help each other out. When I asked if you would train Kenya for me, I knew you already had a stable jockey, a pretty good one from what I hear. But,’ he paused and looked at her with pleading eyes, ‘I can’t let anybody else ride my horses apart from Damien, no matter how good they are. Would you be all right with that?’

Ginny let her breath out in a rush of relief and gave a strangled laugh.

‘God, I thought you were going to tell me something horrific. That’s fine, honestly.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, absolutely. I mean, ideally I’d like my stable jockey to ride all of my horses but it’s not unheard of for an owner to request a specific jockey.’

The anxious furrows creasing Mark’s brow vanished as he beamed at her. He reached across the table and took her hand in his.

Ginny’s heart rate took off again.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I don’t want there to be any issues between us.’

Ginny was more aware of his fingers curling around hers than making intelligent conversation. How exactly did he define ‘issue’ because right now there was an ‘issue’ growing warmer and warmer in her stomach.

‘Issues?’ she said, tearing her eyes away from their entwined fingers.

Mark looked down at his thumb making lazy circles on her palm and his smile broadened.

‘Of the destructive kind. I like you, Ginny, and your attitude. I think you and I are going to get on very well.’

*

The evening seemed to pass in a haze of good food and delicious company for Ginny. The champagne had loosened her tongue and she knew she was probably talking too much, but Mark was such a good listener, flatteringly so. He smiled, tended to agree more with her opinions than disagree, and asked intelligent questions. Their main course of fresh fish was heavenly, and Ginny didn’t need much persuasion to agree on an assortment of cheeses on rice crackers and whole-wheat biscuits to finish off with. She was sorry when the time came to eventually leave.

The next awkward moment, she knew as they glided out of the car park in Mark’s Jag, would be the saying goodbye. Would they shake hands or were they now friendly enough for a peck on the cheek? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to kiss him – well, not just yet, anyhow. The fact that she was more of his racing trainer than his friend still weighed at the forefront of her mind despite the fact that this evening had felt more like a date. She was relieved when he took control of the situation.

Once they’d pulled up outside Sally G’s house, he stepped out and went round to open her door for her. Then, after accompanying her to the front door, he gently took her hand and pressed his lips against it, looking up at her with sleepy grey eyes. His warm breath tickled the hairs on her wrist and she felt her knees go weak.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Ginny. I couldn’t have asked for better company,’ he murmured.

‘Thank you. I’ve had a lovely time too,’ she said, surprising herself that she was able to string a coherent sentence together while in such close proximity to him.

‘I’ll be in touch. Sleep well.’ And with that he turned and walked away, long confident strides which ridiculed the length of Sally G’s front path.

Ginny sighed and let herself in the house. She stood with her back against the front door and stared into the darkened hall. What was she doing getting involved with someone in racing – a client at that – when she had sworn to herself that she’d never do it again? Maybe this time it would be different. He was an owner, not a jockey, after all. He would surely have more of an interest in her career moves.

Chapter Seven

‘Ah, Ginny, you’re here at last,’ Ray greeted her as she entered Kings Art Gallery a week later.

‘Hi, sorry I’m late.’ She gave her brother a quick appraisal. ‘You’re looking very dapper.’

Ray grimaced and pulled at the lapels of his dinner jacket.

‘Hired. Anyway, come through and get your complimentary glass of champagne before they kick off.’

Ginny followed him through a well-lit room, glancing at the white partitions bedecked with pieces of art. Ray led them to a long table lining one wall and retrieved a flute of champagne for her.

‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass against his. ‘Where’s Sarah?’

‘Working the room I should think. Hope she sells a few pieces tonight. How did your date go the other night?’

Ginny’s stomach flipped at the thought of her evening with Mark.

‘I don’t know that it was a date as such,’ she said cautiously. ‘But it went well, thanks.’

‘What’s his name again?’

‘Mark Rushin –’

They were interrupted by the tinkering of a knife against a wine glass. Ginny noticed a woman, shimmering in a blue sequined dress, stood in a prominent spot in the middle of the floor trying to gain everyone’s attention.

‘I think it’s time to get started now,’ she said. ‘Firstly, welcome to Kings Art Gallery. It’s a pleasure to see so many people could make it tonight. And it’s my pleasure and privilege to open this exhibition of beautifully diverse artwork by our line-up of extraordinary artists to you.’ She clapped encouragingly and the room of people joined in. ‘So please take your time and enjoy the scenery. Thank you.’

Ginny watched the woman turn away to address some guests. She choked on her champagne when she recognised one of them.

‘Bloody hell. What’s he doing here?’ she spluttered.

‘Who?’

‘Julien Larocque.’She watched the Frenchman take the woman’s hand and gesture complimentarily at her dress. The woman batted her hand at him and smoothed out invisible creases on his jacketed shoulder. In contrast to every other man wearing a tie, he wore an open-necked silk shirt.

‘Dunno, although it doesn’t surprise me,’ Ray said, taking a slug of his drink.

Ginny looked at him questioningly.

‘He’s
literally
rubbing shoulders with the right people. You ought to do that,’ he said, motioning to Julien obviously charming his admirer.

‘Don’t think I’d get quite the same response. Who is she?’

‘Deidre Forrester. She owns this place.’

‘Forrester?’ Ginny asked in surprise. ‘Don’t tell me – she has something to do with Basil Forrester, right?’

Ray nodded.

‘His wife.’

‘Jesus, at the rate Julien’s going we might get Shanghai Dancer back.’

‘Nah. From what I’ve heard, Larocque never oversteps the boundary. He plays the wives but never gets his hands dirty.’

Ginny snorted.

‘Gigolo,’ she muttered. But despite her best attempts to smear him, she too couldn’t quite resist giving him a once over. Unlike Ray, who looked awkward and slightly uncomfortable in his hired suit, Julien’s wardrobe seemed to mould lovingly against his body, accentuating his every masculine feature. Ginny’s eyes travelled up from his torso to the breadth of his shoulders and smooth jaw and –

‘Oh, shit,’ she said, dropping her gaze.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. He’s just seen me, that’s all. Show me Sarah’s art.’

Ray grinned.

‘Caught you perving, did he?’

‘Ray, I have a host of embarrassing stories to share with Sarah if you’re not careful,’ she warned him with a dry smile.

‘Fair enough. Come on.’

Following his lead across the room, she flashed another glance at Julien. He gave her a lazy grin and lifted his glass in greeting. Ginny’s cheeks flushed and she hurried to keep up with Ray.

*

On her second glass of wine and left to her own devices, Ginny frowned at the square canvas mounted on the wall. She had never really seen the point of abstract paintings and she was sure a preschool student could have done a better job than this particular work’s creator. She tried to concentrate on the picture as her mind slipped back to the subject of Julien Larocque. Was that how he had got Forrester’s horses, she asked herself? By charming his wife? But then at The Tetrarch, he had had a different companion and he’d already secured the three horses. Had that girl been some rich owner’s daughter? She gave a silent mirthless laugh. How low would he stoop to get customers?

‘Scoundrel,’ she said under her breath.

Then again, a voice in Ginny’s head piped up, aren’t you doing the same thing with Mark? She chewed her lip studiously. With Mark it’s different, she told herself. She had real feelings for Mark. A small rush of panic flooded through her. If she wasn’t trying to charm Mark and she really did have real feelings for him, wasn’t she breaking her golden rule?

‘Owners are different,’ she muttered to herself.

‘You seem to have a lot to say to this painting,’ a voice murmured in her ear. She sprang round to face her nemesis. ‘What is it saying to you in reply?’

Ginny gulped and ignored the teasing smile on his lips.

‘Not a lot.’ She looked back at the painting, with its irregular adjoining shapes and solid colours. ‘It looks a bit confused really. All of these random squares and circles. A six-year-old could have done it.’

‘I think
non
.’ Julien motioned to the picture as if he was caressing a woman’s body. ‘It is maybe not a Picasso, the master, but do you not see the balance? The symmetry between that green square there and that red triangle and blue circle?’

Reluctant to do anything of Julien’s asking, she still found herself looking for what he meant.

‘No. How can they be symmetric if they’re different shapes?’

Julien put his arm round her shoulder, making her flinch, and drew her closer so they were looking at the painting from the same angle.

‘Do you always judge things on their surface?’ he asked. ‘Look beyond that. Try to understand why the artist has put that circle that far from the top right corner. See how the same colour has been used in the lower left corner for those two lines? If he had only put one line in or painted the circle more to the left, the painting would become unbalanced,
non
?’

Never mind the painting, Ginny was feeling unbalanced in such close quarters to Julien. She shook her head and stepped away.

‘No, can’t see it,’ she declared. ‘Give me a Munnings any day.’