At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (9 page)

‘Yes.’ Ginny looked down at her hands, suddenly bashful. ‘It’s a bit of a milestone.’

‘Well, I’m especially pleased my horse was the one who did it for you.’

‘It was a close-run thing. I wish you could have been there.’

‘I’d have liked nothing better,’ he said with a regretful smile. ‘It’s a bit of catch twenty-two really, isn’t it? I work hard so I can afford racehorses then can’t get away to watch them because I’m working.’

Ginny laughed.

‘Maybe next time then. Kenya’s got real class. I think we should look at a Listed race for her next outing.’

Mark frowned.

‘You really think she’s up to it?’

Ginny gave an enthusiastic nod.

‘Oh, yes. The horse she beat, Shell Seeker, has run in Listed company before so she’s a good yardstick.’

Mark looked reluctant.

‘She’s still a young filly. I wouldn’t want to overface her.’

Ginny tried not to look too disappointed.

‘I mean, she only
just
won, didn’t she?’ Mark went on, his eyes clouded with concern.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she replied. She chuckled. ‘Maybe I’m getting a bit overexcited since she was my first winner. Sky’s the limit and all that.’

Mark grinned.

‘Charlie was right about one thing, you’re definitely ambitious.’

Ginny shrugged and fiddled with her napkin. Even though present company eased the hurt, she still didn’t want to think about Charlie.

‘Let’s keep Kenya in the same class next time,’ Mark suggested. ‘And if her form holds up, we can look at stepping her up after that.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, content to compromise. Her attraction to Mark deepened as she considered how so many owners bullied their trainers into running their horses above their capabilities, just so that they could say they’d had a runner in a Group race, disregarding the impact the loss would have on the horse’s confidence and the trainer’s strike rate. Mark’s theory of doing a modest job well rather than an overambitious one badly was just another testament to his good character, she thought.

‘And next time I’ll be there to see it.’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she grinned.

‘I hope it’s not the only thing you’ll hold me to,’ Mark drawled. ‘How did racing go today? Did you have any runners?’

She shook her head.

‘It was the 2,000 Guineas meeting so quite a classy card. We didn’t have anything running although –’ She paused as she thought back over the feature race of the day.

‘Although?’ Mark prompted.

‘We might have had a runner had the owner not decided to move his horses when I arrived at Ravenhill.’

‘Foolish person.’

Ginny swayed her head, undecided.

‘Maybe not so foolish.’

She could still hear the roaring crowd and the commentator’s hysterical voice as the horses had pounded towards the finish. ‘
Perseus – White Eagle – Shanghai Dancer! They’re three abreast! Oh, it’s a close call!
’

‘He won,’ she said, a trace of bitterness escaping.

Mark gave a low whistle.

‘Ouch.’

‘You win some, you lose some,’ Ginny said, quoting her father’s favourite phrase. ‘Shanghai Dancer won by a nose to White Eagle.’

‘Did you back either of them?’

Ginny chuckled.

‘No. I backed Perseus. You might think I was being patriotic but it was my pride really that got in the way.’

‘Patriotic because?’ Mark probed, looking puzzled.

‘Shanghai Dancer is trained by Julien Larocque. White Eagle is trained by his father, Vincent Larocque. Perseus is trained by Michael Ramsay.’

‘Christ. Gives the French one more thing to boast about. Thank God they can’t play cricket,’ Mark said.

Ginny laughed half-heartedly. She recalled how, when the result had been announced, Vincent had embraced his son, kissing him on both cheeks. Julien’s expression had changed from disparaging arrogance to youthful jubilance, like a small boy who’d just won his first preschool race, humbled and ever so slightly overshadowed by Vincent’s powerful presence.

‘Anyway, let’s not think about what we’ve lost,’ Mark said, breaking into her thoughts. His eyes danced. ‘Let’s think about what we’ve won instead. I have won myself a beautiful, talented… and very modest –’ he added when Ginny inclined her head to hide the heat burning her cheeks, ‘– trainer.’ He raised an eyebrow at her to see how she’d respond.

Summoning her courage, Ginny raised her chin and gave him a bold smile.

‘And I have won myself a charming and dream-worthy owner.’

Mark flashed her a broad smile and clinked his glass against hers.

Chapter Ten

In the wake of the Guineas, like a show jumper instinctively looking for his next obstacle whilst clearing his first, most of the racing world turned their attention to the Derby to be held in a month’s time. In the minority was Ravenhill Stables, without a Classic representative, where Ginny was plotting Caspian’s future. At last, she decided on a modest maiden race at Goodwood for the colt’s debut.

After declaring Caspian, Ginny hastened to the saddling stalls where Kerry was supervising proceedings. To her relief the colt was being sensible, taking a healthy but calm interest in the surrounding activity.

‘He’s taking it well, isn’t he?’ Kerry said.

‘Yeah, a lot better than I am.’ Entering his stall with a saddle, Ginny admired the bay colt. She noticed only a few light spots of sweat staining his flanks. He pricked his ears towards her, his thick-muscled neck lifted high. His dark, charcoal-smudged eyes swam with excitement.

Ginny saddled him with trembling hands, taking extra care to distribute the allocated weight of the leaded saddle cloth evenly over his back. Just the thought of the young colt making his debut appearance made Ginny’s stomach turn over. It felt like he was a sculpture she had moulded and which was now being put in an exhibition, open to criticism and failure, but also within touching distance of success.

As she double-checked the gear, Ginny’s father joined the party, looking even more anxious than she. He stood back when Kerry led the colt out into the sunshine and father and daughter smiled at one another.

‘He looks fantastic, Ginny,’ Jim said sincerely.

She grinned, some of her nerves dispersing.

‘Doesn’t he just? The others are going to have their work cut out for them.’

‘You’ve done a terrific job.’

‘But if you hadn’t spotted him at Deauville, I wouldn’t have anything to do a terrific job on.’

Jim wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

‘Come on, let’s go see how Ravenhill’s future pans out.’

*

There was a nail-biting delay to the start of the race as a few of the overexcited debutants refused to be loaded into the starting stalls. Eventually, an expectant hush fell over the racecourse, only to be interrupted by the clanging gates and commentator, Nick Stone’s
‘They’re off!’
. The thirteen horses bounded forward, ricocheting off one another’s shoulders as they clumsily fought for a balanced footing.

With her eyes glued to the screen in front of the grandstand, Ginny winced as she saw Caspian, drawn three off the rail, get sandwiched between two rivals.

Startled, the colt threw up his head, tried to bound forward, then finding his path blocked, balked and swerved left. Bouncing off the inside rail, Alex struggled to straighten the alarmed colt.

‘Don’t panic, Alex,’ Ginny murmured, scrunching her racecard in her fist.

‘You neither,’ Jim said, taking her hand. She gave him a quick smile and turned back to the race.

The rest of the field had already gone two furlongs with the favourite, Goinggreatguns, leading them around the turn, before Caspian began to make any headway. Alex sat very still, high in his stirrups, cajoling the colt along. Ginny had said beforehand if he didn’t win today, there was always next time.

Despite herself, as she watched, moving from foot to foot, she urged Alex to push harder. Yes, there would be a next time – and by the looks of things, winning would almost certainly have to wait until then – but now her fierce competitive spirit and belief in the colt made her feel an urgency to succeed today. Hardly daring to wish, Ginny watched Caspian begin to pick off his rivals, one by one, until with the finish looming fast, he was on the heels of Goinggreatguns.

Riding decisively, Alex slapped Caspian twice on his flank, making the colt move into overdrive, more from surprise than from pain.

Ginny’s breath came in short, strained gasps as she watched the pair wear down the favourite. Jumping up and down beside Jim and Kerry, she cheered Caspian on as he overtook a weakening Goinggreatguns. It seemed all the nail-biting urgency prior to now had been unnecessary. Caspian winged past the post three lengths clear, being hand-ridden by Alex to a definitive victory. With her emotions posing a serious threat of overwhelming her, Ginny turned to her father. His eyes welled with tears and she hugged him tight.

‘I think we’ve got a racehorse, Dad.’

Jim extracted himself from her embrace and gripped her shoulders.

‘I think we’ve got more than just a racehorse,’ he grinned. ‘I think we’ve got a Dewhurst racehorse.’

*

As Ginny sat happily in the trainers’ bar waiting for Jim to pay for their celebratory drinks at the counter, she noticed an almost reverent hush fall over the room as the next race started. Curiosity got the better of her and she turned to watch it on the nearest television screen. At first it appeared nothing out of the ordinary, just an average maiden race for two-year-olds then she heard Nick Stone mention the name Silver Sabre. Now she recognised the interest in the race. Silver Sabre, a flashy grey colt, trained by Julien Larocque, was turning heads with every workout he completed on the Gallops and today on his back was champion jockey, Richard ‘Razor’ Sharpe.

Watching the race unfold, Ginny’s jaw dropped in awe. Nick Stone was yelling as the horses entered the last quarter of the race.

‘Silver Sabre takes the lead. Razor Sharpe hasn’t asked for anything yet! Juniper Gold and Davison now in second and third are being pushed along – they’re not making any difference! Now Razor gives the go ahead a furlong from home.
Look at him go!
Silver Sabre is annihilating this field of horses. He goes six, seven, eight lengths clear and Razor Sharpe has hardly asked him anything! Goodwood, we are seeing something
very
special indeed! Silver Sabre wins by an almighty ten lengths under a hands and heels ride! US Marine gets up for second…’

Ginny glanced across the room to where her father was standing at the bar. She guessed the look of amazement on his face probably mirrored her own. Who was this horse who could win his debut by an effortless ten lengths? All Ginny knew was that if Julien Larocque entered the grey colt in the Dewhurst Stakes, it would make their bid that much harder.

*

One vodka and coke later and feeling more composed, Ginny was back at the bar for one last round. She felt rather than heard the commotion behind her where Jim was sitting. It was almost an interference in frequency, a ripple in her karma and she wasn’t surprised when she turned around to see her father in conversation with the newly-arrived Julien Larocque. A flash of resentment swept through her but she quashed it with a slug of alcohol. Pinning a half smile on her face, she returned to their table and placed their drinks on the placemats. She settled herself on her stool before acknowledging the Frenchman.

‘Congratulations on your win,
mademoiselle
,’ he replied. ‘This is your first winner as a trainer,
non
?’

Ginny opened her mouth to respond but Jim was too quick.

‘You’ve been slacking on your form study, Julien, my boy. This is Ginny’s second winner.’ His chest swelled with pride and far from basking in his praise, Ginny felt a stab of impatience in her gut immediately followed by guilt. Yes, she wanted her father to be proud of her but not to show it in front of Julien. She imagined he already saw her as being a Daddy’s Girl.

‘Kenya,’ Ginny expanded. ‘She beat Shell Seeker if you recall?’

Julien’s brown eyes glittered.

‘Of course, you train her now. How could I forget?’

Ginny got the distinct impression Julien hadn’t forgotten at all. He was simply trying to wind her up.

‘I was just asking Julien about Shanghai Dancer,’ Jim told Ginny. ‘Seems he came away from the Guineas without any problems.’

She stiffened in her seat and fiddled with her glass, feeling the intensity of Julien Larocque’s gaze on her. She met his eyes and gave a benign smile.

‘That’s good to hear. It’s been an easy ride for you with him then.’

‘It has its moments,’ Julien said with cool nonchalance.

‘Are you taking him to the Derby?’ Jim asked. ‘Might not see out the trip of a mile and a half.’

‘No, we’ll be bypassing the Derby. Hopefully running at Royal Ascot.’ He paused to look at Ginny before continuing. ‘Will you be attending?’

‘Maybe,’ she said before Jim could answer for her. ‘It’s still a few weeks away. A lot can change in that time.’

‘That’s a nice colt you had running today, Julien,’ Jim said. ‘He certainly lived up to the reputation he’s built for himself on the Gallops. Got big plans for him?’

Julien nodded.

‘If he can withstand a heavy campaign, he’ll be in the big juvenile races this year. We will probably end with the Dewhurst.’

Ginny’s heart sank with dread.

‘And what of the colt you were running this afternoon?’

‘Caspian?’ Jim said. ‘Did you watch his race? He’ll also be in the Dewhurst, touch wood.’

Ginny gritted her teeth and stared meaningfully at her father to be quiet. Did he have to be so proud?

Julien watched her expression and grinned.

‘If you were planning on a surprise attack, Miss Kennedy, you have forgotten one important element.’

‘What?’ Ginny drummed her fingers on the table and tried to look disinterested.

‘Surprise.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’m hardly planning to ambush you with Caspian. It’s not all about you.’