Christopher's Medal (37 page)

Grace was dimly aware that Christopher was rubbing her shoulders. In her mind she was pushing Allonby on, hands and heels when they passed the final furlong pole. The rest of the field was stretched out behind them when the two colts pulled ahead and hurtled toward the finishing line. Billy finally picked up the whip and gave the colt one decisive slap on his hindquarters. Allonby surged forward, ahead by a nose, but the other horse began to battle back, and another runner, finding a second wind, began to come up on the wide outside when the finishing line loomed into view. The announcer couldn’t make up his mind, he kept alternating names, for every inch the outside horse took Allonby stole another and when they crossed the finishing line it was virtually impossible to tell them apart.

Grace hid her face in her hands, her heart pounding when the photo finish was announced. The commentators were discussing who might have won, looking at a freeze frame of the finish. Grace knew that freeze frames meant nothing because of the camera angle. The only picture that would count would be the one that the track stewards were studying at that moment.

“Jesus Christ,” Christopher said. “That was close. Are you all right, Gracey?”

She sat up and looked at him. “I’m okay. Whatever the result, I’m okay. He was wonderful, he’s a brilliant horse, no matter what.”

“That’s my girl.” He held her close. “I hope Richard’s ticker is holding up.”

The two horses walked around on the track, outside the entrance to the winner’s enclosure. Billy patted Allonby’s neck while he spoke to her father. She knew, from his gestures, that he was talking him through the race, explaining every move, every stride. Suddenly, everything stopped as the track announcer said that the results of the photo were in. Grace felt Christopher’s hand tighten around her shoulder. She watched and waited and felt as if her heart would burst.

Dave was there checking his leg, checking the bandage. Allonby lifted his foot and pinned his ears back. “Bugger, his leg. He’s hopping lame.” Grace watched the screen carefully. “It doesn’t matter now. If he’s won, it makes his win all the sweeter. He can rest as long as he likes now.”

At first she couldn’t take it in. It didn’t look like any of them could take it in. She watched the huge, incredulous grin spread across Billy’s face. Her father hid his face in Allonby’s mane while the General hugged Dave. The commentators sounded stunned and Grace trembled. Allonby was oblivious to it all. He allowed Dave to lead him into the pandemonium of the Winner’s enclosure, which had been set up on the track, and regarded the crowd as if he was entitled to the adulation and fuss. The General was hugging everyone in sight and her father just kept patting Allonby’s neck when Billy slid from the saddle and Dave threw the winner’s cooler across Allonby’s back. Grace watched her father while he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. On cue, her phone rang.

“Gracey?”

She bit her lip “Dad? He really did it? We’re not dreaming?”

“He really did it, love. I don’t know how, but he pulled it off. Bloody hell, Gracey, we were lucky.”

She felt a tightness in her throat when she heard the tears in his voice. “I’m so proud of you, Dad, it was amazing. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“You’d better brace yourself. It’s going to get crazy.”

“I know, but when you ring off, I’m unplugging the phone until the morning and I’m telling everyone to come back when you get home. I’m even thinking of sending Pavel out to deal with the reporters.”

“Don’t you bloody dare.” He laughed. “I’d better go, love. I think we’re about to get our prize. Billy wants a word. I’ll see you both on Monday.” There was a rustling noise and Grace found it bizarre to be watching her father when he handed the phone to a beaming Billy.

“Yay! Gracey!” Billy shouted and waved at the camera. “We did it. We bloody did it!”

“You gave him a brilliant ride, Billy.” Grace wiped her eyes and leaned against her husband. “You’ve earned every bloody penny today.”

“I still can’t believe it, I still can’t bloody believe it.”

“Believe it, just don’t spend it all at once, Billy-boy.”

“Don’t worry, Gracey. I won’t. Look, I’d better go. We’ll see you Monday. Look after yourselves.”

The line went dead and, on the screen, Billy handed the phone back to her father while they stood on the podium waiting for the presentation. Grace unplugged the phone and returned to her husband.

“Well done, Grace,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I haven’t done anything, not really.”

“Nonsense, I know how much you’ve put into this place. You know your father wouldn’t have managed if you weren’t here to keep things going. He knows it too. You nursed that horse back to health. You saved me. I love you, Gracey Beaumont.”

“Thank you.” Grace turned and brushed her lips against his. “I love you too.”

“We should sleep. It’s going to be insane here tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The prospect of curling up next to Christopher in their nice, warm bed was too tempting to resist. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t make love to her, it only mattered that he loved her, that he was there, that he understood. She stood up and held out her hand. “Let’s grab what rest we can.”

* * * *

Grace finally dispensed with the last of the reporters by ten. She was able to read them a statement that her father had emailed to her, giving them an update on Allonby, whose leg had ballooned overnight. In spite of that, he had eaten up and slept, as he normally did, lying down. She referred them to her father for word on his future plans. She wished that she had carried out her threat to send Pavel out to deal with them. She was glad to return to the cottage, wanting nothing more than another coffee and to enjoy the rest of the Sunday in peace and quiet.

“Chris?” She closed the door behind her. “Do you want another coffee? I’m making another pot.”

When he didn’t answer, she peered into the living room and found him. The television was on and the Remembrance Sunday Ceremony at the Cenotaph in London was on. Christopher sat, motionless, on the settee, tears rolling down his face.

She sat down beside him and drew him into her arms. “Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry.”

He rested heavily against her. “I can’t stop thinking about Roberts.” He sobbed. “What a bloody waste of a life.”

Grace held him. “He saved your life. It wasn’t a waste at all. He only did what you would’ve done.”

“It doesn’t make it feel any better.”

She rubbed his back and held onto him. “Perhaps it will get better with time. I don’t know what to say, Chris. I don’t have smart words to make the pain go away. But, if it helps, I’ll buy a poppy and I’ll think of him, but I’ll be wearing it for you.”

He sat up, his eyes red. “God, Grace, I hate to think where I’d be without you.” He took her hand. “Will you watch this with me?”

“Every year,” she told him.

“Thank you.” His fingers curled through hers as they played the Last Post and the Archbishop intoned,
“At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Grace watched her husband while he stood by the living room window and stared at the paper in his hand. The November sunlight fell across the room, touching Christopher’s hair with gold.

“Is everything all right?” She bit her lip and wondered how a piece of white paper could stun him into silence.

“They won’t let me fucking forget,” he replied, his voice dark.

She put her hand in the small of his back. “What’s wrong, Chris?”

He handed her the paper and sank down onto the settee.

Grace sat beside him and looked at the letter. It took her a moment to recognize the Grenadier Guards emblem at the top of the page and her hands shook when she read the letter to herself.

Dear Captain Beaumont,

This is to inform you that, on your commanding officer’s recommendation, the Ministry of Defence is honored to award you the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross.

The department’s citation reads as follows:

On January 10
th
, Captain Christopher Beaumont of Third Battalion, Grenadier Guards, was injured in an enemy attack. Although he was bleeding profusely from leg wounds following the detonation of an improvised explosive device and was left in an exposed position, Captain Beaumont continued to return fire. As a result of his selfless actions, a further explosion was prevented and lives were saved…

Grace set the letter down and looked at Christopher. He had turned away from her and was staring out of the window. “Chris?”

“I don’t want their fucking medal.” His voice was tight. “I just want to put it behind me.”

Grace put her arm around his shoulders. His muscles were bunched and tight and she was afraid of what would happen. “I know.” She rubbed his back, hoping to ease the anger away. In the silence, she heard him count slowly under his breath. His hands were coiled into tight fists, his knuckles white. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. “I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better.”

“It’s all right.” His hand covered hers. “I’ll be okay,” he sighed. “I just wonder if I’ll ever be free of it all. This place is about as far away as I can get from that fucking hellhole and yet, it still won’t let me go.”

She could hear the tears in his voice and pulled him closer.

“It nearly destroyed us, Grace. It nearly took away everything that was good in my life, in our lives. I still can’t find the person I was. I look at you and I see you searching for that man and I wish to God I could give him back to you.”

“It’s all right, Chris.” She kissed the back of his neck and breathed in the scent of him. There were memories that no amount of pain would ever take away. “You’re still Chris, you’re still my husband and I love you. In spite of all the crap we’ve been through, I still love you.”

“You’re more than I deserve.”

“Bollocks. I’m the lucky one.”

“How do you reckon that?” His voice was bitter.

“Chris, look at me. Just turn around and look at me so you can see that I’m telling you the truth.” She sat, silent and still, and waited. She felt the tension ease away and he turned in her arms.

“All right, I’m looking at you.” His mouth curved into a half-smile.

Grace smiled back, relieved that the warmth had returned to his eyes. Tears clung to his lashes. She took his hands. “I never imagined in a million years that someone like you would ever fall in love with someone like me. I’m nothing but a glorified shit-flicker. I look after horses for a living. You know how it is, it’s not glamorous, it’s not easy, the hours are shitty, the job is shitty. I’m not a Belgravia girl like Emily. I’d be bored witless at a Regimental Ball. I don’t talk posh, I know I talk like I’ve just crawled out from under a hedge in the deepest, darkest part of Suffolk with a bit of Gloucestershire thrown in for good measure.”

She took a deep breath and continued, “When I met you that night I couldn’t get over how gorgeous you were, how kind, attentive and sexy. I wanted you, I really did, but I knew that you wouldn’t be interested in me. Hell, Chris, you were an officer in a posh regiment, not the sort who’d kick around with someone like me. I really thought that you were an impossibility.”

Grace put her fingers to his lips when he opened his mouth to speak. “That you wanted to see me again seemed like some kind of insane dream, but that first weekend you were here was magical. No one has ever made me feel as weak, precious and wanted as you did. I was so frightened by how easily I fell in love with you.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “It frightens me how much I still love you, in spite of all the crap and the baggage. I can’t believe it when I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re there. In spite of everything, you’re still there. So don’t ever let me hear you say that I deserve better. You’re more than I ever wanted or expected.” She sat back and looked at him, at the thoughts racing across his face.

“Grace.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t do yourself down, baby. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m just Grace.” She touched his cheek. “And I love you.”

“That’s enough for me.” He smiled. “When Richard was driving us up here that night, he was singing your praises so much that I thought he was playing matchmaker. I’m ashamed to admit that I was expecting one of those dreadful horsey girls with weather-beaten skin and a booming voice. You really have no idea how sexy you are. I stood there watching you saddling that horse and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I’ve had terrible luck with women, they’ve always expected too much. They’ve always thought that because I was an officer in a fancy regiment, I would be something special. I’m not. I’m sure Emily told you that I was a good soldier and a good officer and, yeah, maybe I was, but that isn’t who Christopher Beaumont is. I’m just mortal, I like a quiet life, I like to read, I like to cook your tea and listen to you talk about your day.”

He pushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re different. You’ve got a career of your own, even if you think you’re just a glorified shit-flicker. I watched you and I wanted to push the hair out of your eyes so I could see what color they were. I loved sitting next to you, just talking, in that stable. I could’ve sat there all evening.” His lips brushed hers. “I love you, Gracey Beaumont. I could still spend an entire summer evening sitting on an upturned bucket, just talking with you.”