Mount! (42 page)

‘Sure, I understand.’

‘Only an ex-alki has any idea of the grey wasteland of sobriety. Sorry, that sounds nauseatingly self-pitying.’

‘I guess all you need,’ Luke said, ‘is a woman who really loves you.’

‘If it doesn’t work out with Rupert, and he’s tricky,’ Luke had insisted on Gav’s last night, ‘come back and work for me any time. And look after Eddie. He’s more vulnerable than one thinks.’

He had given Gav a copy of Robert Frost’s poems as a leaving present. Gav immediately went to his favourite, ‘Stopping by Woods’, in which the poet wants to explore the snowy woods,
but knows he should go straight home because he has ‘promises to keep’.

Gav’s promises were to get Quickly right and Rupert to the top of the Leading Sire list.

When he returned on the second Monday after the Derby, however, he was overwhelmed by the warmth of his reception. Penscombe was in need of a celebration after Quickly’s Derby debacle. So the balloons and
Welcome Back Gav
signs went all the way down the drive. Almost more cards awaited him than for Rupert on Valentine’s Day. Best of all, when he went into the yard, Quickly put his head out and gave a great whicker of welcome and tried to scrape down his door. Every horse in the yard then looked out and joined in until the whickering and scraping became a thunderstorm. Whereupon Safety Car rushed in, dropped his broom and trotted up to Gav, laying his head on his shoulder in ecstasy, following Gav from box to box as he greeted old friends, staying with him when he toured the stud and the adjoining fields. Walter and Pat accompanying them were amazed: Gav seemed to know the name and pedigree of every horse, even able to recognize recently born foals, and identify their sires and dams.

‘That’s a Dardanius, that’s a Titus.’

As the mares gathered jealously around him, nudging and nuzzling, Walter sneered: ‘Pity he’s not as successful with women.’

‘Shut up,’ snapped Pat. ‘Not through want of their trying.’

Next, Gav had a session with Rupert at his office. Here he noticed again a framed Breeders’ Cup race card, the year Love Rat won.

‘How is he?’ he asked.

‘Getting lazier. Thank God the season’s over. He just goes to sleep on the mares: “Hang on, I’m just having a fag”. I’m not sure he’s up to another season.’

Gav grinned to see a new clock of a stallion mounting a mare, waggling his near hind leg in time to the ticking.

‘Eddie bought it for me to make up for the Derby,’ explained Rupert. ‘We’d better talk about that …’ but the telephone rang. It was the
Racing Post
.

‘I gather Gavin Latton’s back,’ said Lee Mottershead. ‘What are your plans for him?’

‘Well, I don’t know anyone more conscientious than Gav, so he’s going to be my Assistant Trainer.’ And, at Gav’s look of amazement, Rupert added: ‘Of course, I have every confidence and more,’ and rang off.

Then he was back to the Old Rupert, noticing on his laptop that one of Cordelia’s foals, which Gav had dismissed as a dud, had just won a huge race in France. ‘Why the hell did you let that filly slip through the net?’

‘Do you mean it about Assistant Trainer?’ stammered Gav.

‘Yup.’

‘I’m not great with people. I want to work with horses.’

‘What’s your take on the Derby?’

‘Eddie needs to be got as fit as Quickly. I think he’s bingeing and flipping and taking too many laxatives and it’s fucked up his digestion. And he’s spending too much time in the sauna. He needs to jog, go to the gym and build up muscle so he can hold up horses when he needs to. He’s got to stay off drink and women.’

Particularly Gala, Rupert found himself thinking.

Next he heard Gav saying: ‘He must go back to protein, chicken, steaks, salmon.’

‘Yansy Pansy can sort that,’ said Rupert.

‘Quickly also needs a pacemaker to calm him down. Safety Car isn’t quick enough. We’ve got to make sure Quickly doesn’t pull and exhaust himself. I have found exactly the right horse – a bay three-year-old called Bitsy, or See You in a Bit, who could be ridden by Meerkat or even Jemmy.’

‘Well, go and buy him.’

Leaving Rupert’s office, Gav met Gala riding the dark-brown delinquent Blank Chekov back from fourth lot and thought how gorgeous she looked. Embarrassed at having blown her out, he was too shy to meet her eyes. Gala, thinking in turn how divine he looked, his pallor replaced by a Palm Beach tan, but still mortified how she’d drunkenly jumped on him, finally broke the ice.

‘Awfully sorry about last time, you could do me for sexual harassment.’

Gav smiled slightly. ‘You could equally ban me as a non-trier.’

As they both laughed with relief, Gav thanked her for leaving his rooms above the tack room so tidy and in such good nick.

‘I’ve probably left the odd book and things.’

‘Are you OK in Lime Tree Cottage?’

‘I love it.’ Gala was on the brink of asking him to come and have a drink, when Taggie came running out and kissed Gav.

‘Oh, it’s good to have you back; everyone’s missed you so much. Rupert, in particular, has been tearing his hair out,’ and she drew him back into the kitchen. ‘You will come and have supper with us tonight? We’ve got lovely goulash.’

But Gav was still too ashamed of nearly bringing the yard down.

‘Honestly,’ he stammered, ‘I ought to unpack and things.’

‘Oh please. We can eat outside and you can tell Bao what the stars are. He’s such a dear boy.’

At that moment, a hunk came out of the kitchen and took Gav’s hand in both of his.

‘Gavin, welcome home, so good to see you here. I’ve heard a ridiculous amount about you – all great, I promise you. Please stay to supper. Taggie made a Pavlova with our first strawberries – you won’t be able to resist that.’

Glancing up into Jan’s film-star face, marvellously strong features lifted by a huge smile, dark red hair visible in the V of an open-neck check shirt, Gav suddenly felt raped.

‘Please stay,’ urged Jan in his loud harsh voice. ‘It would delight Taggie so much.’

What right has he to presume? thought Gav.

‘Sorry, got to settle back in. Lot to catch up on.’

‘Understood. How about tomorrow or the next day?’

‘Up to Rupert or Taggie,’ said Gav tersely. ‘Need time on their own, without half the world butting in.’ Grabbing a handful of the carrots Jan had been chopping for the goulash, he returned to the yard, where he met Safety Car, who dropped the yard brush and wolfed the carrots before they were offered to anyone else.

‘I suppose I owe you,’ muttered Gav, scratching Safety in the
ribs, where normally the older horse would exchange mutual nibbling with Quickly. ‘See You in a Bit’s going to take over your job as pacemaker from now on.’

Pacemakers are the great unsung heroes of racing. Always the bridesmaids, they are ridden by the trainer’s second jockey and will set exactly the right pace to settle the star horse ridden by the first jockey, who will scorch past and take the race at the last moment.

Blessed are the pacemakers, sighed Gav, for they inherit fuck all.

See You in a Bit, or Bitsy, arrived a week later from America, to act as Quickly’s pacemaker. Quickly both adored him and bullied him unmercifully when they were turned out together, not letting Bitsy anywhere near any proffered carrots or apples, and livid when Purrpuss sat on Bitsy and washed his ears. But when Gala took Bitsy out for a bit of light relief – a ride on his own round the village – Quickly grew even crosser and called out for him continually.

Bitsy was a bright bay, with long white socks on all four legs.

‘You are the dearest horse in the world,’ sighed Gala.

‘I bet you say that to all the bays,’ quipped Eddie.

Eddie and Gala noticed wryly that when Quickly, ridden by Gav, set out after Jemmy and Bitsy, Quickly looked a completely different horse.

Things in fact improved dramatically after Gav’s return; he noticed details others didn’t. He was impressed by Jemmy, who as an apprentice had an invaluable 7 lb claim, which meant he was allowed to ride 7 lbs lighter, and should be used more. He got to work on Beijing Bertie who, as a four-year-old, he felt was capable of winning a few races. In addition, he encouraged Bao to ride him and soon had them both cantering up the gallops, which would please Mr Tong when he and Mrs Tong arrived for Royal Ascot, the most glorious week in the Racing Calendar and which was fast approaching.

Bookies were already offering 10–1 on what coloured hats the Queen and then Taggie Campbell-Black would be wearing on Ladies Day. Jan had bought Taggie a silver-grey picture hat with a pink ribbon as an early birthday present
and with such inside information planned to have a huge bet.

Among numerous horses entered for Royal Ascot, Rupert had great hopes for Quickly ridden by Eddie in the mighty St James’s Palace Stakes. Dave meanwhile had won his fourth Group One in Australia and looked a serious candidate for the Melbourne Cup.

A few days before Ascot kicked off, however, Gala, returning for Evening Stables, discovered Old Eddie coming out of Quickly’s box.

‘Careful you don’t get bitten,’ she warned.

‘Too interested in carrots. He’s so greedy he nearly took off Eddie’s signet ring,’ said Jan, who’d been chatting to Louise in the tack room.

‘You look well,’ said Old Eddie, admiring Gala’s sunburned legs.

‘I’m getting a bit more sleep now I’ve moved into Lime Tree Cottage out in the woods,’ admitted Gala. ‘Living over the yard one never gets a lie-in, because from five-thirty onwards Quickly starts hollering for his breakfast.’

Next morning when she came into work, however, Gala was surprised not to be greeted by a noisy Quickly. Entering the box she found him standing in the corner, head drooping, last night’s hay and feed untouched, Nurse Purrpuss weaving round his fetlocks.

‘Poor old boy,’ cried Gala. ‘What’s up?’

In answer, Quickly started coughing. His nose was running and as he sneezed he scattered droplets all over Purrpuss, who spat and jumped away. Found to have a high temperature, Quickly was placed in isolation, and was so depressed he didn’t even attempt to kick the place down. Unable to put his hoof over his mouth, Quickly must have sneezed over the other horses yesterday because by the evening Touchy Filly, Bitsy, Hell Bent Hal, Blank Chekov, Fleance and Beijing Bertie were all hacking away, struck down by a mystery virus which completely ruled out Royal Ascot.

Taggie couldn’t wear her silver-grey hat. All this was also particularly disappointing for Mr Tong, who had been planning to wear white tie and tails, while his wife Aiguo, who had been
watching
My Fair Lady
, had purchased a red hat too huge to get through the gates of the Royal Enclosure and been practising shouting ‘
Not Bruddy Likely
’.

As a result, the meeting was a riot for Cosmo, with Ash as his first jockey winning seven races including the great St James’s Stakes with I Will Repay, which qualified him for the Breeders’ Cup Turf in October.

R
OYAL
A
SHCOT
shouted the headlines. Tarqui, still being punished for not winning the Guineas, and given horses with 50–1 odds to ride, was about to walk out.

No one, as Roberto’s Revenge edged up the Leading Sire list, was more in despair than Rupert. But change was afoot.

The Leading Sire charts had hitherto been divided into different localities. Rupert and Cosmo, for example, were competing to amass the most prize money just in races in Europe, with the title being awarded on 31 December. Other Leading Sire titles were awarded at different times in the Far East, Australia and South and North America.

For the first time, however, a massive new category had been introduced for a Global Leading Sire, whose progeny had stacked up the most prize money worldwide. The title would be awarded at the end of March, after the World Cup in Dubai.

In this, Rupert would be competing against stallions from Japan, the Americas and Australia and New Zealand, as well as Europe and Great Britain. Verdi’s Requiem had just announced his retirement, so Roberto’s Revenge was a favourite to win this mighty new overall title. Rupert, as a result, became even more obsessed with taking his horses overseas in search of the biggest prizes. So obsessed that at the end of June, whilst he was in the Far East, he forgot Taggie’s birthday. His PA Geraldine who, as had been said, would have liked to be the next Mrs Campbell-Black, should have reminded him.

Jan, however, remembered and alerted the children. At 6.30 in the morning Taggie was woken by Timon, spilling milk over the carpet, bringing her Cheerios in bed.

‘Happy birthday, Granny.’

‘It’s a bit early, darling,’ mumbled Taggie.

‘Can I eat them instead?’ asked Timon.

‘Please.’ Taggie tried to burrow back into sleep, particularly when she was roused five minutes later by Timon in her bathroom.

‘Gran-ee, can you come and hold my willy so I don’t have to wash my hands.’ And when Taggie staggered in, he went on: ‘It’s easy for girls. You just sit down, you’ve got a hole.’

Taggie giggled. So beautiful, so blond, Timon had his father Wolfie’s dark eyes.

‘How did you know it was my birthday?’

‘Jan told us. You’ve got to come downstairs. My birthday’s next month. I want an Aston Martin and a tattoo on my willy like David Beckham.’

‘I don’t think he’s got one there.’

‘Come on, Granny, Happy Birthday!’ shouted Sapphire up the stairs.

Taggie gasped as she went into the kitchen. There were red
Happy Birthday Taggie
balloons bobbing from every chair, crisps and sweets all over the kitchen table and Jan thrust a glass of fresh orange juice into her hand.

‘Many, many happy returns, mam.’

‘You are so unbelievably kind,’ gulped Taggie, as she opened scent and bath salts from the children and then a huge pink fluffy rabbit, to join the blue teddy bear, now mended, at the bottom of her bed.

The telephone went. It was Rupert, jubilant that Fleance had won a big race in Singapore.

‘That’s wonderful.’ Taggie retreated into the larder, glimpsing a huge birthday cake.

‘Everything OK? How’s Banquo?’