Mount!

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘How did you and Janey meet?’

  ‘Online actually. I’m a bit of a workaholic, and don’t meet many women. Mother died recently.’ He went even redder. ‘I’d like to find someone to love, so I decided to try my luck.’

  ‘Weren’t you terrified?’ asked Rosaria.

  ‘Petrified. You submit a photograph of yourself. I cheated and only handed in a head shot and I wore a hat, so you couldn’t see how bald I am, and I lied about my age and my weight.’ He hung his head.

  Rosaria started to laugh. ‘What did you wear for the first date?’

  ‘Running shoes – so I could escape. But Janey is so sweet. She didn’t mind about my weight at all, said the more of me the merrier. She was also looking for friendship leading to an everlasting relationship. She’s so caring.’ Averting his eyes, he beckoned to a naked waiter to fill up their glasses.

  ‘I’ve got to drive, and we’re racing tomorrow … oh well, perhaps just a half.’

  ‘Can’t believe anyone as beautiful as her could bother with someone like me. But we’ve had three dates,’ went on Colin. ‘It’s her birthday next week; I want to get her something lovely. Have you had any pudding?’ he added, looking down at Rosaria, thinking what a sweet face she had when she smiled. ‘I’m going to get you some.’

  When he returned with two big platefuls of chocolate tart, saying, ‘I know I’m supposed to be losing weight,’ Rosaria found herself telling him all about Geoffrey and showing him a photograph on her telephone.

  ‘I’d like to meet Geoffrey,’ said Colin.

  ‘You must get Janey to bring you down. I’m talking far too much about me,’ she went on. ‘What d’you do?’

  ‘I’m a banker actually, bit of a dirty word these days. I started work as a bank clerk. Our manager used to dance around the office whenever we had a slack period. He said, “the most important asset, Colin, as a banker is to learn to dance. If you impress the wives on the dance floor, they’ll praise you to their husbands, and you get their accounts.” It seemed to work.’

  The music was now booming like surf. Colin sang along to Cole Porter’s ‘So in Love’. ‘Come and dance,’ he said, holding out furry arms.

  And he was right. Despite his huge bulk, he was as nifty a dancer as Cosmo and was soon whisking her round the floor.

  Looking down as a thousand candles lit her face, he thought how pretty Rosaria was, and wished he could do something to make her less tired.

  Eddie was loathing the party. However hard he whacked Dame Hermione, he couldn’t work off his fury with himself. He hated seeing foie gras handed round in what should have been Quickly’s St Leger Plate. When he’d edged up to Sauvignon, she’d made it quite clear there were other people more important than him to talk to.

  ‘Fancy a fuck?’ he asked Dora, even though she looked grotesque as Lester Bolton.

  ‘Sweet of you,’ replied Dora, ‘but Paris is due any minute. It’ll be like the first day of the sales when he arrives.’

  In one of the gilt mirrors, Eddie could see Sauvignon nose to nose with Cosmo, and was amazed when, glancing in his direction, she smiled and beckoned him.

  ‘Are you going to unfrock me, Eddie?’ she murmured.

  Bishops are diva-ish and attack diagonally, thought Gala. Castles approach head on like Gav. God, she wanted to go home. Hell! With all that dancing and climbing in through windows, she had lost the taxi number. So she rang Gav, who snatched up the telephone immediately.

  ‘You OK?’

  When she said she’d lost the minicab number, he said he’d ring them for her.

  ‘When d’you want it?’

  ‘As soon as possible. You are kind.’

  As Eddie followed Sauvignon upstairs, he passed the open door of an office. Inside, Isa, ‘the black cobra’, capable of any evil off and on the course, was watching races overseas, and making lists of people riding work tomorrow. Despite the heat, he was wearing a black polo neck. His lowering black eyebrows and slanting black eyes dominated a pale, expressionless face. Showing several days of stubble, his tousled hair uncombed, inwardly he was missing both Jake – his father – and Tarqui. Looking up, he glanced at Eddie.

  ‘Pity about the Leger. Quickly ran a great race.’

  ‘More than I did.’

  ‘Tarqui taking all your rides?’

  ‘I guess so.’ Eddie was so flabbergasted Isa was being friendly, he forgot Sauvignon for a second.

  ‘If it all gets too much, come and ride for us,’ said Isa.

  ‘Come on, Eddie,’ called back Sauvignon.

  Waving a tape recorder, to pretend she’d been working, Janey, on her way back to Colin Chalford, was intercepted by Cosmo. ‘I’m going to have the biggest scoop for you in a few weeks, darling,’ he told her.

  ‘Enjoy your male,’ he murmured to Sauvignon, as she passed him on her way to the bedrooms, then added mockingly to Eddie, ‘Mind you put covering boots on her or she’ll geld you.’

  Cosmo went into his office, which used to be his father’s, with paintings of Byron and the Marquis de Sade on the walls. Having snorted a line of coke, he turned on a switch to reveal a wall of monitors showing different couples. There was a tangle of bodies round Sheikh Baddi, and there was Tommy Westerham, still fast asleep beside his own wife.

  ‘Trainers get tired,’ explained Cosmo, as he was joined by Ash who, having not pulled as Queen Victoria, had changed into just the jacket and trousers of a pale-blue silk suit, with the tattoos of David Beckham peering out between the lapels. Ash was immediately riveted by a third monitor where Eddie was stroking Sauvignon’s face and kissing her with such love, before plunging into her and bringing her to apparent ecstasy with the same powerful thrusts with which he drove winners past the post.

  ‘Wow, he’s cute,’ sighed Ash.

  ‘So is she,’ drawled Cosmo. ‘That boob enlargement cost her almost a year’s salary.’

  ‘She’d have done better with a heart enlargement. Such a bitch.’

  ‘But positively glowing,’ noted Cosmo. ‘Women are so much more radiant when they’re ovulating.’

  ‘Ovulating?’ It took a minute to sink in.

  ‘And much more likely to conceive,’ gloated Cosmo.

  Even Ash was shocked. ‘That’s a stitch-up, utterly appalling.’

  ‘I know – I’ll give you a copy of the tape.’

  Gala was in despair. How could she have flirted with Cosmo? She felt horribly disloyal to Rupert and guilty that she was missing him more than Ben. Eddie was her great friend too and she felt depressed he’d finally got off with Sauvignon. Seeing Lester Bolton hurtling joyfully into the arms of a most beautiful youth with white-blond hair made her feel even lower.

  Everyone was much too drunk and occupied to notice that she’d slipped away. A pinky-orange moon was sinking into the trees. Oh God, she hoped Gav had got through to the car-hire firm, but she couldn’t see a taxi anywhere. Then a car drew up, a door opened and out of it erupted a squeaking animated rubber cannon ball, projected by a frantically wagging tail. ‘Gropius darling, what are you doing here?’

  Then as a man got out of the car: ‘Gav,’ she gasped. ‘Oh Gav.’ Bursting into tears, tripping over Gropius, she fell into his arms. ‘Oh thank you, you are the dearest man in the world. You were right – it was the most hideous party. I’m not making a pass at you, I’m just so grateful to escape.’ She took his face in her hands, gazed into his hollowed eyes, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Please take me home.’

  ‘I see Rodders is here.’

  ‘And Damsire commenting on the confirmation of every shagging couple.’

  ‘Lots of drugs?’

  ‘Lots.’ Gala just stopped herself telling him about the cocaine on Bethany’s belly, then anxious to get off the subject, ‘I saw Roberto’s Revenge – he’s awesome and the stud’s like the Ritz – but Harmony’s frightened. I’m sure if it weren’t for Vengie and Repay, she’d walk. But she did imply that something had nobbled Quickly in the Leger. I couldn’t
press her but she asked if he had got any bruises on his neck. She also said Rupert had better watch out.’

  As Gropius curled up blissfully on her feet, Gala glanced at Gav’s lean, inscrutable profile and wished he would curl up in bed beside her at Lime Tree Cottage. If only she could have Gav, she was sure she would stop lusting after Rupert. They always said the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else.

  64

  Having switched on her computer the following morning, Geraldine gave a sigh of happiness. ‘Oh dear, Rupert is not going to like this.’

  Eddie was on to Dora instantly.

  ‘Christ, have you seen the Mail? Those security guys must have been paps in fancy dress. They’ve got pix of you, me and Gala, even one of Gala smooching with Cosmo on the dance floor. Talk about sleeping with the enemy. Even worse, poor Gav must have picked Gala up because there’s a picture of them in a clinch in the car park.’

  ‘Omigod, omigod, I am so sorry.’

  ‘Wasn’t you who sold the story, was it …?’

  ‘No, it bloody wasn’t. Must have been Janey Lloyd-Foxe. Could have been Sauvignon, although she was otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Shurrup. What do we do? Rupert’s bound to fire us now.’

  Gala, who was rubbing down Delectable, also went ballistic. The entire awful evening had totally convinced her how happy she was at Penscombe, and of the horror of never seeing Rupert again; but equally she’d been overwhelmed by Gav’s kindness and now he’d been totally compromised. She steeled herself to ring Geraldine. ‘You’ve got to tell Rupert, Gav wasn’t at the party. Out of the kindness of his heart, he drove over and picked me up, and I was hugging him out of gratitude.’

  Back from Deauville where Tarqui got a double, and finding Taggie out with the dogs, Rupert stalked into his office. ‘Bloody traitors, I’m going to fire the lot of them.’

  Fortunately, Geraldine had gone to gloat in the tack room, so he caught sight of an email from Dora before Geraldine binned it.

  Dear Rupert, it is entirely my fault. Gala and Eddie were low because you were cross with them. I persuaded them to come to Cosmo’s party, and it’s particularly not Gav’s fault, Gala couldn’t get a taxi home so he heroically drove over and collected her. He tried to persuade us not to go. So please forgive us all. We all love working at Penscombe.

  Dora had then photostatted:

  The quality of mercy is not strained,

  It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

  Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;

  It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:

  ’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

  The throned monarch better than his crown;

  Before he read any further, ecstatic squealing dogs poured into the office to welcome him. Taggie must be back, so he stalked into the kitchen.

  ‘How lovely you’re home,’ she cried, hugging him, then having been briefed by Jan, ‘and how brilliant to get that double in Deauville. You must be thrilled you’ve taken on Tarqui.’

  ‘About the only thing I am pleased about. Half the yard went to Cosmo’s orgy.’

  ‘Not Gav,’ said Taggie quickly.

  ‘I don’t want any excuses. Gala really got into the party spirit, wrapping herself round Gav and Cosmo – she’s a whore.’

  A muscle was going in Rupert’s jaw; he was much angrier than he should have been.

  ‘You were going to fire her anyway,’ said Taggie, ‘now you’ve got even more of an excuse.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Honestly, you’ve been so beastly to all the staff, particularly Gala and Eddie recently, I don’t blame them for going. Think of the fun that will go out of the yard if Dora and Eddie leave, and Gala is such a darling and Gav’s miraculous with the horses.’

  Rupert glared at her but carried on reading Dora’s email:

  Copy for Racing Post due today. How about you start off with being in Deauville ‘notching up a spectacular double with my newly acquired jockey Tarquin McGall’, then go on:

  ‘As security is extremely tight in the top yards, I am proud that several of my staff wangled invitations for Cosmo Rannaldini’s Dress for Chess orgy on Sunday night which enabled them to case the latest developments in stud and yard, including an underground water treadmill. Participating owners included Sheikhs Baddi and Rehab without their wives, Enid and Roddy Northfield, who were seen enjoying a jerk – anyone we know?’ (Do you think Racing Post will allow that joke?) ‘Other excitements included naked waiters, Sauvignon Smithson, half dressed as a bishop, and foie gras served on the St Leger Plate.’

  A grinning Rupert pulled Taggie into his arms, looking down at her sweet, worried face. ‘Thank God for you,’ he said, then, groping for a suitable quote: ‘Thou art my true and honourable wife, as dear to me, as are the bloody drops that visit my sad heart.’ Then he grinned again. ‘At least you needn’t waste time making all those lasagnes for the staff party this year – Cosmo’s already done the honours.’

  65

  Rupert was very cool with his defecting staff, but he forgave Gav first because he had tracked down an exciting red chestnut filly who was coming up for sale at Tattersalls on 15 October. No one else seemed to have sussed her because she was coming under the hammer on Book Three of the sales, which is when the less good horses are on offer.

  Gav and Rupert proceeded to concoct a plan that Rupert would stay away on the day, because if he showed interest in such an ostensibly insignificant horse, rivals or their reps from all over the world would flock in.

  Gav would roll up, therefore, because he was known to recce everything and Gala would arrive separately and bid for the filly so as not to arouse anyone’s suspicions.

  Gala was honoured and passionately relieved to be forgiven.

  ‘You are lucky,’ sighed Dora. ‘Tattersalls is intensely theatrical and cosmopolitan, and with all the young bloodstock agents, trainers, breeders and owners, you’ll see the most glamorous men in the world, and horses going for the same price as houses in Chelsea. Although you might not on Book Three Day, but it’ll be very exciting.’

  Gala was also pleased at the prospect of a day out with Gav; she was so grateful to him for rescuing her from Cosmo’s party, and for defending her to Rupert, saying Cosmo was a manipulative snake.

  ‘What’s so special about this filly?’ she asked, as they set off for Newmarket with Radio 3 playing Brahms’ First Symphony.

  ‘I got a tip-off. A yearling of no pedigree, sire some obscure Turkish stallion, escaped from her paddock in the National Stud at the crack of dawn and got loose on the gallops. Two serious four-year-olds and several three-year-olds were overtaken by her. OK, she wasn’t carrying any weight, but she left them for dead. No one was about, so fingers crossed.’

  ‘Like Eclipse,’ said Gala. ‘No horse could catch him if they ran to the world’s end. How exciting. You are clever, Gav.’

  Gala had lost more weight and was wearing new jeans and a tight peat-brown jersey which showed off her sleepy dark eyes.

  She’s gorgeous, thought Gav, and being with her was like getting into a hot bath on a freezing day and easing one’s aching bones. Both Chuck-Off and Quickly had had him on the dry, firm ground this week.

  The whole yard were revving up for Champions Day, the culmination of the flat-racing season at Ascot on Saturday, when the leading trainer almost certainly would be revealed.

  ‘Where’s Rupert?’ asked Gala.

  ‘Gone to the Proms. Marcus is playing Prokofiev’s First. Rupert’s bound to nod off and Helen will wake him with one of her very sharp elbows.’

  ‘Poor Eddie’s still desperately low about the Leger,’ said Gala.

  ‘Poor boy,’ agreed Gav, ‘although the surest way to imprint your name indelibly on the turf is a spectacular failure – think about Devon Loch.’

  ‘I do hope Sauvignon’s not going to hurt him,’ mused Gala. ‘She was taking him to some party last night, and he re-did his hair with product three different way
s, then she cancelled. He did say her enlarged boobs felt as hard and rubbery as wine gums.’

  ‘When we get to Tattersalls, we’ll split up,’ said Gav, ‘so people won’t associate you with Rupert. I’ll go and look at the filly, hopefully the only person who’s asked her to come out. In the big sales,’ he went on, ‘the stand-out foals get so exhausted, dragged out of their boxes a hundred times to be looked at, they can hardly walk when they get to the sale ring, although it didn’t stop a Roberto’s Revenge yearling going for over a million last week.’

  When they arrived, Gala, who’d disguised herself in dark glasses, baseball hat and high-necked leather jacket, went and admired the famous fox statue, surrounded by flowers in his domed pillared home, the symbol of Tattersalls. Hopefully she’d be as crafty as him in her bidding. She then hung over the rail watching horses parading before they were sold, and taking a good look at the men, who were certainly gorgeous. Inside, the sales ring was surrounded by tiers of seats going up to a high ceiling, except where a rostrum of suave and witty auctioneers were expertly revving up buyers and setting rivals against each other. The auctioneers were flanked by pretty girls, well-bred fillies armed with clipboards, keeping an eagle eye out for bidders. Above the rostrum was the money machine where the amount wagered flashed up and was immediately translated into guineas, yuans, dollars, euros, dirhams and roubles. The machine had been known to explode when a bidder went astronomically high.

  The yearling being sold was led round the ring anti-clockwise with a sticker containing a number on each quarter like an apple. In the centre was a thick circle of straw like shredded wheat, on which a minion deposited the droppings of nervous horses.

  Once a foal was in the ring, crowds filled up the exit and the entrance, particularly when a fancied lot was up for sale. Gavin posted himself in the entrance beside a pillar topped by an acorn. Gala took up her position near the exit, through which horses that had been sold went to their destiny and where stairs led up to the gallery.