by Jilly Cooper
So many of the mega-rich American owners seemed to know and admire Valent and were delighted to meet his new-ish wife, pretty in pink and wearing a blue baseball cap bearing Master Quickly’s name, in which Rupert thought she looked ridiculous.
Etta had just called Dora, who said all the animals were fine and had eaten up. Mrs Wilkinson and Chisolm were coming into the kitchen to watch the big race.
‘Every time they flag up Quickly’s name,’ said Dora, ‘they add that Etta Edwards is the breeder. That is so cool.’
‘Isn’t it,’ squeaked Etta.
‘How’s Rupert?’ asked Dora. ‘He looks cross. He really should take a media-friendly course.’
Each jockey was televised as he came into the paddock to huge cheers, and had to announce his own and his horse’s name. ‘Just like University Challenge,’ giggled Etta.
‘Not quite,’ said Valent as Tarqui and Manu de la Tour puckered their lips and kissed the camera lens.
Quickly looked magnificent, his silver coat set off by a red saddlecloth with his name on. Nor was he having any truck with Penscombe not fraternizing with Valhalla. Catching sight of Eddie, receiving last instructions from Isa and Cosmo, he gave a great whicker and towed a giggling, swearing Gala across the paddock to nudge Eddie in his concave stomach.
‘Good luck, Eddie,’ said Gala defiantly. ‘We all miss you, please come back.’
‘Fuck off,’ hissed Cosmo.
‘Rupert’s come without Taggie,’ drawled Ruth Walton, ‘so I’m in with a chance,’ which annoyed Cosmo even more.
The runners were parading down to the start, so sleek with their slim jockeys, compared with the ponies, often buckling under the fat pony persons in their purple jackets, leading them. The crowd, not wanting any overseas rider to take the big one, were yelling for To Die For and Hammond Johnson, now wearing a little red bow-tie at the neck of his red and white silks, and also for Finger Prince ridden by the lovely blonde Sharon Peters. Hernandez, the Mexican on Special Angel, couldn’t stop crossing himself; Hiroshi from Japan had got his bare feet very dirty walking the course. Tarqui knew and was joking with all of them.
‘Godspeed, Tarqui,’ cried Gala as she handed him and Quickly over to Paul the cowboy, their pony person, who said he wanted to be ‘part of the Quickly experience’. Quickly agreed, and stopped jig-jogging for a second to mount Minnie.
The press were everywhere in their Day-Glo green smocks. A rock star sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, the trumpeters blew a tantivy and a huge American flag was laid over the course. God Bless America.
A curious biblical light had bathed the racecourse in brilliant sunshine. Dark clouds with dazzling white undersides gathered on top of the San Gabriel Mountains, which had turned a deep purple.
‘Oh Angel Gabriel,’ prayed Harmony, as she took up her position on the rail opposite the big screen, ‘lend Repay your wings for a few minutes.’
Down at the start, weeping willows reminded Eddie of Valent and Etta’s house, Badger’s Court. He wished yet again he were riding Quickly for them and Grandpa.
The kind loaders, all in purple, patted each horse as they led them into their stalls. Quickly didn’t like sharing his with one of them, who stood up on the ledge and hung on to his bridle, so like Touchy Filly, he bit him, then was distracted by Simone de Beauvoir and wafts of Manu’s aftershave on the left.
Rupert, Gala, Etta and Valent were on the rail, opposite the big screen, so they could see the bobbing hats of the jockeys above, revving up horses. Rupert’s hand slid into Gala’s for a second. Quickly, still gazing at Simone, spooked, as the roar of ‘They’re off!’ reverberated round the purple mountains, and missed the kick. Not that it mattered. Outraged to have so much dirt in his face, Quickly hurtled to the front on the inside rail and stayed there. The horses’ legs couldn’t be seen for the flurry of cinnamon-brown mud. Every time anyone tried to catch up with Quickly, he eyeballed them and accelerated away.
‘Oh well done, Quickly,’ screamed Etta and Gala, but were totally drowned by the Americans bellowing on dark-brown To Die For as she gradually edged closer. Playing hard to get, however, Quickly changed legs, scorched round the bend and shot away again. Tarqui, the swooping king, used to finding daylight between the most closely packed horses, was for once making all.
‘Look at that acceleration. Too fast, he’ll run out of petrol.’ Rupert glanced at his iPhone for a second. Then: ‘Christ, he’s breaking the record.’
Eddie, however, had Bao’s good luck rabbit in his pocket. Despite being badly bumped at the start by both Finger Prince and Special Angel, and getting a face full of sand, I Will Repay had a huge heart and battled on bravely, as Eddie got him on a lovely rhythm at the back.
Eddie also knew Quickly backwards – that the colt was indelibly competitive and would exert every atom of energy not to be overtaken. With To Die For lurking on the inside rail and Hernandez and Special Angel hovering on his offside, Eddie knew that as either of them challenged, Quickly would accelerate … so he and Repay waited on the far right.
As they thundered past the three-furlong-pole, he started cranking Repay up, swooping from last to the front but letting Quickly keep ahead, ahead, ahead. He must only swoop at the very last moment, not giving Quickly time to retaliate.
Quickly was also a brave horse, but with To Die For and Special Angel snapping at his heels from the left and right and escalating thunder from the crowd, the tiring colt lost concentration for a second and missed, on his off-side, a horse and rider scorching past in a tornado of mud; silks and L-shaped white blaze unrecognizable. The pair’s identity was only revealed as victory was snatched in the shadow of the post, and the rider’s mud-coated face was transformed by an ecstatic, white grin.
Eddie, however, had learnt his lesson, and didn’t punch the air, nor take his hands off the reins until, glancing up at the big screen, he saw the results. I Will Repay had got up by a nose, from Quickly, with To Die For third and Finger Prince fourth.
Next minute, Eddie’s gods – Hammond, Hernandez, Hiroshi, Tarqui and Manu – were gathering round, pumping his hand, clapping him on the back. Cosmo and Isa and Mrs Walton were in raptures, Dame Hermione yelling her red-turbanned head off.
‘Oh, well done, Eddie, and well done, Quickly. He was second – clever boy, the smallest horse in the race,’ screamed Etta, hugging Valent and Gala. But turning to hi-five Rupert, her hand met air and her face felt scorched by the white-hot fury on his face.
‘W-what’s the matter?’
‘That must have scuppered Love Rat’s Leading Sire chances.’
Next minute, the presenter with wire shooting out of her hat charged up on a lovely pale chestnut, rising at the trot worthy of the Pony Club. ‘Congratulations on winning the Breeders’ Cup Classic, Eddie,’ she screeched. ‘How special is this very special moment to you?’
‘I’m sitting on a very special horse,’ laughed Eddie, ‘who’s in love with his very special stable girl Harmony, and he ran so fast because he wanted to get back to her.’ He must stop saying that every time he had a winner.
‘Take us through this very special race.’
‘I knew Quickly would never let me pass him, so I mugged him on the line. I’m very grateful to Cosmo Rannaldini for giving me the ride, and Isa Lovell for coaching me, and as an American I’m very proud to win America’s greatest race.’
‘And your daddy played polo for America, and a little bird told me the very special news that you’re going to be a daddy too.’
But Eddie didn’t want to talk about babies. As happy as a sand boy, he hurled his whip into the yelling tumult, and the whole crowd seemed to leap to seize it. Then he turned to Harmony, galumphing up like Nellie the Elephant, sobbing her eyes out, hugging Repay, sponge ready to wipe the dirt out of his eyes, before the lovely garland was thrown over his withers.
‘We did it, we did it!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t yellow Repay’s colour?’
Returning through the whooping, screaming crowd
, seeing a forest of cameras, Repay became a yard taller as Cosmo and Sheikh Abdul Baddi took his reins on each side to lead him in.
On the way to weigh in, Tarqui passed his ex-lover Isa, who held out a hand. ‘You did well.’
‘Tanks,’ said Tarqui. ‘You did better.’
For a moment, they exchanged a brief bittersweet hug then moved on. Cosmo, Mrs Walton, Sheikh Baddi, Isa and Harmony were now blissfully flanking a head-tossing I Will Repay for the photographers. Eddie, returning from weighing in to join them, saw Rupert approaching and put out his hand.
‘Quickly ran super, Grandpa.’
Totally ignoring him, Rupert walked straight past.
‘For Christ’s sake, Rupert, don’t be so fooking unsporting,’ exploded Valent. Then, turning to a stunned Eddie, ‘Well done, lad, fantastic ride,’ and he hugged him, as did Etta.
Gala was horrified. ‘Poor Eddie, he was utterly brilliant.’
Perdita was equally appalled. ‘How can you be such an ungenerous bastard, Dad?’
‘Have you ever known him to be anything else?’ observed Rupert’s brother Adrian.
The lack of exchange had also been clocked by the world’s media and transmitted worldwide. For Eddie, any joy of winning evaporated. Cosmo, however, was in heaven.
‘Stupid, stupid Rupert,’ he told the vast throng of press. ‘Eddie rode a dream of a race because since he joined our yard, he’s worked with Isa Lovell, a far better trainer. I was annoyed with Rupert for poaching Tarqui, my stable jockey, so when Rupert sacked Eddie Alderton, his grandson, I asked Eddie to join us. We got the better bargain, Eddie got the better horse, and this win confirms our stallion Roberto’s Revenge as Leading Sire.’
Isa loathed the press, but was happy to put the boot in.
‘My late father Jake Lovell got a silver medal here, beating Rupert Campbell-Black back in the seventies. Today I Will Repay, trained by another Lovell, beat Rupert’s horse again.’
‘That’s very special. Imagine your father cheering in heaven.’
For a second Isa couldn’t speak. ‘That’s a good thought.’
Repay’s connections were then swept off to the presentation where a very camp celebrity, who clearly didn’t know one end of a horse or a whore from another, handed over the lovely Breeders’ Cup trophy of a horse, with an equally camply-raised foreleg. Having congratulated them on a very special win, he then quipped that it was odd to have Eddie the jockey so much taller than Cosmo the co-owner, which didn’t please Cosmo one bit – even though he did later get to kiss Bo Derek.
Eddie, meanwhile, was in pieces.
‘I wanted a place in history but not on a horse that robbed Grandpa of Leading Sire.’
The Classic was clearly the race that mattered. Eddie had never had so many emails and texts – but still not a word from Sauvignon. And up in the sky, platinum blonde with a flickering gold halo, hung the jockey moon. Despite massive worldwide praise, Eddie cried his eyes out all the way home on the plane.
By English time, Taggie and Jan watched the Classic after midnight. Taggie had been icing Rupert’s cake, topped with a big picture of Love Rat. Watching Rupert adjusting Quickly’s bridle in the parade ring, she noticed he wasn’t wearing any Love Rat cufflinks. She was so sad he hadn’t acknowledged them or the fallen leaves, and had been terse and offhand on the telephone.
She felt ashamed that she and particularly Jan cheered their heads off for Eddie, and when she tried to call Rupert and congratulate him for Quickly coming second, he didn’t pick up.
‘Oh heavens,’ she cried, catching sight of Rupert in the winners enclosure, ‘he’s just blanked Eddie.’
‘That’s a disgrace,’ said Jan. ‘I suppose it’s because Repay’s win added two million dollars to Roberto’s earnings and Quickly’s second only nine hundred thousand to Love Rat’s.’
‘So, no carrot for Love Rat,’ sighed Taggie. ‘Oh poor old boy – and poor Rupert.’
Bursts of cheering for Quickly were still coming from the yard, where the consensus of opinion was that Rupert had behaved like an absolute shit.
‘Plus ça change,’ said Pat.
No prizes for coming second, thought Gav, as he watched the race in Keeneland, but he was still so proud of Quickly. On the other hand, a knife twisted in his heart to notice the body language between Gala and Rupert, before and during the race. They’d clearly enjoyed a great night. Lucky to come at all, he thought wearily.
74
Valent was furious when Rupert refused to stay for any post-race celebrations.
‘The little horse did bluddy well, why can’t you wait till tomorrow?’
‘I’ve got business to do in Melbourne.’
‘Roobish. No one does any business in Melbourne in the run up to the Cup, and even less afterwards. It costs the nation over 540 million dollars in lost productivity.’
Ignoring him, Rupert took a Saturday-night flight, arriving in Melbourne the following afternoon. It was the middle of the night in England, which he felt was hardly the time to wake Taggie and make it up.
Churning with fury over Cosmo’s gloating, aware that he’d been vile to everyone, particularly sweet Gala, whom he’d left with hardly a word, Rupert didn’t sleep on the flight. Checking into his hotel, he was about to ring his daughter Bianca in Perth, hoping they could hook up at the Melbourne Cup, when he was pre-empted by a call from his old friend, Baby Spinosissimo, summoning him to supper.
‘I’m bushed, Baby.’
‘Of course, you’ve lost a day on the flight. You’ll sleep far better if you stay awake till tonight.’
Baby, a hugely successful tenor who’d just had a big hit, singing the Duke in Rigoletto, was the on (occasionally off) boyfriend of Rupert’s brother Adrian. Baby lived in a ravishing beach house overlooking the ocean. He had always kept racehorses and had bought New Year’s Dave from Rupert after the 31 December scandal. He was also putting up Fleance, who’d come out with Meerkat and Marketa and was hopefully going to be ‘wictorious in Wictoria’, in the Melbourne Cup.
Going straight to the stables, Rupert was delighted to find both Dave and Fleance in great nick and gratifyingly pleased to see him.
‘We’ve been working Fleance on the sands and in the sea,’ said Marketa, who was wearing a leopardskin cap back to front, and who seemed to be enjoying the plethora of bronzed Australian stable lads drifting about.
Rupert was even more delighted when a gorgeous suntanned blonde raced up, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him, and he realized it was Lark.
‘How lovely to see you,’ she gabbled. ‘I’m so sorry about Quickers in the Classic, he ran brilliant, he’d never have got beat if Eddie had been riding him. So awful, threatening Love Rat’s chance of Global Sire, and revolting Cosmo gloating. But there’s still time, and Dave,’ she stroked New Year’s Dave’s satin shoulder, ‘is going to do his best to boost his dad’s earnings, and Fleance too, he’s grown into such a lovely horse – they call him Fiancé round here.’
She paused, blushing and gasping for breath.
‘Oh Lark,’ Rupert hugged her, ‘you always say the right things, and you’ve grown so beautiful. Everyone misses you at Penscombe.’
Lark blushed even more. She was dying to ask about Young Eddie and Sauvignon’s baby but instead said, ‘How’s Taggie?’
‘Fine,’ lied Rupert. Seeing Lark’s sweet, sympathetic face, he suddenly wanted to pour his heart out about being a great-grandfather. Also that Taggie had not forgiven him, resulting in no love notes in his suitcase, horribly stilted telephone conversations or being told Taggie was shopping in Cheltenham with Jan.
‘Come and see Peppy,’ said Lark, leading him down to the stallion boxes. Peppy Koala, who was staying for the Australian covering season, gave a throaty whicker when he saw his master.
‘Look how pleased he is to see you. Beastly Cosmo, dissing him and saying Roberto’s Revenge was far too valuable to shuttle to Australia, when Peppy Koala came from here in the first place.’<
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Reflecting that Lark kept up with everything, Rupert gave Peppy a Polo and said, ‘Peppy’s coming home in January – why don’t you come back with him? Your job’s open at any time.’
‘I couldn’t leave Dave.’ Then Lark glanced furtively over the half door, her face darkening. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, but I think if Dave wins the Cup tomorrow, Baby might retire him or sell him on.’
‘Surely not?’
‘Baby always seems to need money,’ whispered Lark, ‘and some beastly Chinese man’s been hanging around. Dave’s been lapped in love all his life.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’m not sure how he’d get on at stud in China.’
‘He’s not going, I’ll talk to Baby.’
It was an exquisitely gentle evening. Looking out on the peacock-blue sea flecked with seagulls, watching dogs chasing sticks along the beach, Rupert and Baby dined on a veranda with grey-gold light flickering down through a ceiling of gum trees.
Missing his dogs, Rupert was charmed by Baby’s yellow Labrador, Siegfried, who kept snatching napkins off the table.
‘He used to carry my cheques to the bank,’ said Baby. ‘Even when they blew me out recently, he still went on taking them back to them.’
With his blond locks, cute turned-up nose and long eyelashes, Baby still looked like the most fancied choirboy, but had added a second chin and several inches round the waist. He had always loved his food, and now tucked into pâté de campagne, followed by tagliatelle with green pesto sauce and avocado and bacon salad. More beautiful youths, taking the opportunity to gaze at Rupert, kept topping up their glasses with miraculous red wine.
Baby was pleased Rupert thought his horses looked well, but complained that he’d recently been such a success, both as the Duke, and Rodolfo in La Bohème at Sydney Opera House, he was being pressured to join the production on tour.
‘But I’m too old for that sort of caper, acting madly in love with tiresome divas. I want to stay home with my horses and Siegfried. If Dave does well on Tuesday, I’m gonna retire him.’
