Jump!

by Jilly Cooper

  On the bar was the Daily Mail, with a picture of Bonny and Valent at Wetherby.

  ‘A lovely lady, but not a patch on Cindy.’

  Lester opened a bottle of sparkling wine.

  ‘I need your ’elp again, Norm.’ He rested their two glasses on the back of a fibreglass nude bending down to touch her scarlet toes and, sitting down, practically disappeared into the folds of a leather sofa.

  ‘I ’old my ’and up, Norm. I’ve upset the folk of Willowwood, I’ve stopped the flow of village life. Work at Ravenscroft and Badger’s Court ’as been equally extensive, but the properties are outside the village. I want to win over ’earts and minds, engage with the community and send our kiddies to Greycoats. Mijor, I’d like to join the Willowwood syndicate.’

  Before the Major had time to express any opinion, Bolton added that he would like to invite all the syndicate to an ’arse-warming party.

  ‘Blinis and bubbly. They could bring their cossies, or not,’ Bolton winked lasciviously, ‘and have a swim in the pool after dinner, or there’s a jacuzzi, takes eight.’

  Bolton also wanted to treat guests during the evening to a preview of Cindy’s latest movie, Little Red Riding Whip, which had a horsey theme. He put a DVD in the machine and immediately Cindy could be seen tripping through North Wood in a high wind, wearing nothing but a red cloak.

  ‘See, it’s very tasteful.’

  ‘Might be a bit racy, ho ho, for some of our members,’ volunteered the Major, taking a large gulp of wine to cool himself down. ‘Miss Painswick, Etta Bancroft, indeed my own wife’ (who was broad of beam but not of mind), ‘and of course the vicar.’

  ‘Show it later in the evening then when the oldies have gone ’ome.’

  The Major retaliated by showing Bolton the video of Furious winning at Wetherby.

  ‘Everyone is after this horse since that win. Campbell-Black, Dermie O’Driscoll, Isa Lovell. I could see my way to having a word with Marius Oakridge if you move fast.’

  ‘Would the syndicate buy shares in Furious?’

  ‘I doubt if they could afford it. Many of our members are strapped paying for Mrs Wilkinson.’

  ‘Valent bought in.’

  ‘Only because Chris and Chrissie at the Fox pulled out, and Valent wanted to give his share to Bonny as a birthday gift.’

  ‘I’d be prepared to pay well to buy into the syndicate,’ said Bolton, getting pushy. ‘I’m sure Etta Bancroft could use the money.’

  ‘Etta would never forfeit her share, she’s devoted to Mrs Wilkinson,’ said the Major with rare asperity. ‘If you bought into the syndicate and in addition bought Furious, you would have more clout. Trainers tend to listen to those with the most horses.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘So you’re not cutting down the Willowwood Chestnut?’ asked the Major.

  ‘Ione decided me,’ said Bolton smugly. ‘She was very civil. Stayed over an hour.’ Then, lowering his voice: ‘Did you know she widdles on her compost every night? Got a shot of it in the shrubbery last night.’

  The Major choked on his wine.

  ‘Always wanted to make a film about mat-uer women, Ione, Etta, Corinna, call it The Rude Antiques Show.’ Lester laughed fatly. ‘Showy-looking ’orse, that Furious,’ he went on. ‘Might be the answer. Cindy’s going to play Lady Godiva, or Lady Muff Diver, this summer. Furious might suit.’

  He refilled the Major’s glass and put Little Red Riding Whip on again. By the time the wolf had abandoned his grandmother drag role and jumped on Cindy, ‘All the better to eat you out with, my dear,’ the Major’s glasses had steamed up and his too-long Christmas sweater was proving to have its uses.

  ‘Tasty, isn’t she, my old lady,’ observed Lester smugly.

  ‘Don’t you mind the world seeing, well, so much of your wife?’ asked the Major.

  ‘I’m always present during shooting,’ said Bolton, filling up the Major’s glass. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come along one day.’

  ‘Indeed,’ croaked the Major.

  ‘Now, about the syndicate. You’ve been good to me, Norm. That holiday villa in Portugal is yours for nothing whenever you and your good lady need a break. Might even see my way to making it over to you.’

  At that moment, lights flashed on above, illuminating the swimming pool. It was as though the Major’s Cindy calendar had sprung into life, and February and March were following January and racing on through the year as a naked Cindy, back from the spa, her pink breasts, bottom and shaven haven flashing above him, breast-and backstroked through the water. Good God, there was August and November again …

  ‘I’m sure we can sort out the syndicate,’ he spluttered.

  ‘I’ll leave it in your capable hands,’ said Lester as he ushered the Major out. ‘We’ll come and view Furious pronto, but I’m not interested unless Cindy and I can become part of the syndicate.’

  69

  The Major called a meeting of the syndicate at the Fox the following night, played the DVD of Furious winning at Wetherby and reported the thrilling news that Bolton was anxious to become involved.

  Etta was violently opposed from the start. The syndicate was becoming too big and unmanageable, and much less fun since Bonny and Corinna had taken over. She had observed Lester at the Travis-Locks, greedy, predatory, a great fat spider waiting for the flies to come down. If he acquired 20 per cent, as the Major suggested, he could get the Major and Debbie, Shagger, Phoebe and Toby on his side and vote everyone else out.

  Etta had hoped for support from Painswick, but after several weeks working for Marius she was aware how desperately strapped for cash he was. Selling Furious for £100,000 might be one way out of the mess, particularly if Bolton bought other horses.

  ‘Let me explain,’ urged the Major. ‘Mrs Wilkinson has proved herself a winner and is now worth at least fifty thousand. Therefore if Bolton buys in at 20 per cent, he would have to hand over ten thousand, which would mean a grand for each shareholder.’ Everyone brightened. ‘The moment he buys in, I’ll be able to issue you with a cheque and we’d be saving Marius.’

  ‘Can’t think why,’ sniffed Debbie, ‘he’s so rude.’ Etta was now the only dissenting voice.

  ‘My dear,’ urged the Major, ‘Bolton truly won’t buy Furious unless we let him into our syndicate. He wants the social standing. We owe it to Marius.’

  ‘And Rafiq too,’ said Painswick. ‘The poor boy’s been crying his heart out, according to Tommy, ever since Michelle gleefully reported how many trainers were after Furious.’

  ‘I don’t like Bolton, and I think we should check with Valent who’s only just joined,’ said Etta. ‘He might not like Bolton slobbering all over Bonny.’

  ‘He’s too small to slobber over anyone,’ said Alan.

  ‘I talked to Bonny,’ said Seth idly. ‘I called Valent at home but he’s still in China buying some electronic toy factory. Bonny didn’t seem too concerned about Lester Bolton. She thinks the syndicate’s a broad church. Anyway, Etta darling, Alan and I and Valent can handle tossers like Bolton. And it is the answer.’

  ‘I don’t trust him.’ Etta was fighting back the tears when Seth put an arm round her shoulder, leading her to the fire at the other end of the bar. He sat her down on the fender and, clicking his fingers to Chris, bought her another glass of white.

  ‘Darling,’ he gently stroked her hair and then the back of her neck, ‘it’s the only answer. The Major’s pushed Bolton up to a hundred thousand for Furious and ten thousand to buy into the syndicate, which’ll be a few bob for you and me.

  ‘More importantly, angel – look at me, Etta,’ he forced her chin up with his other hand, giving her the benefit of his Holby City sincerity smoulder, ‘Marius is about to go under. Poor Joyce Painswick paid the wages out of her own pocket last week.’ Then, at Etta’s look of horror: ‘Rafiq will lose his job and is unlikely to get another, and so will Tommy, and Mrs Wilkinson, the Beau Regard of Willowwood, will be without a trainer. She’ll have to go somewhere else
and you won’t be able to see her all the time, and that will break your heart, darling. And haven’t we had fun in the syndicate so far, and we’ll have more fun as Wilkie beats everything in sight, and Bolton and Cindy, who I’ve yet to meet, will provide us with so many laughs. If Bolton wants to throw an arse-warming party for all the syndicate and you and I can romp in the giant jacuzzi while sperm whale Debbie frolicks naked in the sunken pool …’

  Then, as Etta started to laugh: ‘Please, darling, Bonny’s given the OK. We’ve got a majority vote, people are only not endorsing it out of respect for you. They love you, and they want you on our side.’ For a moment he was serious, then he laughed. ‘Goodness, that soliloquy, silly-quoy, was longer than “Friends, Romans, countrymen”. Please, darling.’

  A log crashed out of the fire, making them jump, and as Seth brushed the sparks off her old tweed skirt Etta melted in both senses of the word.

  ‘Of course it’s OK,’ she stammered. ‘Thank you so much for putting things into perspective. Poor Joyce must be reimbursed.’ At that moment Priceless wandered up, snaking his head along Etta’s thigh until she rubbed his ears. ‘Such a darling dog.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you a great favour. A week’s filming has come up, a motoring commercial, marvellous money – only problem is it’s abroad. Since Priceless adores you so much, could you possibly look after him for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ ‘Etta could deny him nothing, but quailed at the rumpus it would cause. She leapt to her feet. ‘I must go. I’ve got to make supper for Martin and Romy, they’re due back from skiing.’

  ‘Not until you’ve finished that drink.’

  He clapped his hands.

  ‘Darling Etta has agreed that Lester and Cindy can join the syndicate.’

  Everyone looked pleased.

  ‘But we’ve all got to promise not to let them change its character.’

  At that moment the door opened, letting in a blast of icy air, and in swept Romy and Martin, radiant and conker-brown from the Alps.

  ‘We thought we’d find you here, Mother,’ said Martin, but not too accusingly because others were present.

  ‘We’re celebrating,’ said Seth. ‘Let me buy you both a drink. You look ludicrously beautiful, Mrs Bancroft. I’m sure Chris can knock up some Glühwein.’

  ‘We can’t really, kids in the car,’ said Romy, delighted Seth should be seeing her at her best. ‘They’ve had a long journey. We’ve just popped in to round up Mother.’

  ‘She’s busy,’ snapped Alan.

  ‘She’s had a long break,’ joked Martin, but his eyes were cold. Etta, who was still reeling from Seth’s stroking soliloquy, jumped up, knocking over her glass of wine.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’

  ‘That settles it,’ said Martin briskly as Etta dropped to her knees, mopping with a paper handkerchief.

  ‘Come on, Mother. No,’ he added to Chris, who was approaching with a bottle of white, ‘she’s had quite enough.’

  ‘She’s had one small glass,’ protested Alan. ‘You’re staying, darling.’

  ‘Don’t interfere,’ snapped Martin.

  Priceless wandered back again, weaving his head round Etta’s bottom.

  ‘Your mother’s very kindly agreed to look after Priceless next week,’ said Seth, shooting Romy a hot glance.

  ‘Impossible,’ snapped Martin. ‘She’s far too busy and dogs give Drummond asthma.’

  ‘No he don’t,’ cried an even browner Drummond, rushing into the bar and hugging Priceless. ‘I like him, he’s got short fur. Can I have a drink, Dad?’

  ‘You’re very tired, little man,’ said Romy.

  ‘No I’m not, I’m thirsty,’ said Drummond.

  ‘Have a large Scotch,’ suggested Alan.

  ‘Hello, Granny.’ Poppy came racing in to hug Etta and then Priceless, who flashed his teeth at her, hitting his ribs on either side as he wagged his long skinny tail.

  ‘Come away,’ shrieked Romy, snatching up Poppy. ‘He’s going to bite you.’

  ‘No, that’s smiling,’ protested Poppy. ‘He’s pleased to see me.’

  ‘He’s coming to stay with Granny,’ said Drummond.

  ‘I can take him for walks, he never pulls,’ crowed Poppy. ‘Skiing’s boring. I missed you, Granny.’

  ‘Poppy and Drummond seem to know that greyhound rather too well,’ said Romy ominously as she and Martin stretched out in the clean sheets Etta had ironed and put on their bed that afternoon. ‘I think Mother may have been minding it already. But we don’t want to antagonize Seth and Corinna by forbidding it. They’ll be invaluable for attracting punters when we have events.’

  ‘Norman was just telling me Lester Bolton’s joined the syndicate,’ volunteered Martin. ‘We must ask him round. He’s very wealthy and desperate to be accepted.’

  ‘Kitchen sups with Seth and Corinna, Bonny and Valent perhaps?’

  ‘Excellent.’ Martin put a sunburnt hand on his wife’s full white breast. ‘Seth’s right, you do look ludicrously beautiful.’ His hand slid down between her thighs, encountering warmth and wetness. ‘Exciting that you still fancy me.’

  Romy smiled, closing her eyes, growing wetter and warmer as she thought of Seth. Gratifying to have the two handsomest men in Willowwood in love with her.

  The next Becher’s Brook was stopping Furious eating Cindy and Bolton alive when they viewed him at the yard. Dora, however, had dreamed up a cunning plan. The moment Marius and Michelle set off to Hereford, Furious was locked away in the isolation box and a very kind, docile chestnut called Cheesecake was imported from the nearest riding school for the day and polished all morning by Tommy and Dora. Cheesecake’s blaze was as white as the clouds above, an expression of delight on his sweet face, as he nuzzled the pockets of Cindy’s tight white breeches for Polos provided by Dora.

  ‘You must have a ride,’ urged Dora.

  Cindy’s shrieks and giggles, according to her neighbour Alban Travis-Lock, were more earsplitting than the drills screaming on metal of her husband’s workmen. As Rafiq and Dora led her round the home paddock, she was in full throttle. All the lads, on a lunchtime break, stifled their laughter and clapped and cheered. Furious, in his isolation box, snorted, neighed, gnawed and scraped his hooves against his locked door.

  ‘Hubby,’ announced Cindy, ‘is very keen that my next movie should be Lady Godiva.’

  ‘How brilliant,’ cried Dora.

  ‘We’ll be auditioning mounts soon,’ said Cindy loftily. ‘Perhaps we should keep it in ’ouse and use Furious. He’s so gentle yet so good-lookin’, and if I’m going to be getting my kit off I don’t want anything too frisky, what’s going to buck me off on the cobblestones.’

  ‘Furious would fit the bill perfectly,’ said Dora, kissing Cheesecake. ‘You two are made for each other. Want to trot on?’

  ‘Might get a black eye from one of my boobs. Perhaps that handsome Rafiq could give me some lessons.’

  ‘He might,’ whispered Dora. ‘He’s been looking after Furious for yonks. He’s desperate for him to go to a good owner, so he can go on caring for him.’

  ‘He can care for me any time,’ giggled Cindy. ‘Phwoar, he’s well fit, he looks very pashnit.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake smile, Rafiq,’ hissed Dora.

  ‘Why’s horsey called Furious?’ asked Cindy.

  ‘Because he’s furious he hasn’t had someone as pretty as you on his back before,’ said Dora.

  Cindy’s shrieks of mirth made even Cheesecake bound forward. At that moment, Lester Bolton rolled up in a vast Range Rover, and in a nothing-is-too-good-for-my-Cindy mood.

  ‘If you want this ’orse, princess, he’s yours. He’s certainly a nice-looking animal. Blood will out of course.’

  ‘And bloody-mindedness in Furious’s case,’ murmured Dora.

  ‘I love him.’ Cindy hugged Cheesecake. ‘He and Rafiq are to come and stay at Primrose Mansions on their ’olidays.’

  ‘So glad you made it today, Mr Bolton,’ wh
ispered Dora. ‘So many big hitters are after Furious, they’ll tear their hair out.’

  As Marius was at the races, Miss Painswick and the Major accepted the cheque.

  ‘Better frame it,’ said Dora.

  ‘It’s Bolton that’s been framed,’ said Painswick. ‘Better get Cheesecake back to the riding school before Marius returns.’

  ‘Can’t we keep him?’ sighed Dora.

  Marius was not amused when Painswick showed him the cheque.

  ‘So I’ve got to deal with that monster on the telephone twenty-four hours a day now.’

  ‘You ought to be very grateful to Dora,’ snapped Painswick. ‘She masterminded the whole thing.’

  At that moment, Dora sidled in.

  ‘Can we have a word about Mrs Wilkinson, Mr Oakridge?’ she asked politely.

  ‘No, we may not,’ said Marius, pouring himself a large whisky.

  ‘She’s not at all happy, and she jumps when you approach her suddenly from the wrong side. She’s slumped in her box with her head down. She needs a good win to cheer her up.’

  Marius glared at Dora’s sweet round face, the picture of innocence, as she continued.

  ‘Companion animals are allowed on most racecourses. Cheltenham’s had ducks, hens, sheep, cats and goats. Rupert Campbell-Black’s Love Rat wouldn’t leave his box without his pony friend. The pony went into the parade ring and down to the start of the Derby and Rupert had to put Love Rat in blinkers so he wouldn’t see the pony hadn’t started and wasn’t racing with him.’

  ‘I know all this,’ snapped Marius, looking at his post with slightly less alarm because of Bolton’s cheque.

  ‘Poor little Chisolm meanwhile,’ Dora stopped to remove a burr from Mistletoe’s tail, ‘is going into a decline. She’s losing weight, her coat’s dull. Being abandoned for hours in her box must remind her of being trapped in that terrible compression chamber. And when Wilkie goes out without her she always gets up to mischief, butting Bolton’s skip lorry back into Willowwood last week, and if she’s shut away, she drives the other horses and the lads crackers with her pathetic bleating. Wilkie, on the other hand, needs Chisolm’s reassuring presence. Look what a state she got herself into at Wetherby. And if Chisolm fades away, Wilkie will also go into a decline, and you don’t want to jeopardize the career of a world-beater.’