‘I know. Just—’ She cringed, hating that she was having this conversation with her boss. Not only her boss, but Jack Carmichael, champion trainer who would probably have the mob running scared if he chose. ‘I just need time.’
Jack gave her a withering glance.
‘Well, I might have something to distract you. We’ve just come from the sales. Picked up a couple of good looking novices for you to work on,’ he said.
‘That’s great,’ she replied brightly, trying to buck herself up.
‘I probably shouldn’t have got them both, what with Ta’ Qali still under Aspen Valley’s ownership, but fingers crossed he’ll be sold by the end of the season.’
‘Oh? Do you have a buyer?’
Jack shrugged.
‘Maybe. A syndicate got in touch. Apparently they’d heard that he was Dexter’s work companion, and with Dexter winning the Champion Hurdle, they were keen to find a bargain.’
‘He’d certainly be that,’ Frankie said. ‘If we could only figure out how to get him to settle though.’
‘Exactly. It’s not a done deal by any means. They want to see him race again before they commit to the sale. And if he doesn’t step up then I’m going to have pie on my face for buying too many novices.’
‘Are the new ones total greenies or are they ex-flat horses too?’
‘Both ex-flat. A filly by a Derby winner and a colt that doesn’t have much going for him, but he looks like he could be something when he matures. We’ll have him gelded soon enough though. He’s a bit of a boy-o as he is. Needed one of those to lead him from the lorry to his stable,’ he said, jabbing a thumb in the direction of a curb chain hanging from a peg.
Frankie frowned at the chain, noticing the short dark hairs pinched between its links. She hadn’t had much experience using curb chains, but knew they were often used on boisterous, usually ungelded horses, looping over the bridge of their nose to allow the handler more control. It wasn’t something she agreed with entirely, but if she were a colt and she had the choice of having one’s knackers chopped off or a sore nose, she’d opt for the latter every time. Even if she was a woman. And speaking of balls…
She took a brave breath. She had to tell him of her plans.
‘Jack, I–I can’t continue as a jockey here.’
Jack’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
‘What?’
‘This season has been a real wake-up call for me; the opportunity you’ve given me, the experience working the horses at home and also racing them. It’s made me realise where I see myself career-wise.’
‘You’re quitting?’
‘No, no! Well, kinda.’ She grimaced. ‘I mean I can’t be a jockey anywhere, not just here. I thought I knew what I wanted in my life, but it turns out I didn’t.’
Jack’s frown deepened and his mouth set into a grim line.
‘Do you know how many amateurs would kill for your job—how many are serious about their careers?’
‘I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t set out to mess you around. When you gave me the job, I seriously thought it was what I wanted.’
‘So is that it? You said you weren’t quitting. How is this not quitting?’
Suddenly, Frankie didn’t feel quite so confident about Jack letting her change her job description.
‘Well, I was sort of hoping that I could stay on working here. At the yard. This season I’ve learnt not only what I don’t want to do, but also what I do want to do. And you letting me ride all of the novices has made me realise that is where I’m happiest—on the gallops, schooling the babies, bringing them on. I find it much more rewarding than riding in races.’
Jack’s blue eyes darkened.
‘And you just presumed that I can simply alter your job just like that?’ he said, snapping his fingers.
Frankie quailed. She could tell saying yes would unleash Jack’s inner dragon, but wasn’t he right in thinking she was being presumptuous?
‘Hopeful more than anything,’ she said.
‘Frankie, I’m not made of money. If you quit as jockey, I will have to replace you with another amateur, who will be expected to carry out the same stable duties as you’ve had. I know we employ plenty of staff here, but no one is superfluous. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to employ someone just for the hell of it.’
Panic began to form in Frankie’s gut. This was not how things were meant to turn out. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t reckoned on it being a problem at all. Perhaps a temporary inconvenience, but certainly not a deal-breaker.
‘But I can’t leave here completely,’ she cried.
‘Well, you obviously don’t want to be a jockey and there’s not enough work to warrant keeping you on full-time as stable staff.’ He shook his head. ‘My God, Frankie, you haven’t half fucked us around this season. First, you wanted the ride on Peace Offering, then you don’t, then you get involved with Rhys, then you split. How can I trust that this isn’t another thing which you’re going to change your mind about in a few months’ time?’
A flame of annoyance pinked her cheeks.
‘I didn’t mean to mess you around, Jack,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’m not proud of my mistakes, but every decision was made to last. If you want to know why Rhys and I split, then you ask Rhys. And while you’re at it, you can ask him why I gave up the ride on Peace Offering too. He certainly knows the answer to both of those.’
‘Frankie, to be honest with you, I don’t care. I don’t care about the whys and what fors. All I know is that they’ve been a thorn in my side and now you’re coming out with this nonsense about being a work rider instead of a jockey.’ He regarded her for an angry moment. ‘I don’t owe you anything. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire you right now?’
The panic flooded to Frankie’s feet at the mention of that dreaded word. God, why had she even opened her mouth to begin with? She should have compromised. Isn’t that what everyone said life was about? She should have remained in her role as amateur jockey. At least then she’d be staying at Aspen Valley. How could she bear to leave this place? The set-up was so magnificent, traditional yet modern, relaxed yet efficient. She’d never been prouder of any job she’d had. She was a fool to have told Jack she wanted to quit. What about the horses? Ta’ Qali and Dory, even that bugger Dusty Carpet whose day wasn’t complete without throwing her off at least once. Faced with the threat of losing it all, she realised just how much the horses completed her too.
Jack still glared at her. Maybe that question hadn’t been rhetorical. Maybe he was giving her a chance—if she could think of one good reason. Her eyes darted around the room as she tried to think of something, anything.
‘Ta’ Qali,’ she blurted. ‘That’s why you should keep me on. Let me work with him. If I can find the key to unlock that potential then I’m worth keeping on, aren’t I?
‘And how do you intend to “unlock” him? Not five minutes ago you were just as clueless as me.’
Her gaze alighted on the curb chain which Jack had hung up. An idea began to take shape in her mind and she swallowed the doubts that surrounded it.
‘Just give me a few weeks. If I’m right about him then you’ll probably end up getting the sale you wanted. Not only that, you’ll probably also end up with a champion if his work at home is anything to go by. With Virtuoso retired now, you’ve really only got Dexter flying the flag for Aspen Valley. You’re going to need your novices to step up. I’m good with them, you’ve said so yourself. Let me stay and bring on the youngsters.’ She gestured outside. ‘You’ve even got two more today which will need schooling.’
A muscle pulsed in Jack’s jaw. Frankie could imagine his brain whirring through the possibilities, holding up her suggestions, tossing them into the fire.
‘Please, Jack,’ she whispered.
‘There are riders who could be just as good bringing on the novices,’ he said.
‘Perhaps, but none of them have figured out Ta’ Qali.’
‘And neither have you, may I remind you.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Fine. But you’ve got two weeks. No more. We’re taking him to Aintree. There’s a decent novice hurdle earmarked for him.’
‘On the Grand National card?’ quailed Frankie.
‘You said it yourself, Ta’ Qali has the potential. If you manage to “unlock” him then that race should be a doddle for him. If he performs.’
Frankie swallowed. Jack was no push over, that was for certain.
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then you’re out. Deal?’
It might not be very secure, but it was a lifeline. She had to have faith. She nodded.
‘Deal.’
‘We’re not going to mention this to anybody right now, okay? And I mean no one. I don’t want any more press stress with the National in just a fortnight. You’re to stay on as amateur jockey until the end of the season. And now, I’m going home. I’m late and I’m hungry.’
Frankie sunk back against the wall as Jack strode out of the room. She closed her eyes and prayed, really prayed that her theory would prove not as whimsical as it sounded in her head.
Chapter 53
Rhys’s absence from Frankie’s everyday life had settled into a dull ache, made especially poignant in the evenings when she had little else to occupy her thoughts. So it was with a temporary relief that she attended her Girl Guides meeting the following Wednesday. At last, as the girls began filtering out of the hall, squealing as they dashed through the rain to their waiting parents, Frankie grasped a moment alone with Cassa.
‘Cassa, have you got a minute?’ she stage whispered, one eye still on Bronwyn, their matriarch Guider In Charge. ‘How are you getting home tonight?’
‘Taxi,’ Cassa replied with a shrug.
‘How about I give you a lift?’
‘Thanks, but I don’t think so.’
‘Is your mum at work?’
‘Yeah.’
Frankie bit back her grin of excitement.
‘You remember the Golden Miller singing competition?’
Cassa looked wounded at the thought.
‘Yeah.’
Frankie leaned in closer so absolutely no one could overhear.
‘It’s the Final tonight and they’ve asked me to ask you if you’ll make a special appearance.’
Cassa’s eyes bulged.
‘Seriously?’
‘Shh. Yes, seriously. So I ask again, how about I give you a lift home?’
Cassa giggled and covered her mouth, darting a quick look in Bronwyn’s direction.
‘Okay,’ she nodded. ‘But why do they want me back? Am I back in the competition?’
‘No, you’re out of the competition, but there was a bit of a mutiny when the customers heard you weren’t in it. Then one of the other finalists withdrew so they had to ask the person who got voted off in favour of you to step in. You’re to be their special guest.’
‘Oh my God,’ squeaked Cassa. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
‘I do have some sensibilities. If I told you earlier you wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on your GFI Circus Skills. Do you think you could sing without having a song prepared?’
Cassa grabbed Frankie’s hand and dragged her towards the exit.
‘I’ve got loads of songs prepared! Come on! Let’s go!’
*
Pulling up outside the pub, Frankie simultaneously went cold with dread at seeing it so packed any self-respecting sardine would have objected, but also giddy with relief that her hints about Cassa’s appearance dropped in Mrs Banks’s company on Sunday had not been in vain.
With the rain still lashing down, the pair sprinted to the doors. Gripping Cassa’s hand in hers, Frankie weaved through the masses to the bar. She was surprised to see Tom in his usual corner in conversation with Pippa and Emmie and Billy.
‘Hiya, Frankie!’ Pippa waved, raising her fruit juice and her voice above the anticipatory hum of the crowds.
‘Hey, Pippa. Haven’t seen you here in a while.’
‘Tell me about it. I heard tonight was going to be a blast so Jack gave me the night off.’
Frankie smiled at Emmie.
‘Back at the scene of the crime, are you?’
‘I’d say the crime had been committed a good few months earlier and certainly not here, thank God,’ she replied with a wry grin.
‘This is Cassa, everyone.’ Frankie manoeuvred the teenager in front of her. ‘She’s going to sing the opening number tonight. Hey, Joey!’
Pausing in mid-pull of a Guinness, Joey cheered when he saw Cassa.
‘The diva’s back! Good to see you here, Cassa. Thanks for stepping in at the last minute.’
Perhaps overwhelmed by the bustling crowds, Cassa’s greeting was little more than a squeak.
‘You’re on in about ten minutes. I’ll just finish this order then let the judges know you’re here.’
‘Thanks, Joey,’ Frankie said.
‘No, thank you,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but this place is heaving. Everyone’s been asking about Cassa.’
Frankie beamed with pride and turned back to her party.
‘Have you heard Cassa sing?’ she asked them.
‘No, but I’m really looking forward to it,’ Pippa said to Cassa. ‘I’ve heard great things about you.’ She turned her attention back to Frankie. ‘There’s also another reason I’m here tonight. It’s to give you these.’ She dipped into her handbag and held out a couple of coloured badges.
Frankie turned them over on her palm and looked at Pippa questioningly.
‘Owners’ badges?’
‘Yes. For the Grand National.’
Frankie stood, frozen to the spot. Was this a sick joke?
‘Sorry, Pippa. I can’t accept these.’
‘No, please take them. Really, I feel bad about what’s happened. You were meant to ride Peace Offering. Since you gave it to Rhys, Jack has become so much easier to live with.’
‘I–I can’t take these,’ Frankie stammered. She tried to give them back, but Pippa pushed her hands away.
‘Please take them. There’s only two, I’m afraid. That’s all I could spare. But I remember you saying the Grand National meant a lot to your father, so I thought he might like to come along too, to act as owner for a day.’
Frankie opened and shut her mouth. On the one hand, going along to Aintree and watching Rhys ride Peace Offering would be torturous. On the other hand, it would be rather pleasant to mill around the parade ring without feeling nauseous with nerves. She hesitated again. Ta’ Qali’s race would be just prior to the National. What if her theory failed and she lost her job? How awkward would that be?
‘Take them, Frankie!’ Billy said in exasperated tones. ‘For God’s sake, how many people get to do the whole la-di-da with the National favourite?’
‘I know, and it’s very kind of you, Pippa, but—’
‘But what?’
‘Your dad will enjoy it,’ Tom piped up.
‘D’you think?’ Frankie was doubtful.
‘Yeah. You said he always wanted to win the National. If Peace Offering wins, then as acting owner, he will have.’
She swayed. In a bizarre way, it did make sense.
‘Well…’
‘Oh, go on. Don’t make me beg,’ Pippa urged.
‘Okay then,’ she said with a weak smile. She dropped the badges into her handbag. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ Pippa beamed. She looked beyond Frankie and frowned. ‘Um, I think the barman’s trying to get your attention.’
Frankie swivelled round. Joey was up on the stage at the far end of the restaurant area, waving like a windscreen wiper. He motioned her and Cassa to come join him.
‘You ready?’ she said, gripping the girl’s shoulders.
Cassa gulped and nodded.
*
Head down, Frankie shouldered the way clear to the stage with Cassa on her heels. With her eyes fixe
d on the floor, she didn’t notice the person attached to a pair of flatties until she’d bumped straight into them.
‘Sorry, excuse—’ Her apology evaporated on her lips as her eyes met Mrs Preston’s. ‘Oh, God.’
Mrs Preston, dressed in a starched uniform, stood rigid with rage.
Cassa bumped into Frankie from behind and shrunk back when she saw her mother.
‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’
Cassa gawped. Frankie gawped.
‘I didn’t believe it was true when the A&E receptionist congratulated me on your–your shenanigans.’ She shook her head at her daughter. ‘I said my Cassa isn’t a pub singer, she’s at Girl Guides. Now, I see I was wrong. I’m so disappointed in you, Cassa. What on earth were you thinking? Singing in a bar like some sleazy lounge singer? You’re thirteen!’ She turned her laser glare onto Frankie. ‘And you. As a Girl Guide leader, you are meant to be responsible! Sensible! A good influence on young girls! What do you call this? You ought to be ashamed!’
Frankie was. Very. A heat wave blush burned across her face and neck.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Preston.’
‘I don’t want to hear your apologies!’ She grabbed Cassa by the wrist. ‘Come on, I’m taking you home. And don’t think this is the end of it. You’re grounded, young lady. And as for you, Miss Cooper,’ she said her name with distaste. ‘I’ll be straight onto the phone to Bronwyn about this. You’re not fit to be in charge of young girls.’
Cassa wrenched her arm out of her mother’s grasp.
‘It’s not Frankie’s fault, Mum!’ she cried.
Frankie saw Mrs Preston’s nostrils flare as she sucked in her breath. At this rate Cassa wouldn’t be allowed out of the house until her eighteenth birthday.
‘It’s okay, Cassa. Your mum’s right. I should’ve known better.’
‘But it was my idea! I made you enter me in the competition.’
Mrs Preston looked dumbstruck by her outburst. Cassa took advantage.
‘Frankie was just giving me a ride home. It was me who saw the sign for the competition. I was the one who entered.’
Mrs Preston’s lip curled in disgust.
‘But why would you want to do such a thing? I don’t understand. Is this some sort of teenage rebellion—trying to get my attention?’
Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) Page 34
