Chapter 13: Gianluca
I didn’t socialise much with George and Roberto. George avoided bars and nightclubs and frankly any place where liquor was involved. Roberto was about my age at that time, but apart from our love of Facebook and chat sites we had little else in common. He was rather scared of me, but he also found me utterly fascinating. That was the problem with all those vampire movies. Roberto was totally intrigued by the fact that I was a vampire, but found it hard to deal with the day-to-day business of my need to feed. He annoyed me at times and I think he would have left if he’d known how often I thought of killing him.
What others would call partying was more like hunting to me – finding the latest clever way of sneaking a few pints without being noticed. I had the impression that Roberto found it pretty distasteful at times. One vice we all three had in common was horse-racing or, more accurately, betting. Roberto’s family kept horses and he was very knowledgeable on whether a horse looked good or not. I needed to get close enough to the horses to smell their blood, then I could tell which were ill or too nervous.
In summer, the racetrack at Cagnes sur Mer near Nice, l’Hippodrome de la Côte d’Azur, held evening race meetings and we would occasionally go for a boy’s night out. George would always moan that it was trots. In his eyes, it was just unnatural not to let a horse gallop.
‘Stupid buggies! And then the poor horse gets disqualified for what comes naturally to him,’ he complained.
‘The French like it. Now, come on, George, let’s smell the horses and make some money,’ I said heading for the paddock.
‘Some people speak English here, Cameron, so let’s keep your weirdness under wraps,’ said George.
Roberto and I soon sniffed out the winner – Goliath Dancer – and we were both confident enough to put a hundred euros each on the nose. George wasn’t convinced. ‘I’ve seen that jockey before and he’s a right porker. I mean, they’ve got it all wrong here. Fat jockeys, trots, buggies. Grrr!’
‘Let it go, George. Trust us. Goliath Dancer is a winner and the weight of the jockey isn’t that important in trots,’ I said.
Reluctantly, he put some money down on the horse too and we headed to the stands to watch the race. Goliath Dancer didn’t disappoint and the starting price wasn’t bad so we walked away with a 600 euro profit each.
We headed back to the paddock to assess the next lot of horses. Roberto fancied a fantastic looking bay colt called Nelson’s Revenge, but I could smell that something wasn’t right.
‘What do you sense, Cameron? He looks in great form,’ Roberto asked.
‘It’s his heart. It doesn’t seem right,’ I said, taking in another deep breath.
‘Do you think it’s serious?’ asked Roberto.
‘I don’t know, I’m not a vet. He just smells like a sick animal,’ I said.
‘Do you think he could die if he runs?’ Roberto asked.
‘Dunno, but I’m certainly not betting on this one,’ I said, concentrating on another horse.
‘I think we should tell his trainer,’ Roberto said with urgency in his voice – the race was due to start in a few minutes.
‘And tell him what, Roberto? Your horse smells funny – he may or may not have a heart condition.’ I looked him in the eye sternly to convince him to let it go.
‘He’s right, Roberto. We can’t have Cameron becoming the fucking horse whisperer now. His veterinarian advice would probably be to bleed the horse,’ quipped George
‘But Monsieur Blair! The horse could die!’ Roberto pleaded.
It annoyed me that Roberto always called me Monsieur Blair when he got upset or nervous. ‘Let it go! The horse will probably be fine,’ I said.
But Roberto cared way too much for horses to let it go. He ran up to the entrance of the paddock and started to make frantic enquiries about the trainer of Nelson’s Revenge.
‘Silly boy. He’ll look like a right idiot in a moment,’ said George watching the scene unfold.
Roberto managed to say a few words to the trainer, but was waved away impatiently, and soon the horses were on the track. Roberto walked back over to us.
‘What did he say?’ George asked, with mildly concealed boredom. He really wasn’t an animal person.
‘He said the vet checked him over before the race and said he was fine.’
‘Well, there you have it. From the horse’s mouth. The horse has been checked and it’s fine,’ I said walking away to the stands.
We watched the race even though we hadn’t had time with all Roberto’s antics to put money on it.
Nelson’s Revenge came second and did seem to be fine. ‘See Roberto? I’m not a vet. He was probably just nervous before the race,’ I told him.
‘Ok, Cameron. I don’t know what you sensed but I got worried for the horse,’ said Roberto, shrugging his shoulders.
We had a couple more successful bets and were in high spirits as we waited to cash them in when suddenly, a man grabbed Roberto from behind and spun him round to face him. ‘How did you know my horse was ill?’ he demanded and we could see he was upset.
‘But he isn’t! He was fine! He came second,’ Roberto said, startled.
‘He just collapsed in his horse box – massive heart attack, the vet said. How the hell did you know?’ The man searched Roberto’s face for an explanation.
‘See, it’s his friend here who’s a bit psychic,’ piped up George, drily, trying to defuse the situation.
‘I can sense now and then if an animal is sick,’ I explained to Nelson’s trainer, taking George’s cue before trouble flared. Intrigued, the trainer began to question me and we all talked for a while before the racecourse was due to close and we needed to leave.
‘You must visit my stable and look at my horses,’ the trainer said, as we were leaving.
‘I’m sure it was just a lucky guess. I don’t think you want Cameron near your horses,’ said George trying to steer me away from the man.
‘Come now, George. I’m sure Roberto would love to visit this man’s stable and I may get another of my hunches,’ I said pulling myself free from George’s grip, well aware of why he thought I should stay away.
The trainer introduced himself as Gianluca Parnella and gave us directions to his stables near Draguinan about an hour’s drive from Cannes. We agreed to visit him there one night.
‘Whatever you do Roberto, don’t leave him alone with this man’s horses,’ said George, with a grin on his face.
‘You two are just horrid! I got myself a sweet little gig as a horse whisperer and you’re already trying to spoil my fun. You know the guys in the middle ages might have had it right after all. Bleeding is a cure for all major ailments,’ I mock-ranted, while we walked to the car.
‘Hmmm, I think I’ll stick with modern science,’ said George. We got in the car and drove back to Cannes.
The next night, when I came on deck, Roberto and George were standing talking together. I had an idea that they were up to something when George gave Roberto a little nudge. The next thing I knew, the idiot was waving a teabag in my face.
‘What are you doing with that?’ I asked.
‘It’s verveine, or verbena in English,’ he said mischievously.
‘And?’ I asked even more confused.
‘I don’t think it’s working, George,’ said Roberto upset.
‘What the fuck are you two on this evening?’ I asked, looking from one to the other.
‘Verbena is meant to be like vampire kryptonite,’ explained George.
‘According to whom?’ I asked.
‘Vampire Diaries,’ said Roberto.
‘Which is...?’
‘Latest teen vampire series,’ said George.
‘Oh goody! One I haven’t seen yet. Now, give me that teabag.’ I tore it open and rubbed the herb between my fingers, but it did nothing to me.
‘Sorry boys. You’ll have to think of something else to keep me in check,’ I said amused.
‘There’s always t
he mirror thing,’ George told Roberto. ‘Cameron is shit-scared of them!’
I wasn’t best pleased that George had revealed this to Roberto; I didn’t want him to know my weaknesses.
‘Nah! Get a mirror, George,’ I said nonchalantly. It had been nearly a hundred years since I’d looked in a mirror. I was anxious, but curious at the same time. Rather too keenly for my liking, Roberto ran below deck and reappeared shortly after with a mirror. He held it excitedly in front of him pointing it at me. There was nothing there. No body, no reflection. The Flanders mud obviously didn’t preserve flesh all that well! I smiled and sprang my fangs at Roberto.
‘I’m dangerous and totally invincible now!’ I hissed, turning to do my best Count Dracula impersonation, simulating hiding my fangs behind a cape. Then I set off for a night on the town.
Roberto and I took a drive out to Gianluca’s stables the following week. Before we left, Roberto pleaded with George to come with us, but he was going for his weekly poker game in Antibes. He couldn’t miss the chance of sitting around with other expats complaining about the French and the impossibility of getting a decent cup of tea.
‘But Mr Baxter! What do I do if Mr Blair gets alone with a horse,’ pleaded Roberto.
‘Roberto! Cut the Mr shit, it’s very annoying. Fuck me, this boy would make a terrible poker player,’ said George. Roberto’s nervous tick annoyed him too.
‘I promise I’ll behave,’ I assured them. No way! Any chance of a meal and I will take it.
‘I’m sure Cameron here will show restraint and not hurt the horses. Besides, horses are big animals. They should be OK in any case,’ said George, not sounding in the least bothered.
‘These are thoroughbreds. The smallest thing can unsettle them,‘ Roberto insisted. ‘It’s been known for a horse to die just because they changed his feed!’
But George wouldn’t budge. He really didn’t care one way or the other, so Roberto and I set off, just the two of us.
Gianluca’s stables and paddocks were in the middle of the lavender fields. Roberto kept telling me how delightful it was, but all I could sense was the smell of his blood and his calm heartbeat. Never ask a vampire if he can smell that delightful smell! I didn’t think his heartbeat would’ve been quite so calm if he’d known what I was thinking. I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator to distract myself and soon we were driving up a dusty driveway surrounded by cypress trees. It was about ten o’clock at night and Gianluca was surprised we had come so late.
‘I always sense the horse better when it’s calm in the stable and there’s nothing to get the horse nervous or excited,’ I explained, ‘so night is better.’
He gave us a tour around the stables and Roberto let his knowledge of horses show. ‘You should come and work for me,’ Gianluca told him and I smiled. It was more likely that Gianluca would work for Roberto one day, given his father’s wealth.
He led us up to the stable of his latest star, Northern Palladium; an exquisite grey filly with what he assured me was an impeccable pedigree. He opened the stable door and we had a good look at her.
‘She was very promising as a three-year-old, but recently she just seems… I don’t know, she just doesn’t run right. The vet can’t find anything wrong with her, but to me she seems a bit listless,’ Gianluca said, stroking the filly’s neck.
‘She’s a very healthy horse.’ I stroked her neck too and whispered her sweet nothings. I didn’t know what to say to the man. I could detect nothing wrong with the horse. Maybe she just didn’t want to race. ‘Can I have a moment alone with her?’ I heard myself say.
‘Monsieur Blair. Are you sure?’ I heard Roberto say. His voice had risen high.
‘Sure,’ said Gianluca. ‘We’ll be just outside. Take your time,’ and he led Roberto away.
I found a nice vein in the filly’s neck and took a few pints. Northern Palladium moved about uneasily in her stable, trying to pull away from the creature that had latched on to her neck, but she didn’t make enough noise to give me away.
‘I’m not sure it helped, but I gave the girl a wee pep talk,’ I said coming out of the stables. ‘Now, let’s see your other horses.’
Gianluca ran a good stable and the horses were all well kept and in excellent physical condition. Gianluca told Roberto he could visit any time if he fancied riding and Roberto said he’d certainly take him up on the offer as he’d missed riding since he’d come to France. We said our goodbyes and asked Gianluca to keep us informed about Northern Palladium.
Needless to say, she didn’t do any better at her next outings, coming sixth at Vincennes and fifth in Evreux. We decided we’d watch her run at her next visit to the Hippodrome de la Côte d’Azur and went to see her and Gianluca in the stables before the race. When I started speaking, she became agitated and moved about restlessly in her enclosure. When she was led out to the paddock she was still being difficult and when they put the buggy behind her she tried to kick the groom.
Gianluca joined us in the stands to watch the race. ‘I haven’t seen her worked up like this since she was a three-year-old. Something must have spooked her,’ he told us.
‘Cameron probably told her she’d be dog food if she didn’t get her ass in gear and start running,’ George quipped.
‘George! That’s a horrible thing to say. I did nothing of the sort,’ I said, in mock indignation.
Northern Palladium was like a different horse that splendid summer night, and as the outsider she made us a lot of money. After the race we spoke to her trainer again.
‘My God, Gianluca! She was on fire,’ I said to him.
‘I know! I have no idea why.’
I saw my opportunity to add some more ‘wisdom’. ‘I think she needs a bit of a fright before the race. When she got startled I felt her adrenaline pumping and it was almost as though she woke up suddenly. I know it isn’t normally a good thing to frighten a horse, but I think she needs it.’
‘Well, I’ll try it with the next race and we will see what happens,’ said Gianluca.
Frightening one horse without spooking the others isn’t easy, so at Northern Palladium’s next outing at Vincennes, Gianluca parked the horse box a small distance away from the others and then hit the side of the box with an iron crowbar. Northern Palladium reared up in the box and she was ready for her race. She beat the others by a length.
We saw her again when Roberto and I paid Gianluca another visit at his ranch. I didn’t know it at the time but Roberto had his eye on a filly of another kind, the daughter-of-the-boss kind. Northern Palladium had changed. She was much more nervous and became even more jittery when she spotted me.
‘I think we’ve frightened her enough, Gianluca. Best to go back to normal,’ I told him
‘I agree. She’s becoming a little too nervous,’ he said, stroking her nose to calm her down.
Gianluca had mixed success with her after that, but he introduced me anyway to some of his fellow trainers and horse owners as a sort of horse psychic. It became known that I had done something to improve Northern Palladium and I became quite friendly with the trainers and jockeys at the course. After a while, I had no trouble gaining access to the stables and the horses. To my credit, I did pick up a few things the vets hadn’t. I explained to Roberto that I was probably doing more good than harm to the racing community, but he remained unconvinced and became even more wary of me.
It entertained me to make him feel uncomfortable, but George warned me to go easy on the lad. After all, Roberto was one of the few people who knew I was a vampire and was still willing to work for me. He’d be hard to replace if he left.
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