‘Out here, darling!’ Sally G called from out the back. ‘Just opened a bottle. Grab a glass and come and join me.’
Glad of a distraction, Ginny hunted out a wine glass and went to sit out on the patio.
‘Was that Julien Larocque I saw walking you home like a perfect gentleman?’ Sally G fished.
‘Only because of what happened this morning.’
‘Kerry told me. Terrible thing to go through, darling.’
‘He just wanted to find out about Caspian.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sally G smirked.
‘Of course. He is our next door neighbour. I would be concerned if a syringe containing some deadly poison was found in his yard.’
‘Would you walk him home?’
‘He lives at the yard,’ she pointed out.
‘You know what I mean,’ Sally G laughed.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, Sally G.’ Ginny lifted her chin with a stubborn tilt.
‘Course you do. He’s come over to see you before as well, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘And Kerry told me what a hero he’d been when you fell off.’
‘My God, does Kerry tell you everything?’ Ginny said in exasperation.
‘Only when you don’t.’
‘And I only tell you things when they actually exist. Julien Larocque and I can hardly hold a civil conversation with each other.’
‘You both looked happy enough just now.’
‘Sally G!’ Ginny couldn’t help smiling. ‘Were you spying on me?’
‘No, of course not, darling. I just happened to be down the side of the house watering some flowers.’
‘Well, okay,’ she conceded. ‘We weren’t arguing then but that’s a rare occasion.’ Or was it though, she wondered? So much had happened in the last few weeks; it seemed a lifetime since she’d had a go at Julien after Kenya’s defeat against Samurai Prince. Since then…well, Ginny supposed that they had subconsciously decided to put aside their differences and try work through the trauma of Mark Rushin together.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tuesday morning of the following week found Ginny in her office, watching recordings of past performances of three of her horses who would be racing that afternoon. She was just about to change tape when she heard a knock on the door. It was Kerry, and Ginny could tell by the pink tinge to her cheeks that something exciting had happened.
‘Have you read today’s Racing Post?’ she said, brandishing a copy of the newspaper.
‘No, what’s up?’
‘Mark Rushin has been arrested!’
‘What!’ Ginny cried.
‘I know! Shocking, isn’t it? Look, here.’ Kerry slapped the folded paper down on the desk and pointed at the fuzzy picture of Mark being escorted into a police station by three policemen. Rushin Reined In shouted the headline.
Early yesterday morning, businessman and racing owner, Mark Rushin, was taken into custody following allegations of race fixing around the country. His nephew, jockey Damien Woods, was also taken in for questioning. It is unknown as yet, the full charges being brought against Rushin, but it is believed that he and Woods are being accused of stopping horses in numerous races countrywide…
‘Oh, God,’ Ginny moaned. ‘How could he?’
‘Did you know about this? Is that why Kenya left so suddenly?’ Kerry barraged her with questions.
‘What? Yes – no! I don’t know. How could he? After he promised.’
‘Sorry, didn’t know you were still on speaking terms.’
‘No, not Mark,’ Ginny wailed, cradling her head in her hands. ‘He’s gone and ruined everything!’
Kerry bit her lip and looked at Ginny with concern.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have shown you this.’
‘Sorry, Kerry. I – I think I need to be by myself right now if that’s okay.’
With Kerry gone, Ginny let the tears of stress and frustration which had been building up over the last few weeks spill over. The Ginny she once knew would have stormed over to Cobalt Lodge, all guns blazing, and demanded an explanation, but now she felt too tired to fight. Emotionally drained, she could only sit there, holding her head in her hands and stare through a kaleidoscope of tears as they fell on the paper in front of her, at the tear-stained colour photograph of Mark Rushin, looking extremely annoyed, being bustled away. First, there had been Charlie’s betrayal. Then she had allowed herself to get close to Mark, and he had done the same thing. Then, against her better judgement, she had let herself feel – well, she wasn’t too sure what, but it was something – towards Julien. Now he had betrayed her too. And he had looked so sincere when he promised not to tell anyone. How could anyone be that cold-hearted? She didn’t want Julien to be cold-hearted! She felt like she was balancing on a tiny rock in the middle of a huge ocean, deserted by those she’d put her trust in, just waiting for the big breaker to sweep her to her doom. And that breaker, she knew, would be Mark’s threat against Caspian and Ravenhill.
*
It was harder than she’d expected to avoid Julien. He seemed to be around every corner. She even saw him at Tesco the one evening, and had ended up only buying half of what she wanted, just so she wouldn’t bump into him. She couldn’t face him. She didn’t have any more energy to fight him with, yet she couldn’t forgive him for betraying her.
News reports had confirmed Mark had been charged with fraud, but they had said the authorities had been tipped off by ‘an anonymous source’. Mark would immediately think it was her, and she had lain awake in bed each night imagining what he would do to make her pay the consequences. How foolish could she be, to think that she could’ve persuaded Julien Larocque to do anything – he was a law unto himself – and also have believed him when he promised to keep her secret?
*
The weekend arrived and Ginny stepped out of the ordered taxi, reluctant to face the evening ahead. She hadn’t wanted to come but everyone had insisted that it would do her good. Henry and Monica Saunders, nee Sutton, were now married and judging by the laughter and shouts coming from within the Suttons’ old Georgian house, were celebrating the occasion to their utmost. She didn’t want to be here at their Reception where everyone was so happy when she felt so low. Especially since she had come alone. When she had sent her RSVP, she had written Mark as her partner, naively believing that come the wedding, things would be just as rosy as they had been then. It felt a little daunting as she approached the wide steps leading up to a huge white front door. She stopped at their base, hearing the cheerful banter beyond the red brick walls.
I’m bound to know some people here, she thought, trying to bolster her confidence as a wave of vulnerability washed over her. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down her dress and readjusted her cream pashmina across her shoulders.
‘Right, let’s go, Kennedy,’ she muttered and strode, with what she hoped was a confident stride, up the steps.
There were two vast entertainment rooms at the front of the house, each with their own hallways leading out to the rear. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, she weaved her way through the packed rooms, smiling in greeting at faces she recognised, but giving an inaudible groan as she stepped through the wide French doors onto the deck and saw Julien sitting at one of a number of painted wrought iron garden tables.
He saw her at the same time, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. His face was unreadable, only his dark eyes portraying his annoyance. Not knowing why he should be annoyed with her, she searched for a hint of remorse or guilt – anything to prove he wasn’t the cold-hearted person who had betrayed her trust, but she couldn’t find it.
Unfurling from his chair like a panther, he walked towards her, and for a moment before the panic sunk in, she indulged herself with admiring his good looks, the white shirt which was moulded against his chest undone by a couple of buttons, and his tall athletic body looking so unforgivably delicious. Reality reasserted itself when she
realised he was coming towards her. Her eyes darted around, searching for a way to escape. She looked towards the huge white marquee on the lawn and wandered if she should make a dash for it. Before she could act though, someone else appeared in front of her.
‘Ginny, you made it!’ Monica exclaimed, greeting her with a couple of enthusiastic air kisses. Glimpsing Julien over Monica’s shoulder, Ginny watched him stop in his tracks then irritably change course. She gave a small sigh of relief before turning her attention back to her companion.
‘Monica,’ Ginny smiled. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. Oh, I’m so in love.’ She clasped her hands together and pressed them against her heart. ‘Henry’s so wonderful. And he remembered all his lines.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.’
Monica’s expression of bliss was replaced with shock. Her hands flew to her mouth.
‘Goodness, where are my manners! Let’s get you some bubbly.’
Ginny let herself be hustled over to an outside bar lit with fairy lights.
‘This is a lovely place you’ve got here,’ she commented.
Monica passed some fresh champagne to her guest just as a reedy dark-haired man joined them, sliding his arm around her plump waist.
‘I’m having to downgrade to Henry’s little place now,’ Monica replied with a wicked smile.
Under any other circumstances, Ginny probably wouldn’t have recognised his bland looks but here she instantly remembered Henry Saunders, Cambridge law graduate and heir to the considerable fortunes of Saunders Pharmaceuticals.
‘When I ask you to hoover the place next time, I shall remind you of those words,’ he responded to Monica’s teasing. His bride giggled and gave him a quick kiss.
‘Henry, this is Ginny. Ginny, Henry. Ginny and I were at school together.’
‘Of course, I remember Ginny. Great to see you again. I saw you at Goodwood not so long ago. A fine horse you had running in the Cup. Doncaster the next step?’
‘We hope so. A lot can happen in a couple of weeks though,’ Ginny replied, thinking of Mark.
*
As complete darkness stole over the cool evening, the atmosphere of the party warmed up and the DJ in the marquee was kept busy with requests. Ginny had seen more people that she knew than she’d at first predicted, and only on a couple of occasions had she needed to make a quick exit when Julien appeared.
Taking a respite from the festivities, Ginny slipped out the back of the marquee where she was faced with the soothing sight of a fabulous garden, decorated with copses of trees and long exotic-looking plants. In a smaller garden it would just be a suffocating busy space, but here, the lawn, with its undulations and rockeries, was perfect for the rich abundance of foliage. Sliding out of her heels, she let the dewy moistness of the grass ease the aches and pains of standing on her feet all day. She swung her shoes in one hand, holding her glass of wine in the other and, following the glow lamps which lit the way, wandered away from the hullabaloo. She stopped at a pond, hidden by large butterfly bush from the house and dipped a toe in the water, making the moon’s reflection ripple.
‘Hello there, Ginny.’
Ginny gave a gasp and spun round in alarm, dropping her half-drunk glass into the water. Mark Rushin stood only a few feet away from her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, trembling.
‘Security’s not quite up to scratch,’ he smiled. The night cast sinister shadows across his face. ‘No surprise to see you here though. Trying to drum up a bit of business, are you? Did you tell them what high maintenance you are?’
The mention of lax security made Ginny feel even more vulnerable, but for a moment his insults leant her courage.
‘High maintenance? You didn’t maintain anything except your own corrupt hide!’ she retorted.
‘You’ve been busy though, haven’t you?’ he said, stepping closer.
The smell of alcohol-tainted breath drifted over to her and Ginny wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. If he was drunk, he could do anything to her and she didn’t fancy being drowned in a garden pond.
‘Why are you here?’ she said in a small voice. ‘You were arrested.’
‘I’ve been released on bail. Unlucky for you, isn’t it?’
‘Mark! I didn’t go to the police!’ Ginny insisted with wide desperate eyes.
‘Well, who did you tell?’ Mark’s voice rose in anger.
‘No one, I promise. Look, it wasn’t me who went to them.’ She stepped back and felt the stone border of the pond rub cold against her heel. Mark sneered.
‘I don’t believe you, Ginny. After all the help and support I tried to give you, you just threw it back in my face. And even when I sent you reminders, you still didn’t take any notice –’
A rustling of leaves and heavy determined footsteps cut short his speech, and before either of them knew what was happening, Julien appeared from the main pathway. He strode up to Mark, took one effortless swing and thumped him hard on the nose. The crunching sound made Ginny wince. She looked in horror, from Julien, whose face looked thunderous, to Mark, who was streaming blood onto his white shirt.
‘You bastard,’ Mark said, tenderly touching his nose. ‘You’ve broken my nose, you –’
‘I don’t want you talking to Ginny like that again,’ Julien hissed, leaning forward and holding out a threatening finger. ‘If I hear about you blackmailing and threatening her again, I will make you very sorry, Rushin. Very sorry.’
‘Wha-?Julien?’ Ginny began, dismay overwhelming her. ‘What have you done now?’
‘Come on, I’m taking you home.’ Gripping her arm, he steered her out of the shrubbery, leaving a surprised-looking Mark Rushin nursing his nose.
*
Unable to make a scene in front of so many guests, Ginny thought Julien was taking no chances by guiding her, a bit roughly for comfort, round the back of the marquee and the unlit side of the house towards the car park.
‘Ow, Julien. You’re hurting me! Let me go!’
He stopped and she wrenched herself free. She rubbed her finger-imprinted bare arm and glared at him. Julien glared back, his furious face swathed in shadows.
‘Why have you been ignoring me?’ he said, equally angry.
‘Because!’ Ginny cried, tears imminent. ‘Because you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone, but you did! You promised, and you lied, just like Mark did!’
Julien looked bewildered.
‘I what? I’m nothing like Mark Rushin! I didn’t say anything to anybody!’
‘You must have! Nobody else knows apart from you! And now look what you’ve done! You’ve made it even worse by breaking his nose. I’m sure you meant to rescue me, but I don’t need rescuing!’
‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ Julien repeated with vehemence.
‘Well, I didn’t, so that only leaves you. If you were doing it to help, I don’t know, Julien! But I don’t want your help! I don’t need your help! Now, just leave me alone.’
‘Ginny –’
He held out his hand to stop her, but the touch of his skin upon hers was too much, and Ginny raised her palm and slapped him hard on the cheek. Julien flinched, then looked at her levelly. His brown eyes darkened and a grim line formed where his curving lips had once been.
‘I’m going home. Just leave me…’ Ginny couldn’t finish. With a muffled sob, she hurried down to the driveway where a number of taxis were already waiting for their inebriated customers. She couldn’t look back at Julien. She couldn’t bear to look at his face and see what was written there. She didn’t want to fight anymore, but sometimes it just seemed he gave her no choice.
Chapter Thirty
Monday morning dawned grey and muggy, with the threat of rain in the air and in the heavy clouds above Newmarket. The call Ginny had been expecting came through at lunchtime. It was the police and they asked her if she would come down to the station to answer a few questions. Up until now she was still undecid
ed as to how much she should reveal about Mark, but then again, the damage was already done. If she told the truth, including the threats, he might be put away for definite. Pulling up outside the station, she decided to go with the truth, it was the easiest thing to do, and she wasn’t particularly good at lying.
In between sips of the lukewarm coffee provided, she retold the story of her involvement with Mark Rushin. The officer who was covering the case, asked the odd question, asking her to clarify certain circumstances.
At the end of it, Ginny felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Now that the police knew, they would make it all better.
‘Now that I’ve told you everything, what will happen now? I mean the reason I didn’t come forward before was because of the threats against Ravenhill. How can you be sure he’s not going to do it again?’
‘We’ll get a court order that rules he isn’t to come within a certain distance of you or your horses, or your place of work. With this evidence he’ll probably get a jail sentence for blackmail as well as corruption. The fraud case will take forever, and probably won’t even get to the Old Bailey before the New Year but he’ll be warned off from any racecourses. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Miss Kennedy.’
The officer stood up and held out his hand for Ginny to take, signalling the end of their interview. Ginny followed suit and smiled, relieved that this nightmare might now be over. But like an annoying fly at the window, the image of how Julien had betrayed her flitted into her mind again.
‘Just one last thing,’ she said as the officer went to hold the door open for her. ‘The person who spilt the beans – did he say why he did it? Or any explanation?’ She just wanted to understand why he would do this; maybe if she could find an inkling of sense she might be able to forgive him. The officer paused then shut the door again.
At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) Page 22
