Nothing.
She smoothed her booted sole across a dimple in the worn lounge carpet where it was curling away from the skirting board to reveal dirty oak floorboards. She idly wondered if it was worth leaving the floor bare and just giving it a sanding and a varnish rather than re-carpeting the whole thing. She could discuss it with Ollie and perhaps tomorrow he’d help move the furniture. Otherwise, Tash was coming to stay next weekend.
Pippa’s mouth twisted into a grim smile as she recalled how her best friend had cried off from Peace Offering’s race when she heard Ollie would be in attendance. Of course, Tash’s excuse had been completely different, claiming she had been shagless for nearly three weeks with Aladdin being away and was desperate for his return this weekend.
‘And you know what I can get like if I don’t get my full dosage of sex, Pip,’ Tash had added. ‘Especially if your boss is going to be there looking as desirable as banoffee pie and custard is to a struggling weight watcher.’
Pippa did know so wasn’t quite sure whether to believe Tash’s excuse or not. On the other hand, she was rather relieved that she wouldn’t have to cope with Ollie, Tash and Jack all at the same time. Tash was never shy when it came to telling Ollie what was on her mind and she doubted whether Jack would be either.
A glint of sunlight on metal caught her eye through the trees bordering the garden and Pippa’s pulse quickened. She watched as Ollie’s red Alfa Romeo turned into the driveway, bumping and dipping its way towards the cottage. She rushed to the front door, fumbling with her keys then hurtled down the two stone steps.
Ollie had got out and was looking, nonplussed, at the underside of his car.
‘Ollie! Where’ve you been?’ Pippa cried.
‘Traffic on the M25 was horrific,’ Ollie replied. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘It’s nearly two o’clock. Peace Offering’s race is at three-thirty!’
‘We’ve got plenty of time. Wincanton’s not that far from here.’
‘But we have to get our badges and see Peace Offering before the race, watch him in the paddock –’
‘Do we have time for a hello, happy to see you kiss?’ he asked.
At once, Pippa felt bad. Ollie had come all this way to see her and she was already having a go at him. He looked very boyish, but very dapper in his dark suit with pale blue silk tie and shirt, his hair, waxed and combed, now a little messed from the journey. He was obviously making an effort for the races.
She rounded the front of the car and took his hands in hers.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, kissing him.
‘I know.’ He arched her hands wide so he could look at her outfit and nodded his approval. In her black knee-length boots, topped by a red and black Grecian-style dress and stylish tartan coat, she curtsied to him.
‘You like?’ she giggled.
‘Oh, I like,’ Ollie nodded with conviction. He gazed longingly at the cottage. ‘You sure we don’t have time?’
‘Quite sure. The grand tour will have to wait until later, I’m afraid.’ She gave his hands a last squeeze and headed round to the passenger’s door.
‘A grand tour of the house wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,’ Ollie mumbled.
Pippa proudly held up her star-shaped owners’ badge for the course attendant to inspect before entering the paddock enclosure with Ollie beside her. Her nerves were resurfacing again and she sought out Ollie’s hand as they stepped across the springy grass. She scanned the groups of people within the ring.
‘There’s Jack!’ she said, pointing to the distant figure of the trainer, standing beside two other people, and quickened her step. Jack had the same harassed look on his face that he wore whenever he took phone calls from Lady Pennington. She scrutinised his company. The man was small and slight, his lizard-like throat raw from his too-tight collar and his mouth in a wide line of meekness, reminding Pippa of a hand puppet. The woman resembled a grizzly bear just back from the salon in her enormous fur coat and rouged cheeks and lips. A huge peach rose sprouted from her black Cossack hat like a crooked miner’s lamp.
‘That must be Lord and Lady Pennington,’ she whispered as they approached them.
‘Rubbing shoulders with aristocracy as well as the rich and famous?’ Ollie replied, sounding impressed.
‘Ooh, here come the horses,’ Pippa squeaked as the first horses were led into the parade ring by their handlers. She clutched Ollie’s hand and bounced on her toes with excitement for a couple of steps. Eagerly, she awaited Peace Offering’s entrance. ‘There he is!’ She pointed avidly to the tall bay horse strolling through the gap in the hedge. She tore her eyes away to gauge Ollie’s reaction.
He looked confused.
‘Why’s he half-shaved?’ he asked.
‘They’re clipped during the winter,’ Pippa explained. ‘Otherwise they would be too furry and sweat too much during hard workouts.’
She watched Peace Offering saunter around the outer edge of the ring, occasionally bashing against Emmie as he tried to take a mouthful of hedge leaves, and her chest swelled with pride. His close-cropped coat rippled sleek and tight over the long lean muscles and his black tail, trimmed and unknotted for the occasion, floated behind him like a princely cape.
They reached Jack and the Penningtons just as the jockeys spilt into the ring from the weighing room in a flood of colour.
‘Hello, Jack.’
Jack wheeled round, his expression a mixture of desperation and fury.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded, not quite concealing the trauma in his tone.
‘Delays on the motorway,’ she said. ‘Jack, this is Ollie. Ollie, this is Jack Carmichael.’
Regaining his composure, Jack nodded and held out his hand.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. He turned to the couple standing with him. ‘May I introduce Lord and Lady Pennington. This is Pippa, my secretary, and her partner.’
They shook hands then Lady Pennington turned her back on them in order to watch the horses and in a loud whisper in her husband’s ear commented,
‘What an unusual arrangement, inviting one’s staff along to the races and giving them owners’ badges. Makes you wonder what sort of relationship he has with his secretary.’
Jack rolled his eyes. He’d obviously had his fill of the Penningtons already.
‘Actually, Lady Pennington,’ Pippa raised her voice, ‘I do own a horse. Peace Offering, the horse Finn O’Donaghue chose to ride instead of your Smoking Ace, is mine.’ She gave the surprised woman a beaming smile.
‘Pippa,’ Jack growled beneath his breath.
Once the jockeys had mounted and were filing out of the ring towards the track, Pippa and Ollie followed the others towards the packed stands. With Lady Pennington clearing their path like a bulldozer, sending spectators sprawling, they climbed the steps of the Club Stand opposite the winning post. There wasn’t room for all five of them and Pippa had to settle for the row beneath the others. She shuffled along with Ollie on her left until they were directly in front of Jack and the Penningtons.
For the first time, Pippa looked out over the course, catching her breath as she did so. The sunshine, which had prevailed for the last few days, bathed the track’s inner golf course in a fresh emerald glow, the sand bunkers peeping out like pockets of gold. Behind the backstretch, the Somerset countryside rose up in a patchwork quilt of farmland to the pale blue sky. The huge screen opposite the stands showed the ten horses cantering down to the Start with their betting odds moving across the bottom.
‘Isn’t it beautiful,’ Pippa breathed.
‘Bloody cold,’ Ollie replied as a gust of wintery wind buffered the grandstands. ‘A pity we didn’t have time to put any bets on. Looks like Peace Offering is third favourite. He must have a chance.’
‘I hope so, although with no rain lately, Jack says the ground might ride a bit quick for him. I think the odds have been swayed since Finn opted to ride Peace Offering rather than Smoking Ace.’
�
�Well, that’s a good sign. He must have reason for wanting to ride our horse.’
Pippa refrained from telling him Finn’s excuse. Ollie might not appreciate it as much as she had. Instead, she watched the horses circling at the Start, loosening their muscles, their opaque breaths accumulating in a thin cloud around them. She glimpsed the starter climbing his rostrum.
The jockeys gathered up their reins, jogging towards the tape in readiness for the off.
Pippa took a deep gulping breath as they set off towards the first, Peace Offering’s white blaze bobbing in and out of sight in midfield. The first three jumps down the homestretch came in quick succession, the thunderous rumble of hooves being drowned out by the cheering crowd. The horse in the lead, which Pippa quickly identified through her racecard as Town Crier, swung the chasing field away from the enclosures at a brisk gallop towards the water jump. Peace Offering, with Finn aboard, was being niggled along as he struggled to keep up with the pace.
‘Come on, Peace Offering,’ she whispered, scrunching her racecard in her clenched fist. The bay horse pricked his ears approaching the water and lengthened his stride, soaring over while Finn sat motionless on his back. She beamed with pride as the commentator mentioned his impressive jump.
‘He’s a bit far back, isn’t he?’ Ollie shouted above the roar of the crowd.
‘I don’t know,’ Pippa shrugged in reply. ‘There’s still another two circuits to go.’
She chewed her bottom lip as Ollie’s observation became more apparent when the field of horses raced along the back straight. Town Crier led by four lengths, followed by the grey favourite, Smoking Ace. Another cluster of horses followed in his wake, behind which Peace Offering galloped hard to stay in contention. Only two other horses kept him company. The leader rounded the turn furthest away from the stands and headed downhill towards the obstacle that would take them into the homestretch again. Peace Offering was just landing after the previous open ditch, trailing by at least fifteen lengths.
‘Town Crier is keeping up a strong gallop here,’ the commentator’s voice could barely be heard above the noisy spectators. ‘With one circuit complete, the field is well strung out. Smoking Ace, in the hands of Mick Farrelly races handily in second. Three lengths back, Pastiche, Lumberjack, Silver Rock follow – Town Crier makes a bad mistake! Nods on landing. Smoking Ace closes the gap! Further back, Peace Offering heads a group of three and Fisherman’s Son brings up the rear and looks like being pulled up.’
Pippa hugged Ollie’s arm as, unblinking and breathless, she watched the horses tackle the three steeplechase fences in front of the grand stand once more. Smoking Ace drew up alongside Town Crier as they headed into their final circuit and the pair stretched over the water jump in tandem. The gap to the chasing field widened as they drew away.
Pippa cringed, noticing Finn start to push his mount for more speed. She compared her horse to the others racing around him. Some were beginning to drop back, their heads bobbing heavily as they tired. Peace Offering took off well away from the next open ditch, ballooning over. He didn’t seem tired at all, he just wasn’t fast enough, thought Pippa in anguish.
‘Smoking Ace now takes the lead as they jump the last in the back straight,’ cried the commentator, a renewed urgency creeping into his voice. ‘Town Crier blunders! Back in third, Pastiche is gaining. Silver Rock is upsides him. Next is Lumberjack – Lumberjack falls!’
Pippa moaned as the runners made hasty manoeuvres around the horse and jockey as they climbed to their feet, unharmed. Peace Offering, now in fifth was far enough back to avoid the pair without being hampered.
‘Now they enter the home straight for the last time!’ yelled the commentator. ‘Smoking Ace is all out and leads by four, make that five lengths. Town Crier is spent, He’s dropping back! Pastiche now moves into second as they take the third last – he’s given that fence a hefty clout! Peace Offering is battling it out with Silver Rock for fourth place…’
‘Come on, Peace Offering!’ Pippa cried, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘Go on, Finn! You can do it!’ She jumped up and down as the distance and strong early gallop now started to tell on the runners’ weary legs.
Peace Offering’s stride was lengthening. With the freedom of a loose rein, he stretched out his neck, eating into the gap between him and the three horses in front. In giant strides, he passed a wobbling Town Crier. Smoking Ace jumped the second last, brushing through the top and stumbled on landing. Pastiche wasn’t much more fluent. Finn sat tight on Peace Offering, keeping him balanced as he tackled the fence.
Behind them, Pippa was vaguely aware of other tired horses being pulled up or making such ghastly mistakes that their riders were tossed over their shoulders and into the ploughed up turf. The last jump loomed and the gap between Peace Offering and his two rivals ahead dwindled as he went into overdrive. Smoking Ace got in tight, but cleared it. Pastiche, a length behind, did the same. Another two lengths back, Peace Offering, feeling the sting of Finn’s whip, took off a stride too soon and paddled his way through the birch.
Pippa gasped and clung to Ollie’s arm for support. Finn sat back in his saddle, pulling on the reins and threw out an arm to keep from overbalancing. The bay horse scraped his nose along the churned up ground as he fought to keep his feet.
With a sigh of relief, Pippa watched them regain their balance and set off after the leaders once more. But their momentum was gone. After galloping three miles, it was an impossible task for them to build it up again with less than a furlong more to go.
The favourite, Smoking Ace, pulled further ahead and to the welcoming roar of the crowd, passed by the winning post two lengths clear of Pastiche. Another four lengths back, Peace Offering crossed the line, his neck stretched low and his nostrils curled wide to gulp in the cold air, out of gas, but still full of heart.
Pippa sagged, exhausted, and looked at Ollie.
He looked disenchanted.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘How much do we win?’ he replied.
Pippa shrugged.
‘Prize money won’t be huge. Maybe a grand then there’s jockeys’ and trainers’ percentage to be taken off that too.’
Ollie shook his head and Pippa exhaled with resignation. Was she going to get another lecture on how racehorses were a waste of money? Didn’t he understand? Couldn’t he see what a huge achievement a third place was! She felt a hand close over her right shoulder, a brief reassuring squeeze. She looked behind her. Jack gave her an almost indecipherable nod. She’d almost forgotten he was there. She smiled, but didn’t know if he caught it. The Penningtons were already hustling him away so they could go greet their winner.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pippa and Ollie strolled along the Bristol Harbour promenade, whiling away the time before their appointed dinner reservation. Bundled in her coat, Pippa huddled against Ollie for warmth as they stopped to admire the night time view. Misshapen reflections from the lights of bordering restaurants and pubs rolled in the rippling black inkwell of the tide. The boats, floating weightless on the water, thudded against their moorings like dozy hobbled donkeys, the occasional flap of a canvas sail catching the night breeze like an indolent flick of the ear. Nearby, a dull heartbeat of musical bass pulsing through its nightclub’s soundproof walls lured the Saturday night revellers to its hub.
‘So pretty, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘I wish I could paint this.’
‘It’d be a bit dismal, wouldn’t it?’ Ollie said. ‘I mean it’s so dark it wouldn’t exactly brighten up somebody’s living room, would it?’
‘Hmm,’ Pippa agreed half-heartedly. ‘On a sunny day, it’d be lovely.’
‘I’m getting sea-sick just looking at those boats. Come on, let’s go find this restaurant. Rich says it’s where all the cast from Casualty hang out. Maybe we’ll spot a few faces.’
‘They may recognise you too,’ Pippa said, giving him a teasing nudge and linking her arm through his.
Ollie smiled
modestly.
‘Maybe.’
Pippa blinked as they entered the restaurant, the galaxy of ceiling lights making her shy away after the soft darkness of the harbour. They were met by the maître d’.
‘We have a table booked for seven-thirty under Oliver Buckingham,’ Ollie said.
The woman referred to her reservations book and gave them a thin smile, reminding Pippa of her old boss, Jayne.
‘I’m afraid your table won’t be available until the appointed time. Perhaps you would like to wait in the lounge for the remaining twenty minutes,’ she said, gesturing to a long glass-fronted room overlooking the harbour.
They stopped en route at the bar and ordered some wine before weaving their way between the brown leather lounge chairs to find vacant seats.
‘I think we might have to stand at the bar,’ Pippa said, casting her gaze over the fashionable clientele.
‘Look! Over there,’ Ollie hissed.
‘Where? Can you see some spare seats?’
‘There,’ Ollie nodded his head sideways. ‘I can’t point. I’m sure that’s Jess Heffernan from Casualty.’
Pippa refrained from rolling her eyes.
‘Ollie, we’re meant to be looking for seats. Let’s head back to the bar.’
‘No, wait! Isn’t that whats-his-face?’
‘Ollie, please. My feet are killing me. At least let me prop myself up on a bar stool,’ Pippa groaned.
‘No. It’s your boss or your trainer or whatever he is.’
Pippa whirled back and scanned the room.
‘Jack?’
‘Yes. I’m sure it’s him. There, with some blonde woman.’
Her stomach lurched as she realised he was correct. Jack was indeed relaxing into an armchair, one ankle crossed casually over his knee. Opposite him was the striking figure of Melissa Mardling.
‘And look!’ Ollie went on. ‘They’ve got a spare couple of seats at their table. Let’s go join them.’
Keeping the Peace Page 21
