‘He’s going to kill me.’ Emmie shook her head. ‘Or Billy.’
‘No, he won’t,’ Pippa tried to reassure her. ‘Why would he? You’re a woman. You’re bound to have babies at some stage. He knows that.’
‘Yes, but a mistake like this? And with Billy?’ she quaked. ‘I’m more terrified about telling Jack than I am about telling my parents.’
Pippa took a deep breath.
‘You don’t have to tell him then. I will.’
A wave of relief washed over Emmie’s face before she shook her head.
‘No. You shouldn’t have to. It’s my responsibility. I should tell him.’
Pippa shifted awkwardly in her seat.
‘Well, to be honest with you, Emmie, I feel partly responsible. See, I kind of encouraged Billy to go see you that night.’ She rubbed the girl’s slouched back comfortingly. ‘Let me deal with Jack. You’ve got enough going on to keep your mind occupied.’
It wasn’t until the following morning that Pippa got the opportunity to speak to Jack. Laden with two mugs of tea, she knocked on his door and shouldered her way inside.
‘Morning,’ she greeted him.
Jack looked up from his paperwork and Pippa tried to gauge what sort of mood he was in.
‘H’ro,’ he grunted.
Not great,she ascertained. Oh, well, it didn’t really matter what mood he was in now. It certainly wasn’t going to be very chipper in a couple of moments’ time.
She waited until Jack had taken a tentative slurp of his drink. She wasn’t going to have him with third degree burns as well if she could help it.
He looked up at her when she remained standing by his desk then darted a look sideways.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ he said.
Pippa took a deep breath.
‘Perhaps put your drink down first.’
Jack frowned, but did as he was bade. Pippa’s hands were shaking so much she did the same.
‘What have you done?’ he asked warily.
‘Me? Nothing… for a change. Emmie came in yesterday after you’d left for the races.’
‘Is she better? When is she coming back?’
‘Well, there’s the thing. It’s all dependent on how you take things.’ Pippa bit her lip and wrung her fingers.
‘What? Stop talking in riddles, Pippa. Take what?’
‘Oh, hell. I’m not doing this very well. Okay, here goes. Emmie’s pregnant.’
Jack sat up in his chair as if she’d just pulled a gun on him, making her glad she’d asked him to put his tea down.
‘Pregnant?’ he spluttered. ‘How?’
‘In the usual way I imagine. I didn’t ask for details.’
‘No, I mean she hasn’t got a boyfriend.’ Jack frowned. ‘Has she?’
Pippa closed her eyes and asked God to protect Billy.
‘Yeah, she does. It’s Billy.’
Jack’s nostrils flared and his eyes turned a thunderous shade.
‘Billy? Billy from here?’
Pippa grimaced and nodded.
Jack stood up so fast his chair fell over. In two strides, he was already past Pippa and heading for the door.
‘I’m going to kill that little shit,’ he growled. ‘Stupid idiot doesn’t know the difference between his dick and his brain. Wait until I get my hands on him.’
Pippa was struck dumb by his fury then instinct kicked in. She caught hold of Jack’s arm and dragged him to a stop.
‘No! Stop it, Jack. Just calm down for a minute.’
‘Calm down? CALM DOWN?’ he fumed, his shoulders shaking. ‘Don’t you see what that little fucker has done because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants? He’s fucked up Emmie’s life! And he hasn’t done me any favours either. Emmie can’t ride out when she’s pregnant!’ He shook off Pippa’s hold, but she was quick to bar the doorway.
‘Just wait, please,’ she said, her eyes pleading. ‘Just sit down and take some deep breaths. You going out there and giving Billy a boxing isn’t going to help anything.’
‘No? It’ll make me feel better though.’
‘Look, he’s feeling just as scared as Emmie is right now. Don’t make it any harder on him. He went over to her place with the best of intentions –’
Jack snorted in derision and Pippa gave him a withering look.
‘– he went over with the best of intentions after Black Russian was killed. He wasn’t taking advantage of her.’
Jack’s eyes were still stormy, but Pippa was relieved to see he wasn’t shaking quite so much. She stepped away from the door and held his arms in an effort to calm him further. She felt his muscles tense beneath her grip and he drew his head back.
‘He could still have used some common sense,’ he said.
‘Jack, this is Billy we’re talking about.’ She rubbed his arms in a consoling gesture.
Jack tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at her hands.
‘Proves my point though, doesn’t it?’ he said, his tone hoarse. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed and he stepped away from Pippa. ‘Relationships in the workplace always end in a mess.’
Pippa felt her cheeks burning. What was he implying?
‘Their relationship hasn’t ended,’ she retorted, more severe than she had intended to cover up her embarrassment. ‘So they made a mistake. Would it have made a difference if the baby’s father was someone we didn’t know?’
‘Oh, God,’ Jack groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Emmie’s going to have a baby. She’s just a kid!’
‘They’re both kids. That’s why they need your support, not your hostility.’
Jack gave a thunderous growl and thumped his fist on the desk, making Pippa and the tea cups jump. ‘God, nine months then she’s going to have to go on maternity leave. Who’s going to ride Asian Dancer for the year and a half that’s she gone, huh?’ he ranted at her. ‘She’s already thrown two lads off in the past week. I can’t get a decent workout into that bloody horse because most of the time she’s tearing around the Gallops without a rider.’
‘Make a plan then,’ Pippa replied, her patience gauge hitting E. ‘Maybe one of the other lads will learn to stay on her. Maybe you shouldn’t be so reliant on one rider.’
‘Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Pippa?’
‘No, Jack! Of course not!’ she snapped. ‘But at the very least I would expect a man of your experience not to lean so heavily on one person. Do you know Emmie was more scared of telling you than she was about telling her parents? What does that say, huh? Don’t you think she can feel how heavily you rely on her?’
‘I don’t rely on her that much! She’s just a bloody good rider. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that. I was going to help her get her amateur’s licence. Now what is she going to do?’
‘She’s going to do stable duties until it’s time for her to go on maternity leave.’
‘Oh, she is, is she?’ Jack chortled, crossing his arms across his chest.
‘Yes. Wouldn’t you rather she was doing that than nothing at all? She needs your support.’
‘Yes, I heard you the first time,’ he snapped. He shook his head and went to pick up his chair. As an afterthought he scribbled a couple more lines in his Entries and Declarations notebook and tossed it onto the other side of the desk.
Pippa snatched it up and stalked towards the door.
‘Bloody stupid kids,’ she heard him mutter.
She stopped by the door and turned to him, the last of her patience evaporating.
‘Jack, have you never made a mistake in your life? If I recall, you blamed yourself for Black Russian’s death because of mistakes you had made in his training, right?’
Jack stared at her.
‘And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you were feeling pretty shit after that, weren’t you?’ she continued. ‘Just imagine what Emmie and Billy are feeling right now.’ She turned on her heel and left, tempted to slam t
he door behind her.
Sitting down at her desk, she picked up that morning’s post and began to sort through them, too distracted to start on entries. She paused as she flipped over one envelope. It was addressed to her. The return address was Stairway to Avon.
Realising it was her long awaited quote, she slit open the seal. Her hands shook as she read the contents, panic drawing from her limbs and gathering in a hard ball in her stomach as she absorbed the figures. This was not good. Maybe they’d made a typo and put an extra zero on the end by mistake? She knew the cost of replacing Hazyvale’s staircase wasn’t going to be cheap, but…
‘Nine thousand pounds?’ she croaked.
‘What?’
She looked up to see Jack had appeared from his office, his jacket zipped up, ready to ward off the raw February wind outside. Still stunned, Pippa couldn’t speak. Jack frowned at her.
‘What’s nine thousand pounds?’
‘My quote,’ she managed. ‘For the staircase. N-n-nine grand.’ She looked up, her eyes wide with panic. ‘I can’t afford that.’
Jack looked far from sympathetic.
‘I guess you’re going to need to make a plan then,’ he said, quoting her earlier words.
She watched him walk out of the office then looked down again at the piece of paper, the typed words blurring before her eyes.
Nine thousand pounds? Something would have to give.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pippa walked along the row of stables towards Peace Offering’s box, the gaiety of the stable staff’s farewells to each other as they looked forward to the weekend lost on her. Peace Offering was looking over his half door, the blaze down his face luminous in the darkness, a scarecrow’s hand of hay poking from either side of his mouth.
He pricked his ears and tossed his head at her approach.
She smiled at his comic appearance before a blanket of sadness wrapped itself over her shoulders. Did he know she was his owner? Did he realise how his entrance into her life had turned it upside down? Was it all about to come crashing down around her?
She rubbed her fingers between his nostrils and looked into his glistening eyes.
‘Peace Offering,’ she murmured, ‘whoever named you got it right, didn’t they?’
He butted her hand and resumed his chewing, his lips skewed to capture the strands hanging from the corners of his mouth. With a smile, she helped move the hay into a more accessible position.
‘What am I going to do with you, boy?’ she sighed. Her sinuses filled with the tangy comforting smell of warm hay and horses. Looking around, her gaze followed the silvery snail-trail of the Gallops’ running rail lit by the rising moon. At the crest of the hill, she could just see a light protruding through the skeletal trees from Jack’s house. ‘What am I going to do without you?’
Her shoulders sagged as the inevitable became clearer in her mind. Peace Offering was a luxury and in her current financial crisis, luxuries would be the first to go.
‘Now there’s a sad stance if I ever saw one,’ an unmistakable Irish voice broke into her thoughts.
Pippa gave Finn a weak smile of greeting as he strolled towards her.
‘Oh, hello.’
He stopped beside her and arched a quizzical eyebrow. Unearthing a hand from his pocket he raised her chin with his thumb and forefinger.
‘What’s ailin’ ye, a thaisce?’
Pippa shrugged and looked away.
‘Just some personal problems. Nothing to worry about,’ she replied. He wouldn’t want to hear her financial woes.
‘Nothing to worry about?’ Finn echoed. ‘With a face longer than Peace Offering’s here, it doesn’t sound like it’s nothing. Want to tell Uncle Finn about it?’
Pippa’s next attempt at a smile was more successful.
‘No, it’s okay. Thanks though. I think I’m just going to go home now and have some hot chocolate. That’ll cheer me up I’m sure.’
Finn cocked his head to try get Pippa to meet his eyes.
‘Hot chocolate nothing. By the look of things you need a bottle of Jameson’s. Let me take you out for dinner.’
She shook her head. In her vulnerable state of mind, she was likely to become fonder still of the sympathetic Finn and knowing he was seeing this Cara Connolly character already would just complicate matters further.
‘Thanks, but I won’t. I’ve already got some food defrosted for tonight.’
‘Away with ye. You’ll be doing me a favour at the same time, you know. I’m at a loose end, another two days of my suspension to serve thanks to Leopard Rock’s attempt at dodgems the other day, so. You need some cheering up. At least let me take you out for a jar.’
Pippa wavered. Maybe unburdening all her worries onto Finn wasn’t such a bad idea. There was always Tash at the other end of the phone, but Tash always got Pippa’s burdens.
‘I have to cook that fish tonight otherwise it’ll go off,’ she tried once more.
‘Well then, you go home and have your tea and freshen up. I’ll do the same so I don’t smell like a stable and I’ll pick you up at eight. How’s that sound?’ His green eyes searched hers for a positive answer.
Yes, maybe telling Finn would be a good idea.
She nodded, grateful for his kindness.
Back at Hazyvale, Pippa trudged through from the kitchen to the lounge in her dressing gown and Snoopy slippers with her dinner. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, she balanced her plate on her lap and switched on the television. She gasped. The image which greeted her saw her fried fish slide off her plate onto the floor with a wet slap.
How could she have forgotten this?
She watched, transfixed as the action unfolded onscreen.
‘He’s bleeding out! BP is one-eighty over one-twenty. Where is Feldman?’ cried the pretty paramedic rushing around a gurney and crazily beeping machines.
‘Last I saw of him he was shepherding a med student into the maintenance closet,’ replied a casual voice stepping into shot. ‘Maybe I can lend a hand in his absence.’
‘Who the hell are you?’
Pippa’s lip trembled as she waited for the response. The actor sauntered forward, his attitude in suave contrast to the panicked paramedic.
‘Doctor Fletcher,’ she whispered in unison with Holby City’s newest addition.
Her appetite lost, she watched the rest of the medical drama in numbed silence. Ollie was heroic, saving two critical patients, snubbing a curt senior character with witty responses and she had to admit, looking very sexy in blue scrubs and stethoscope draped round his neck. Tears sprung from her eyes, blurring the credits as they rolled up the screen.
What was she doing? She’d thrown away her life in London all for a horse and now even that looked in jeopardy. Self-pity and loathing crumpled her face and she curled up on the sofa, hugging a cushion to her chest.
A rhythmic tap on the front door dragged Pippa from her well of gloom and, with a groan, saw it was ten past eight. She opened the door to Finn, looking down at her fidgeting Snoopy slippers.
‘My opening line was gonna be “Are you ready to paint the town red”, but I see I might be getting ahead of myself,’ he said, looking her up and down.
‘Sorry, Finn. I – I just got sidetracked. I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing. I wouldn’t have been much fun anyway.’
‘Who says I’ve come all this way for nothing?’ He rubbed his arms and looked at Pippa hopefully. ‘Are you going to invite me in or leave me on the doorstep to catch my death?’
‘Sorry. Come in,’ she said, unable to keep the despondency out of her voice. She didn’t feel like playing the role of hostess. Nevertheless, she stood aside for her guest.
‘Stop apologising and tell me what the problem is – Jaysus! Have you been takin’ your frustrations out on your staircase? It’s got more loose boards than a jockey who’s had his teeth kicked in.’
Pippa followed his look of amazement at the offending bomb site. It really did look a mes
s. She looked away again and wandered into the lounge.
‘That’s what the problem is,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We pulled up the carpet and found all the wood is rotten. I got a quote yesterday to replace it and it’s going to cost nine thousand pounds.’
Finn followed her to the sofa and removed her plate and fish fillet where now a fish-shaped patch of grease marked the newly sanded floor. He sat beside her.
‘Nine grand? That’s a bit steep.’
Pippa gave a mirthless snort.
‘It’s a staircase. Bound to be steep. But I can’t afford it and keep Peace Offering in training. So my only option is to sell him.’
‘But you can’t sell him,’ he protested. ‘Can’t you get a loan or something?’
‘No,’ she sighed, pulling at a thread on one of the cushions. ‘I’ve already got one which is going to be used up replacing the stairs, but I’ve still got the whole of upstairs to refurbish and the bank won’t lend me any more. I’ve got no choice.’
‘But Pippa, you can’t sell him. You had such big plans to run him in the Grand National. You’ve come this far, you can’t throw it all away now.’
Pippa shrugged.
‘I was being silly thinking he could win the Grand National. I was looking at the antepost betting the other day and there’s about two hundred horses listed! One bookmaker was quoting Peace Offering at five-hundred-to-one. Some other firms weren’t even giving a price, that’s how confident they are that he’ll even make the final cut.’
‘You’re not being silly at all,’ Finn said adamantly. ‘Peace Offering has got just as good a chance as any. Much of it is down to luck on the day.’
‘But we can’t even be certain that he’ll be there on the day. If there’s only forty places available, he might not even be good enough to get an entry.’ She looked at him, her swollen eyes swimming with despair.
‘All he needs is one good result and his handicap rating will shoot him right into contention,’ he insisted.
‘Still, it’s useless even talking about it. I can’t afford him,’ she sighed.
‘Have you spoken to Jack about it?’
Keeping the Peace Page 25
