A silence greeted Pippa’s tender question. Her pulse racing, she wondered what was going through his mind. At last, she heard a faint chuckle.
‘If you carry on talking to with that voice, I will be very unokay. But I think for now, I’ll survive. You go take care of Emmie and I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘All right. See you tomorrow then.’
‘Sweet dreams, Pippa,’ he rasped, his voice almost resigned.
He cut the call before she could reply.
Distracted, she put her phone into her handbag. Jack’s voice echoed in her ears. Very unokay? What did he mean by that, she wondered. She leaned against the damp hospital wall, ignoring the wet seeping through her collar. Unokay if anyone showed sympathy? She knew what that felt like. She recalled the times she had bravely held her emotions together until the moment Tash would show compassion. Then she would break down. Or unokay because she was the one giving him sympathy?
She gulped and took and deep breath, knowing for certain which option she wanted it to be.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pippa was greeted by the deep murmur of Jack’s voice the next morning when she walked into the office. His door was ajar and she poked her head round to signal her arrival. Jack, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, distractedly acknowledged her.
‘No, you can’t print that, even if it is off the record, because it’s not true,’ he said patiently. ‘In my opinion, Finn didn’t have a chance of staying on when Virtuoso hit the fence. I don’t think any jockey would have... No, his job as Aspen Valley’s retained jockey is not in jeopardy. I still have every faith in him as a rider...’
His defence became muffled as Pippa retreated to the kitchenette to make him some tea. She picked up a copy of the Racing Post which had been left on the draining board as she waited for the kettle to boil. She sighed at one of the headlines ‘Is Aspen Valley Finn-ished?’ She scanned the article, shaking her head as the columnist ripped into Finn’s Gold Cup ride, calling him a poor replacement for the injured Rhys Bradford and criticising Jack for not letting Mick Farrelly, the jockey who’d steered Virtuoso to such a decisive victory in the Denman Chase, take the ride.
When she returned with a steaming mug of tea, Jack was winding down his conversation. His strong deliberate voice was in stark contrast to his dishevelled hair and the etched lines beside his eyes and mouth.
‘Who’s to say he would have won or not? Zodiac was a surprise winner, so who’s to say he wouldn’t have beaten Virtuoso as well? There, I think all that needs to be said has been said. You can use what you like from this conversation to put in your report.’
He put the phone down, exhaling noisily and looked up at Pippa.
‘Bad day?’ she said, passing him his tea.
‘Cheers. Bad season more like it. First Black Russian, now Virtuoso.’
‘He’s not dead, is he?’ Pippa said in horror.
‘No, no, not dead. Just the media abuse we get, me might just as well have shot him in front of the grandstands.’
‘Shame, Jack. You don’t deserve this stick. I see in the paper Finn’s getting much the same treatment.’
‘Serve him right,’ Jack muttered.
Pippa frowned at him, confused.
‘But I thought I heard you say you didn’t hold him responsible?’
‘Ever heard the expression “live together, die alone”? Well, it’s something like that. There’s no point in severing ties with your allies when you need to stick together.’
‘Right,’ Pippa said slowly, trying to get her head round his reasoning. ‘So you do think Finn is to blame?’
Jack raised his palms in indecision.
‘Maybe, maybe not. Would he have stuck on if he’d tried a bit harder? Probably not. Should he have let Virtuoso pop over the fence instead of thinking he was riding Pegasus? Absolutely. He fucked up before he fell off.’
Pippa wrung her hands, troubled by Jack’s verdict.
‘He made a mistake.’
‘Yes, but he made that mistake in the Gold Cup! A mistake which could have been avoided!’ Jack exclaimed.
Pippa took a step back, shocked by his outburst.
‘Well, we learn by our mistakes,’ she replied, recovering her composure. ‘Finn will think twice next time.’
‘Damn right he will. I hope his ear is still burning from the bollocking he got yesterday.’
Pippa’s heart went out to Finn, imagining him on the receiving end of Jack’s fury. That on top of his own disappointment couldn’t be an easy burden to bear.
‘You shouted at him? He’s already got enough on his plate. Don’t you think that’s a bit like rubbing salt into the wounds?’
A muscle jumped in Jack’s jaw as he ground his teeth.
‘Would you be quite so forgiving if it’d been Peace Offering in the Grand National that he’d fallen off? Don’t you understand what the Gold Cup means, Pippa?’
She dug her fingernails into her palms and glared at Jack.
‘Of course I do! Just looking at you shows how much the Gold Cup means to you. But it would have been worth just as much to Finn.’
‘He’s cost me the Champion Trainer’s title!’
‘But the season’s not over yet. There’s still the National to come.’
‘Pippa, I’m not relying too heavily on the National to win me the trainers’ championship,’ Jack said through clenched teeth, making a sword of hurt pierce Pippa’s chest. ‘Why are you sticking up for Finn like this?’
‘Maybe because I feel he’s the underdog.’ She looked at him with distaste, struggling to keep her emotions under wrap. ‘And maybe that’s why I’m sticking up for Peace Offering too. You obviously don’t think much of him either –’ She bit her lip as her voice began to tremble and turned away. Behind her, she heard Jack give a frustrated sigh and get up from his chair.
His hand closed over her shoulder.
‘Pippa, I’m sorry.’
She stared hard at the floor, trying not to cry.
‘Pippa?’
She raised her head and turned. Jack’s hands folded over her arms and he gently pulled her round to face him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping away a stray tear. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. What are we even arguing about?’
Jack’s face contorted with anguish. Like someone who has broken their favourite piece of china and tries to collect all the fragments, Jack brushed the moisture from her cheek with his thumb. He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. Pippa’s heart began to thump, constricting her chest.
‘I hate myself for upsetting you,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t mean to. I – I have to vent my frustration and you – well, sometimes I guess you’re just an easy target.’
‘I’m probably oversensitive,’ Pippa said. ‘I know really that you’re right about Peace Offering, but he does hold a special place in my heart.’ She lifted her hands to her chest as the tears resurfaced. ‘And Dave believed in him so much.’
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ he said, rubbing her arms. ‘Please don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.’
Pippa smiled at the thought of him in floods of tears.
‘You don’t cry, do you?’
‘Trust me. Watching Marley and Me was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. I cry, let there be no doubt.’
Pippa gave a weepy chuckle.
‘There, that’s more like it,’ Jack said, tilting her chin up with his finger.
As her eyes cleared, Pippa became more aware of Jack’s proximity, the intensity of his gaze. She forgot how to breathe as she watched him. Her eyes flickered involuntarily to his parted lips, making her wonder what they would feel like to touch.
Slowly, tenderly, his fingers traced the curve of her jaw, the roughness of his fingertips rasping against her skin. The hold he had on her arm with his other hand intensified and Pippa stepped forward to keep her balance. Her senses reeled as his cologne filled her sinuses, the heat of his masculinity pulsing out
of his every pore. She heard his shallow breathing match her own as he stroked her hair, his touch trembling.
Pippa swallowed hard, temptation pulling her towards him like a vacuum. Jack tilted his head slightly, in an almost curious gesture as his eyes travelled over her face, her eyes, her hair, her throat. He licked his lips, the pink tip of his tongue making Pippa’s mouth water.
‘Hello! Anyone in?’
A voice calling from Reception sent them both staggering backwards, as if they’d been rebuffed by a force-field. Pippa blinked and took a deep breath, trying to get her bearings back. She stared at Jack. If the terror on his face looked anything like her own, he must be feeling the same hurricane of emotions rampaging through his body.
‘Hello?’
‘Yes!’ Pippa called out. ‘Just a moment.’ She tore her eyes away from Jack and fled back to the safety of Reception. Aspen Valley’s head lad was leaning over the desk, looking at the two Aaron Janssen horses’ portraits, which Pippa had brought in earlier with her.
‘Can I help?’ she asked, hoping nothing on her face would betray what had just happened.
‘Yeah, can you tell Jack the racing at Ffos Las has been called off this afternoon? Track’s waterlogged.’
Pippa nodded.
‘Of course. Thanks.’
The lad gave her a curious frown, but didn’t add anything. He nodded once and turned to leave.
Pippa sat down on her chair with a bump and blew a wisp of her hair out of her eyes. She tucked the curl behind her ear, but paused, cupping her jawline where Jack’s fingers had travelled. What the hell had just happened?
‘Pippa?’
She jumped like a startled rabbit at the sound of Jack’s voice. He stood in the doorway to his office. She searched his face for a clue as to what he might say next.
‘Yes?’ she squeaked.
He lifted a notebook in his hand and walked towards the desk.
‘Entries for next week. What did I hear about Ffos Las?’
Pippa didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he was pretrending nothing had happened at all.
‘Racing’s been called off. The course is waterlogged apparently.’
‘Damn,’ Jack tutted. ‘I thought that might happen.’
He stood with his hands on his hips, his fingers tapping against his belt. He looked around him, distracted, until his gaze alighted on Pippa’s paintings.
‘Those Aaron Janssen’s?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘He asked if I could drop them round his house in Bristol this afternoon, if I can find the place.’
‘I’ve been there a couple of times. Do you know where the Suspension Bridge is?’
Pippa shook her head.
‘Okay, do you know where The Green is?’
‘No,’ she replied, looking apologetic. ‘But I was going to look it up on Google maps. I just hate navigating. I usually get lost no matter how easy it is to find.’
Jack looked at her, somewhat cautious.
‘I could take you. I mean, I know where it is and I’ve got a free afternoon ahead of me now.’
Ah, the voice in Pippa’s head resolved, so he hasn’t blocked it out completely. Did she really want be in such close proximity to him again so soon though? As spacious as Land Rovers were, they weren’t designed for the space Pippa felt was needed between her and her boss.
‘You don’t have to. I’m sure I’d find it eventually.’
‘No, really. It’ll give me something to do and I’d get a chance to congratulate Janssen on Skylark’s second place.’
Pippa felt reassured by the lack of awkwardness in his tone. Maybe a journey into Bristol sitting beside him wouldn’t be so excruciating after all. Plus, she could do without the trauma of navigating through the city.
‘Well, only if you’re sure.’
Jack nodded.
‘Sorted then. I’ve obviously got horses to see to now, but I’ll catch you at lunchtime.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Jack,’ Pippa said with a grateful smile.
He responded with a brisk nod.
‘See you later.’
Balancing the two canvases in her arms, Pippa followed Jack up the stone steps to the front door of Aaron Janssen’s three-storey Victorian townhouse. Jack’s knock was answered by a housekeeper, who led them through into a high ceilinged drawing room, where the lavishly decorated panelled walls and cornices provided an almost uncomfortable contrast to the huge plasma television and modern leather lounge suite, long enough to home an entire baseball team.
The fashion mogul was reclining in a chair, an idling cigar wedged between two plump fingers. His face lit up when their arrival was announced and he greeted Pippa and Jack like long-lost friends. Like a child at Christmas he urged her to reveal his horses’ pictures.
‘But darling, they’re stunning!’ he exclaimed, clasping his hands together and knocking ash onto the carpet. ‘Oh, you are clever to catch such a likeness. Isn’t she fantastic, Jack?’
‘Very good,’ Jack agreed obediently.
‘Thank you,’ Pippa said, a blush warming her cheeks. ‘And thank you for commissioning –’ Her rehearsed speech faded as a figure appeared through a doorway at the far side of the room. Surprise stalled her voice and she darted a look towards Jack.
He looked just as taken aback.
‘Melissa?’ he uttered.
For a moment the young woman hesitated, but regained her composure quickly.
‘Jack,’ she smiled. ‘And Pippa. What a surprise.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack asked.
Pippa noticed the almost imperceptible nervous tension in her twisting fingers. Melissa opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Aaron.
‘Just an informal business meeting before I leave for Dubai Fashion Week.’
Melissa smiled in agreement and strode across the room towards them, lithe and feline.
‘And what are you doing here?’ she said.
‘I – er – Pippa needed to drop these pictures off and racing was cancelled so I – er – I knew where Aaron lived...’ His excuse sounded forced, provoking compassion from Pippa and a glare from Melissa.
Aaron clapped his hands.
‘Well, isn’t this nice. Everyone knows each other already.’
‘Yes. Pippa is Jack’s secretary,’ Melissa said, giving them both a challenging look.
‘Really? Where did you find the time to do these then, darling?’ he asked Pippa. ‘Oh, I do love the colour of this one! The copper in his coat set against that vivid blue blackground. What do you think, Melissa?’
Melissa glanced briefly at the picture.
‘Hmm, they’re good. A bit contrived maybe.’
‘Melissa!’ Jack admonished.
‘What? I’m sure Pippa appreciates an honest opinion. Don’t you?’ She smiled at Pippa, her red lips cutting a sheer path across her face.
Pippa gave her her best waitress smile. She did appreciate honesty, but somehow Melissa didn’t seem to fall into that category in her book.
‘Of course,’ she replied.
‘Well, I think they’re wonderful!’ Aaron gushed. ‘And since I’m paying for them, that’s the main thing you need to worry about. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to do some more for me.’
Pippa’s smile blossomed into a genuine grin.
‘Really?’
‘I want a room dedicated to the horses here with their pictures on the wall and their trophies in the cabinets,’ he said, his hands gesticulating as he described the scene. ‘Winners’ rugs draped like curtains, like a – like a...’
‘Like a shrine?’ Pippa said hesitantly.
‘Yes! That’s the word. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?’
‘Um, I guess so,’ she replied, catching a glimpse of Jack rolling his eyes.
‘Now, do you two need to rush off anywhere? I’m particularly glad you brought Jack along, Pippa,’ said Aaron with a mischievous smile, ‘because look what I received
in the post yesterday!’ He skipped over to a writing desk and flapped a DVD at them. ‘It’s the charity single we did! Have you received yours yet?’
Jack frowned.
‘Yeah, it arrived a couple of days ago.’
Aaron’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
‘Ooh, have you watched it? I’m a teensy bit nervous about which clips they showed of me. I was getting the words wrong half the time.’
Jack shifted uncomfortably.
‘No, I haven’t seen it yet. Haven’t had the time really with the Festival and – and things.’
‘Nonsense! It’s only four or five minutes long,’ he said, batting the DVD case in Jack’s direction.
‘I’d like to see it,’ Pippa heard herself say.
Aaron beamed at her.
‘And so would I, darling. Come take a seat, you two. Melissa, be a doll and close the curtains?’
For a millisecond, Melissa looked anything but doll-like then nodded demurely. Aaron fiddled with the DVD player and stereo-system built into the wall then came to join Pippa and Jack on the long couch.
Pippa couldn’t stop her grin of amusement as the recording began. The camera swung over the assembly of racing personalities in the huge recording studio.
She glanced at Jack, sitting beside her, looking less than impressed. An unseen voice led them through the first verse before the entire cast joined in the chorus. Jack was the first person they zoomed in on, looking stiff and self-conscious, sporting a pair of earphones. Interspersed with shots of the singers, replays of the previous year’s Cheltenham Festival lit up the screen, showing predominantly Virtuoso’s Gold Cup win. The image of Jack, with an ear-splitting grin that Colgate would have killed to sponsor, congratulating Rhys Bradford was replaced with Jack in the recording studio, seeming to have relaxed by the second chorus and joining in with more enthusiasm.
Pippa grinned at him, seeing the embarrassed smile on his face.
‘They plied us with alcohol for most of it,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘We’re nothing more than a bunch of drunken karaoke singers by this point.’
She giggled.
By the images chosen of the last Festival, of Virtuoso annihilating his rivals, Black Russian being embraced by an hysterical Emmie, crowds cheering, urging on their favourites, newspapers being flung in the air as winner after winner crossed the line, the magic and historicism of Cheltenham finally hit home for Pippa.
Keeping the Peace Page 30
