At Long Odds

by Hannah Hooton

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he murmured.

  Ginny gave him a grateful smile.

  ‘Okay. Speak to you later.’

  She watched them disappear into the crowds of race-goers with a sigh. Her attention was caught by a throng of spectators lining the fence to the pre-parade ring. Beyond them, she recognised the focus of their excitement. Silver Sabre was being led around the perimeter by his Cobalt Lodge handler. Ginny darted a look around for his trainer. She exhaled with relief when he was nowhere to be seen. She moved closer, transfixed by the flawless colt. His muscles rippled beneath the bright silver sheen of his coat as he glided in smooth sweeping lines. Ginny was reminded of car television adverts, where lines of blue and white laser streaks follow the vehicle’s every manoeuvre. A ball of trepidation formed in her stomach as she considered the clash which would inevitably happen between Caspian and this ghostly colt. She had faith in Caspian’s ability, but this horse was simply perfection. How do you beat perfection?

  Half an hour later in the trainers’ bar, the ball in her stomach had swelled in size. Ginny stood at the bar, sipping her wine and trying to calm herself.

  ‘Ginny Kennedy, right?’ a voice interrupted her thoughts. A young man dressed in a casual suit stood before her.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ she smiled in reply. She wracked her brain trying to place his vaguely familiar face.

  ‘Nick Stone,’ he provided. He grinned at her relief. ‘Don’t worry, I get that most of the time. I’m the voice behind racing rather than the face.’ He stepped closer to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. ‘Now racing is over, I can have a drink. They frown on commentators slurring their words on the job.’

  Ginny chuckled.

  ‘I can imagine. “Shilver Shabre wins by sheven lengths” probably wouldn’t go down well.’

  ‘Ha! And the rest. That performance just now was closer to seventeen I’d say – oh, speak of the devil.’

  Ginny followed his gaze in time to see the winning connections of the last race burst through the doors. Clinton Cole headed affairs, his raucous laugh interrupting everyone’s conversations. Julien and a handful of hangers-on followed him over to the bar where Ginny and Nick Stone stood. Catching sight of Ginny, he gave her a brief nod before his attention was summoned by Cole again.

  ‘Jameson’s for you, Larocque?’ he boomed, slamming his newly-acquired bronze statue of a horse and foal onto the bar.

  ‘Please,’ the Frenchman replied, his voice much less intrusive.

  ‘Congratulations, Mr Cole,’ Nick Stone spoke up. ‘You must be very pleased with Silver Sabre’s performance out there.’

  The American looked at the commentator in much the same way Ginny had.

  ‘I’m Nick Stone.’

  Clinton Cole’s face still remained blank. Ginny hid a smile.

  ‘I called your horse’s race,’ he went on.

  ‘Hey, fantastic! Did you see the way he made mincemeat of those other horses? They didn’t stand a chance!’ Clinton Cole laughed.

  Ginny winced at his blatant pomposity.

  ‘You must have big plans for his future,’ Nick probed.

  Ginny recalled the commentator also had a column in one of the racing newspapers. He was obviously digging for content.

  ‘Hell, this colt could beat Eclipse.’ His chest swelled and he hitched his belt higher up his considerable waistband.

  ‘He certainly looks top class. Are you looking at the Dewhurst Stakes or the Racing Post Trophy?’

  ‘He’ll be in the Dewhurst all right,’ Clinton Cole said. ‘Hell, I wouldn’t miss that race for the world.’

  ‘The Dewhurst is always a tough race to win. It has all the best two-year-olds entered in it. What do you think of the likes of Vintage Secret and Quillan and –’ He flashed a mischievous grin at Ginny, ‘– and Caspian?’

  Ginny’s grip on her wine glass tightened.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Caspian, Ginny Kennedy’s young star.’

  Ginny caught Julien’s eye as he tried to speak up.

  ‘I think maybe –’ he began.

  ‘That gymkhana pony?’ Clinton Cole overrode him. ‘Ha! Silver Sabre could eat him for breakfast!’

  Ginny felt a growl rise in her throat. Julien shook his head.

  ‘Mr Cole, may I introduce you to Miss Kennedy,’ he said in a resigned voice, gesturing towards her.

  ‘Hey there, little lady!’

  Ginny’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Eat him for breakfast?’ Nick smiled, amazingly unperturbed by Clinton Cole’s bloated ego. ‘That’s a very bold statement to make.’

  The owner put his arm around Nick’s shoulders in a fatherly gesture, nearly taking Ginny’s eye out with his bronze work.

  ‘Well, I’m telling you, this is the best racehorse in Europe, and –’ He chuckled to himself, ‘– and if he doesn’t win the Dewhurst, then it’ll be because of his prep work because that’s the only thing that could stop him.’

  Ginny looked at Julien for his reaction. For once, he seemed subdued, as if he wasn’t hearing anything new.

  ‘Julien?’ Nick said, stepping out from beneath the deadweight of Cole’s arm. ‘What do you have to say to that?’

  ‘I’m confi-’

  ‘He knows the score!’ Clinton Cole boomed. ‘If Silver Sabre loses the Dewhurst then I’ll pack all my horses off to someone who can train top class winners. And I’ve got a few of them, let me tell you.’

  The hairs on the back of Ginny’s neck stood up. Granted, she might not be particularly fond of Julien Larocque, but she was incensed on his behalf that this awful man should be allowed to undermine his ability as a trainer. Even though everything he said was with a chuckle and a happy smile, there was an underlying nastiness in his words.

  ‘When you say packing them off, do you mean to another British-based trainer or maybe you’d prefer an American?’

  Ginny noticed the first signs of annoyance in Nick Stone’s voice.

  ‘I think I’ll stick around here a bit longer, take a few more of your trophies, ha! The plan so far is to take on the big stakes races here in England. And if we run out of competition then we’ll take him overseas.’

  Ginny saw Nick’s eyes light up.

  ‘Really? Were you thinking of France?’ he said, looking at Julien.

  Julien opened his mouth to answer but shut it again when Clinton Cole intervened.

  ‘No! Back home to the States. Where the real competition is.’ He thumped Julien on the back. ‘No offence, buddy.’

  Ginny choked on her drink in disbelief.

  ‘How dare you?’ she spluttered, unable to restrain herself any longer.

  Taken aback, Clinton Cole looked at her as if she was a cat who’d barked.

  ‘Ginny –’ Julien tried to placate her.

  ‘No,’ she resisted. ‘How can you stand here while he patronises you? While he threatens you?’ She turned to face Clinton Cole. ‘Can you possibly be any ruder? You’ve insulted me, you’ve insulted your trainer.’ She spilt her wine as she gestured in defiance. ‘You’ve insulted French racing. Did you notice that this year’s Derby was won by a French horse? Trained by Julien’s father, no less.’

  She tried to swallow her rage and looked at Julien. He stared back at her, an expression of dumbfounded amazement on his face. Clinton Cole was turning a dark puce shade.

  ‘And I don’t see too many American entries in Royal Ascot week after next. Why is that, I wonder?’ Her body trembled and she suddenly felt close to tears. She gritted her teeth. ‘You might fob off Caspian as a gymkhana pony but do you realise just how lucky you are to have a horse like Silver Sabre?’ She frowned, torn between loyalties. ‘And – and, despite his flaws, Julien’s a good trainer!’

  She gulped, taking in Julien’s shocked expression, Clinton Cole’s speechless red face and Nick Stone’s twinkling interest at her defence of the Frenchman. The tense silence that had now befallen the bar was snapped as Ginny’s wine glass shattered i
n her hand. Julien stepped forward to assist her when blood seeped from her palm.

  ‘And if Silver Sabre can eat Caspian for breakfast then I hope he gives him indigestion!’ she exclaimed. Brushing Julien aside, she strode out of the room.

  Chapter 15

  A fortnight later, the atmosphere at The Tetrarch’s Royal Ascot after-party throbbed through Ginny’s skull. Standing in an inconspicuous position amidst the crowded room, she smiled as Alex and Kerry bopped along to the music in a cleared area where the pool table used to stand. Kerry looked to be having the time of her life.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ a voice murmured behind her. ‘If it isn’t the Royal Ascot’s latest princess.’

  Ginny nearly dropped her glass. She turned and pasted a smile on her face.

  ‘Charlie.’

  The man smirked, his blue eyes glittering all the more for the alcohol she could smell on his breath. She was only half surprised to see him. She had watched him riding South Africa’s handful of festival entries over the past few days but she had managed to avoid him up until now. This was a party; she should’ve expected no less than Charlie’s attendance. Ginny remembered the last party they had attended and her stomach turned over.

  ‘How’s it going, Ginny? Congratulations on your win.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ginny did her best to sound sincere. He might have broken her heart but hadn’t he tried to make amends since then? For a moment she longed for Mark’s presence so she could celebrate Sequella’s victory in the Queen Alexandra Stakes with him, but he was two hundred miles away at a business conference. ‘Bad luck in the St James’ Palace Stakes. Shanghai Dancer wouldn’t have been a push over if that’s any consolation.’

  Charlie shrugged and took a swig of his beer.

  ‘When do you go back?’ she said.

  ‘I’m taking a break. Well, from South Africa that is. I’m going to be at Andrew Pearson’s yard riding work for him for a while.’

  Ginny gave a weak smile. She had come halfway across the world, hoping to be able to put Charlie du Raand out of her mind, yet it was proving to be impossible.

  ‘Pearson? Wow, that’s good. He’s got some nice horses.’

  Charlie’s snort of derision was followed by an enthusiastic hiccup.

  ‘Understatement.’

  ‘And thank you for sending Mark Rushin my way.’

  ‘How are things going with him?’

  Ginny hesitated. The same doubt as when she had first met Mark surfaced in her mind. How much did Charlie know about her and Mark’s relationship?

  ‘Okay, thanks. He brought a nice little filly called Kenya over to us. We won first time out with her but she’s been a bit unlucky in her two starts since then.’

  Charlie nodded and continued to look at her, his blue eyes glittering like the sun off the beach waters at Cork Bay. Was he expecting more of an explanation? Ginny stood her ground. As grateful as she was that Charlie had sent Mark her way, she wasn’t going to divulge the more personal side to their relationship.

  ‘Be careful not to do too well though,’ Charlie continued.

  Ginny frowned.

  ‘Why?’

  Charlie paused to take a slug of his beer and surveyed the room in a nonchalant manner.

  ‘Because the better you do here the less likely you’ll be returning to your old job back home.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘Heard of Dan van Rooyen?’

  ‘Of course. He’s filling in for me while I’m over here.’

  ‘And doing it very well. Your loyal boss, Rijk Swanepoel might think it unlikely you’ll be returning if you’re hauling in the bronze over here. And Dan isn’t a bad consolation prize.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that,’ Ginny protested, feeling a seed of unease take root in her stomach.

  ‘Wouldn’t he? It’s one reason why you got on so well. You were never afraid of jocking off your friends if it meant the difference between winning and losing.’

  Ginny looked down at her drink, ashamed. Charlie had betrayed her, but put like that, she had also betrayed him.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice, Charlie. It wasn’t my horse, it was Rijk’s. You’re a great rider but your style just didn’t suit him. It was my job to find a jockey that would get the best out of him.’ Even to Ginny’s ears, her explanation didn’t seem a good enough reason.

  Charlie shrugged and ran a strong tanned hand through his brown hair as a pretty stable lass waltzed past.

  Some things never change, Ginny thought. The memory of the J&B Met after-party blazed through her mind and she suddenly wanted to be as far away from Charlie as she could. She downed the last inch of her drink and looked around for an escape. Alex happened to catch her eye. He waved but carried on dancing with Kerry.

  ‘That your stable jockey, hey?’

  ‘Yes. Alex Napier.’

  The smile on his face turned into a sneer.

  ‘You managed to keep this one sweet, have you?’

  Ginny swallowed. A drunk Charlie was a dangerous Charlie, she had learnt a long time ago.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said abruptly. She put her empty glass on an adjacent table and nodded at Charlie in farewell.

  He blocked her escape as she made to walk off and took her hand.

  ‘How about a dance for old times’ sake, hey?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Charlie. I’ve had enough for one night.’

  His fingers tightened over her hand and she winced beneath their unrelenting grip.

  ‘Come on, I bet you haven’t had a good jive since we were together.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Ginny replied, yanking her arm away. The dance she had shared with Julien at the Charity Ball seemed ages ago but it had put Charlie’s moves in the shade.

  ‘You never used to play this hard to get.’ Charlie took her hand again, tugging her towards him.

  ‘Charlie, I said no –’ She gave him a stern look, battling the fear which began to curl around her stomach as she noticed the familiar glitter of danger in his eyes. ‘I’m going home. I’ve got work tomorrow.’

  ‘Always work first with you. Friends? They come a poor second, eh?’

  Hurt punctured her chest.

  ‘Don’t do this Charlie,’ she warned. ‘Please –’

  ‘Ginny, a word if you’re not too busy.’

  She closed her eyes with relief. That French lyrical accent had never sounded so sweet to her ears. Julien stood beside her expectantly.

  ‘She’s busy,’ Charlie snapped. When Julien ignored him, continuing to wait for Ginny’s answer, he threw him an insolent nod of his chin. ‘Who the hell are you, anyhow?’

  Ginny watched Charlie’s irritation mount. His fingers curled into a fist as slow and uncompromising as a python crushing its victim. She darted a look at Julien. Did he realise what a loose cannon Charlie could be?

  ‘Julien Larocque. And you are?’

  ‘Charlie du Raand.’ He gave a small belch. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us –’

  ‘You are the South African jockey who can only find work as an exercise boy at Pearson’s, oui?’

  Charlie stiffened.

  ‘So, you know about it,’ he said dismissively.

  Julien smiled slyly.

  ‘I do. I know Pearson very well too. Now, Ginny. May I have that word?’

  Charlie groaned in defeat.

  ‘Julien. Of course.’ With a final pull, she freed her hand from Charlie’s grasp. The jockey swayed but righted himself against the table.

  ‘In private.’

  Charlie gave her a sardonic look.

  ‘Maybe later then,’ he said before wandering off.

  Ginny watched with relief as he was swallowed up by the crowd then turned her attention back to Julien.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed, really meaning it.

  Julien gave her a rather less predatory smile than he’d given Charlie.

  ‘You looked like you needed a helping hand.’

  ‘He would’ve given up eve
ntually. Especially with so much prey around tonight.’

  ‘You know him well then?’

  Ginny nodded.

  ‘Charlie’s my ex-boyfriend.’

  He snorted.

  ‘Come now, Ginny. Even you can do better than that.’

  ‘I was young and foolish.’

  Julien raised an eyebrow.

  ‘As opposed to now being old and wise?’

  ‘Watch it,’ Ginny cautioned but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. ‘It’s strange though. He sent Mark Rushin to me, so I thought he was trying to make up for being such a bastard. But now, he still seemed sore at me.’

  Julien looked thoughtful then seemed to dismiss whatever was going through his mind with a small shake of his head.

  ‘I was just on my way to the bar. What can I get you?’

  Ginny shook her head. It all felt surreal to her. Julien irritated the hell out of her yet here they were having an affable conversation.

  ‘Nothing, thanks. I was just about to call it a night anyway.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he shrugged. He began to move off but paused. He placed a light hand on her shoulder and murmured close to her ear, ‘Just be careful of the wolves out there.’

  The crush of people around them made it impossible for Ginny to move away. The faded tang of spicy cologne teased her nostrils and again, her mind drifted back to the Charity Ball. She gave herself an internal shake and pulled herself together.

  ‘Who – Charlie?’

  ‘Including Charlie,’ Julien replied.

  ‘And who else?’

  Julien hesitated.

  Ginny waited. Suddenly, Kerry and Alex bounced over to them, supporting each other as Kerry doubled over with giggles. Julien removed his hand from Ginny’s shoulder.

  ‘Ginny! Come dansh!’ Kerry cried. ‘Oh, hello, Mishter Larocque.’

  ‘Evening, Kerry. Having a good time?’

  ‘Absholutely!’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ he said and walked off, leaving Ginny feeling annoyed that he was leaving their conversation unfinished.

  ‘Come on, Ginny!’

  ‘What?’ she refocused on her friend. ‘I won’t, thanks Kerry. I’m going home.’