‘I’d best be going, it’s late.’
‘Of course. How are you getting home? Do you have your car?’ he asked, walking her to the door.
‘No, I’m walking.’
Julien’s hand stilled on the door handle. He frowned.
‘But it’s not far,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s only down the road, and it’s reasonably well-lit.’ It hadn’t crossed her mind until he’d looked disapproving that she might be in any danger on her way home.
‘I’ll walk with you. It is dark now.’
‘No, really, I’ve disturbed your evening enough as it is.’
‘I either walk you home or you stay here until it is light,’ Julien said, fixing her with a stern eye.
Ginny hesitated, unable to resist thinking what the rest of their evening would entail if she was to stay.
‘Okay,’ she nodded meekly. ‘You can walk me home.’
Julien gave her a derisive smile and shook his head.
Whether it was because of the delicious wine or because in the darkness she didn’t have to make eye contact, Ginny felt her courage return as they walked down the road.
‘I wanted to pass on my congratulations a while back,’ she blurted. ‘To your father on White Eagle’s Derby win. That was a pretty big achievement.’ She sensed rather than saw Julien’s smile.
‘I will tell him you said so,’ he replied.
‘Why did you come to England? Why not stay in France?’ she said, curiosity getting the better of her.
Julien chuckled.
‘French racing only has room for one Larocque. I had worked over here before, and liked it. I was happy to set up my own yard here.’
‘Seems to have paid off.’
‘I’ve been lucky so far. Some very talented horses have come my way, and have given me a good reputation, even though your grandmother could have trained some of them to be winners.’
‘Like Silver Sabre.’
‘He is a very a talented horse, that much is clear. But he is not always an easy horse to train. He can be – how do you say – stroppy at times?’
Ginny laughed.
‘A typical teenage boy, then?’
‘As my mother would tell you, similar to how I used to be, yes.’
‘I’m lucky with Caspian. He always tries his best.’
‘You love him very much.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
Ginny sighed. She stopped by the fence which bordered the Heath and nodded in admission. The Gallops glittered beneath the moon like a bed of beaded emeralds as she gazed out over them.
‘Probably too much. My father adores him.’
Julien joined her by the fence, resting his folded arms on the top railing.
‘Your father adores all of his horses.’
‘His life revolves around them,’ she agreed. ‘When he had his heart attack, there was talk of shutting up shop, but we realised that would be more likely to kill him.’
‘So you left your boyfriend in South Africa and came home,’ Julien concluded for her.
Ginny shook her head.
‘Charlie and I had already broken up by that time. We broke up after last year’s J&B Met –’
He looked at her with solemn dark eyes, charged with just the right amount of interest not to appear pressing. Ginny decided to continue.
‘I dropped him in favour of another jockey and he got his own back at me at the after-party.’
With just the darkened Heath in front of her, her mind’s eye brought that night back to her with an added clarity.
The party, attended by all the usual suspects on the racing circuit plus groupies, was going strong by the time the sun had dipped behind the mountain, bathing Cape Town in cool shadow. With emotions in turmoil and the heat not helping, she knew she had probably drunk more wine than was sensible. Looking up at the mountain, black against the purple sky, she shivered on the veranda. That night it didn’t convey its usual protective demeanour, which she usually associated with it. Instead it felt menacing. She walked through into the townhouse, searching each party-filled room.
‘Well done today, Ginny!’ someone called.
She smiled in recognition and moved on. She didn’t want to think about the J&B Met held earlier that day. While Rijk Swanepoel celebrated the victory with the winning owners, she was left to piece together her and Charlie’s relationship. He’d ignored her since the race, deliberately turning his back on her whenever she approached. Ginny’s step quickened as she felt an urgency to repair the damage as soon as possible. She paused when she got to the last entertainment room. Charlie wasn’t in there either. Had he left without her noticing?
‘Dan, have you seen Charlie around?’ she asked a fellow guest.
‘Not for a while.’
Ginny noticed him dart an uneasy look towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She hesitated, turning to follow his gaze. She frowned and looked at Dan curiously. He wouldn’t meet her eye. She stalked towards the doorway.
‘Maybe he’s already split,’ Dan called after her.
Ginny ignored him. She opened the first door and snapped on the light. The room was quiet and empty. She carried on to the next, her heart pounding. She threw it open. The light was already on. The couple lying on top of the sheets didn’t even notice her entrance. Ginny stared, unable to take her eyes off them – off Charlie, kneeling behind the shapely bottom of a girl, his back and buttock muscles flexing as he thrust into her. The harsh electric light flashed off their shining bodies. The pungent smell of sex assaulted her nostrils and Ginny gagged. She fell back against the wall. The picture mounted on it fell to the floor with a crash. Charlie and the girl both looked round in surprise. Ginny stopped breathing. She lifted a hand to her throat to ease the tightness.
‘Charlie?’ she whispered.
Charlie’s look of surprise faded and his mouth curved into a sly smile. He ran his hand over the porcelain bottom in front of him as gently as if he was soothing a nervy horse.
‘Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here,’ he said.
The trembling of her hands spread to the rest of her body until her teeth were chattering. With a cry, she fled the room.
She hadn’t stopped running until now.
‘After that, he broke his retainer at Rijk’s stable and went freelance,’ Ginny concluded. She exhaled. It was such a relief to have said it out loud.
‘Bastard,’ Julien muttered. He shook his head. ‘When does professional become personal and when does personal become professional?’ he mused.
‘It was a mistake which I thought I’d learnt from.’ Ginny gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Mark proved me wrong.’
They began walking again. Was she imagining it or was he walking closer to her? Ginny looked down. Oh, the path had narrowed. Okay, best get a grip, she told herself.
‘It was a good thing you came back,’ Julien said. ‘Your father was once a very good trainer, but the stable needed a new kick. You were the answer.’
‘A new kick, maybe. A good shot at goal, possibly not.’
‘You will improve with experience. I am still learning.’
Ginny grinned.
‘You make it sound like you’re about a hundred.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to patronise.’
‘No, I know you didn’t. I hope things will improve. Ravenhill is still –’ She hesitated, wondering why she was sharing her deepest worries and secrets with the one man she had considered an enemy up until a couple of hours ago. ‘Ravenhill’s still struggling. It’s got some good horses, but like Mark pointed out, they can be counted on one hand. I hate to say it but so much for me flying in ready to save the yard. Now it might not even survive next season.’ She shrugged and lifted a hand in defeat. ‘It’s harder than I thought. I never used to have much to do with owners before. They’re definitely something to learn through experience.’
‘Very much so. Clinton Cole is not a text book owner, that’s for sure.’ The headlights
of a passing car illuminated his sardonic smile.
Ginny managed a small laugh. It felt good to be able to tell someone her fears without then worrying about stressing them out, like for instance, Jim. She knew that she always had a sympathetic ear from Ray or Sally G, but somehow she felt Julien understood more of what she was going through, being a trainer himself.
They reached Sally G’s garden gate and Ginny turned and smiled.
‘Thank you for walking me home. And, again, I’m sorry for being so horrible.’
‘That is okay. You have apologised, and that’s the thing which counts, oui?’ He opened the gate for her and she stepped through.
‘Thank you, Julien,’ she said, turning back. He smiled at her genuine gratitude, almost made to move towards her, but turned it into a hand gesture, threading his fingers through his hair.
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘You neither,’ she grinned.
Chapter 23
Ginny stood under the archway to the stables, her arms folded across her chest. She watched as Kenya was led through the gaping mouth of the horse-van. She gritted her teeth, determined not to show any emotion.
The two men from the equine transport company heaved the ramp shut and clanged the bolts into place.
Kenya was just a horse, after all, she told herself.
‘Right,’ one of the men said, approaching Ginny. ‘We’ll be on our way then.’
Ginny looked at Kenya’s copper-coloured rump shifting above the closed ramp. She was a horse trainer. Horses would come, horses would go.
‘Okay.’ She longed to ask where Kenya was headed for. What treachery did Mark intend to inflict with her and on whom? The van growled into life.
‘She a good traveller?’ the man asked.
Ginny nodded. A lump swelled in her throat. They were her business, not her pets.
‘Good, good. Cheery-bye,’ he waved and jogged back to the van. He hopped into the passenger side and the van swayed out of Ravenhill’s car park.
Ginny swallowed and turned away. Kenya was gone. Hopefully that meant Mark was too. His threats lingered but she boldly ignored them. If she acted like Mark didn’t exist, then there was no chance of her revealing his misdeeds. And if she didn’t reveal his misdeeds, he would have no reason to harm her stable. Easy-peasy, she tried to convince herself. The crunch of tyres on gravel made her spin round in alarm. Her first thought was that Mark was paying her one last visit. She sighed audibly when she recognised Ray’s old Ford.
‘All right, Ginny?’ he said, getting out and walking over to her.
She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.
Ray looked at her, a doubtful pout to his mouth.
‘You sure? You don’t look it. I know I’m not the most observant brother in the world, but you seem a bit pale.’
Ginny smiled and shook her head.
‘I’m fine. I’ve just seen off Kenya, that’s all.’
‘Ah, that explains it.’ He gave her a woebegone look. ‘Tell me you have coffee in the office then tell me your troubles.’
Ginny motioned for him to follow her through to the yard.
‘Why the desperation for caffeine?’
‘Was out in Cambridge last night celebrating a friend’s twenty-fifth. I feel age creeping up on me now.’
Ginny grinned and led the way into the office.
‘You’ll be twenty-five soon,’ she teased. ‘Over the hill.’
Ray sent her a wry glance.
‘It only means two weeks later, you’ll be twenty-six,’ he replied.
‘And destined to live out my days as a spinster,’ she sighed, giving him a mug of percolated coffee. ‘Here you go, old man.’
Ray took a slurp.
‘Aah, bliss,’ he breathed. He settled himself on the tattered two-seater sofa along the one wall and patted the cushion next to him. ‘So have you picked out the cats you intend to live out your lonely days with?’
Ginny laughed as she made herself comfortable beside him.
‘I already have Jack to get me started. He’s Sally G’s cat.’ She shook her head. ‘And he’s a lot less complicated than most males I know.’
‘What happened with Mark?’
Ginny took a sip of her coffee. It was only lukewarm.
‘We broke up a few days ago.’
‘I know that much. Care to expand or are you going to bottle it all up like you usually do?’
Ginny shrugged.
‘You’re only making it harder on yourself by doing that. Tell me, come on. And I won’t get embarrassed if you cry either.’
She smiled.
‘I won’t cry,’ she reassured.
‘Phew, thank God for that. Can’t handle tears. You’d have me in floods if you’d started. So what happened?’
Ginny hesitated. It would be so easy to tell Ray the truth. To shift the burden onto somebody else’s shoulders.
‘We – we came to the conclusion we wanted different things,’ she compromised. ‘We walked in different social circles. I mean you just had to look at the difference in our cars to see it.’
‘If I may say so, anyone who drives a Jaguar X-type and is under fifty is going to be a bit of a prat,’ Ray said supportively.
‘Maybe, but it was a lovely car to travel in,’ Ginny said, unable to snide the car just because it belonged to Mark.
‘What about Kenya? That was a bit harsh taking her away when he must know how hard you’re working to keep Ravenhill going.’
She shrugged and dropped her gaze.
‘Mark likes to play an active role in where his horses race. We figured that to avoid any arguments in future, it was best that he take her some place else.’
‘Bastard,’ Ray grumbled. ‘How have the parents taken it?’
‘I think Mum’s more disappointed that I’ve lost a boyfriend rather than a horse,’ she smiled. ‘And Dad – well, you know what Dad’s like. He just said “These things happen” and carried on reading the paper.’
‘How many horses are you down to now?’
‘Eighteen,’ Ginny replied, shaking her head. ‘But three of those belong to Ravenhill. Caspian’s still recuperating, Libran Charter and that other two-year-old Dad bought, Pico, haven’t managed to get in the frame this season. I think Libran is ready to be retired. He’s nine now anyway.’
Ray nodded in sober silence.
‘How is Caspian doing?’
‘Back exercising. I’m hoping to have him ready for the Solario Stakes. If he can win that and God forbid, the Dewhurst, then Ravenhill might stand a chance.’
‘Well, just be mindful of his accident. Don’t be a fool and rush into anything or you might end up causing more damage.’
Ginny felt a private smile steal across her lips.
‘I shall be as fearful as an angel,’ she replied.
Ray looked puzzled.
‘What?’
Chapter 24
The days leading up to the following Saturday, Ginny lived on tenterhooks. Sequella was running in the Goodwood Cup. She didn’t know whether she was more nervous about Mark’s threat to make things difficult for Ravenhill or because it was her biggest race yet as a trainer.
‘How are you feeling?’ Jim said as they drove down from Newmarket in his car. As the wheels on Ginny’s old Ford Fiesta were threatening to detach themselves after making the journey yesterday, Jim, who was intent on coming to watch Sequella run, had suggested he drive them both in his car.
‘A bit nervous,’ Ginny replied. ‘But strangely confident in Sequella. I don’t know that she’ll beat Jethro. He did win the Ascot Gold Cup after all, but I think she might give him a run for his money. I’ll be pleased if she beats Storm Chaser.’
‘Ginny, let it go,’ Jim said, chuckling.
‘No, it’s not that. I think I’ve come to accept Forrester’s horses weren’t stolen from us. I just feel Sequella spent so much time in Storm Chaser’s shadow, she was the “work horse” for her really…’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. They worked well together; they’re very similar mares. Storm Chaser might have stolen the limelight a bit because she’s won so much black type. Sequella has only come into her own this season. Don’t discount Forrester’s mare though. He likes his horses to be entered only if he thinks they will win.’
‘Julien said much the same thing.’
‘He’s a very wise head on young shoulders,’ Jim nodded, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.
Ginny could think of a much more attractive way of saying that. His shoulders were so broad and… Ginny gave herself a mental shake.
‘He’s also got the weight of the world on those shoulders,’ Jim continued. ‘More so now than ever.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Jim paused as he concentrated on changing lanes. Flicking off his indicator he explained.
‘Silver Sabre. He won comfortably enough yesterday but Vintage Secret, whom he beat back in June, looked a different horse in the Richmond Stakes.’
Ginny murmured in agreement.
‘Not good for Caspian either if they’ve got him in the Dewhurst.’
‘No. And don’t forget Quillan. He’s the one everyone’s worried about. He might not win his races in the same spectacular style as Silver Sabre does but he’s a very smart horse. Only just does enough.’ He gestured to a newspaper lying on the dashboard. ‘They’ve written a comparison between them all in the Racing Post this morning. Have a read.’
Ginny flicked through the pages and settled it flat on her lap when she found the article. The writer praised Silver Sabre and Quillan in two different lights and very cleverly left his readers thinking both horses were on a par, even though Silver Sabre had achieved so much more.
‘Do you think we’re being overambitious entering Caspian in the Dewhurst?’ Ginny asked.
Jim shrugged.
‘To be honest, I don’t know, Ginny.’
She looked at her father, anxiety etched across her face. He’d always bolstered her confidence with his belief in the Ravenhill colt. To hear him express doubt over Caspian’s ability shook her.
At Long Odds Page 18
