‘Thank you, Mr Rawlins,’ the manager said, rising from his chair.
‘And by doing so, ruining good little businesses everywhere through your blasted impatience!’
‘Thank you, Mr Rawlins,’ the manager repeated as a security man appeared at the door in answer to a private summons made moments before. ‘I think in future it would be better for both sides to conduct this business formally by letter. Good day.’
Before he left the building, Rory asked to see the balance on his personal account. He knew he was in the black not the red, but was surprised to see the amount he actually was in credit.
Where on earth did that come from? he wondered as he began the drive home. I don’t have anything like that sort of dosh.
The mystery was cleared up when Rory examined his bank statements in detail when he returned home. The day before they had left for Ireland, it seemed his father had given instructions to transfer the sum of two thousand pounds from the farm account to his son’s account without saying a word about it. Rory stared at the details on the statement and, knowing his father, became convinced at that moment that he must have known that – as Anthony would put it himself – something was up.
Then he remembered the conversation they’d had over a dinner of delicious freshly caught mackerel and floury potatoes their first night in Ireland.
‘You enjoying yourself, old chap?’ his father had asked.
‘Bit early to say, Pa,’ Rory had replied. ‘We’ve only just got back on terra firma. But the omens are good.’
‘I meant in general. As in life in general, old thing.’
‘Well, yes, Dad. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘You suppose so? You suppose so?’ His father had laughed, but not unkindly. His father wasn’t given to unkind laughter. ‘You can’t be enjoying your life if you only suppose you are. The thing is – what you have to do,’ his father had continued, pouring them both some wine, ‘you must find and do something you love. Now I know what you want to do and if that’s the case you simply have to go do it. You have to do what the man said – find out what you want and do it. I have to tell you that, leaving personal stuff aside’ – Rory knew this meant the loss of his mother and the grief that had caused, something his father much preferred not to talk about – ‘leaving that aside, I have to tell you that as far as my wonky old life has gone, I have enjoyed practically every minute of it. I’ve been very fortunate in doing what I do. I’ve met some wonderful folk, trained and worked with some cracking horses and above everything I’ve had fun. So now when it comes to it—’
‘When it comes to what, Pop?’ Rory had interrupted, wondering if there was something his father wasn’t telling him. ‘What do you mean? When it comes to it?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ His father had dismissed the question with an airy wave of his hand. ‘Just a manner of speaking. What I meant was at this point of my life I can put my hand on my heart and say I really have enjoyed what I’ve done. That’s all. Because I want you to be able to say the same when you reach my age – that you’ve done what you wanted to do and you have enjoyed your life. That’s all.’
‘I like working at the yard. Being your assistant.’
‘Sure you do, old boy – but that’s not what you want to do. You know what you really want to do. I know what you really want to do – so remember, it’s never too late. It’s never too late to down tools, say blow it – and bugger off and do the thing that really consumes you. That’s all.’
So perhaps his father had known that he was ill, Rory thought, and in order to shore up the defences he’d deposited a sum of money in Rory’s account to say to him, in this particular term of trial, If all fails, old chap, you can always take off now and do your thing.
That would be his father all over – and because this was what Rory knew and believed, it simply made him all the more determined to make the yard come good, one way or the other, because the yard was his father’s life.
The only other thing he was left to wonder about was the fact that he hadn’t stammered once during the interview at the bank.
‘Are you frit, as they say oop north?’ Millie asked Alice as they drove to the course. ‘You definitely look a lighter shade of pale.’
‘Of course I’m nervous, Millie, what do you think?’ Alice replied. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t get nervous when Jack runs?’
‘I can hardly bear to look, if it were known, duck. I don’t know why we do this to ourselves.’
‘If I’d known I’d feel like this I think I’d definitely have had second thoughts,’ Alice agreed. ‘And this is only his first run.’
‘Even so, it’s exciting as well, right?’ Millie enquired. ‘Having a runner.’
‘A runner’s precisely what I feel like doing.’ Alice sighed. ‘I must be totally and completely bonkers.’
‘Let’s take a rain check on that, shall we? At least until after your chap’s raced. In a couple of hours’ time you might be feeling very different indeed.’
Lynne, Grenville and Constance were already warmly ensconced in the bar by the time Millie and Alice arrived. It was a cold but dry day, and with the promise of a good card the racegoers were arriving in force.
‘Splendid,’ Grenville said as Millie and Alice joined the rest of the partnership. ‘Splendid – we are all met.’
‘Isn’t this something?’ Lynne exclaimed. ‘I am so excited I can hardly think straight.’
‘I gave up thinking straight years ago,’ Constance said. ‘For all the good it was doing me.’
‘Well now look,’ Grenville said, tapping his hat against his leg. ‘Since you ladies are all warm and cosy here, I am just going to pop out to the rails and see if there’s an early betting show.’
‘He’s twenty to one in most papers,’ Lynne said. ‘And I am most definitely going to have a few quid each way at that price.’
‘My money is staying in my purse, since I agree with whoever it was who said it,’ Constance remarked, lighting a cheroot. ‘Horse sense is the wisdom that keeps horses from betting on people.’
‘Very good,’ Grenville said, nodding and smiling. ‘E’en so, and if you will excuse me, ladies, I to the bookmakers.’
On his way to the rails, Grenville bumped into Rory.
‘How is the little horse, Mr Trainer?’
‘He looks well,’ Rory said, hoping to sound nonchalant. ‘Travelled fine.’
‘I’m off to see if I can get me better than twenties,’ Grenville said with a smile.
‘Teddy’s got him at twenty-five.’
‘Then I shall try to match him. See you in the paddock, old man.’
Rory watched the dapper Grenville head for the rails where the account bookmakers had their pitches, wishing that he too had an account. For a moment he thought of asking Grenville to lay his bet, but as soon as he realised he would have to disclose the precise size of his wager he thought better of it. His first intention had been to find a regular bookie with whom to bet, but being a less than novice gambler he was uncertain of the protocol. He had seen on several bookmakers’ boards the slogan No Limit, but he also knew from past experience – his father’s, not his – that some bookies had a habit of welshing on successful large bets, running away from the course before the winning punter could claim his cash, and given his intention Rory could all too easily imagine himself being caught like that. So he knew the best, safest and only way was to bet with the Tote.
But he also knew enough about how the Tote worked to know that too large a bet placed too early could well attract the floating punters, the ones who watched the odds on the Tote shortening or lengthening to see where the money was or wasn’t going. The way the Tote worked, the more money invested, the smaller the winning payout, so if he was going to use the Totalisator he was going to have to do so at the very last moment, just before the off. That is, if he placed a bet at all. The way Rory’s mind was now working, the closer they got to post time the more absurd the thought of any gamble became, let alon
e the one he was contemplating.
The Enchanted’s race was the second contest on the card and the runners for it were already being led up to the pre-parade ring, so since Rory had supervised all that he needed to supervise at this stage, he took himself off for what he hoped would be a calming walk round the enclosure, preferring to stay out of the bar and away from his owners lest their nervousness rub off on him. On his second circuit he bumped into Alice, who he discovered was also a refugee.
‘I didn’t realise I could get so nervous over a horse race,’ she admitted to Rory as they walked into the Silver Ring to soak up a bit more atmosphere. ‘Is he going to be all right, Rory? Please tell me he’s going to be all right.’
‘Of course the horse will be all right, Alice.’ Rory did his best to comfort his ashen-faced owner. ‘He’s a tough sort and he can jump, so bar accidents of course he’s going to be all right,’ he added fatuously.
‘That’s what I mean,’ Alice said. ‘Accidents. It wouldn’t be nearly so bad, I suppose, if there weren’t any jumps, but I’ve just had a close look at those fences.’
‘And you shouldn’t have done,’ Rory assured her. ‘You’re looking at them from the ground.’
‘They’re enormous.’
‘Because you’re looking at them from the ground, Alice. The horse is much bigger than you, and the jockey’s on his back. To them – well, they’re like athletes jumping hurdles. This is probably even easier.’
‘They still fall, Rory.’
‘He won’t fall, Alice. No, let’s put it more accurately than that – he shouldn’t fall because he’s a very good jumper. A lot of the horses in the race – remember, it’s a novice chase, and believe me, most novice chases are exactly that – for novices, for horses with L plates on – a lot of the horses won’t really know how to jump until they’ve run round here, and even then some will never learn. But our chap can jump, and since we’re going to tell Blaze to keep up at the front and well out of trouble, I reckon he will be just fine.’
‘I should never have said yes to this, Rory,’ Alice said, as dismal as ever. ‘It’s really making me feel quite ill.’
‘Come on, Alice.’ Rory laughed. ‘I think I’m going to have to force a brandy down you.’
‘Best I could get was sixteens,’ a puzzled Grenville informed his co-owners as they made their way out to watch the first race, a novice hurdle. ‘Something’s afoot.’
‘News of the famous gallop has leaked, perhaps,’ Millie said. ‘There’s absolutely no reason for him to be fancied.’
‘Particularly since he’s still only in the pre-parade ring,’ Grenville added.
‘What difference does that make, please?’ Constance enquired, holding on to the top of her hat.
‘Means he’s still rugged up,’ Grenville explained. ‘Nobody can tell much when the horses are still rugged up, do you see. No, I think Millie here is right. I think some little bird has sung about his gallop.’
‘I can’t really watch this,’ Alice said. ‘My mind’s not on it. I think I’ll go and see how our horse is.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Lynne said, taking her arm. ‘I must admit I’m feeling a bit Uncle Dick as well.’
While the first race was run, Lynne and Alice watched as Kathleen led The Enchanted from the pre-parade ring into the parade ring proper, where he joined only two other horses, some of the others already being tacked up in their saddling boxes, while the rest remained behind in the lower ring.
‘How is he, Kathleen?’ Alice asked as the girl led the horse past them for the second time. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s fine, Mrs Dixon,’ Kathleen replied, as Alice followed her round on the other side of the rails. ‘He’s actually switched himself off, which is pretty good.’
‘How do you mean, switched himself off?’
‘He’s very relaxed. He’s not wasting any unnecessary energy.’
‘I just hope he’s going to be all right,’ Alice said yet again as she rejoined Lynne. ‘Have you seen some of the other horses? They’re enormous.’
‘Size doesn’t matter, Alice,’ Lynne replied with a grin. ‘Least so they tell me.’
‘I remember Alex talking about boxing, and he said a good big ’un always beat a good small ’un, or something like that,’ Alice muttered, taking some mints from her bag and offering Lynne one. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a terribly dry mouth.’
‘Me, too,’ Lynne agreed, accepting a sweet. ‘What’s wrong with us, anyway? This is meant to be fun.’
‘I’d rather be having root canal treatment,’ Alice said. ‘Really I would.’
The roar from the stands told them that the hurdle race was reaching its climax, and within moments the crowds had streamed away from the course on their way either to collect winnings from the Tote or to stand round the winners’ enclosure as the successful horses were led in. All except the four racing partners, who now gathered at the entrance to the paddock to cast their eye over the competition in a field of fourteen runners.
‘One of Pope’s horses has been withdrawn,’ Grenville told them. ‘Found him cast in his box this morning, apparently.’
‘Cast?’ Alice wondered. ‘I thought that’s what sculptors did.’
‘It means basically he got stuck lying down,’ Millie explained. ‘They can jam themselves up against the wall and hurt themselves trying to get up.’
‘Anyway, that’s one less,’ Grenville continued. ‘The Chambers horse from Lambourn is also rumoured not to be quite right, but they haven’t taken him out. There must be something up because he’s certainly gone for a walk in the market.’
‘Will that do him any good?’ Alice enquired. ‘I can’t see going for a walk anywhere at this late hour’s going to do much good, let alone in some market or other.’
‘No, no, Alice,’ Grenville said patiently. ‘Going for a walk in the market equals the betting market. Look – you can see how his price has gone out.’
Grenville pointed to the Tote approximate odds board where it could be seen that a horse called Put Upon had drifted significantly from three to one out to five to one.
‘While our horse is now only twelve to one,’ Grenville said quietly. ‘I wonder where the money’s coming from?’
‘Certainly not from me,’ Constance assured him. ‘My father always used to say a racehorse is the only animal that can take hundreds of people for a ride at the same time.’
Rory was standing in the centre of the paddock talking to another trainer. When he saw his group of owners he beckoned them to come in.
‘I’m going to tell Blaze to either make the running or keep up with the pace,’ he said. ‘The seven pound allowance he gets as a conditional will certainly help, as long as he’s up to the job.’
‘I remember that bit.’ Alice smiled. ‘He gets a weight allowance because he’s really only an apprentice.’
‘Which is what these boys always used to be called,’ Rory agreed. ‘Until someone invented conditional.’
‘Hope your belief in him is founded, Mr Trainer,’ Grenville said as a line of jockeys now snaked its way into the paddock.
‘He knows the horse, Grenville, and he hasn’t put a foot wrong in his work so far.’
‘He just hasn’t ridden in a proper race, that’s all.’
‘This’ll be a picnic after an Irish point to point, believe me,’ Rory replied. ‘And seven pounds is a lot of weight off this horse’s back.’
As Blaze joined them, with a touch on the front of his cap, all eyes including his turned to the horse who was now having his rug removed by Kathleen. The moment she had it off his back, he gave a small buck born from good health and kicked his heels.
‘Looks well, boss,’ Blaze observed. ‘Looks even better than when we boxed him up. Nice and bonny.’
‘I like your colours,’ Millie said to Alice, admiring the blue and claret shirt and cap. ‘Very smart. Are they yours?’
‘Apparently,’ Alice replied. ‘I ch
ose them with the team, and Rory.’
‘I think I might redo my bedroom curtains in that blue,’ Constance said. ‘It’s not too bright.’
‘You’re not to go using that,’ Kathleen said to Blaze, pointing to his whip.
‘You giving the instructions?’ Blaze replied, waiting to be legged up.
‘Mr Rawlins?’ Kathleen asked, as Rory legged their jockey up.
‘He has to carry a whip, Kathleen,’ Rory muttered. ‘We’ve been through all this.’
‘But he’s not to use it,’ Kathleen insisted. ‘If he does I’ll use it on him.’
‘Just keep him handy,’ Rory said to Blaze, as Kathleen prepared to lead them out on to the course. ‘Get him into a nice rhythm and let him enjoy himself. But stay right in touch. If you can’t make it, keep up with the pace. They go a fair old clip here.’
‘Got you, boss,’ Blaze said, making some final adjustments to his tack. ‘I’ll see yous all in the winner’s enclosure!’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Don’t you dare hit him, Blaze,’ Kathleen warned him again as she walked the horse on to the exit from the paddock. ‘I’m telling you.’
As the runners made their way to post, Rory excused himself and told his owners he’d see them up in the east end of the members’ stand. As they hurried off to get a good vantage point to watch The Enchanted on his way down, Rory hurried off to the Tote.
‘Little horse is going down well,’ Grenville observed through his glasses as the line of horses made their way across the centre of the racecourse and past a fine old stone barn on their way to the two-mile start. ‘As if he’s been doing it all his life.’
‘I feel sick,’ Lynne said. ‘I think I’m going to have to go and sit in the bar.’
‘I’ll join you,’ Alice said. ‘In fact why don’t we just go and get legless, Lynne?’
‘You’ll be fine, both of you,’ Grenville assured them. ‘This is the worst part, believe me. Now, Captain Timms’s horse is favourite,’ he continued, training his race glasses on the bookies’ boards in the next enclosure. ‘Roaring Cavalier at five to four, so they really fancy that one – Pope’s horse as well – Go Fast Carb two to one, while poor old Put Upon is still going walkies at five to one now and six to one in places.’
The Enchanted Page 24
