Cut Throat

by Lyndon Stacey

  Their second class was in the main ring and the big German-bred animal attracted not a little attention from Ross’ fellow riders.

  ‘Come up in the world, haven’t we?’ a husky female voice commented from slightly behind Ross.

  He turned. ‘Danielle!’ he exclaimed delightedly. A petite, pretty brunette, Danielle Moreaux was a successful international rider from Belgium and a girl he had dated a time or two before his accident.

  ‘Ross, it’s nice to see you again,’ she said warmly. ‘Back on the winning track I see, too. I was told in America you had given up.’

  ‘I had.’ Ross grinned.

  ‘But now you’ve come out of retirement?’

  ‘For one last try.’

  ‘You have some nice horses this time, I think,’ she said, running her eye over Bishop approvingly.

  Ross nodded. ‘This fella’s one of the best I’ve ever ridden,’ he agreed. ‘But he’s young yet. I don’t want to rush him.’

  ‘Well, it’s time you had some luck. You deserve it, you really do! Oh, number thirty-five, that’s me! Come on, Bosun. Wake up, you lazy lump!’

  She gathered up her reins and Ross watched appreciatively as she rode away towards the ring entrance, a neat figure in black jacket and cream breeches astride a grey thoroughbred.

  In due course, Bishop jumped an immaculate clear and followed it with another in the jump-off, half an hour later. Ross didn’t push him for a fast time, unwilling to do anything to upset the young horse’s wonderful rhythm and balance at this early stage. He was well satisfied with the horse’s performance.

  ‘A clear round,’ the commentator confirmed. ‘But a slow time of fifty-eight seconds. You’ll have to try a bit harder than that, Ross. Put some heart into it!’

  He was furious.

  ‘What’s with that guy?’ he demanded of Danielle as they passed in the collecting ring. ‘Why can’t he keep his smart-ass comments to himself?’

  ‘Well, I suppose you can’t expect him to be your biggest fan,’ Danielle said matter-of-factly.

  Ross looked blankly at her.

  ‘You mean, you don’t know who he is?’ she asked, swinging her horse round to come alongside.

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘Oh!’ the Belgian girl exclaimed, exasperated. ‘Where have you been all these years? That’s Harry Douglas. Everybody knows him! He does the commentary on TV and at all the big shows over here.’

  ‘Okay. But why pick on . . . ? Ah.’ The light dawned. ‘Douglas, as in Stephen Douglas?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Danielle nodded. ‘In his eyes you’re riding the horses his son should be riding. The fact that Stephen made a mess of the job is presumably beside the point to daddy’s way of thinking.’

  Her number was called and she rode away, leaving Ross to reflect that with opposition in such influential places, gaining recognition in England could prove to be just as hard as it had been in the States.

  The next morning, Ross was busy schooling Barfly in the arena when the Colonel appeared and stood watching with Bill at the gate.

  Fly was an unrewarding pupil. He had the ability, but his attitude left a lot to be desired. Ross had started early with the young horse, before the sun made any exertion uncomfortable, and when his employer appeared he was about ready to stop. He did another ten minutes or so and then rode over to the gate where the Colonel waited, alone now.

  ‘He’s a bit of a bugger, isn’t he?’ he observed as Ross dismounted.

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ Ross agreed. ‘It’s not that he can’t, he just doesn’t try.’

  ‘Mmm. We could see he was being stubborn. I thought you were remarkably patient, considering.’

  ‘Well, he’s young yet,’ Ross said, setting Barfly free to roll and wondering if there was a purpose to the Colonel’s apparently casual visit.

  ‘You’re good with the youngsters,’ the older man went on. ‘Even Robbie Fergusson was impressed. He rang me this morning.’

  ‘Just to tell you that?’ Ross was sceptical and wary. Something in the Colonel’s body language told him this was perhaps sugar to sweeten a bitter pill.

  ‘Well, no, as a matter of fact,’ he admitted. ‘Ross, I’m afraid Fergusson has decided to sell King. He had a good offer yesterday and sees it as a way to cover some of his expenses. I think perhaps things are a bit tight at the moment.’

  Ross’ face hardened against the familiar disappointment.

  ‘I see,’ he said tonelessly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The Colonel sounded genuinely so. ‘The thing is, King is in good health and the form of his life but at fourteen, as you know, his value can realistically only go down. He’ll only have two or three more years at the top, however careful we are.’

  ‘Sure, I understand,’ Ross said with resignation. ‘You know he qualified for Birmingham yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ the Colonel said quietly. ‘That clinched the deal.’

  ‘Instant success. Bought, not worked for,’ Ross said wryly but without bitterness. It was a familiar scenario. ‘When will he go?’

  ‘Probably at the end of the week. Look, I’ve got to go now. Come up to the house later, for a sherry.’

  When he had gone, Ross tacked up Ginger and, coming across Danny in the yard, invited the boy to accompany him on Simone. Danny, who had a day off school due to something called a ‘teacher training day’, was a very able rider; a talent which his father did little to encourage.

  ‘Did you go to college, Ross?’ he asked as they clattered along the country lanes with the dog at their heels. ‘Dad wants me to go to college but I don’t want to. I don’t need A-levels to be a jockey.’

  ‘Sure I went,’ Ross said. ‘And I went on to law school too. My father wanted me to be a lawyer and join the family firm.’

  ‘But you didn’t, did you?’ Danny said eagerly. ‘You went your own way. Why can’t Dad see I’ve got a right to live my own life?’

  ‘I guess he only wants what he thinks is best for you,’ Ross said, cringing inwardly as he heard himself echoing generations of parents with his words. ‘And it never hurts to have some academic qualifications too. Horses are a risky business – look at me, I almost had to go back to studying law.’

  Danny was not convinced. ‘I could always turn to training if I couldn’t ride any more,’ he said with the easy optimism of youth. ‘And anyway, Dad doesn’t want me ever to be a jockey. Not now. Not in two years’ time. Not ever!’

  The American suppressed a smile at his boyish despair. ‘In a year or two he won’t have any say in the matter, as far as I can see,’ he observed. Then, as they turned off the tarmac surface on to a grassy woodland track, ‘Come on, let’s get some practice in now, anyway.’

  He hitched up his stirrups five or six holes and waited while Danny did the same, then, crouched jockey-like over their horses’ necks, they put them into a gallop and thundered down the track between the trees. It wasn’t until they pulled up, legs aching from the unaccustomed position and faces glowing with exhilaration, that Ross remembered it was Ginger he was riding.

  Ross spent the afternoon cleaning tack. It being Monday, Bill was on his own and it didn’t seem fair to leave extra work for him. As he worked amongst the smells of leather, saddle soap and metal polish, Ross pondered his own, so far unrewarded attempts to befriend the man. Scott might, as the Colonel alleged, have an exhaustive fund of equine knowledge locked away in his head but to date that was where it had stayed. Apart from when it was absolutely necessary, he had shown no inclination whatever to talk to Ross.

  He had a strange feeling that Bill regarded him as a failure just waiting to happen, and although the horses’ recent successes had undoubtedly pleased the man, his cold reserve where Ross was concerned had not noticeably warmed.

  As though summoned by Ross’ thoughts, the stable manager appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I could have done that,’ he observed dourly.

  ‘That’s okay. I don’t mind.’

 
Bill grunted. He wandered around the tackroom, looking at a bridle here, tidying a blanket box there, whistling tunelessly through his teeth all the while, until Ross could cheerfully have strangled him.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t encourage Danny in this stupid idea of becoming a jockey,’ Bill said suddenly from behind him. ‘It’s really none of your business.’

  Ross caught his breath at the unfairness of this unexpected attack. He turned slowly to find Bill glaring belligerently at him.

  ‘I’ve done no such thing,’ he said evenly. ‘But I’ll not discourage him either, and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll hold off too. It’s his life, after all, and if he’s got any spirit, opposition will only make him more determined. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘It’s none of your bloody business!’ Bill repeated with tight-lipped fury. ‘Just stay out of it. He thinks you’re some kind of hero. Can’t see you for what you really are. When he does, he’ll despise you as he despises me.’

  Ross shook his head emphatically. ‘No. You’re wrong there. He doesn’t despise you. If he did he wouldn’t be aching to follow in your footsteps, would he? You should be proud of him. He’ll do it, you know. Without your support if he has to, but he’d much rather do it with.’

  ‘What makes you think you’ve the right to tell me how to bring up my son?’ Bill hissed furiously. ‘You’re a fine bloody role model, aren’t you? Don’t think I don’t know the real reason you lost your job in America! You might fool the Colonel and Mr Richmond but I know better, and it’s only a matter of time before they find out for themselves. So why don’t you get out while you can still go with dignity?’

  With this, Bill turned abruptly on his heel and left the tackroom. Ross stared after him in bemused silence.

  Obviously Bill had somehow come to hear of the rumours that had surrounded his ‘retirement’ in the States, but quite what that had to do with Danny’s ambition to be a jockey, Ross couldn’t see. Somehow, too, it failed to account for the violence of the outburst.

  Just before noon the following day, a red MG Roadster drew up in the yard and Lindsay climbed out, looking slim and tanned in cotton hipsters and a cropped top.

  Ross had just finished hosing Bishop down after a hard but rewarding session in the school. He turned the tap off and went towards her, drying his hands on his unbuttoned denim shirt and smiling widely.

  ‘Hi! When did you get back? And why didn’t you tell me?’ He took advantage of the occasion to give her a welcoming kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Yesterday morning, early. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I’ve been longing to see how you’re getting on and suddenly I couldn’t wait any longer, so I rang the airport and they had a cancellation – so here I am! I was going to ring but then I thought I’d surprise you all.’

  Bill and Sarah had appeared from the tackroom and joined in greeting Lindsay. Leo stood watching from a doorway until he was introduced and then turned on a hitherto undemonstrated charm.

  ‘You’re just in time for coffee,’ Ross told her. ‘Let me put Bishop away and we’ll go and find Maggie.’

  ‘Do you know, that’s one of the things I’ve missed most about England. Maggie’s baking.’ Lindsay laughed. ‘That and Gypsy. I’m longing to ride her again.’

  Ross knew from their long conversations in the hospital that the Colonel’s yard was barely three miles from the sizeable Georgian manor where Lindsay’s family lived, and which was managed as a venue for conferences and up-market functions. She had told him that throughout her childhood, her ponies, and then horses, had been stabled at Oakley Manor to prevent her becoming, as her mother put it, ‘one of those abominable little horsey girls who always smell of stables’. As the only child of the Cresswells of Cresswell Hall, she was expected to make a suitable marriage and in due course take over the running of the Hall.

  Seated at the table in the Scotts’ cottage, Lindsay munched on one of Maggie’s rock cakes and demanded to hear, in detail, about all Ross’ successes to date.

  ‘And what happened to your hand?’ she asked, after commiserating with him over the loss of the ride on King.

  Ross hesitated. ‘I . . . uh . . . got kicked,’ he said. ‘Bishop is a tad grouchy about having his legs handled, but it’s nothing much.’ He flexed the fingers of his bandaged hand to prove it was still operational.

  ‘“The patient is said to be comfortable”,’ Lindsay quoted, grinning.

  Ross smiled back. ‘Yeah, that sort of thing,’ he agreed, noting that Leo was regarding him with a sullen stare, and wondering, not for the first time, if somebody really had pushed him under Bishop’s feet. He shrugged the thought off. They had had their differences, but Leo had never given him any reason to think he wished him actual harm. For the most part they worked together well.

  ‘Whose is the dog?’ Lindsay asked, seeing the German Shepherd lying half under Ross’ chair.

  ‘Mine,’ he said, reaching a hand down to stroke its head.

  ‘My, we have settled in, haven’t we?’

  ‘Actually, it was more a case of the dog adopting me,’ he told her.

  Lindsay snapped her fingers, bending down to look at the animal. ‘Come on. Come and see me. What’s his name?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ross said, realising that he’d never even thought about it. ‘I just call him “lad”, or “boy”.’

  Lindsay looked heavenwards.

  ‘Honestly, men!’ she said, heavily. ‘We’ll have to think of one for you,’ she told the dog, who flopped his tail but made no move towards her.

  Maggie got up to clear away empty mugs and offer refills, and Ross remembered that he had another horse to ride before lunch.

  ‘Come on, back to work,’ he said, standing up. ‘Sarah, will you saddle Clown for me in a minute? Leo, the poles in the jumping lane need picking up. Put them at two foot six, will you?’

  Lindsay finished her coffee. ‘Thanks, Maggie, that was lovely. I must go and see Uncle John, but first I want to see my darling Gypsy. Is she here or out in the field?’

  ‘She’s in the paddock behind the barn. I’ll come with you,’ Ross suggested.

  As they walked, Lindsay glanced appraisingly at him. ‘So how’re things, really?’

  ‘Good,’ he stated. ‘I’m glad I came. Thanks.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly! I must say you look a lot better than last time I saw you. You’ve lost that haunted look. England must suit you.’

  ‘Wow! Was I that bad?’ Ross joked, uncomfortably.

  Lindsay nodded. ‘Awful. You had me worried for a bit.’ They had reached Gypsy’s field and she called the mare over.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not especially proud of that little episode,’ he admitted on a sigh.

  ‘You had good reason.’ Lindsay reached out to pat her horse. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past. Now you can show them what you’re really made of!’

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed, pushing all thoughts of Ginger firmly to the back of his mind.

  Shortly after that Lindsay departed with a cheery wave to visit ‘Uncle John’, and Ross was left with mixed emotions. Seeing her again had lifted his spirits even more than he had expected, but his pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that somewhere in the wings lurked the man she was to marry.

  ‘James? Oh, he’s still in Hong Kong at the moment,’ she had said in answer to his casual query. ‘I spoke to him two days ago but he wasn’t sure how soon he’d be back.’

  Ross banished the absent James to the dim recesses of his mind, along with Ginger. He was getting quite good at it.

  6

  Lindsay’s return acted like a breath of fresh air blowing through the yard at Oakley Manor. Leo exerted himself to be the classic romantic and affected deep hurt when she refused to take him seriously; Sarah came out of her shell and could be heard chatting quite animatedly to the older girl; even Bill was a shade more cheerful.

  Lindsay spent at least part of most days at the yard, exercising Gypsy and sometimes one of the
other horses. As far as Ross could tell, she seemed unaware of the growing strength of feeling he had for her and he took care to keep it that way. For her part, she gave no hint that she regarded Ross as anything more than a friend and he wasn’t prepared to risk losing the companionship they shared by suggesting anything more.

  A few days after her return he raided his savings and bought a battered jeep to run around in. Although he had been told he could borrow the yard’s Land-Rover, Ross didn’t like to use it on other than yard business in case there was an emergency. Besides, it was in his nature to be independent.

  He also took Lindsay’s less than subtle hint and went into Salisbury to get his hair cut, using the opportunity to fill out his sparse wardrobe and equip himself with a mobile phone and a new watch at the same time.

  King was collected at the end of the week, and after consultation with the Colonel, Cragside was turned out to grass, Ross feeling that the solid grey had neither the ability nor the temperament to progress any further. Come autumn he would be sold as a hunter.

  With Butterworth invalided indefinitely, the yard was down to seven horses in full work, not counting Gypsy, and with Lindsay around and Danny soon home for the holidays it seemed ridiculously overstaffed.

  Ross’ dog had settled in well, lying around in shady corners while Ross was in the yard or the school, padding softly out to follow the horses when he rode out to exercise and following him into his room at night. In the cottage or up at the main house he sat quietly behind Ross’ chair as if he had been trained to do so and in general avoided everybody but Ross, whom he worshipped, and Sarah, whom he tolerated. He took to the jeep at once, jumping into the back as soon as Ross started the engine and travelling with his black muzzle resting on his master’s shoulder.

  The horses travelled to a couple more shows; Bishop and Flo building on their promising beginnings, and Franklin’s old horse, Woodsmoke, pulling off a surprise win over a huge course at Lea Farm one evening.

  Simone was proving hard to beat in speed classes, and although Ross still mistrusted Ginger, she didn’t put a foot wrong at any of her shows and was even placed once.