by Fiona Walker
Dougie’s mind, usually empty of everything but the track at this stage, was now racing, pushing together electrical connections that felt like two live wires touching. Chasing the fox had been a false trail. It should have been a stag hunt all along.
‘Kat Mason,’ he breathed, as he sized up the first fence in a hailstorm of flying mud. ‘The girl in the paddock was Kat Mason.’ He kicked for a long stride.
The little bay disagreed, putting down again so that his front legs dragged through the birch, making him paddle and peck on landing. Having committed to the flyer, Dougie was too far up his neck.
On the hill, the crowd gasped as the little horse that had started as short odds favourite stumbled and pecked at the first fence, its rider pitched forward over its neck, almost eating the dirt. And yet, as the little bay righted itself, nimble and athletic and determined not to be left behind, the jockey in the red and gold silks stayed put, a lion on his back, scrambling into the saddle to give chase to the rest of the field.
‘Nobody I know could sit that!’ Tina shrieked beside Kat. ‘That’s bloody amazing riding!’
Kat said nothing. She rarely wished ill on anybody, but she spent the next eight minutes clutching Tina’s creased waxed coat around her sodden, charred deer costume, willing Dougie Everett to fall off. But the horse galloped and jumped like a stag after their first near miss. To her ongoing mortification, she could see Dougie had been totally right about the stringhalt not affecting his racing: the funny leg action he had in walk disappeared in faster work. The field was the biggest of the day and the soft ground, now churned and heavy after five races, made for a messy, false-paced race amid a lot of traffic with plenty of fallers. Choosing the best ground, Dougie tracked the field around the outside, picking the best take-offs and offering Kevin the dream run.
‘The man can certainly ride,’ breathed Tina, as she watched alongside Kat. Then, catching her indignant expression, added, ‘Awfully rude, though.’
The combination beat their closest rivals by three lengths.
‘Whose fucking arse is on fire now?’ he called to Kat, as he rode back to the winner’s enclosure.
Chapter 26
‘Now is our moment,’ Kat told wise Donald, as she tacked up for the charity race, trying to ignore Tina wiping away a tear and crossing herself nearby. ‘We’ll be superstars.’
‘Just hunt him round the back,’ Tina ordered, sounding unusually brusque.
‘You said, “Lead from the front,” yesterday.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. Bring him home safely, Kat. And yourself, of course,’ she added as an afterthought, blowing her nose.
Lauded for his skilful race riding, Dougie had charmed all who met him and been invited to watch the remaining three races from rival VIP tailgates. Observing him closely, aware that he was in his element and breaking down much-needed barriers – and secretly very impressed that he was sticking to mineral water – Dollar hung back, the forest of tweed and waxed cotton surrounding him tougher to penetrate than barbed wire and chain-link. His eyes sought her out often, playful and carnal, knowing that his reward was waiting for him. Dollar looked forward to bestowing it, and to making sure he was fully briefed before she left him alone at Eardisford to get on with the job, still not entirely convinced he would behave himself without her there. But, just as she decided the time was right for his charmed exit, she realized he was being spirited back towards the jockeys’ tent to get ready for another race.
She consulted her race card. This wasn’t in the plan.
When Kat walked into the paddock to mount laid-back Donald for the charity race, her teeth chattering, she was furious to discover that Dougie Everett was a last-minute entry and now firm favourite, having agreed to take a chance ride on a hunt horse offered to him by one of the Brom and Lem’s amateur whippers-in, an old friend of his father. He was treating the race like a huge joke. To add to her indignation, the horse was called Cat Fight, a gift to the commentator who would now think up every suggestive connotation he could.
Riding out on course for the flag start, determined to beat him despite her rudimentary skills, Kat was vaguely aware that the rest of the field were all smiling and nodding at her as though she was a sick kid who had won a special outing, none more so than Dougie Everett.
‘Not been riding long, then?’ he asked, big blue eyes crinkling benignly.
She gritted her teeth, eyeing the flag. ‘Years.’ Two whole years, she thought anxiously, and she still couldn’t canter without curling loops of mane through her fingers as she was doing now. Catching Dougie staring at her hands in amusement, she turned a circle. She wasn’t even looking when the starter’s flag came down.
Yet Donald was almost immediately out in the lead. As soon as the race got under way, it was obvious to all but Kat what was happening. Her blood was boiling too much to notice as she kicked for home, leading from the front.
On the hill, Tina groped for a tissue, weak with relief, not caring that Kat wasn’t hunting around the back of the field as she’d asked. Instead, the field were the ones holding back.
‘Aw, bless them all.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she watched her very novice pupil and very experienced horse lolloping along ten lengths in front. ‘They’re letting Kat win.’
‘Bloody good sportsmanship,’ Frank Bingham-Ince said approvingly, lifting the flat cap from his salt-and-pepper hair to cheer her home. ‘She’s a gutsy girl, but Miriam was right – can’t ride for toffee.’
‘She’s much improved,’ Tina insisted, wincing as her baby hit her over the head with the plastic antler.
‘Excellent result.’ Frank admired the redhead clinging to the neck-strap as Donald sent up arcs of divots in his wake, tanking prick-eared to the finishing post. ‘What a game girl.’ Frank fished through his pockets for his winning betting slip. ‘Could keep going all day. I’ll have her out with the Brom and Lem, mark my words.’
For a moment, blinded by speed and deafened by the roar of blood in her ears, Kat was euphoric. ‘I won! We won!’ She hugged and patted Donald ecstatically. It took her almost a circuit to pull up, by which time the hunt staff were already parading the hounds along the course and the commentator was reminding the crowd to take their litter home with them. Then, hacking breathlessly back towards the main hill where a small, loyal crowd was cheering heartily, reality finally kicked in and she realized the race must have been fixed.
In the winner’s enclosure Dougie, who had come second, was laughing his head off along with the third placed rider. Kat didn’t catch the entire joke, but she was sure she heard ‘toddlers’ trotting race’ and ‘donkey derby’.
Jumping off Donald, she pulled her helmet off and marched up to him, red hair spilling across her shoulders, sweat stains under her arms. ‘Was it you who told everybody to go slow so that I could win? Everybody knew it was a fix, didn’t they? How dare you?’
To her surprise, he smiled at her with heart-stopping charm, head dipped, eyes locked on hers. ‘Congratulations, Kat. You rode a blinder. It earned a lot of donations to a very worthy cause.’
Kat ignored the jolting heart and lungs as she snarled, ‘I wanted to take part in a race, not lead a procession. I would have been happy to come last. I deserved to come last.’
‘I’ve heard of a bad loser, but you’re a seriously bad winner.’ He was still smiling, but there was an edge to his voice. Then, as if remembering his manners, he stepped forward and said, in a seductive undertone so that only she could hear, ‘I could give you some race-riding tips over that drink, if you like. If you don’t mind me saying, you looked a bit random out there.’
Kat stepped back, her own big smile launched in self-defence. ‘I said I didn’t want a drink,’ she reminded him tightly.
‘Actually,’ he looked at her through his long lashes, the tone unmistakably flirtatious, ‘you said that you wouldn’t take a drink from me if you were on fire, which you were. Surely I can buy you one now I’ve put the Kat out.’
> ‘No, thanks,’ she said determinedly, hurt pride burning the inside of her throat and chest. ‘It takes a lot more than a water trough to put my fire out.’
Having watched the race with a satisfied smile from her white Porsche, Dollar sent Seth the video recording she’d made on her tablet camera, interpreted U * $! x as good, and then texted Well done to Dougie, adding, You may now claim your prizes. D.
He was sitting beside her within a minute.
‘I said that dog cannot come in here.’ She wrinkled her nose at the small, sleeping black ball in his arms.
‘His name’s Quiver and we won’t be staying long.’
Tutting, Dollar fished in her handbag and pulled out the gun, slotting out the cartridge and emptying its contents into her hand to give to him.
‘And the rest…’
With a long-suffering sigh, she opened the glove-box and pointed to the box of bullets there.
‘Thank you.’ He took them. ‘I don’t like arms around me. Of any kind. I blame my childhood. It was all guns and abandonment.’
‘Remind me to ask for a bow and arrow next time,’ Dollar said.
‘A twelve-bore and a well-trained spaniel would be more acceptable round here.’ He grinned, reaching for the door handle.
‘You have forgotten something.’ She held up a pair of frilly knickers.
‘Thanks.’ He pocketed them, eyeing her with amusement.
‘You must be very stiff,’ she said, in her deepest purr. ‘I will give you a massage later.’
‘For you, my gorgeous Dollar, I’m stiff on demand, but we’ll have to make it an early one. I have a game of Kat and mouse to finish.’
Dollar’s smile, so rare and hard-won, was triumphant.
Kat was trying to extract a very pissed man dressed as a badger from the beer tent.
The borrowed horsebox was already loaded and ready to roll with the hard-earning sanctuary oldies, along with heroic Donald, but she knew she had a responsibility to transport the wildlife too, especially since Russ had to be sobered up enough to perform on stage later. Mags was nowhere to be seen – Kat assumed she had left with Calum, who needed to get his falcons home after their display – but Russ was still crunching around on abandoned STEWS flyers.
‘I have been working tirelessly all afternoon spreading the word,’ he insisted, waving his plastic claws.
‘I did wonder where you were,’ she said tetchily, as she herded him outside.
‘The poisonous old committee biddies sent me here on a secret mission. And they were right. I raised a mint for the sanctuary – look!’ He held out a bucket positively brimming with coins and notes. ‘So we’ve both been hard at it.’ He lurched sideways and tripped over a guy rope, stumbling on to his knees in front of her. ‘You’re wearing breeches.’
‘Well observed.’ She helped him up.
‘Oh, yeah. I heard you won the race. That’s great.’
‘You didn’t even watch, Russ.’ In a way, she was grateful that he hadn’t witnessed the travesty, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. She didn’t care how much money he’d raised, his lack of support really hurt. ‘It was all a total fix.’
‘I was against that, but Bill thought it would be a big boost for you and the cause.’
‘Your uncle fixed it?’
‘Don’t knock it. We doubled our money.’ He rattled the cash bucket. ‘Almost lost the lot when Dougie Everett refused to play ball, but the others talked him round on the way to the start apparently. He thought it wasn’t fair sport, which is ripe coming from a bastard who chases innocent animals for entertainment. The man’s a seriously nasty piece of work.’
‘I’d gathered that,’ she hissed, stomping towards the lorry.
‘I’ll see him off, never you fear,’ Russ reassured her, as he lurched in her wake, ricocheting off a parked car before staggering into a dustbin and spilling the cash everywhere.
Chapter 27
Despite heavy leafleting at the point-to-point, the Animal Magnetism ‘benefit’ gig at the Eardisford Arms that evening drew no more than the usual suspects, a hardened core of fans largely made up of friends and family, plus the usual pub regulars and a couple of tourists staying in Miriam’s holiday cottage. They had mistakenly thought it was a folk evening and were soon visibly wincing as they tried to bolt huge Herefordshire beef rib-eye steaks in order to pay up and leave. Relocated to a makeshift stage in the public bar due to a leaking pipe in the skittle alley, the band had failed to adjust their volume to suit the smaller space and were ear-splittingly loud.
Still in his badger outfit and far from sober, Russ was putting in an energetic performance as he pogoed around on stage, adding shrieking guitar riffs to the band’s repertoire of Clash covers. The band members were all talented musicians, but the gimmicky costumes, authentic indie-punk playlist and deafening volume didn’t work in their favour in the cramped confines.
Kat longed to be at home chatting to Dawn about her day, but she knew that she would only have wound herself up more about the fixed race and Dougie Everett’s smugness. Here she could smile and shrug it off, as well as wolfing down a portion of Jed’s rabbit hotpot in exchange for offloading another glut of Lake Farm eggs on the pub kitchens.
Sitting with the Hedges sisters and the girl grooms from the local livery yard, she endured a lot of good-natured teasing about the slowest-run five-furlong race in history, along with the inevitable excited gossip about Eardisford’s new huntsman. The consensus was that he was Hot, although the mysterious girlfriend was Not. Even when Kat indiscreetly described the buttocks in the horsebox window, it seemed only to add to his sex appeal.
‘He is going to be such fun to have around,’ sighed one of the grooms.
Just as Mags was murdering ‘London Calling’, another of the girls let out a shriek of excitement. ‘OhmyGod, DON’T look, but he’s just walked in.’
They all immediately turned to look. Only Kat carried on munching her lemon meringue tart, watching Russ hip-thrusting his guitar neck suggestively towards Mags as the band moved from Clash to Cure and launched into ‘The Lovecats’. Her eyes narrowed as Mags hip-thrust back, letting out a stream of feline yowls. The platonic friendship was always tested to the limit on stage, where Mags flirted outrageously with all her band members. Watching her practically mounting the keyboard player from behind, Kat wondered how the notoriously hot-tempered Calum put up with it.
But when she looked, Calum was distracted at the bar, where Dougie Everett had parted the earthmen faster than a plough through soft loam, the object of intense fascination. Kat’s excited tablemates kept up a running commentary as he ordered a drink – ‘A pint… cola by the look of it. Probably driving.’ They then reported that the few-toothed ones had edged closer and were laughing raucously as he talked to them all, flashing that famous smile.
‘He is so hot.’
‘I can’t believe I’m wearing no makeup!’
‘I’m getting the next round in.’
‘It’s my turn!’
‘No, I’ll get these.’
‘Wait, he’s coming over!’
The girls licked their lips, all rising several inches like meerkats as they held in tummies and tightened their buttocks.
Kat licked her dessert spoon, still eyeing Russ and Mags, who appeared to be simulating sex with an amplifier and a mic stand respectively.
A throat was cleared overhead. ‘If I promise not to put your fire out, Kat, can I buy you a drink as a peace offering – and your friends too, of course?’ The clipped, husky voice was pure big-screen, feel-good Brit-pack idol, although he had to project it to be heard over the band, like a stage actor in a hearing-assisted Shakespeare matinée.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She didn’t turn round, her words drowned by a flurry of requests for vodka Coke.
‘Kat will have a pint of cider,’ the girls insisted. ‘She can drink five back to back without passing out. It’s a ladies’ pub record.’
‘Another tremendo
us talent.’ He headed to the bar.
‘What did you say that for?’ muttered Kat.
‘Okay, so you passed out and were a tiny bit sick last time,’ the groom gazed at the bar, ‘but he is so ripped you have to let him buy us all a drink.’
When Dougie returned with a fully loaded tray, Kat noticed that the regulars were now watching her table, not the stage, although the badger was riffing so loudly his plectrum broke. There was something about Dougie that drew the eye, like a fire flickering merrily in a grate: people couldn’t resist inching closer to feel the warmth, but were nonetheless wary of being burned.
The girls all shuffled up to make space and a stream of introductions followed that Dougie couldn’t have hoped to hear as he settled beside Kat on the long bench seat. But his smile was so charming and his expression so sexily intense that all the girls thought he’d committed their name to memory above the others. They raised their drinks in a toast and watched him eagerly, smiles fading as he turned to Kat, his intense blue gaze exclusively on her, and mouthed, ‘Truce?’
