Room 119

by T F Lince

  Dean was back at work within two weeks, on crutches with his leg still in plaster. He was quite junior then and Dexter Falconer hardly knew who he was. Maybe Mr Falconer would notice him now he had a big white plaster of Paris ‘pot’ on the bottom of his leg.

  Dean took the opportunity while he was lame to learn. He studied all the e-learning and Excel spreadsheets he could as if he was studying for an exam, but there was no exam. He was studying to get noticed. If he put his razor-sharp mind into predicting the future, the people who mattered might give him credit.

  Every Monday, Dean would pick up a Racing Post and painstakingly look through the declarations for a horse called Baby Doctor. He had very little to go on, but at least he had the filly’s name and age.

  Three months after he’d broken his leg, Dean’s learning had paid off and he was a junior trader. He had been recommended by some of the big dogs on the upper floors whom he had given a few trading trends to. Every Monday, his Racing Post under his arm, he was greeted with a “Hi, Dean” from the receptionist – that hadn’t happened when he’d been on the first floor. Now he would get into the lift and press floor three – he was going in the right direction.

  His first job of every Monday was not to look at trades or trends, though; it was to look for Dr Summers’s dad’s racehorse. Jack often asked why Dean didn’t just send her some flowers. But, although Dean knew very little about Sarah, he did know that she had set the terms of the agreement. If he met her any other way, it would be breaking her rules.

  One particular Monday, he got to his office, which was moderate at best, and had a coffee delivered by the adorable Kylie, the secretary he shared with five other traders on this floor. He had a sip and looked through the flat race declarations.

  Baby Doctor, a two-year-old filly owned by Mr G R Summers, would be running the following Monday, a week today, in the 7.45pm at Windsor.

  Dean had another slurp of his coffee and picked up the phone to ring Jack.

  “Jack, she wasn’t lying. She does exist.”

  “Yorkie, who wasn’t lying and who exists?”

  “Dr Sarah wasn’t lying. The racehorse does exist.”

  “Oh, I forgot it was Monday.”

  “Baby Doctor, owned by Mr G R Summers, is running next Monday night at Windsor. Can you square it with your wife so that you can go with me?”

  “If I must. I hope it’s all worth it, Yorkie. I’m sure our lass will be fine – for some reason she likes you. God knows why.”

  Chapter 27 – An Evening at the Races

  The following Monday arrived. Dean, leaving nothing to chance, wore a dark blue bespoke Brioni suit with Edward Green 890 Last Shelton shoes, and he left his tie on, which was normally the first thing to be discarded when he left the office. Jack’s tie was already off by the time they hit the lift in the office.

  They arrived at Windsor and headed for the boat which would take them directly to the racecourse in good time for the first race at 5.45pm. Once they were on the boat, it was no surprise when Jack went to the bar for a couple of cans of beer. The journey was only twenty minutes long, but he had an official pass from his wife and was going to make the most of it.

  “Here you go, Yorkie, and good luck on your quest.”

  They clinked cans.

  Dean was bothered about meeting Sarah again. What would he say? Remember me? Dean was not normally stuck for words, but he was not normally under this much pressure, either. Absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, and Dean had been thinking about Sarah more or less every day since they’d met briefly in the hospital. But what if she didn’t even remember him? After all, he had not been in touch since.

  The boat meandered up to Windsor Racecourse entrance. Following the gathering crowds, Dean was wishing that he had left his jacket behind. It was a hot afternoon, but he would probably need it for the dress code in the posh end where the owners gathered. He just hoped Jack would be allowed in wearing his usual ‘I have not made an effort’ attire.

  Dean took out his wallet. “I’ll get this, Jack. I owe you that at least. Two tickets for the Club Enclosure, please.”

  “That’s fifty-four pounds, sir.”

  Dean paid, and he and Jack moved through security and on to the course. Then Dean bought a couple of race cards and handed one to Jack.

  “OK, what now, Yorkie? You’ve got me here, so what next?” Jack enquired.

  “How about you get us a drink and we have a bet on the first race. I’ve not really got a plan; just going to play it by ear. She might not even be here.”

  Jack took a quick look at the race card.

  “Yep, Domino in the first. Richard Hannon and Richard Hughes always win the first race at Windsor.” Jack said this with some authority. He knew far more about horses than Dean did. He got back from the bar just as Domino was waltzing her way through the last furlong.

  “Told you, Yorkie, follow Uncle Jack and you won’t go far wrong.”

  They won three of the next four races, Dean following Jack’s tips. Jack was on fire and he knew it. In between races, they walked around everywhere, Dean’s eyes like a hawk’s, looking out for a particularly beautiful girl in amongst a crowd of beautiful girls.

  The day was slowly morphing into evening. After their last winner, Dean looked at the race card. Baby Doctor, owned by Mr G R Summers, was running in the next race.

  “Another beer, Yorkie?” Jack was having a ball. He’d already called his wife twice to brag about his winnings.

  “No, Jack. I’ve covered every yard of this racecourse. If she’s going to be anywhere as an owner, she’ll be in the parade ring, no doubt telling the jockey what to do.”

  Jack headed off to the parade ring with Dean, who was nervous but full of optimism. He was walking more quickly than normal and Jack was struggling to keep up, but Dean was not for slowing down. He had a date with destiny.

  They saw the jockeys leaving their changing room. Jack took a quick look at Baby Doctor’s colours and the jockey’s name.

  “Make sure you give her a good ride, Shamus,” he said.

  “I always do my best, sir,” replied the jockey in an Irish accent, raising his whip to his head in a salute.

  “Jack, what the hell do you know about riding horses?” asked Dean. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you to F-off. He’s a jockey, so I think he knows what he’s doing.”

  “I was just saying, Yorkie. Thought it might help.”

  “Well it didn’t.”

  Dean shook his head and headed to the parade ring in speedy mode. The parade ring was full of the well-to-do doing their best to be…well…well-to-do. The small stand around the parade ring was packed as the sun was making a last ditch effort to shine before packing up for the day.

  All of a sudden, it seemed to be shining a lot more brightly for Dean. Jack caught up with him just as he spied Sarah in the middle of the parade ring. Wearing an amazing white AllSaints dress which emphasised her fabulous figure, the dying sun lighting up her blonde hair, she stood out. Dean, who was very rarely overawed, was overawed. She looked amazing, and everyone knew it apart from Sarah. She did not have a clue, which made her even more attractive to Dean.

  Dean assumed it was her mother and father who were with her. Sarah looked like her mother so it was not a hard assumption to make.

  “Jack, can you see her?” Dean had a sparkle in his eye; he’d been waiting and hoping for this moment, and he was not disappointed. But in a way, Dean loved her look at the hospital in jeans and tee shirt as much as he loved her all dressed up at the races. He didn’t love her clothes; he just loved her, and he had known it from the first moment they’d met.

  “Well, Yorkie, this is what you’re here for.” Jack gave Dean a playful nudge.

  Sarah was sharing a joke with the jockey, whom she towered over thanks to some silver high heels that were doing their best to make indentations in the pristine lawns. Without really trying, she was the centre of attention. If she laughed, everyone laug
hed; if she smiled, they smiled. Dean looked on. She was mesmerising not just to him but to everyone in her company.

  Dean was doing his best to stand out from the crowd, but the crowd was huge and Sarah wasn’t expecting him. She was far too happy in horse owner mode. The parade ring was a ring of hope – every horse still stood a chance, and all the owners were equals. All the horses were going to be on the starting line up, so there was no pecking order. They all had earned their right to be there, win or lose.

  Dean had hoped to meet Sarah today, but had not really planned how. Waving to her from afar was definitely not the way forward. He had to come up with another plan to speak to her, and he was good at plans.

  “Jack, let’s go and have a bet and watch the race.”

  “Are you giving up, Yorkie?” Jack enquired.

  “No, Jack, don’t be stupid. I have an idea.”

  They headed off to the tarter stalls and put £50 each way on Baby Doctor at 20–1 before returning to the grandstand to watch the race.

  It was a six-furlong race and the horses were already at the start, so it would only be another minute or so before they saw which of the owners would enter the winners’ circle. Jack was feeling like another successful call to his wife was in the offing. She was already planning a shopping trip on the back of Jack’s successful day.

  “And they’re off!” the loudspeaker above the grandstand announced.

  Baby Doctor missed the break and stumbled out of the stalls like a carthorse. She was at the back and seven lengths tailed off. Being that far back in a sprint was not a good start.

  Jack gave Dean a stern stare.

  “Well, I didn’t say it would win, Jack.”

  Jack crumpled up his bet and pretended to throw it away, then he nudged Dean.

  “Only joking, Yorkie.”

  Dean whispered, “Come on, Doctor,” and it seemed to work. Baby Doctor started to gain ground and cruised up to the horse ahead of her. One by one, she picked off her rivals.

  “And now, two furlongs to go, we have Solar Star, Long Time Gone, Kilimanjaro’s Uncle, and making late headway, Baby Doctor.”

  “She’s coming, Jack.”

  Jack was bouncing up and down as though he was the jockey.

  “As they enter the final furlong, it’s Kilimanjaro’s Uncle with the newcomer Baby Doctor giving chase. Three lengths to gain, but she’s in no mood for stopping.”

  Jack let out a cry. “C’mon, Baby, c’mon.”

  Dean looked over to the right. Sarah and her parents were jumping up and down on the balcony, willing their horse home. Dean didn’t need to give their filly any more vocal encouragement as Jack was doing enough for both of them. Baby Doctor was closing with every stride as they approached the finish line. The loudspeaker could only just be heard over the noise of the crowd.

  “It’s Kilimanjaro’s Uncle. Kilimanjaro’s Uncle, Baby Doctor, it’s on the nod. They flash past the finishing post together.”

  “Who won? God, that was close. Did she win, Yorkie?”

  Dean was not paying attention. He was still looking over to the balcony where Sarah was going crazy with her parents.

  “I don’t know, Jack…”

  “Photograph! Photograph!” boomed the loudspeakers, drowning out the cheers and jeers from the spectators. “The photograph finish is between, in race card order, number two, Baby Doctor, and number seven, Kilimanjaro’s Uncle.”

  Jack hugged Dean. “I think she got it. What do you think? That’s a thousand pounds for the win, or two hundred for the place.” He started doing a dance. Jack could not dance at the best of times, although it never seemed to stop him trying, and he’d not even won yet.

  “And the winner is…” There was a pause; there always is. “Number seven, Kilimanjaro’s Uncle.”

  “Oh well, Yorkie, still two hundred notes.”

  Dean grabbed Jack.

  “Come with me.”

  Chapter 28 – The Sting

  Dean and Jack hastily made their way to the owners’ enclosure, Jack again struggling with Dean’s burning pace. With only one race left, Dean hoped that the coast might be clear and they might be able to sneak in.

  It wasn’t. There were two burly bouncers monitoring the door. Dean knew he would not be able to blag his way past these guys who looked like they were from a professional security firm, not just the biggest blokes in the gym, which seemed to be the bouncer qualification up north. But he needed a way in, and the way in was not in front of his face right now.

  Or was it?

  Four very drunken gentlemen walked out. They had gold badges on their lapels which were identical to the one Dean had seen on Sarah’s dress at the parade ring. Dean followed them as they left. Jack was in tow, just about.

  “Hey, guys, did your horse win?”

  “He’s still running, bloody carthorse,” one of the gentlemen replied.

  “What’s his name?”

  A couple of the gentlemen stopped and engaged with Dean.

  “Radical Rolla Coaster. He came last, but it didn’t spoil our day. We’re off into Windsor for a curry to celebrate. He was a winner in our eyes, bloody donkey.”

  Dean sensed an opportunity.

  “You won’t be needing your badges, then, will you?”

  The two gentlemen unclipped their badges from their jackets.

  “Here you go, lads. There is only one race left. Oh, you might need these as well. We have fifteen in our syndicate, but we’re only allowed four in the owners’ club, so we’ve been swapping around all day.” The men gave Dean and Jack a coloured scarf each. “Radical Rolla Coaster, if they ask, boys. Have a good night.”

  The two men put on a bit of a drunken jog to catch up with their friends without appearing to go any faster.

  Dean clipped the badge to his jacket and donned his new scarf, handing the other badge and scarf to Jack. “Radical Rolla Coaster, Jack, remember that name.”

  “I’ve never owned a horse before, Yorkie.”

  Dean looked at him.

  “You still don’t, you muppet. Come on, Jack, try to act cool.”

  They walked back to the owners’ enclosure entrance and showed their newly acquired badges to security. The bouncers knew that the Radical Rolla Coaster lot had been swapping around all day and had been no bother, so they let the latest two in without question.

  After climbing three flights of stairs, Dean and Jack turned and walked through an archway into a large room full of the great and the good. It stank of money, housing more designer handbags than Harrods, and every other table had bottles of Dom Pérignon champagne proudly peering over the tops of ice buckets. Dean scanned the room like an FBI agent, looking for his mark.

  Most of the crowd was gathered on or near the balcony at the back of the room, overlooking the parade ring as the horses for the last race were beginning to emerge. Dean and Jack headed over to see if Sarah was amongst them. As they made their way across the room, Dean saw a sign on one of the vacant tables. The champagne bottle was upside down in the ice bucket. Dean picked up the sign which said, “Table reserved for the owners of Baby Doctor”.

  Dean’s shoulders dropped. “I’ve missed her, Jack. They’ve gone.”

  “Yorkie, there’re a lot more fish in the sea. Being from where you’re from, I thought you’d know that.”

  “I know, Jack, but she was special. I could feel it in here.” Dean pointed to his heart.

  They slowly continued to the balcony to look at the horses in the parade ring for the last race. There were a lot of horses in the lucky last – at least twenty runners.

  “I know what will cheer you up, Yorkie. How about I pick you another winner in the last race?”

  “Not really in the mood, Jack.”

  Jack put a big arm around Dean and hugged the younger man’s head into him, tapping the top of Dean’s head with his other hand.

  “McFly, McFly!”

  Even eighties film humour was not working. He must be down in the dumps, Jack
thought.

  Sarah walked into the room with her mother and father, holding the second place trophy they had just been to collect. Her father gestured to the bar staff that another bottle of champagne would be quite welcome right now.

  Sarah carefully put the trophy on the table. It was a silver horse – its jockey in the usual jockey pose, driving the horse forward – mounted on a wooden plinth. They were over the moon with how their horse’s first run had gone. The trainer had said she was just out for a blow; none of them had expected second, and after that start, too. They might well have a good one on their hands.

  Sarah’s dad charged up their glasses and proposed a toast. Many others in the room joined in.

  “To Baby Doctor!”

  “Baby Doctor!”

  Dean was too busy falling over his bottom lip on the balcony to hear the toast. Jack wasn’t.

  “Yorkie, did you hear that?”

  Dean lifted his head up.

  “Hear what?”

  Jack looked over Dean’s shoulder into the room. The previously vacant table reserved for Baby Doctor’s owners was now occupied.

  “Dean, turn round.”

  Dean spun round, and in an instant, he saw her. She was striking her glass against that of anyone who wanted to say, “Cheers.”

  Dean pulled himself together and re-entered the room, making a beeline for Sarah’s table. He did not have a clue what he was going to say, but he would let his brain deal with that when he got there. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight again.

  “Dr Summers, fancy meeting you here.”

  Sarah gave Dean a quizzical look, then the penny dropped.

  “Mr…er…Ha-rri-son.” She enunciated the three syllables as her memory dug deep.

  “I assume you’re off duty, Sarah?” Dean asked.

  “Of course, I would never drink on duty.” Her mind was fumbling around for his first name. “It’s…oh, don’t tell me.” Then she saw Jack and it came straight back to her. “Dean. It’s Dean, isn’t it?” Sarah pretended to wipe the sweat from her brow. “I never forget a name. So, what are you doing here, Dean, and how’s the leg? Champagne?”