by Jilly Cooper
‘Look forward to it,’ said Mick.
Oh God, thought Taggie, what will she dig up?
The vast crowd, in expectation of a Campbell-Black treble, cheered themselves hoarse as Quickly’s mother, with beautiful Amber on her back and Chisolm trotting behind, came grandstanding, showboating and parading up the course. Mrs Wilkinson, always a frightful show-off, loved every moment, graciously acknowledging the applause, approaching the rail from time to time to press a white nose against a patting hand, posing for every photographer.
Taggie, Dora, Etta and Bao hung over the balcony to watch her.
‘She’ll be off to shake hooves with the Queen,’ said Dora. ‘Amazing she produced a thug like Quickly.’
‘I’ll always be grateful to that little mare,’ said Barney. ‘I was on her in the National, paid for a house in Malibu; you must come and stay, Etta.’
‘And you must come and meet Mrs Wilkinson. She’ll sulk terribly when she realizes she’s not racing.’
‘Let her have another foal,’ said Barney. ‘Breeders should breed.’
‘It’s the Thoroughbred Breeders Awards next week,’ said Dora. ‘If Quickly wins the Derby, Mrs Edwards will certainly win Small Flat Breeder of the Year.’
‘Nuffing flat about Mrs Edwards,’ guffawed Barney, admiring Etta’s cleavage.
‘Let’s go down to the parade ring,’ said Dora. ‘Quickly’ll be in soon.’
‘Must go and help Milburn Gala,’ said Bao.
51
A terrific tension was building up. Half an hour to post time, the weighing room was unnaturally quiet; no one was joking. Most of the jockeys were dressed in their Derby silks. Some watched the television to see the odds and what was being said about themselves and their horses, others were doing crosswords, playing cards, checking their mobiles or psyching themselves up for the race ahead.
Handsome Manu de la Tour, the French jockey whose father Guy had been Rupert’s showjumping rival back in the 1970s and who was riding the third favourite, Leconte de Lisle, was playing poker on his phone. Tarqui, who was riding the black Eumenides, was talking to Dermie O’Driscoll, who was riding Geoffrey.
The Racing Post fluttered like a captured seagull in Eddie’s hands as he read a piece headed: CAN QUICKLY BE BEATEN? suggesting the colt was a monkey and it was loyal of Rupert to keep it in the family, but surely he needed a more experienced rider. Eddie jumped as Ash wandered out of the bog, naked except for a large tattoo of David Beckham on his chest and a soft white towel which he dropped in front of Eddie, turning and thrusting high, taut buttocks in his face.
‘Look at my arse,’ he told the startled company as he reached for his tights. ‘That’s all you’re going to see in the next race.’
Two minutes later, his valet helped Ash into purple and gold silks.
Christ, thought Eddie, those are Sheikh Abdul Baddi’s colours. Cosmo must have sold him a huge share in I Will Repay.
Down at the grey brick stables, Gala was even more nervous. She shut the green half door to keep out the din and activity outside. At least Quickly looked wonderful. He carried no excess weight. Running her hand over his silken silver coat, she rejoiced in the hard slab of muscle beneath. Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto on the radio prepared him for the trumpeters ahead. Irritably he delved in her pockets in search of the food he had been denied for several hours, and kicked his bucket for he had also been denied water. Purrpuss was lying in the manger. Finding nothing there, Quickly nipped Purrpuss’s shoulder. Mewing furiously, Purrpuss retaliated with a punishing left hook which only just missed Quickly’s eye.
‘Pack it in, both of you,’ yelled Gala. Oh God, she must keep calm.
The other Penscombe staff were still off celebrating Fleance’s magnificent victory. Rupert was poised for a treble – Quickly mustn’t let them down. She needed a pee so badly she’d be reduced to going in the corner of the box.
For once she was pleased with her appearance: dark-blue stretch jeans and a gorgeous shirt patterned with pink, white and yellow frangipani, her favourite flower. The only thing missing was the heavenly scent.
A perfect fit, she’d found it in her holdall wrapped in gold paper with a label saying: You have been very kind to me, Gala, and answer my questions. This is from Bao.
Gala had wanted to weep. How did Bao know about frangipani? And she’d been so vile to him. And now here he was knocking tentatively on the door.
‘I am not nuisance?’
‘No, no, come in, shut the door, thank you for my wonderful, wonderful shirt. You are so kind.’ She hugged him really hard and Quickly gave a surprising whicker.
‘See? Even Quickly loved it.’
‘You look very beautiful,’ said Bao, ‘and so does Quickry.’ He patted him several times, then out of his pocket produced a box of Temptations. ‘I have something for you, Purrpuss.’
Asking Bao to keep an eye on Quickly, Gala fled to the Ladies. She was horrified to find a long queue.
‘Let me through, I’m leading up the Derby favourite,’ she pleaded and sportingly they did.
Washing her hands afterwards, she saw a really pretty woman in the mirror and gasped because it was herself. The shirt was so divine. Eat your heart out, Sauvignon.
Then she heard sobbing, and huge Harmony had collapsed on her shoulder.
‘Gala, it’s not fair. I’m still not allowed to lead up Repay. Cosmo promised I could to stop me leaving and now he’s broken his promise, just said there wouldn’t be room for me in the winners enclosure, and Sauvignon’s leading him up instead.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Gala wriggled away from Harmony. ‘I can’t leave Quickly any longer – so, so sorry, we’re going down any minute, talk to you later,’ she cried and fled. Oh help, she’d be punished for lack of compassion.
She found Purrpuss, turbojet-purring in Bao’s arms.
‘I like him, Gala, he likes cat sweets.’
Cathal banged on the door. ‘They’re going down, Gala.’
Fighting through the crowds, Bao joined Dora and Barney on the parade-ring rail. Beside a clump of silver birches, Etta, Valent and Taggie were ignoring Cosmo, Mrs Walton and Isa Lovell, and there was Bao’s heroine Dame Hermione. Standing proudly near them was Repay’s new co-owner, Sheikh Abdul Baddi, surrounded by dark men in dark glasses and morning coats: his Qatari retinue.
Bao had never seen such beautiful horses, a gleaming cavalcade of wonder – Irish, Japanese, German, French as well as English. The tone was, as usual, slightly let down by Geoffrey, ears flopping like an old donkey, led up by a blushing Rosaria.
‘Lamborghini pedigree,’ said Barney sardonically.
‘His stable girl’s a darling,’ protested Dora. ‘Actually she’s the trainer’s wife. That’s Brute, her foul, lecherous husband, talking to the owner’s son.’
Both men were leering at Sauvignon, who was leading up I Will Repay in bright-pink hot pants.
Dora then dragged Bao over to look at Quickly, still in the saddling boxes. Like a make-up artist calming an actor before he went on set, Rupert, having handed his top hat to Gala, was checking girths and every bridle strap, soothing Quickly with a damp cloth, dipping a brush in water to tidy his mane, putting a wet sponge in his mouth.
‘Why he do that?’ asked Bao.
‘Horses aren’t allowed any water for several hours before a race,’ explained Dora. ‘They get terribly thirsty, but water makes them sluggish so they can’t run properly. Also, it can give them colic, so it’s very dangerous.’
Out spilled the jockeys, strutting in their rainbow colours.
‘Shit,’ said Rupert, clocking Ash preening in Sheikh Baddi’s purple and gold colours. ‘That was twenty million down the drain that could have bought into Quickly.’
Eddie came out last. He had superstitiously put his left foot first in his breeches, carried his whip in his left hand, left the weighing room last and was determined as he entered the parade ring to put his left foot on the grass. But he was clobbered by screaming
girls wanting autographs whose biros wouldn’t work on race cards, and he discovered he’d put down his right foot. Oh Christ, there was Sauvignon who’d monopolized his dreams, looking breathtaking in those shorts. He tried to take in Rupert’s instructions.
‘He’s a little horse, so try not to get him bumped at the start. Get him into a good rhythm on the outside as soon as possible. Don’t hit the front too soon. Then rely on his turn of foot at the furlong pole.’ Rupert might have been talking Swahili for all Eddie was taking in.
Jockeys were being legged up for the parade. Rupert ordered Eddie to get Quickly down to the start as fast as possible. Being ponied down by Jemmy on Safety Car, however, was a mixed blessing. Spectators, yelling good luck to Eddie, were almost more thrilled to see their old friend Safety Car, who had, in the past, won them so much money.
Waiting to reassure Quickly down at the start, Gala and Cathal were appalled to discover he’d shed one of his very light off-fore plates.
‘It was there in the parade ring,’ cried Gala. ‘Oh Jesus, get the farrier.’
Even with Cathal, Gala and four loaders hanging on to his sweat-drenched body, Quickly fought against being shod and lashed out with hooves and teeth, as the other runners arrived from the parade. The minutes ticked by, the expletives flew bluer than the sky, as half the jockeys dismounted and led their horses round.
‘We’ll have to go without him,’ said the starter, as Quickly lashed out again. Two loaders then held up his hind leg so he couldn’t kick out without falling over.
‘Nearly there,’ called out Marti Farrell, the farrier. ‘Stay still, you bugger.’ As the last nail went in, Quickly squealed and plunged.
Immediately the orange blindfold went over his eyes, and more loaders joined forces, yanking one foot in front of the other, and another and another, forcing him into his padded cell – the dreaded No. 1. The moment Eddie, distraught at holding up furious jockeys, crawled into the stalls, to mount from the side, Quickly reared and plunged, threatening to bash Eddie’s head on the steel roof.
‘Don’t hit the front too soon,’ Eddie told himself.
Fat chance. As the gates flew open, he whipped off the orange blindfold and Quickly lurched forward. Badly bumped at the start by Eumenides, anything to escape the claustrophobia of being trapped on the rail, Quickly hurtled ahead, battling desperately for his head, pulling and pulling.
‘Get him balanced, for fuck’s sake,’ yelled Rupert.
Quickly was soon so far ahead, he must win. The great excited roar of the crowd lifted him up, rising and rising, to the height of nine buses. Reaching Tattenham Corner he was eight lengths ahead, then there was a collective groan as he suddenly ran out of fuel and seemed to go backwards. Boris Badenough, Repay’s pacemaker, meanwhile had set a sluggish pace for the rest of the field, but began to accelerate. Trapped behind a wall of horses, I Will Repay swung right and then straightened up, the purple and gold colours of Sheikh Abdul Baddi coming down like a wolf on the fold, as Ash overtook jockey after jockey. Realizing Quickly had nothing left, Eddie put down his whip, as Ash’s beautiful arse flashed by to win by three lengths, with Eumenides second, Geoffrey an amazing third and Boris Badenough fourth. Total victory for Cosmo and Isa.
All the jockeys gathered round Ash, patting his shoulders, shaking his hand, even though they detested him, in order to appear on television as magnanimously good blokes. Eddie was fighting back the tears as Quickly hobbled home last, and radiant Sauvignon raced up to lead in I Will Repay.
The cheers ringing round Epsom were muted and only came from bookies. Few top hats were hurled in the air. Having so much money on Quickly, many of the punters booed and jeered Eddie, shouting that a monkey could have won on that horse.
And that was nothing to the vitriol poured over him by Rupert.
‘Did you listen to a fucking thing I said?’
‘Go easy on him, Rupert, it’s only a race,’ pleaded a tearful Etta.
‘You’re one to talk.’ Rupert turned on her. ‘Quickly’s now totally fucked as a stallion prospect and we’d be twenty million better off if you’d let us sell him.’
Across the parade ring, he could see Sheikh Baddi and his retinue dancing round in ecstasy that their horse had won.
‘Don’t you insult my wife,’ shouted Valent.
‘It’s not Eddie’s fault,’ stormed a panting Gala, having raced over from the start. ‘Quickly’s crippled lame.’
‘Don’t be so bloody silly, how the hell did you not realize he’d lost a plate?’ Having reduced her to tears, Rupert picked up Quickly’s hoof. ‘For Christ’s sake, the nail’s gone into the sole. I’m going to sue that farrier.’
‘Not that straightforward,’ observed Cathal. ‘Quickly was leaping around like a lunatic – it’s a miracle that Marti Farrell got him plated at all.’
‘He must have been in agony, poor boy,’ said Dora, as a fascinated media gathered round for a comment. ‘We must tell the press how bravely he galloped through his pain barrier.’
‘I’ve nothing to say,’ snapped Rupert. ‘Quickly shed a plate and he’s lame.’
‘Let’s go and have a drink with Ladbrokes.’ Taggie took his rigid arm. ‘They’re so longing to see you.’
Rupert looked at his watch. He and Meerkat had a plane to catch for an evening race in Chantilly.
‘Just for half an hour then.’
As he went into the Ladbrokes box, he was greeted with loud ironic cheers.
‘Thanks, mate. Shame for you, but Quickly saved our bacon.’ David Williams thrust a large glass of champagne into Rupert’s hand.
Next moment, an exuberant Barney rushed up and shook Rupert’s other hand.
‘Fanks, Rupe. Saw Quickly dripping perspiration in the paddock, backed ’im to lose instead, made fifty grand. But he’s a great horse, he’ll come back.’
‘I hope to God you’re right.’
52
Nowhere is no prizes for coming second more emphasized than in the Derby, where I Will Repay was led into the tiny jampacked winners enclosure, and the runners-up tied to second and third posts down the course outside.
Isolated from his stablemates and his beloved Harmony, I Will Repay in his blue and white winner’s ring whinnied plaintively. From above he looked like a mere slit in a charity tin, the massed top hats like caviar, as their owners took the opportunity to brush up against sinuous Sauvignon in her pink hot pants.
Cosmo was delighted to receive the Derby Cup from the Queen, who was near enough him in height for him to whip off his dark glasses and smoulder at her. Sauvignon drove the photographers even crazier as she accepted a silver photograph frame and a little Investec zebra. As I Will Repay’s and Ash’s names went up on the Roll of Honour, a euphoric Cosmo was asked about his plans for the future.
‘I’m going to have a large drink and raise a toast to about-to-be Leading Sire Roberto’s Revenge,’ he said, then added maliciously: ‘All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Rupert together again.’
Rupert gritted his teeth, but the show had to go on so he popped into the stables to check his horses before they set off for home. As he arrived, a white and shaking Bao sidled up to him.
‘Mr Black-Campbell, I must speak to you.’
‘Not now, Bao, I’m off to France.’
‘It’s important,’ protested Bao. ‘I know you are angry with Milburn Gala and Eddie, but it is not their fault. You will want to send me home and never forgive me. I lose Quickry the race.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ Rupert drew Bao back into Fleance’s box.
‘I know English think Chinese very cruel to animals,’ stammered Bao, ‘and I know Milburn Gala didn’t like me because Chinese man kill animals and husband and burnt her house. But she has been very kind to me. I wanted to show I love animals. She ask me to watch Quickry while she went to Womens. Quickry seem very thirsty, he kick his bucket, so I give him bucket of water, and he drank her all so I gave him another bucket and he drank her al
l too. Then Dora tell me it is bad for horse to drink water before race. I realize you lost millions of pounds. I am so, so sorry. I will try and pay you back. I have had good day betting on Fleance and Hal.’
Looking up, he was amazed to see Rupert was almost laughing.
‘It’s OK. Water didn’t stop Quickly. It may not have helped, but the fact that he ran so far with that nail through his hoof means he’s a very brave horse. I’m going to email your father and tell him you’re doing great. Got to go. I’ll be home later tonight and we’ll catch up tomorrow.’
As the lorry rumbled out of the racecourse, a man with a black bag was sweeping up Racing Posts, race cards, betting slips and Union Jacks. Women had kicked off their stilettos to walk in flip-flops.
‘I wish poor Quickly could wear flip-flops,’ said Gala.
‘More flop than flip in Quickly’s case,’ said Cathal.
‘Where’s Eddie?’ asked Marketa.
‘Couldn’t face us,’ said Cathal. ‘He’s driving himself home.’
‘Poor boy,’ said Gala.
Eddie was in total despair. Thank God his mom and dad hadn’t come over. He’d screwed up yet again and let everyone down. The yard wouldn’t get their 7 per cent of a million-pound prize money; they’d all lost fortunes betting on Quickly. And he’d made Rupert, who told the press he was certain of victory, look an idiot.
As he approached Gloucestershire, the jockey moon was on high, sailing in and out of sinister grey and brown clouds. And to think he’d had the presumption to take his own car in the hope of whisking Sauvignon off for a drink. She’d never look at him now with I Will Repay already 1–2 on in the St Leger.
Around midnight, Gala went out to check on Quickly, and found Eddie in his box sobbing his heart out.
‘Oh Gala, I’m so, so sorry.’
Gala pulled him into her arms. ‘You poor, poor boy, it wasn’t your fault. After you’d gone, Rupert picked up Quickly’s hoof. The farrier had rammed the nail slap into the flesh.’