She had good reason to worry, because people were always feeding her concern. As she had put her life slowly together again after Tyrone’s death and begun to produce winners from a yard which everyone connected with racing immediately assumed had seen its day, so the acclamations which began to be offered to her instead of bolstering her confidence began to undermine it, since behind each congratulation Cassie sensed an expression of surprise, as much as to say that what she had done was even more astonishing for not only was she a woman, but she was a woman alone. And how long would that last? seemed to be the general wonder. How long would that particular streak of luck (for that was surely only what it was) last? In the highly competitive and chauvinistic world of horse racing unattached women were not meant to last. On the very few occasions when they did stay the course, their survival was always put down either to sheer luck or the fact that behind them they had the support of a man.
Such thinking only strengthened Cassie’s determination to go it alone. She hated the notion that when it came to the crunch without a man by her side a woman would give in, just as she hated the much put about theory that women were not finally physically strong or capable enough to race ride. To her way of thinking both theories had gained ground simply because women had not been offered the same chances as men because men did not want them as equals. As far as being neither strong nor capable enough to race ride went, Cassie knew otherwise. Thirty years earlier there was no doubt that the theory of the weaker sex held more water because women did not keep themselves anywhere near as fit as they did now. For women riding was intended basically as either a recreation or a social asset. Since they were not allowed to race ride professionally their only experience of the track was point to pointing, and whereas no doubt many of the leading women riders before and immediately after the war were both dashing and fearless their fitness could in no way be compared to the level of athleticism reached by contemporary women jockeys. Cassie knew this from personal experience because when she had been forced to take over the reins at Claremore, before she would allow herself even to ride work she had got herself as fit as a marathon runner, fitter in fact than ever she had needed to be. But she had done that deliberately, since the last thing she wanted was to be found lacking in strength and stamina by her lads when she was riding out on the gallops three times every morning of the week come hell or high water.
She kept herself fit now, not quite as fit as she had been twenty years ago perhaps, but she still worked out in her private gymnasium for an hour a day whenever time allowed, she walked or ran whenever she could, she rode out every day and she swam in her indoor pool at least three times a week. As a result her figure was very little different from what it had been when she was a much younger woman. Her back was strong as were her legs and arms, her hips were still slender, her backside shapely, her breasts firm and her stomach flat. In fact, although she was not in any way a conceited person, Cassie was secretly very proud of the shape she was in, and knew that in the unlikely event of her ever being called upon to race ride, a month’s intensive training would bring her to about the same level of fitness and strength of most of the male jockeys she knew and employed. Certainly Dexter Bryant was always impressed by the shape she kept herself in, particularly after a bout of arm wrestling on the kitchen table one morning only the summer before after they had been riding out. Being well and truly beaten three matches in a row in front of all the stable lads had been enough to make him now refuse any further challenge from his guv’nor at that particular activity.
But as far as her inner strength went, Cassie was not so sure, even now at this stage of her life, after masterminding the career of possibly the most famous racehorse ever. She had no idea how men coped with the sort of difficulties with which she now found herself faced, although she had a suspicion that in most families men expected their wives to cope with any real domestic upheaval, particularly ones which affected their children. All she knew was that as things stood at present she felt both inadequate and lonely, and her feelings made her long for the company and the support of a man – but which of the two men in her life? she wondered. Theo was the epitome of kindness and concern, while Joel was tough, determined and certainly understood the workings of Cassie’s world better than the considerably more intellectual Theo. He also seemed to understand how Cassie herself worked, at times it would appear even better than she, whereas for all his sensitivity and compassion she felt that Theo might worship her rather than partner her and what Cassie needed most of all was what Tyrone had always been to her. Besides lovers and best friends, Tyrone and Cassie had been partners.
Yet finally she could not as yet see herself married to either man, although she thought that both of them might make good if not indeed wonderful husbands. Theo was successful so he would not resent her own success and Joel was talented so he would not resent Cassie’s great gift. Both were undoubtedly brilliant and original men. Both of them loved her. As for her own feelings, as things stood at present, while she knew she loved both men, she felt she was actually in love with Joel, yet still she could not see herself married to him. Joel was a wonderfully exciting love affair, so she thought. Or so she thought she thought. Or perhaps she chose to suppose she thought. What he wasn’t was the man in the armchair opposite her every evening, the man at her table every meal, the man in her bed every night, the man in her thoughts every moment.
Dammit, you’ve grown selfish, Cassie Rosse! she scolded herself in her head. You’ve grown set in your ways, so set that you don’t wish to share your life with anyone any more. You want people to help you out, but you don’t really want to let those selfsame people in. But then maybe you have your reasons after all, she would add on reflection. Maybe it wouldn’t be altogether fair to expect someone to share a life you seem to have now made a real mess of – a family life that’s all in pieces and a financial one that’s faced with ruin if you don’t find a way to bail yourself out. Maybe I’m flattering myself to think that either of these men if it came to it would really want to share this chaos full time. Maybe they’re just flattering me. Maybe they’re kidding themselves. Maybe we all are.
Maybe first things should come first. And that means sorting all this out. That means finding out who wanted me down and out, why my daughter wants to stay married to a sadist let alone why she wanted to marry him in the first place, and what I have done to my son to alienate him.
First things first. The affairs of my heart I can and will return to – but first of all I must face my son.
* * *
For a while it seemed there was no way Cassie could persuade her son to come and see her unaccompanied by Phoebe McMahon. She would ring him and either get his machine or indeed Phoebe, but never Mattie himself. Nor in spite of all the messages she left for him did he call her back, and since she knew the racecourse was probably the only place where they would actually see each other and that the racecourse was no place for any sort of private conversation, Cassie finally decided that if she wanted to get to the bottom of this particular mystery she would have to beard the lion in its den.
Guessing his training routine would be pretty much the same as her own at Claremore, and since there was no racing on the particular day she chose to surprise him. Cassie reckoned the best time to catch Mattie would be after morning stables when he would probably be attending to his paperwork and ringing owners and prospective jockeys. She also gambled on the fact that Phoebe McMahon might have to go out sometime that morning, either shopping or perhaps even to her hairdresser’s, remembering her own routine on a Monday after a busy weekend. Sure enough, at a little after ten o’clock, from where she was waiting in her own car across the road from the bungalow that was now Mattie’s home, Cassie saw Phoebe climb into her little blue Nissan and drive off in the direction of Dublin. As soon as the car had sped out of sight across the Curragh, Cassie hurried on foot across to the bungalow and let herself straight inside.
There was no-one else in the place, just
Mattie. He was on the phone in the kitchen with his back to the door, standing by a table covered in racing papers and form books.
‘Hello, Mattie,’ Cassie said in her best matter-of-fact manner. He swung round to her, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. ‘The door was open so I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll call you back in a few minutes, Tim,’ Mattie said into the telephone. ‘Someone’s just turned up uninvited.’
While he concluded his telephone conversation Cassie looked round the untidy kitchen until she found the electric kettle, and filled it under the tap. ‘I’m dying for a coffee. I hope you don’t mind. And even if you do, you can save your breath. I’ve had it with you not returning my calls. So if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad or whatever the saying is—’ She plugged the kettle into the switch on the wall and turned it on.
‘I’ve been busy,’ Mattie said lamely. ‘I’d have thought that was obvious. What with trying to get this place up and running—’
‘I said save it, Mattie.’ Cassie stared at him for a moment, then, clearing some more papers and books off a chair, sat herself down at the uncleared kitchen table. ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’
‘Look, we’re not at Claremore now,’ Mattie protested. ‘This happens to be my house and if anyone’s going to tell someone what they can do—’
‘I said – sit down.’
Mattie sat down.
‘Good,’ Cassie said, pushing a set of dirty breakfast crockery to one side. ‘Seeing how valuable your time is, I’ll come straight to the point. I want you to tell me what’s going on.’
‘Nothing’s going on. Why should anything be going on, for Chrissake?’
‘Really? So if asked you’d say things between us are the way they’ve always been.’
‘Yes. Sure. Of course.’
Cassie eyed him with a degree of contempt and in return Mattie shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘The kettle’s boiling,’ she said. ‘And while you’re making the coffee, perhaps you’d like to reconsider your answer to my question. And no more bull, because I really have had enough.’
Seeing how serious his mother was, Mattie turned quickly away and busied himself making the coffee. Cassie said nothing while he did so, determined not to give him any help.
‘OK,’ Mattie said as he sat back down at the table with a cafetière full of strong coffee. ‘I’ll admit I’ve been a bit preoccupied of late, but that’s hardly surprising is it? Suddenly being kicked out of home—’
‘You weren’t kicked out,’ Cassie interrupted. ‘You’d already made provision to leave and come here. And since I don’t believe you can serve two masters, I just hurried the process up. I didn’t see why I should be expected to provide board and lodgings for Tom McMahon’s protégé.’
‘Christ – if that’s all that’s bugging you—’ Mattie began, only to be stopped once more by Cassie.
‘No, that’s not what’s bugging me, Mattie,’ she retorted. ‘What’s bugging me is you. You in general. And your attitude in particular. I’m not going to give you a lecture about all I’ve done for you, although God knows how much I’m tempted to, because all that is down to me. You’re my son—’ Mattie looked up sharply at this, and for a moment Cassie foundered, surprised by the look in Mattie’s eyes. ‘You’re my son,’ she continued after a fractional pause, ‘and what I chose to do for you is totally down to me. So I’m not going to throw that up in your face because I don’t reckon that’s fair. You didn’t ask to be brought up in any particular way and while I think you have some reason to be grateful I still don’t think it’s on to throw it back in your face.’
‘So what do you want, then?’
‘I want to know what’s wrong with you.’
‘I told you,’ Mattie said, looking down into the coffee cup he was stirring. ‘It isn’t anything.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Cassie said quietly. ‘It’s as if you hate me, and don’t try to deny it because I’m not dramatizing, and I’m not exaggerating. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.’
‘OK,’ he said, taking a deep breath and staring up at the ceiling. ‘Very well. I don’t know how you thought you’d get away with it. I don’t see why you thought no-one would tell me. You must have known sooner or later somebody would say something. You must have done.’
Now he was looking at Cassie good and hard, and Cassie put the coffee cup which she had just picked up back down, almost missing the saucer in her anxiety. ‘Tell you what?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand what you mean – sooner or later somebody would say something. Something about what?’
‘The lie you told,’ Mattie said, still watching her. ‘Because that’s what’s at the bottom of all this. The lie you told. The lie you’ve been living. The lie you made me live.’
‘I haven’t told you any lies, Mattie,’ Cassie protested. ‘Never once. Not ever. What lie do you think I’ve told you?’
‘About Dad,’ Mattie replied with deadly calm. ‘About my father, about my mother, and about who I am.’
Without quite knowing why, Cassie began to shake. But rather than have Mattie see the effect his announcement was having on her, Cassie clasped both her hands together as tightly as she could below the table, at the same time digging her fingernails into the back of each hand in an attempt to regain her self-control.
‘If you’re talking about your adoption—’ she began.
‘I’m talking about my adoption,’ Mattie agreed.
‘You’ve known for a long time you were adopted. As soon as you were old enough, right at the very moment I was told to tell I told you—’
‘But you didn’t tell me the truth, damn it!’ Mattie was now on his feet, leaning on the kitchen table, banging it with one clenched fist. ‘Oh sure – yes! You told me all right! But what you told me was all lies! All that business about some poor girl who got herself banged up and—’
‘What I told you was the truth,’ Cassie pleaded, looking up at him from where she still sat at the table. ‘What I told you was the truth.’
‘No it was not!’ Mattie yelled, throwing his head back and closing his eyes tight. ‘You couldn’t tell me the truth because you didn’t dare! Never in a million years would you have dared tell me the truth!’
‘Then why accuse me?’ Cassie wondered. ‘Why damn me for not doing so? Except that I did. I did tell you the truth and I always have done.’
‘I saw Leonora in London, you know? She came round to see me.’
‘What’s Leonora got to do with it?’ But even as she asked Cassie already knew the answer, and for a terrible moment everything swam. The room began to disappear from her view, Mattie’s face began to blur and his voice started to sound as if it was coming from the middle of a huge mountain. To steady herself she grabbed the edge of the table with both her hands, but still she felt faint, still everything was happening somewhere out there in the distance.
‘I saw Leonora – and Leonora told me the truth. She said she had to, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to—’
‘To what?’ Cassie heard herself asking faintly. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about – or perhaps I do. Leonora could not tell you the truth because Leonora is not capable of telling anyone the truth. Not even herself.’
She could see Mattie more clearly now, and most of all what she could see was a look of terrible hurt in his eyes, a look she could not begin to understand. For a moment neither of them said anything, then, turning to reach down a bottle of whisky and two glasses from the dresser behind him, he sat down at the table opposite her, pouring them both a drink.
‘It was the other week, when I was over staying at Jo’s,’ he said. ‘Remember? She and Mark were away and seeing I had to be in London because Jo asked me to house-sit. Leonora rang up – don’t ask me how she knew I was there—’
‘She just would,’ Cassie half whispered in return, reaching for her glass of whisky. ‘Leonora knows everything.’
‘She must
do, because she knew I was there. She said my name as soon as I answered the phone. Mattie, she said. Mattie, I have to see you. It won’t take long. I’m only round the corner from you at the Knightsbridge, so if it’s all right I can be with you in five minutes. People don’t ring you up out of the blue and say they have to see you unless it’s urgent—’
‘So you asked her round.’
‘Of course. You’d have done the same.’
‘Probably,’ Cassie agreed wearily. ‘But I wouldn’t have believed a word she told me. Why should you? Why should you believe her rather than me, your own mother?’
‘That’s just the point,’ Mattie said ominously. ‘So it’s better you just hear me out before you go telling me the rights and wrongs. So ten minutes later Leonora came round to the house and I tell you she looked awful. The worst I’ve ever seen her. I know she’s never taken the very best care of herself and everything, but I mean she was so thin, and grey. I asked her if she was all right and she said no. She said no, she was dying.’
‘Leonora’s not dying,’ Cassie said, sitting up in her chair. ‘Leonora’s not dying.’
‘She’d just come from the hospital where she said she’d had the result of some tests,’ Mattie continued, before taking a deep draw on his spinhaler. ‘She didn’t actually say, but it’s pretty obviously the dreaded.’
‘Cancer?’
Mattie shrugged. ‘Obviously.’
Cassie frowned, searching for her feelings, wondering how she felt about the person whom she knew to be her worst enemy dying, appalled to find at the moment she felt nothing. ‘But she didn’t actually say,’ Cassie recapped. ‘You know Leonora. Everything is always for the worst—’
‘You should have seen her,’ Mattie interrupted. ‘There’s nothing of her. Not that she had very much weight to lose anyway, but Jeez – I mean you’d only have to have seen her. Anyway, if it wasn’t true, then why did she come and see me? She said she had to see me because she had something to get off her chest before—’ Mattie breathed in and out slowly. ‘Before it was too late,’ he said. ‘Because she’s – because she’s dying she said she wanted to set the record straight, that she owed it to me to tell me the truth. She said – she said it is an impossibility to go through life without knowing who you really are. It isn’t fair on a person, according to her, and I agree. So while she understood why you had told me what you did—’
The Nightingale Sings Page 44