‘I’m good, thanks. I’ve been in South Africa for a few years – just moved back recently. And you? You look great. I love your dress,’ Ginny admired the cream and gold evening gown laced with pearls and tiny gold rosebuds.
‘Thank you, so do you! Oh! Forgot to introduce you. Ginny, this is Julien. I was just dragging him off for a twirl.’
‘We’ve met before. In fact his yard is next door to mine.’
‘Evening, mademoiselle,’ Julien Larocque purred, inclining his head in greeting. His tone was completely charming, but Ginny saw the wariness in his brown eyes.
‘Fabulous! But Ginny, did I just hear you’ve got your own yard? A racing yard?’ she exclaimed, looking almost too amazed to be flattering. But before she could answer, Monica, glancing towards the entrance, swore and ducked down. Expecting to see a madman brandishing a machinegun, Ginny was curious to see only nonchalant party guests milling around, swirling their champagne as they laughed and chattered.
‘Wha-? Monica?’
‘Sshh!’ she hissed needlessly as the music built to a crescendo. Hunching over and shielding herself behind Julien, she looked even more conspicuous. ‘Hell, it’s my future father-in-law. He’d take it straight back to Henry if he saw me dancing with another man. Here, Ginny! You dance with Julien!’ she said, thrusting their hands together.
‘I don’t think – I mean, maybe not –’
‘Oh God, I think he’s seen me. Go!’
Ginny groaned as the first heartbeat notes of Maria McKee’s Show Me Heaven throbbed around the room. Julien Larocque, looking just as reluctant, took her hand.
‘Come on, Kennedy. Let’s get this over with.’
*
Leading her to a space away from the tables where other couples swayed in each other’s embraces, Ginny felt very aware of the firm grip of his hand on hers. When he turned and offered his lead, she considered making a run for it.
‘Look, I don’t really like dancing. And my feet are killing me. Maybe I’ll just sit this one out,’ she finished with an awkward wring of her hands.
Julien frowned at her as she tried to sidle away. Giving an apologetic smile, she went to walk away. Then in horror, she caught sight of Colonel Morston-Groves bustling towards her, looking very self-important.
‘Oh, God, no,’ she groaned. Turning back, she grabbed Julien’s right hand and flung it around her waist, and grasped his other hand in a firm grip, as if she was about to do a salsa. Julien looked at her in surprise.
‘The lesser of two evils?’ he drawled.
‘Something like that,’ she muttered in reply.
He looked at her impatiently and shook his head. She let him adjust his hold on her waist, but stiffened when they began to move as it sank in that she was dancing with – touching – the man she saw as her least favourite rival.
‘Relax,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘It could be worse.’
Ginny shivered as his warm breath tickled her bare neck.
‘How so?’
‘We could be dancing to some Celine Dion ballad. Just relax.’
The forced chuckle she responded with felt tasteless in her mouth and they fell into silence. Ginny wasn’t sure whether she should make small talk or not, pride telling her not to, her common sense saying it would be childish otherwise. She wanted to pass on her congratulations to his father over White Eagle’s monumental victory earlier that day, but it almost seemed like a betrayal to her dignity to do so. However, he made the decision for her.
‘Have you come alone, or do you have some poor date waiting for you at your table?’
‘You probably don’t know him. Mark Rushin.’
‘Hmm,’ Julien mused, not making it clear whether he did or not.
‘Who are you here with? Not Monica, I’m guessing. God, she’s engaged. I wonder if it’s Henry from Cambridge.’
‘More than likely, since there’s probably a few ’enrys living in Cambridge. But no, I did not come with Monica. My date excused herself to have a cigarette outside.’
Can’t blame her, Ginny thought. She didn’t smoke but she could see herself needing one after this number.
Julien didn’t attempt to talk again. Instead, he moved, with the grace of a panther, slowly around the dance floor, supporting Ginny in his capable arm span. She found he was taller than she’d at first thought. Even with heels on, her chin only just touched his shoulder. Not daring to look into his eyes at such close proximity, she stared at a point behind him. But as the song unfurled, Ginny felt herself gradually relax into an almost mesmeric aura. Unable to stop herself, she reasserted her hold on his shoulder. Such a small manoeuvre, but one which compelled Julien to draw her in closer, until she could feel his body heat radiating through the soft fabric of his dinner shirt. Her bare back burned where his hand lay. Beneath her hold, Julien’s shoulder muscles rolled and flexed and she felt an odd sense of curiosity at now becoming knowledgeable of the previously unknown. She hadn’t even realised she had thought about what Julien’s touch would feel like. With the skill of a violin player, he curled his fingers more decisively over her hand. Ginny felt in a daze, and had to stop herself from resting her cheek on his broad shoulder and closing her eyes.
It’s the alcohol getting to me, she told herself unconvincingly. The atmosphere she felt surrounding their embrace blurred the outside world to nothingness, only the song’s hypnotic melody carrying them. Julien’s cheek brushed against her face. It was such a heavenly feeling which enveloped them; she surprised herself wishing the song would not end. Looking up, she met his gaze, so seductive beneath those dark sweeping lashes and determined brow. But she was puzzled to see sadness in his eyes. Or was it regret? As the song faded to its conclusion, she had to tear herself away from his arms.
‘Ginny,’ he said hoarsely, still holding her hand.
‘Yes?’ Her reply was weak and she breathed in, trying to regain some composure but only succeeded in inhaling a lungful of Julien.
‘Be careful –’ he began. He blinked, pulling himself together and dropped her hand. The spell was broken. ‘I’ll walk you back to your table.’
*
Ginny felt a twinge of unease when she saw Mark’s expression as they approached.
‘Been dancing, Ginny?’ he asked, a forced smile on his lips.
‘Yes,’ she nodded brightly. She turned to Julien by her shoulder, standing stiff and tense. ‘Um, Mark, this is Julien Larocque. Julien, Mark Rushin.’
‘Hello,’ Mark said, his face dispassionate.
‘Good evening,’ Julien replied, just as unmoved.
Ginny beamed at the two men to dispel the unsociable atmosphere which had descended.
‘Right, well, thank you, Julien.’
Julien nodded and turned to walk away. Ginny sank back into her chair.
‘Friend of yours?’ Mark asked.
‘No, not really.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you know each other?’ she asked, puzzlement furrowing her brow.
Mark gave a nonchalant flap of his hand.
‘Our paths have crossed. He’s not exactly on my Christmas card list.’
‘Oh.’ Her gaze flickered back to Julien. She was about to probe further when she saw a porcelain doll-like girl join him from the balcony. She watched her hug his arm to her and stand on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek.
‘That must be his date. I wonder who she is?’ she mused.
Mark threw a lazy look towards the couple.
‘That would be the delightful Marianne Cole.’
‘Don’t think I know her.’ Bearing in mind, the amount of famous faces in the room, she hesitated. ‘Should I?’
Mark shook his head.
‘Not really. American. Her father is Clinton Cole, the jewellery tycoon. Larocque must be trying to keep him sweet.’
‘Why?’Ginny asked, her curiosity roused.
‘Cole owns just about half of his stable. I believe Silver Sabre is the new star of the yard.’
Ginny’s spirits dipped, surprising her. She pursed her lips, the magic of their dance blown away through the open balcony door that Marianne Cole had just come through.
‘Ah,’ she said with a mirthless chuckle. ‘Nothing much changing there then.’
Mark leaned forward across the table and lifted a bottle of champagne from its bucket. He refreshed her glass and gave her a wink.
‘Hey, come on. Cheer up. We don’t need to concern ourselves with some stiff-necked French prat. He might have good horses but at least you don’t sell yourself to get owners.’
Ginny’s eyes twinkled and she took a sip of bubbly.
‘Don’t I?’ she teased.
Mark gave her a lazy smile.
‘No, you don’t. If I recall, I approached you,’ he countered.
‘So you did,’ she giggled. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ He lifted his glass to hers and flashed her a dazzling smile. Ginny was glad she was already sitting down.
Chapter Fourteen
The receptionist at Newmarket Equine Clinic smiled in recognition as Ginny pushed open the glass entrance door.
‘Morning,’ Ginny greeted her. ‘Just come to check on Caspian. Is Ray around?’
‘Yes, he’s in his office. Go on through.’
Ginny walked down the carpeted corridor off the reception and knocked on Ray’s open door.
‘Anyone home?’ she said, peeping round the corner.
Ray was sat at his desk, a messy pile of paper in front of him and a fat veterinary reference book at his elbow. His face lit up with pleasure at her arrival.
‘Thank God,’ he said, throwing down his pen. ‘I have a distraction.’
Ginny grinned and sat down in a chair.
‘Working hard?’
Ray groaned.
‘The breeding season’s just about over now so most of my days are taken up with writing reports and certificates saying half of Newmarket is now pregnant again.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
Ray snorted in derision.
‘How did last night go?’
Ginny pulled a doubtful face as she tried to decide.
‘Overall, I guess it was a pretty successful evening,’ she said. ‘The food was good, Mark was lovely…’
‘But?’ Ray prompted.
She opened her mouth to describe the dance she and Julien had shared and the awkwardness of his and Mark’s meeting. It would be too complicated to explain to her brother.
‘Julien Larocque was there,’ she said.
Ray chuckled.
‘You just can’t keep yourself away from him, can you?’
‘I suppose our circles can’t help but overlap.’ She paused but couldn’t resist telling someone. ‘We danced.’
Ray’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
‘By choice?’
Ginny grinned.
‘Actually, no. We were kind of forced into it together.’
‘And you managed not to strangle him?’
Vivid memories of Julien pressing her closer and the intimacy of his hold on her brought a faint flush to her cheeks.
‘I managed to restrain myself, hard as that might sound. It was – it was quite nice in fact – after a while, of course.’
Ray whistled.
‘And how did Mark take to you dancing with the most sought after bachelor in town?’
‘I don’t think he was terribly pleased, to be honest. I don’t know whether it was because of me or not but when Julien walked me back to our table, they were a bit offish with each other.’
‘It must have been because of you. They don’t know each other otherwise, do they?’
Ginny leant her elbows on the desk and cupped her chin in her palms as she tried to decide.
‘Mark said their paths had crossed, so I don’t think they know each other very well. But Mark doesn’t come across as the jealous kind so when their paths did cross, it couldn’t have been very pleasant.’
‘Or,’ Ray countered, ‘he’s realised just what a catch you are and became abnormally possessive. Maybe he knows Julien’s reputation.’
‘A catch?’ Ginny giggled. ‘I’m just a small fish in a very big pond. God knows how I managed to land Mark.’ A frown flickered across her forehead. ‘Julien was definitely living up to his reputation though. He was there with Marianne Cole.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Clinton Cole’s daughter. He owns Silver Sabre,’ she explained when Ray’s face remained blank.
‘Ah, the almighty Silver Sabre,’ he mused. ‘The horse you are going to topple in the Dewhurst.’
‘With any luck if we have a sound horse. Speaking of which, how is Caspian?’
Ray shrugged.
‘Recovering.Slowly. Shall we go see him?’
Ginny nodded eagerly.
‘Yes, please.’
Ray pushed back his chair.
‘Come on then. At least out there I can pretend to be working.’
*
Out in the crisp sunshine, Ray led the way round to the clinic’s stable block.
‘How long will it be before we can take him home?’ Ginny asked.
‘Not long now. He’ll be on box-rest for a while yet though.’
‘And then?’ Ginny said, hardly daring to hope.
‘Horse-walker and if all goes well, you can start light exercise midsummer.’
‘Won’t leave us long before the Dewhurst. I might not be able to get another run into him. Damn.’
Ray shrugged as they rounded the corner.
‘Best to have a sound green horse for the Dewhurst than a lame veteran.’
His words didn’t register with Ginny. She stopped in her tracks and stared. Caspian had his head over his half-door and was soaking up the fuss he was receiving from Julien Larocque.
Ray saw him a moment later.
‘Bloody hell, your circles are more conjoined than the Olympic rings.’
Ginny gathered her composure and cleared her throat.
Julien looked up, a wave of guilt passing over his features like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. He stepped away from Caspian’s stable.
‘Julien,’ Ginny uttered. ‘What –’
‘I had a few things to drop off. Thought I’d check on Caspian while I was here,’ he mumbled.
‘Oh.’ Ginny dropped her gaze, not knowing what else to say. ‘Um, thank you.’
Julien’s searching eyes found hers again.
‘How is he?’ he prompted.
‘He’s – er –’She looked to her brother for assistance. Ray gave her a look of sweet ignorance. ‘Still lame. Yes, he’s – um, still lame.’
‘Oh,’ Julien frowned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes.’
‘Will he race again?’
‘Yes, hopefully.’
‘That’s good, very good,’ he nodded.
Ginny swallowed when he continued to look at her. He wrung his hands together and Ginny was transported back to the previous evening when he’d placed them on her body and led her through the dance. She inhaled sharply when she realised she’d stopped breathing.
‘Did you – er – get home all right last night?’ he asked. A deep frown cut across his forehead and a muscle leapt in the hollow of his jaw.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied with a small smile.
Julien nodded abruptly.
‘Anyway, I must go. I have racing this afternoon at Sandown.’
‘Yes, me too. Kenya is running.’
‘Oh.’ Julien looked uncomfortable. ‘Okay, we might see you later then.’
‘Yes. Goodbye.’
He nodded and walked away in the direction of the car park, his shoes clicking in rapid departure on the concrete pavement.
Ray beamed at her.
‘Well, that went well!’
Ginny glared at him.
‘Yeah, thanks for helping me out.’
He held up his hands in surrender.
‘I was curious to see how you would react.’
‘Are you satisfied now?’
Ray shook his head, his eyes wide.
‘On the contrary. What the hell happened last night at the ball? He looked about as wrong-footed as Caspian.’
‘Not funny. Nothing happened.’ She reached out and stroked Caspian’s nose to distract herself.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘All that happened is we danced and Mark got frosty, that’s it.’
‘Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll drop it for now,’ Ray grinned. ‘But I’ll get it out of you eventually.’
Ginny shook her head and returned his smile.
*
Later that afternoon, Ginny walked away from Sandown’s grandstand beside Mark and his American associates.
‘You can’t win ’em all,’ one of them said, patting Mark on the shoulder.
‘So it would seem,’ Ginny muttered under her breath. She told herself not to blame Damien. Racing tactics could go completely out of the window when a race didn’t go according to plan. Reminding herself he was also Mark’s nephew prevented her from confronting the jockey after Kenya’s poor fourth place.
They stopped beside the saddling enclosure.
‘Well, we’d best get going,’ Mark said. ‘The London Eye is waiting for us.’
His colleagues laughed in anticipation.
‘Okay,’ Ginny said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. ‘I’m really sorry we didn’t win. I thought she’d have a good chance. She was favourite after all. I don’t know what else I can say.’
‘Nothing much you can say,’ he replied with an Armani-clad shrug. He flashed a winning smile at the Americans. ‘We’ve still had a pretty good day though, haven’t we?’
Amidst their enthusiastic responses, he turned back to Ginny and squeezed her shoulder.
‘I’ll call you,’ he murmured.
Ginny gave him a grateful smile.
‘Okay. Speak to you later.’
She watched them disappear into the crowds of race-goers with a sigh. Her attention was caught by a throng of spectators lining the fence to the pre-parade ring. Beyond them, she recognised the focus of their excitement. Silver Sabre was being led around the perimeter by his Cobalt Lodge handler. Ginny darted a look around for his trainer. She exhaled with relief when he was nowhere to be seen. She moved closer, transfixed by the flawless colt. His muscles rippled beneath the bright silver sheen of his coat as he glided in smooth sweeping lines. Ginny was reminded of car television adverts, where lines of blue and white laser streaks follow the vehicle’s every manoeuvre. A ball of trepidation formed in her stomach as she considered the clash which would inevitably happen between Caspian and this ghostly colt. She had faith in Caspian’s ability, but this horse was simply perfection. How do you beat perfection?
At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) Page 10