Pippa nodded fervently. It didn’t sound that bad after all.
‘Wages day is every second Wednesday. This must be done without fail once entries and declarations are completed. We’ve got fifty staff here, most of them seasonal and they cannot miss a payday.’
‘Of course.’
Jack looked at his watch.
‘I’ve got to get back for the next lot, but I’ll be back later this morning. I’ve left a list of horses that need entering and declaring. The website is fairly straight forward; I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Any complicated phone calls just take messages for now and we’ll sort them out later. I need to call the vet out to take a look at Try That’s leg, but I’ll do that from my mobile. Have a look at the emails, but don’t do anything until I get back. Most of them will be from people wanting photos and shoes and tail hairs from Virtuoso.’
‘Who’s Virtuoso?’
Jack shook his head helplessly.
‘We won the Cheltenham Gold Cup with him earlier this year. Won eight Grade Ones on the bounce. He’s a bit of a celebrity.’
‘I know Cheltenham!’ Pippa cried, excited that she knew something to do with horseracing.
‘Good, that’s reassuring. Think you can cope?’
‘Piece of cake,’ Pippa grinned.
Jack almost smiled, but ended up just looking grim. He seemed loathe to leave her on her own, but after a moment he kicked into action.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ He paused by the door. ‘If you get chilly, there’s an electric heater in my office. The heating in here works, but it isn’t up to scratch.’
She smiled her thanks and watched him walk out into the cold.
Taking a deep breath, Pippa turned to the computer on her desk and switched it on. It whirred into life and an icy dread clutched her throat as a box popped up.
Username
Password
Oh, God. He hadn’t mentioned that bit. Thankfully the username was already filled in, but the password field gaped white. The cursor flashed, almost like it was daring Pippa to try. She darted a look towards the door. She was damned if she was going to fall at the first hurdle by running to Jack before he’d hardly walked out of the office.
‘Right. Let’s think.’ She flexed her fingers over the keyboard then, taking a deep breath, tapped out Aspenvalley. She hit Return.
Incorrect password. Please ensure CAPS lock is switched off before trying again.
‘Okay, so it’s not that. How about... password?’
It was the oldest trick in the book. It was like the banks who advise you not to use 1234 as your PIN number, but it’s the last thing any thief will think of since nobody is so stupid to use it.
Incorrect password...
‘Oh, shit. Okay, maybe not so clever.’ Pippa bit her lower lip. How many attempts would it give her before locking her out completely? Her laptop at home only ever gave her three tries before telling her to contact the system administrator. Who would the system administrator be here? She had an uneasy feeling it was meant to be her.
She flipped through a notebook on the desk, but it was just full of horses and race meetings, written in an almost illegible scrawl. The drawers under the desk didn’t give her any clues either. Pippa frowned at the flashing cursor. It reminded her of someone tapping their fingers on a counter, waiting for you to make your decision. She looked around for more inspiration. The white walls were stark and bare apart from a couple of small framed photographs of horses winning races.
‘Of course!’ she cried. Eagerly, she punched in the letters.
Virtuoso
Pippa whooped as the box disappeared and Windows began to load.
With a triumphal jab to the Return key, Pippa leaned back and smiled at the screen then gave a curt nod at the door and towards Jack’s general direction. It was five to ten and all the entries and declarations had been completed. She’d had three phone calls – one from the farrier who said that he was running about half an hour late, another from someone wanting a photograph of Virtuoso (and if at all possible, Jack Carmichael as well, the caller had asked shyly), and another from an owner who wouldn’t leave a message, but would call back later.
This secretarial lark was easier than waitressing. What she been worrying about?
It didn’t cross her mind that this was but the calm of an eight-month National Hunt storm season and only the tip of the iceberg.
‘How’s it gone this morning?’ Jack said, making his reappearance a couple of hours later.
Pippa looked up and smiled, half an automatic gesture, half a genuine appreciation that she now had some company. With her limited tasks and the phone being unnervingly quiet, the only interaction she’d had was with some miserable man called Simon who had come in with a list of supplies to get for the yard.
‘You still have a business. Can I get you some coffee?’
Jack hesitated on his way to his office.
‘That’d be nice. Thank you.’
A couple of minutes later Pippa joined him in his office with a mug of steaming coffee. Jack lowered his Racing Post at her knock on the door. He still had his coat on and she noticed the tip of his nose was pink from the cold.
‘Would you like your heater back? It’s really quite toasty in Reception now.’
‘No. Keep it. I’ll warm up in a minute.’
After a moment she relaxed, reassured that he wasn’t going to bite her head off for anything. He seemed in a much more agreeable mood today than on any of the other occasions they had met.
‘Who’s Simon?’
Jack paused from blowing on his drink.
‘My head lad. You met?’
‘He came in earlier. He didn’t seem terribly keen.’
‘Did you want him to be keen? I can’t have you seducing all the male staff here, Pippa.’
Pippa felt oddly complimented that he thought her capable of this and was reminded of her conversation with Tash the night before.
‘I’m not about to seduce anyone, don’t worry. I’ve got a boyfriend in London still.’
‘Do you? I didn’t know that. How has he taken to you coming down here?’
‘Ollie has his own way of dealing with things.’
‘Not happy then?’
‘Not really. But the good thing is his work is distracting him now.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s an actor.’
‘An actor? How very glamorous,’ Jack drawled. ‘What has he been in?’
‘Well, he’s just been given a small role in Holby City and he’s had a few cameo parts in some other soaps, but –’ Pippa hesitated. Her conscience battled with remaining loyal to Ollie and admitting his hopelessness. ‘He prefers the theatre really,’ she said finally.
‘Can’t say I blame him. Soaps are ridiculous.’
‘No, they’re not. They’re entertaining.’
‘All they ever do is argue, are closet gays or else sleep with people they shouldn’t.’
‘It wouldn’t be entertaining if they didn’t.’
Jack scoffed in derision then looked at his watch.
‘Gemma usually took her lunch between one and two. Does that suit you?’
‘Sounds fine. I might pop into the village and have a look around. How far away is it from here?’
‘Helensvale? About ten minutes’ drive. And it’s a town by the way, not a village. I see you’ve got a different car.’
‘The other ones were hired. This one’s mine,’ Pippa said proudly.
‘Buy it yourself?’
‘No, I stole it.’
Her solemn reply made Jack look at her sharply. Pippa couldn’t contain her amusement when confronted by his expression.
‘Oh, you’re joking. Did you get it from a dealer?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why they’ve got such a reputation. The dealer who sold me mine was charming; a lovely old guy. He was very honest about it all, saying it isn’t perfect – it has a rip in one of the backseats – and
he let me have it really cheap.’
‘Oh, God.’ Jack closed his eyes. ‘If that car lasts you ’til Christmas I’ll be amazed.’
‘That’s only a few weeks away. Of course it’ll last. It’s a bit noisy, but it’s a Beetle. They’re supposed to be noisy.’
Jack looked at her under heavy eyelids.
Pippa licked her lips.
‘Aren’t they?’ she ventured.
‘I just hope you’ve got breakdown cover.’
Pippa was about to reply when the phone rang next door and she hurried out.
‘PIPPA!’
Jack’s bark from the adjoining office made her leap out of her seat. Frantically, she tried to think what she might have done wrong. That phone call five minutes earlier had been from an owner and she had put them through to Jack’s extension. Was that so wrong?
‘Yes?’ Pippa popped her head round the door.
‘We need to have a chat.’
Oh, God, was he firing her already? She gulped before straightening her shoulders and walking in.
Jack nodded to the visitor’s chair.
‘We need to chat about a few things. Your job here for starters, Peace Offering, and how we’re going to sort out the financial side of everything.’
Pippa’s thundering heart eased. She still had a job.
‘Okay.’
‘I’ve got a couple of runners at Wincanton this afternoon so I’m going to be out until about five or six. Your working hours are until five so you don’t have to wait for me to get back.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ll be expected to work Saturdays as well.’ Jack paused for reaction, but Pippa just nodded. She wasn’t particularly bothered about work encroaching on her weekends. Waitressing had taught her this. ‘Gemma was in the middle of organising Aspen Valley’s Open Day before she went AWOL, so that will be one big thing you’ll need to take over. We’ll be having the public, the media, present and potential owners all milling around looking at the horses Tuesday after next. You’ll need to organise some sort of catering. Given your background in waitressing, I’m sure you won’t have too much of a problem with that.’
Pippa briefly flashbacked to the vegetarian lasagne man at Vivace’s and concluded that was an incident best kept to herself.
Jack tapped his pen on his desk, frowning and Pippa could see him considering the forthcoming season, not as an exciting adventure like it was for her, but as serious business manoeuvres, battle plans almost.
‘The closer we get to Christmas, the busier we are going to become,’ he continued. ‘It’s the King George VI Chase at Kempton on Boxing Day where Virtuoso is due to run, so there is going to be huge pressure in the run-up. The media are going to be looking for comments and quotes so keep your mouth shut.’
Pippa pouted.
‘Hey, that’s a bit unfair.’
‘Keep your mouth shut,’ he repeated. ‘Whether you know something or you don’t, if the press get hold of it, it’ll get whipped into a frenzy and rumours spread like wildfire. It’s also the Christmas Hurdle and the name on everyone’s lips will be Black Russian.’
‘Black Russian? I entered him in a race this morning, didn’t I?’
‘No, you declared him in a race – or I hope you did, anyway. He’s running tomorrow in the Fighting Fifth Hurdle.’
He closed his eyes for a moment and Pippa imagined him praying she had done the correct procedure.
‘When you get phone calls for me when I’m in the office, tell them you’ll see if I’m available first before putting them through. Some of their requests can be dealt with by you. Owners want to come see their horses. As long as it isn’t in the morning or evening when they’re being fed, they’re welcome to come round. A lot of other calls will be from jockeys’ agents wanting to know what we have running.’ He paused and wagged his pen towards her to amplify the importance of what he was saying. ‘First and foremost, we already have two stable jockeys. Rhys Bradford is number one, Finn O’Donaghue is number two. If we have horses running at three different venues or more than two horses in one race, we look for other jockeys. And, unless under the owner’s insistence, these two jockeys will always get first pick. Understood?’
‘I think I can handle it so far.’ Pippa struggled to keep her voice polite in response to his patronising tone.
‘Now...’ Jack exhaled and placed his hands wide on the edge of his desk. ‘About Peace Offering. What is this farcical you’ve got going about him running in the National?’
Pippa lifted her chin.
‘I was going through Uncle Dave’s stuff and I came across something which suggested he wanted to enter him.’
‘Suggested? You mean you high-tailed it up to Doncaster to pull your horse out of the sale, quit your job in London to slave for his training fees whilst living in a dump, all on a suggestion?’
‘You missed out that I had to steal a car to get to Doncaster.’
Jack’s face fell and Pippa batted her hand at him.
‘Long story. Anyway, it was more than a suggestion. It was a dream. Is that so wrong?’
‘Some dreams are just pie in the sky.’
Pippa folded her arms and locked Jack in a stern gaze.
‘How long have you wanted to train racehorses?’
Jack’s eyes flickered away from her and he fiddled with his pen.
‘Since I was a boy if you must know. I wanted to ride them first, but...’
‘But?’
Jack looked up.
‘I grew too heavy. So I got into training. I went from work rider to head lad to assistant trainer to having my own yard.’
‘And now you’re champion trainer. From what I’ve learnt only in the last few hours, you also have two champion racehorses in Virtuoso and Black Russian. I bet you dreamt of this when you were younger. Didn’t you?’
Jack shifted in his seat and flicked at the pages of a notebook in front of him. When all he did was shrug, Pippa carried on.
‘And I bet at the time some people probably considered that dream to be pie in the sky.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘But?’
‘This is different. I was a boy, I was unproven! Peace Offering has been racing for five years now and he is proven. He’s proven that he can’t win a National!’
‘How? Has he run in it before?’
‘No, but –’
‘So, how do you know then?’
‘I just do!’ Jack exclaimed, throwing up his hands. ‘I train the bloody animal, I should know. He’ll be ready to run in a couple of weeks’ time. Then you can see for yourself!’
‘Jack,’ Pippa said firmly.
‘What?’
‘I’m not going to change my mind. I’ve done this whole thing in order for Peace Offering to have a crack at that race – everyone thinks I’m crazy for doing it – so I’m not going to let you talk me out of it.’
Jack glared at her, considering whether to challenge her obstinacy.
‘Which leads us to the next thing. I’ll give you a discount on training fees, but you’ll still need to pay for his shoes, his transport and his entries and vets bills, if any.’
‘Okay. The money which I got from Astolat’s sale can go towards that.’
‘It won’t leave you with much to spare on Dave’s house.’
‘There isn’t a mortgage to pay and I’ve got a loan approved so what I get paid from you will go towards that and repairs. I’m also intending to sell some paintings while I’m out here to bring in a bit more.’
‘You’re an artist?’
Pippa tipped her head from side to side, non-commitally.
‘Some might say so. I kind of lost my inspiration these last couple of years living with Ollie – living in the city, I mean – but now I’m out in the country, I can feel it coming back.’
Jack gave her a lazy smile.
‘Is there no end to your talents, Miss Taylor?’
‘Not now that you mention it...’ Pippa grinned.
/>
‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ a cool voice from the open doorway said. A tall willowy blonde woman tapped on the door twice for effect before breezing in. Jack stood up and came round the desk to give her a brisk peck on the cheek.
‘Melissa. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘We were going to have lunch before the races this afternoon. Remember?’
‘Dammit, sorry. Completely slipped my mind.’
‘You used to have everything in your diary – oh, Gemma kept that, didn’t she?’
She gave Pippa a slow smile, reminding her of a cheetah, the smile always present, but the hunter wholly apparent.
‘You must be the new girl.’
‘Melissa, this is Pippa, my new secretary. Pippa, this is Melissa, my, er – my –’
‘Girlfriend is the correct term, Jack. Although sometimes I wonder.’ She winked at Pippa in false sisterhood. ‘It seems I have to make an appointment to see him these days.’
Pippa didn’t know what else to do except laugh obligingly. Jack looked even more uncomfortable.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Melissa asked him.
‘Yes, I think so. Pippa, you’ll be all right, won’t you?’
‘You don’t have to worry about me. Good luck.’
Melissa laughed, a tinkling of ice cubes in a crystal glass, and she placed a slim manicured hand to her chest.
‘Pippa, what would he need luck for? I don’t intend to eat Jack, just eat with Jack.’
‘Oh, no! I didn’t mean that! I just meant for this afternoon – the racing this afternoon.’
Jack nodded and unhooked his jacket from the back of his chair.
‘Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He guided Melissa out of the office with his hand in the small of her back. Pippa watched them leave, a curious frown on her brow. So that was Melissa. She looked like a right madam, and she was certain that handbag was an authentic Louis Vuitton.
Keeping the Peace Page 6