‘Poor guy. But otherwise alive?’
‘Just about. He’s so pumped full of painkillers it’d make you wonder though.’
‘Well, that’s the main thing,’ she said, trying to look on the bright side.
Jack wiped his sticky fingers on a paper napkin before throwing it down.
‘Yeah,’ he snorted. ‘Where does that leave us though? He’ll be out for the rest of the season. Finn’s good, but how can I run a stable with one jockey?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she reassured him. ‘There’s loads of jockeys out there, really good jockeys, who’d jump at the chance of riding for you.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that after today’s performance,’ Jack said in a morose tone, his head drooping. ‘God, I can’t believe he’s gone.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Jack.’
He looked up at her, his blue eyes desperate.
‘What if it was though? I shouldn’t have run Black Russian when we haven’t had a chance to do some proper schooling over hurdles at home. He made mistakes when he lost the Fighting Fifth. I knew he needed more work. Even a couple of jumps in the indoor school, but I didn’t do it. I still entered him at Kempton and now – now he’s dead.’ His face drained of what little colour it held as he said it out loud.
‘It was just an accident,’ Pippa insisted, ‘a terrible, terrible accident. He’d been jumping fine before he fell. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.’
‘He was so good,’ Jack continued. ‘He would have won, you could see him stepping up a gear and pulling clear of High Scribe. He would have had a great chance to win at Cheltenham again next year.’ He shook his head. ‘Does that make me a bad person because I’m feeling worse over his death since he was such a talented horse?’
The insecurity in his eyes made Pippa’s heart twist in anguish.
‘No, of course not,’ she said gently. ‘It always seems to hurt more when we lose a real talent. It doesn’t make you a bad person at all.’
Jack didn’t say anything. Instead he frowned at his clasped hands resting on the table.
Pippa realised she’d reached across and was covering his hands with her own. She eased her hands away. She felt a sudden surge of anger towards Melissa for not being here to hold Jack when he so obviously needed it, but which she, Pippa, wasn’t allowed to do.
‘Where’s Melissa?’ she said.
Jack blinked as if trying to recall her existence. He gave a sardonic smile.
‘Virtuoso won the King George with Finn aboard. She’s in London with her father.’
‘Oh,’ Pippa replied, thinking that she’d been in London too and it hadn’t stopped her coming back. Maybe it was different for Melissa. She knew the King George was a big race – maybe the winning owners were expected to attend some sort of royal banquet afterwards.
‘You shouldn’t have come,’ Jack muttered.
‘I had to.’
‘You’re meant to be celebrating Christmas with your family and your boyfriend.’
‘How could I, Jack? How could I stay in London after seeing the race on TV and knowing how awful everyone would be feeling?’
‘You’ve got your priorities wrong.’
Pippa thought of Rich Holden’s party, which would be well into its stride by now and the pretence she would have had to keep up the entire evening to impress Ollie’s co-stars and peers. Not to mention the red dress that Ollie had wanted her to wear.
She shook her head and smiled.
‘I don’t think so.’
Jack looked at her with a steady gaze, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
Pippa readied herself for the explanation he was bound to ask for, but the question never arrived. He just nodded.
‘In that case, I’m glad you came.’ He broke eye contact and cleared his throat.
Pippa bit back a smile. She wanted to gather his hands in hers again to show how those few words had made her four-and-a-half-hour journey back on the dark and wet M4 in holiday traffic worthwhile. Instead, she picked up her coffee and took a sip.
‘Urgh, the coffee here is awful,’ she said, grimacing.
Jack raised a smile for the first time.
‘It’s a government incentive to never end up in hospital,’ he replied. ‘Think of Rhys. God knows how long he’s going to be subjected to it for.’
Pippa laughed in sympathy, which soon became a yawn.
‘You look done in,’ Jack said.
‘So do you,’ she replied.
‘Shall we go? Presumably you’ve got your car.’
Pippa nodded.
‘Come on, then.’ Jack shifted along his seat to get up. ‘I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure you get back all right.’
‘It’s okay, I got rid of my Take That CD. That was my only hazard while driving.’
Jack chuckled and waited for Pippa to stand up before guiding her to the exit.
‘Nonetheless, for my peace of mind then.’
They walked in silence out of the hospital and into the damp winter outside.
‘I’m over there,’ Jack said, pointing to a section of the car park.
‘I’m just here,’ Pippa replied.
‘Well, see you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ she echoed.
‘I’ll be right behind you.’
She watched him walk away across the car park to his Land Rover, feeling a warmth inside fill her from within. She wasn’t anxious about her drive back to Hazyvale, more dreading the fact that she wouldn’t be able to curl up in bed for at least another half hour. But the thought of having Jack drive behind her leant a curious feeling of comfort to her. Whether it was simply having his company, albeit in a separate vehicle, for the duration of the journey or his small gesture of protectiveness, she was too tired to decide.
With a shrug, she delved into her bag to find her car keys.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pippa arrived at Aspen Valley Stables the next morning feeling exhausted. She stood near the entrance to watch the yard activity as she had done on her first morning. With a sad acknowledgement, she saw the vitality and buzz that had captured that original moment was absent. The lads and lasses still went about their duties, but without any spark or enthusiasm. There were no jovial shouts and chatter. Even the horses looked miserable, their heads lowered away from the constant rain that plastered their manes and forelocks to their skin in rats’ tails.
Pippa hoped the Christmas ‘party’ scheduled for tonight might help lift everyone’s spirits. Before she became soaked through, she walked on to the office.
Her emails were taking so long to load, Pippa was able to make herself a cup of coffee in the meantime. Jack’s office door remained firmly locked and she imagined him, sitting in his Land Rover halfway up the Gallops in dejected solitude, watching the horses work in the rain. She wished she could go deliver him a coffee just to warm him up, to let him know that she was on his side. Her longing to do this became even more acute when she finally sat down to read through the hundred odd emails they’d received over the last forty-eight hours.
So sorry to hear about Black Russian. He was my favourite horse…
Murdering hypocrite. How can you say you like horses? You killed Black Russian by forcing him to race…
R.I.P. Black Russian. A true hero of National Hunt racing who brought great pleasure to his many fans…
Have you recently been hurt or injured at work? If so, you may be entitled to claim compensation…
You bastard, Jack Carmichael. Any fool would have seen Black Russian wasn’t fit to run in the Christmas Hurdle. I put my faith in you with a two grand bet that Black Russian could win at Cheltenham two years running and he would have if you hadn’t been so blind…
And so they went on. Tears sprung in Pippa’s eyes as each well-wishing email was interspersed by angry punters and animal activists. She hoped Jack’s mobile was unlisted. Methodically, she deleted the hate mail and after a moment’s deliberation, opted
to keep the condolences for Jack to read if he wanted to.
When Jack did appear, he looked tired and grumpy.
‘Morning,’ he grunted in reply to Pippa’s greeting and shut himself away in his office.
For once, his abruptness evoked sympathy in her. What personal hell was he putting himself through?
She glanced down at the box canvas leaning against her desk drawers, trying to sum up the courage to intrude on Jack’s dark mood. Perhaps a hot drink would help ease things along, she thought, getting up and heading for the kitchenette.
With difficulty, she knocked on Jack’s door a couple of minutes later, a cup of tea and the canvas in her hands.
‘Tea to warm you up,’ she said as she entered. ‘How are you doing?’
Jack looked up from his computer, his expression pained and Pippa guessed he’d received some pretty unpleasant emails to his personal address.
‘Like Santa’s forgotten me this year,’ he replied. ‘What have you got there?’
Pippa placed his mug down on a coaster and fingered the canvas nervously.
‘It’s the painting I did of Black Russian and the other horses working in the snow. I finished it a few days ago, but didn’t get a chance to give it to you.’ She turned the painting round and held it up for Jack to inspect. She heard him catch his breath.
He got up and skirted the desk, his eyes never leaving the picture.
‘I’ll understand if you don’t want it anymore. I know it might not be the happiest painting to look at now,’ Pippa babbled when he didn’t say anything.
Jack traced his finger down the fluid muscular outline of the dark bay horse in the lead, almost bursting out of the canvas against the contrasting pale background. He frowned and shook his head.
‘No. It’s perfect. It’s a great tribute to Black Russian.’ He sighed and let his hand drop. ‘God, he was some horse.’
Pippa bit her lip at the emotion in his voice.
‘I want you to have it,’ she blurted.
Jack’s brows knitted in confusion.
‘I mean as a gift. I don’t want to be paid.’
He stared at her then shook his head again, this time more vigorously.
‘No, this was a commission. You need the money. Of course I must pay you for it.’
‘No, Jack, please,’ she persisted. She held the picture out for him to take. ‘It’s the least I can do. I feel so bad over his death. Please take this as a gift.’ She tried to smile. ‘Santa hasn’t forgotten you.’
Jack took a step back, leaving her to hold the picture. He walked away and threaded a hand through his hair.
‘No, Pippa. I can’t,’ he said, turning to face her again.
She gazed at him, confused, searching for an explanation.
‘But why?’
Jack looked at her, his steely eyes intense.
‘I can’t accept this as a gift. I haven’t got you anything. I didn’t even think to get you anything.’ His eyes darkened as she became more bewildered. ‘Exchanging Christmas presents is what friends and family do. I – I’m your boss.’
With a stab of torment, Pippa realised she’d crossed the line. She’d made the mistake of caring too much. She swallowed with difficulty, embarrassment mingling with the hurt. She bent down and leaned the painting against the desk, trying to mask her feelings. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
‘Yes, of course you are. There you go then.’ She kept her gaze down, hiding behind her auburn curls and hurried towards the door.
‘Pippa,’ Jack called after her.
She ignored him.
‘Pippa!’
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore that tone. She stopped, unwilling to face him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice gentler. ‘You understand though, don’t you?’
She set her expression and looked back at him. To give him his due, he didn’t look that comfortable either.
‘Yes, I do.’ She stepped out of the office, clicking the door shut behind her.
What had she been thinking? She was beginning to scare herself when she couldn’t come up with a definitive answer, especially as Jack’s abrupt clarification of their relationship had impacted on her so forcefully. Everything he said was true. He was her boss, nothing more. All the small allowances like trips onto the Gallops and this art commission and his following her home last night meant nothing more than general goodwill.
As she sat back down at her desk, she chided herself for forgetting that. She wouldn’t make that mistake again in a hurry.
Emmie walked into the office at lunchtime, making Pippa jump up and rush round her desk to console her, her own jumbled feelings at once put aside. The girl’s drooping posture and sad eyes were more befitting to someone who had lost a close family member.
Emmie attempted a brave smile, but in the face of Pippa’s obvious concern, her lower lip trembled and her eyes glistened with tears. She tried to wave away Pippa’s support.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to be a burden,’ she whimpered.
‘Nonsense. You’re never a burden.’
Emmie sagged and allowed herself to be hugged.
Pippa felt a hard lump swelling in her throat as she felt the distressed sobs of the stable lass buffer against her.
‘I loved him so much,’ Emmie croaked. She stepped out of Pippa’s arms and folded her hands against her chest. ‘My heart feels like it’s breaking.’ She gulped. ‘I never understood the – the magnitude of that expression until now.’
Pippa hugged her close again, rubbing her back in comfort.
‘You probably think I’m being silly,’ Emmie sniffed. ‘Maybe I am. He was just a horse. But not to me. To me he – he was my best friend.’ She choked as a new wave of sobs shuddered through her.
Pippa’s eyes filled with tears as she realised the enormity of the girl’s grief. The horses outside weren’t just animals or products of their work. They were friends, companions, confidantes and were just as capable of invoking love in a person as any other human could.
‘I know,’ she replied into Emmie’s shoulder. ‘And it’s not silly at all. In fact, it might be considered silly if you weren’t upset.’
Jack’s office door opened, interrupting her. He started to say something then noticed Emmie weeping onto Pippa’s shoulder. For a long moment, he watched them, his expression guilt-ridden before quietly closing the door again.
When the tears started to subside, Pippa felt Emmie’s body straighten as her composure reasserted itself.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emmie apologised again. She gave Pippa a weak smile. ‘I didn’t mean to cry like that. What I really came in for was to let you know that I don’t think I’m going to make it this evening for the drinks do.’
‘But Emmie, it might make you feel better. It might take your mind off things,’ Pippa reasoned.
Emmie shook her head.
‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’
Pippa rubbed the lass’ shoulder.
‘It’s okay. Go home and watch Something About Mary or When Harry Met Sally. Those are my two cheer-up movies.’
Emmie smiled, this time stronger and wiped her swollen eyes with the back of her sleeve.
‘I’ll see if Blockbusters have them,’ she said.
Pippa tilted her watch towards the light as the last member of staff wheeled their bicycle out of the yard. It wasn’t even seven o’clock. She looked glumly at the rows of unopened drinks still lining the table in the tack room and the bowls of snacks hardly touched. With a shrug, she set about repacking the bottles of beer. Hopefully, the dingy off-licence in Helensvale’s back-end might give them a refund for the three untouched crates.
After heaving the crates onto the backseat of her car, Pippa locked up the empty yard and headed back to the car park with a heavy heart. Of the fifty odd members of Aspen Valley staff, only a handful had stayed on for their Christmas celebrations.
Had she expected any more though? The mood of
those who had made the effort was subdued and was more like a bad wake than a Christmas party. She hadn’t known them very well and her attempts at making light conversation had been stilted and forced. Jack hadn’t come, but he’d told her beforehand that he was meeting Dan Cameron to discuss their ‘situation’.
Pippa’s loyalties were torn. Jack had a commitment towards his staff and should therefore be present at the party. On the other hand, he also had a business to run and Dan Cameron was still very much a part of that, Black Russian or no Black Russian. Despite her earlier promise not to take a personal view on Jack’s circumstances, Pippa hoped Dan wasn’t meeting him to tell him he was removing his remaining horses.
She was further upset by the absence of Finn. She’d relied on seeing him at the yard, a cheerful face amidst the gloom to lend his support. But even he hadn’t bothered to pitch up.
Pippa’s feelings spiralled south as she drove through the dark narrow lanes towards Helensvale. As well as the party being a resounding failure, it also meant she’d be home early and would therefore not have any excuse not to call Ollie like she’d promised.
What would they say to each other? She knew the inevitable was looming. The pleasure their relationship had once strived on was just a faraway memory. In her mind’s eye, their happier times were almost sepia-coloured they were so distant. The optimistic belief that their ‘rough patch’ would be temporary was fracturing. It seemed every time she returned to London, those cracks became even more cavernous. She wasn’t happy in their relationship. Ollie obviously wasn’t either. Why didn’t he break up with her then?
Pippa sighed as she pulled up in front of a small restaurant a little way down from the local off-licence. She switched off the engine, still deep in thought. She didn’t want to live a lie, but neither did she want to be the one to shatter this fanciful dream she and Ollie had created. She hated breaking up. She remembered how she’d cried for days on Tash’s shoulder when Dean Mason had broken up with her when she was fifteen because she’d refused to have sex with him. After that, the only other long-ish term relationship she’d had she’d broken off because she had met Ollie. On that occasion, Craig, the dumpee, had cried. She didn’t expect Ollie to cry, but still, why did she get to be the bad guy?
Keeping the Peace Page 18