Keeping the Peace

by Hannah Hooton

She shook her head.

  ‘I’m not Jack’s favourite person at the moment. This cottage is stressing me out so much I haven’t been the best secretary in the world. It wouldn’t surprise me if he fired me even.’

  ‘Nonsense. Now you’re being silly. Jack wouldn’t fire you.’

  Pippa snorted.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that.’

  ‘Believe me, Pippa, since you arrive at Aspen Valley, Jack has become a hundred times easier to work with. He’d have a mutiny on his hands if he let you go. Your smile is a little light relief for us all.’ He reached out and stroked her cheek. ‘You don’t know how unhinging it is seeing you without it now.’

  ‘I always seem to make Jack mad though,’ she said, dropping her gaze. She could feel the tears threatening again. ‘I mess up on the entries and declarations and appointments. Then just last week, I not only took out the brake light on his car, but I ruined Leopard Rock’s silks and then had the cheek to give him a bollocking about Emmie and Billy –’ She bit her lip, realising she had probably said too much.

  ‘Ah, Emmie and Billy,’ Finn smiled. ‘Yes, I hear you’re not the only one messing up.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she feigned innocence.

  ‘I believe Billy has been doing some entering and declaring of his own.’ He gave a wicked smile and winked. ‘Don’t fret, you haven’t given away any secret. Billy told me he got Emmie up the pole.’

  Pippa raised her hands and let them flop down on the cushion in resignation.

  ‘They’ve got such massive problems and here I am crying over this measly staircase and Ollie –’

  ‘Ollie?’

  ‘Well, not over him as such,’ she relented. ‘It was his first appearance on Holby City tonight and seeing him again just reminded me of what my life used to be like. It might have been a bit mundane, but at least it was simple. I didn’t have to worry about anything really. But now…’

  ‘You changed your lifestyle. It was bound to come with its own set of challenges,’ Finn reasoned. ‘It hasn’t all been bad though, has it? You met me, after all.’ He gave her an encouraging smile and she managed a half-hearted laugh.

  ‘Yeah, what would I have done if I hadn’t met you? I know, the country hasn’t all been bad. I’ve had the chance to do some painting and I’ve had fun watching Peace Offering race, even if it is about to come to an end.’

  ‘Don’t be talking like that. It doesn’t have to end.’

  ‘But there’s no alternative,’ she said with a futile shrug. ‘I need to replace the staircase if I’m to sell the cottage and the only way I can do that is by selling Peace Offering. How else will I get the money?’

  Finn thought for a moment, his brow furrowing.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  Pippa shook her head, the half hope that Finn could think of some way she could keep her horse extinguished. The thought of him being owned by someone else, who was bound to love him less than she did, made the tears well up.

  ‘I’m going to miss Peace Offering. He’s such a kind horse even if he isn’t the most talented. Even if he doesn’t win another race, I’d still want to keep him, but…’

  ‘Don’t cry, a thaisce,’ Finn said, tucking a curling lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘Come here.’

  Pippa allowed herself to be hugged, finding comfort in his sympathy. She felt another rush of self-pity flood through her as she thought how, had circumstances been different, she could let Finn become so much more than a friend. His shoulder was warm and strong, his arms around her gentle, his light touch stroking her hair so supportive. The silent tears were now laced with regret. She couldn’t have Finn even if she wanted him. Not only would it end when she sold the cottage and had to move, but there was Cara Connolly to think of as well. Pippa would never be The Other Woman.

  Squeezing her eyes shut to stem the flow, she disengaged herself.

  Finn cupped her face, brushing away a stray tear and shook his head.

  ‘You really don’t know how hard this is seeing you in this way. You’re too good a person to be made to feel this sad.’

  ‘I’m not good, Finn. Everything I’ve done these past few months has been for myself. Ollie was right. I have been selfish.’

  ‘I’m glad I never go to meet him properly otherwise he’d be sportin’ a socked jaw, you know. Did he really tell ye that?’

  Pippa nodded pathetically.

  ‘Yet he never contributed by coming down here to help with the cottage or give you any support,’ he summed up. He stroked her cheek again. ‘He sounds about as useful as a chocolate teapot, to be sure.’

  Pippa gave a watery smile.

  ‘There. That’s more like it,’ Finn encouraged. His eyes flickered to her lips and he leaned forward.

  Pippa hesitated.

  Finn paused and redirected his intended kiss to her forehead.

  ‘There now. I think you should get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  Pippa could feel a blush start to rise from her dressing gown collar and she got to her feet before it showed.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Thank you for sitting here and listening to my problems. I’m sorry I haven’t been very good company.’

  ‘Stop apologising!’ he said, following suit.

  She led him to the door and gave him a grateful smile.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ He grinned at her confused grin. ‘What firm did you say it was that quoted Peace Offering at five-hundred-to-one?’

  Pippa’s returning smile was the most genuine of the night.

  ‘Good night, Finn.’

  ‘Good night, Pippa. Sleep well.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  With the most pressing duties of a Saturday morning completed, Pippa leant back in her chair and watched the rain through the office window blur her view of the yard. The telephone had been strangely quiet all morning and apart from the usual calls from jockeys’ agents and a reporter who wanted a last minute quote from Jack on Virtuoso’s chance in that afternoon’s Denman Chase, there’d been nothing else to distract her. She’d tried to talk to Jack before he left for Newbury, but he was so preoccupied with his star horse that he’d told her it would have to wait until Monday. A whole day and a half of waiting to drop the bombshell loomed ahead.

  Although, to be fair, Pippa reasoned with herself, it was more of a bombshell to her than it would be to Jack. Peace Offering’s presence at Aspen Valley probably wasn’t quite so important to him as it was to her. According to the internet there was a couple of National Hunt sales coming up and this time they must ensure his reserve was low enough for him to sell.

  Pippa sighed, the sodden weather outside the office reflecting her mood inside. How would she cope with Peace Offering running someone else’s name and colours? Would he even race again or would he be sent to sale after sale until he was a broken wreck like Black Beauty? Uncle Dave had given her a copy of Black Beauty for her tenth Christmas. The tears had begun when Rob Roy was killed and were substantial enough to warrant flood warnings in the Taylor household when Ginger died. Needless to say, Dave was far from popular with her parents after this.

  Feeling a lump swell in her throat as she realised how disappointed Dave would have been not to run Peace Offering in the Grand National, she bit her lip and clicked on her computer’s calendar for next week to distract herself.

  She grimaced.

  Jack was due to go to London for the charity single recording on Tuesday. That wasn’t going to improve his opinion of her.

  The telephone rang and she welcomed its interruption.

  ‘Pippa? It’s Jack.’ He sounded breathless, his voice raised above the background roar of traffic. ‘I need your help.’

  Pippa frowned. He’d left over an hour and a half ago.

  ‘What’s the matter? Have you broken down?’

  ‘No, no. I’ve just arrived at Newbury Racecourse. Is Finn around?’

  Oh, God, Pippa
quailed. Mick Farrelly hadn’t turned up. She reassured herself that she had definitely booked him to ride Virtuoso that afternoon. She couldn’t be blamed for this.

  ‘I don’t know. He might be. Do you want me to go get him for you?’

  ‘No, don’t do that. There isn’t time.’ Jack sounded almost panicked. ‘I need you to do something for me, Pippa. Right now, please. I’ve forgotten Virtuoso’s passport. He can’t run without it.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jack,’ Pippa groaned. She opened her desk cabinet where all the horses’ passports were kept and flicked through to V’s folder.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’m not so proud of it myself, but I might not live to tell the tale if Virtuoso doesn’t run. Newbury are sold out with people coming to see him race. I need you to find his passport, find Finn and get him to drive over here with it. It’s too late for me to come all the way back.’

  ‘But where is it?’ she exclaimed as she unearthed only Victory Speech and Viscount Camperdown’s passports. ‘It’s not here in the folder.’

  ‘It’s at my house. Bloody fool that I am, I had it out last night and forgot to put it back with the others this morning.’

  ‘Your house? Is it locked? Can I get in?’

  ‘In the bottom drawer of my desk in the office, there’s a spare set of keys. The passport should be in the lounge. Get it and go find Finn! Please, Pippa. As fast as you can!’

  ‘I’m gone. Where will Finn find you?’ Pippa said, standing up and threading her free arm though her coat sleeve.

  ‘In the saddling enclosure. He’s a jockey so he shouldn’t have a problem getting in.’

  ‘Okay, don’t panic, Jack. Everything will be fine. You’ll have the passport in no time at all.’

  ‘Now!’

  ‘Okay! Good luck!’ Pippa slammed down the phone and grabbing her handbag like a relay runner’s baton, sprinted for the door. ‘Oh, shit. Need the keys first,’ she said, guiltily back-tracking to Jack’s office.

  There was no obvious sign of Finn in the yard. Most of the staff had either finished work for the morning or were taking cover from the rain. Pippa flicked up her collar and dashed to the car park. She scanned the few cars left hunched in the drizzle for Finn’s Honda Civic.

  Her heart plummeted.

  Finn had obviously already left.

  ‘Only one thing for it,’ she muttered, hurrying over to her car. ‘How do you fancy a trip to Newbury?’ she asked the Beetle.

  It felt strange to pull up outside Jack’s house, which she’d never really seen before. The solid stone walls of the converted barn were stained a dark grey by the rain, the trellised creeper draped soggily over the front door. It felt even stranger letting herself in the house with the spare keys and entering Jack’s personal space. Despite the urgency of her mission, Pippa stopped to gape at the mammoth open plan lounge-cum-dining room spread out before her. It was as big as a church, fit for a king, with dark wooden beams overhead like arched swords held aloft in reverence.

  A soft whine from the opposite side of the room caught her attention and Pippa noticed Berkeley, Jack’s aging Retriever in a wicker basket thumping his tail at her.

  ‘Great guard dog you are,’ she said, walking further into the room. ‘Don’t you ever get claustrophobic?’

  In spite of her casual irony, she was struck by the solitary place setting at the six-seater dining table, in the lounge only one empty glass on a table beside a leather recliner chair. There were no family photographs above the open stone fireplace, only brass and stone sculptures of horses and a carriage clock frozen in time.

  It felt lonely.

  She ran her hand along the mantelpiece, unable to stop the smile of amusement when she saw an open CD case of the Beatles’ album Help! lying next to the hi-fi cabinet.

  Her gaze travelled along the walls and stopped at the picture opposite the recliner. She gulped. It was the picture of Black Russian on the Gallops, framed in dark wood to match the beams.

  A deep gong emanated from the depths of a grandfather clock made her jump and she shook herself back to the present. Jack was waiting for her. She had to find Virtuoso’s passport. She sifted through the haphazard pile of thriller novels and Racing Posts littering a central coffee table. A booklet slipped out between two newspapers. Pippa exclaimed with triumph.

  ‘Right!’ she said, snapping it in her fingers and addressing a bemused-looking Berkeley. ‘Newbury, here we come!’

  Pippa fidgeted as she stood in the queue waiting to enter Newbury Racecourse, ignoring the boozed-up party behind her all dressed as John McCririck. Such was their presence that the ticket man at the turnstyle didn’t notice Pippa at first.

  She tried to walk through ‘like she belonged’ as Tash had taught her, but the man held out his arm at the last second.

  ‘Hold on, can I see your ticket?’

  Pippa gave him her most helpless big-blue-eyed look.

  ‘I don’t have a ticket. I’m just here to drop something off.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t let you through without a ticket,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not here to watch the racing.’ She pulled Virtuoso’s passport out of her bag and pushed it towards him. ‘I just need to drop this off. It’s a horse passport.’

  The man gave her a bored look, which became pained when the John McCririck impersonators started getting fractious at the delay.

  ‘Nobody comes through here without a ticket. No exceptions, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Bugger. Okay then. How much is it?’

  ‘Everything’s sold out. If you’d come earlier or booked online you’d have been fine, but now…’

  ‘But I was never intending to come!’ Pippa cried, panic beginning to rise. She did not want to have travelled all this way to be turned away for something as mundane as a ticket. ‘Don’t you see? This is a horse’s passport, Virtuoso’s passport! It was left behind.’

  The ticket man sucked his teeth.

  ‘That means absolutely nothing to me. My instructions are to not let anyone in without a ticket.’

  Pippa bit her lip, her gaze darting from the man’s obstinate face to the throngs of warmly-dressed race goers milling on the other side of the gate. Weak sunshine split the overcast skies, reflecting off the windows of the grandstand beyond.

  ‘Please, you have to let me in!’ she begged. ‘If I don’t get this passport to Jack Carmichael, Virtuoso won’t be able to run in the Denman Chase. He’s the reason why you’re sold out!’

  The man folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who Virtuoso is –’

  ‘But you work here! Surely you must know who he is!’ Pippa exclaimed.

  ‘Sorry, miss, you’re holding up the queue,’ he replied, gesturing to the party behind her. ‘Now, if you don’t have a ticket, please can you move aside before you create a traffic jam.’

  Panic got the better of her and she stamped her foot.

  ‘You’re going to have more than a traffic jam on your hands if I can’t get this passport through. You’re going to have a bloody riot! Everyone’s come to see Virtuoso race, but he won’t unless you let me through!’

  ‘Miss, I don’t want to have to call Security on you –’

  A deerstalker-capped man with fake ginger sideburns, part of the group standing behind Pippa, poked into her line of sight.

  ‘That really Virtuoso’s passport? Let’s have a look, love?’

  Pippa sighed and held it out for him to see.

  ‘Yes, it’s his.’ A thought occurred to her and she smiled at the young man looking cross-eyed at the booklet. ‘You’re a big fan, right?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he enthused. ‘We’ve come all the way down from Liverpool to see him win.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  Pippa gave a forlorn shrug.

  ‘Well, Virtuoso won’t
be able to race unless I can get his passport inside. And the gentleman here won’t let me in without a ticket.’

  ‘Oy, let her through, mate!’ the deerstalker said.

  ‘No, please don’t blame him. He’s only doing his job. Such a pity, really. For everyone. Your wasted journey, Virtuoso’s wasted journey. God knows what effect this will have on his Cheltenham Gold Cup chances.’

  The deerstalker and his now attentive friends all squared up to the ticket man who took an uncertain step backwards.

  ‘It’s against the rules to let anyone on course without a ticket,’ he defended himself.

  ‘Yeah, and it’s also against the rules to retract the star attraction when we’ve paid to come all this way,’ the deerstalker retorted.

  ‘Look, fellas, just calm down a minute. I’ll call a steward to help us sort this out, shall I?’

  Pippa looked at her watch. Jack had twenty minutes in which to declare Virtuoso as a confirmed runner for the Denman Chase.

  ‘That might be too late,’ she said.

  ‘Aw, fuck,’ yelled one of the deerstalkers. ‘An’ it’s Barry’s stag do. Don’t spoil it for us, mate. Just let her through and stop dicking around with your stupid rule book.’

  ‘You must understand, I can’t do that,’ the ticket man replied, looking more frazzled. ‘My job is to only let people through with valid tickets.’

  ‘Fuck that, mate! Let her through!’

  ‘Yeah! Let her through! If you don’t, Virtuoso’s not gonna race!’

  Heads turned as the John McCriricks raised their voices.

  ‘What? Virtuoso’s not going to race?’

  ‘Only because this dick-wad won’t let this girl through. She’s got the horse’s passport.’

  ‘What! Let her through!’

  ‘Yeah, don’t be a tosser! Let her through!’

  The ticket man paled as his objectors swelled in numbers.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ he faltered. ‘You promise you’re telling the truth?’

  Pippa nodded, beaming and flapped Virtuoso’s passport in front of her.

  ‘Proof’s all here.’

  The ticket man closed his eyes for a brief moment then waved her through.