‘Okay,’ Kerry shrugged happily. ‘Have fun.’
Chapter 16
Ravenhill’s form took a dive after Royal Ascot. If what Charlie had said was correct about her job in South Africa depending on her performance in England then her position as Rijk Swanepoel’s assistant trainer was safe, she thought with ironic optimism. Ravenhill winners were as scarce as hens’ teeth and the euphoria over Sequella’s Royal Ascot victory seemed an aeon ago. To cheer everyone up, Jim had suggested a summer barbeque, when there was a gap in Ravenhill’s schedule. While so few of her horses were firing on all cylinders, Ginny had agreed. She thought about Cobalt Lodge’s horses. They seemed to be running on twelve cylinders at the moment. In four of Ravenhill’s last five starts, they had been beaten by a Larocque-trained horse. And twice he had won a Stewards’ Enquiry over her. She couldn’t help but channel Ravenhill’s frustrations in his direction.
Her spirits, however, were given a premature lift one evening when there was a knock on the office door. Ginny was just packing up for the day. Mark leaned against the doorway, oozing sex appeal.
‘Hey,’ he said huskily.
Ginny’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Mark, good to see you. Come in.’
Pushing himself off the door frame, he walked towards her. Then cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to hers.
‘Not interrupting anything, was I?’
‘No, no,’ she reassured him. ‘I was just getting ready to leave. Want to walk me home?’
A quick frown flitted over his face.
‘I can’t really. I was just dropping by. I’ve got to shoot off to London for dinner with some clients.’
‘Oh. Okay. I guess suggesting we go for a drink is out of the question too, in that case.’
‘’Fraid so. I just thought you might need cheering up, since things have been a bit slow here.’
‘Thanks,’ Ginny smiled, touched by his concern. ‘Things haven’t been going great, but I’m sure they’ll pick up soon.’
‘Don’t you want to know how I’m intending to cheer you up?’
‘Well, I can think of a variety of ways you could cheer me up, but we won’t go into that right now,’ she teased.
‘I thought you might be interested in these.’ Mark drew a couple of printed cards out of his jacket pocket and snapped them open like a card dealer. Ginny took one.
‘The Phantom?’ she gasped. ‘The musical?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Mark smiled. ‘The Phantom of the Opera. In the West End.’
‘Oh, Mark! That’d be fantastic!’
‘Thought you might be pleased.’
Ginny took a moment to read the ticket.
‘And you’ve got two. Who shall I take along with me?’
Mark frowned and Ginny grinned in response.
‘Just kidding. Thank you, this is the best present. When is it?’
‘Saturday night. Sorry about it being short notice. With the new cast, it’s been booked solid for months and a couple of friends had to cancel so I got their tickets.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ Ginny breathed.
‘And I thought we might have dinner somewhere beforehand.’ He paused for a couple of seconds. ‘I’ve got a pad in London, so we wouldn’t have to rush back.’
Now it was Ginny’s turn to hesitate. Staying overnight with Mark in his flat, no doubt penthouse, wasn’t as simple as all that. There would be expectations and Ginny took a moment to decide whether she was ready to take that next big step in their relationship. It had been pretty casual up until now. Being lovers wasn’t something Ginny took lightly.
‘Okay,’ she said at last, giving him a nervous smile.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes,’ replied Ginny, nodding with conviction like Churchill, the dog, to make up for the hesitation. ‘Kenya’s running on Sunday so we can both come back for that.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
He leant down to kiss her again, and Ginny returned the pressure of his mouth on hers. ‘Now, I must go. Traffic is always hell trying to get into central London.’
‘Of course, you don’t want to be late. I’ll walk you out.’
Ginny walked in silence alongside Mark until they came to his car. He kissed the tip of her nose and turned to get in the Jag.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ he offered.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got a couple of things I need to finish off. I don’t want to make you late.’ She took his hand through the open window. ‘Thank you, Mark. You’ve really made my week.’
‘My pleasure,’ he winked.
The Jaguar growled into life and Ginny watched it glide out of Ravenhill’s car park. Giving a deep satisfied sigh, she turned back to the stables to round off the day.
The break in Ravenhill’s schedule arrived earlier than Ginny anticipated and Friday afternoon found her drinking punch on the house’s front lawn with her family and staff. With both hands around her glass to steady it, she laughed at Alex’s impersonations of Darragh avoiding Sequella’s lovebites. An apron-clad Darragh shook a greasy barbecue fork at him from behind a grill of sizzling sausages and drumsticks.
‘Alex still needs to work on his Irish accent,’ Jim said in Ginny’s ear, ‘but he’s got the wounded face expression down pat – oh! Look who’s passing.’ Ginny followed his gaze to Ravenhill Stables’ entrance and felt her stomach flop over like an underdone omelette.
‘Oh God –’
‘Julien!’ cried Jim.
The figure passing the gate shaded his eyes against the sun and peered at the impromptu barbecue party.
‘Dad,’ Ginny hissed.
‘Julien, come join us for a drink and a sausage!’ He turned back to Ginny. ‘What? Don’t be unneighbourly, Ginny.’
‘I’m not, I’m just – hello, Julien.’
Julien inclined his head in greeting.
‘Beautiful day for a barbecue,’ he remarked.
‘Couldn’t have asked for better,’ Jim beamed. ‘Ginny, why don’t you go get Julien a drink?’
She moistened her palette and attempted her waitress smile.
‘Sure. Just over here.’
Beneath the front garden canopy, Ginny ladled a spoonful of punch, fruit and mint leaves into a tumbler glass and handed it to her guest. Julien stretched out a tanned arm, exposed beneath his rolled up sleeve and took the drink from her. She decided the punch had been too liberally spiked when she found herself admiring the way the sunshine turned the hairs on his arm golden in the most becoming way.
‘Is your stable well?’ he said.
Ginny snapped back to attention to find the Frenchman looking at her questioningly. Discomfort prompted an over-polite reply.
‘Yes, very well. Thank you. Is yours?’
‘Yes, very,’ Julien nodded.
They lapsed into silence and both sought refuge in their drinks.
‘Is Caspian well?’
‘Yes, thank you. We’ve got him back home now.’ She paused. ‘Um, did Silver Sabre come away from the Coventry Stakes okay?’
For a moment, Julien looked relieved that they might have jump-started a dead conversation.
‘He’s very good, thank you.’
‘It was a nice win.’
Julien nodded.
‘We have a good crop of two-year-olds this year, non? When is Caspian making his comeback?’
Ginny shrugged.
‘Not for a while yet. Hopefully before the Dewhurst.’
‘You are still planning to run him in it then?’
‘Yes,’ she said, more confidently than she felt. She knew it was a big ask considering the colt had only raced once and in maiden company. Yet her conviction that she had a decent racehorse had been cemented by the runaway Chesham Stakes winner, Goinggreatguns, whom Caspian had beaten previously.
Ginny curled her toes inside her sandals as she tried to think of something else to say that wasn’t a taunt nor too complimentary. She’d stroked his ego enough already by commen
ding Silver Sabre’s win. She clucked her tongue as a silence ensued. They turned to their punch glasses again.
‘Your father is looking well –’
‘Yes!’ She cringed at her over-eager reply and gave an apologetic smile. ‘He was a bit grumpy earlier because he’s still on fruit juice but otherwise he’s fine.’ Another silence loomed and Ginny was quick to interrupt it. ‘Um… your father’s well too?’
‘Oui,’ Julien replied. His eyes twinkled.
Ginny knew he was inwardly laughing at her awkwardness. She held up the remnants of her punch glass.
‘Don’t think there’s enough alcohol in this punch,’ she muttered. She looked at Julien’s rapidly sunk drink. ‘Do you want something stronger?’
‘That would be kind.’
Relieved at being able to escape, Ginny smiled.
‘Back in a sec.’
In the kitchen, she busied herself searching out Jim’s last bottle of whiskey which Beth had probably hidden. Snippets of conversation and laughter drifted through the house from the open front door as she first came across a bottle of wine and poured herself a steadying glass.
‘Ohhh-oh, show me heaven,’ she sang softly as she delved into the cupboards between swallows.
‘Are you a big Days of Thunder fan?’
Tins of baked beans went flying as Ginny leapt in fright. She turned to find Julien languishing against the doorframe, a wide grin on his face.
‘Bloody hell, don’t do that,’ she gasped. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
He shrugged.
‘You are still alive. What are you doing?’ He frowned as Ginny continued her inspection of the kitchen cupboards.
‘Finding you this,’ she replied, brandishing a dusty bottle of whiskey from behind the baking trays.
‘Ah, my favourite,’ Julien murmured. ‘How did you know?’
‘I –’ Ginny hesitated as she went to pour the spirit into a tumbler. How did she know? A faint smile passed over her lips. ‘I know because you once ordered a whiskey at The Tetrarch then raised a toast at me and I wanted nothing more than to throw it all over you.’
Julien laughed.
‘Intent to disrupt the peace, throwing food around and now singing to yourself… The Tetrarch would bar you if they knew.’
‘Ha ha,’ Ginny said sarcastically and handed him his drink. ‘I don’t know why I was singing that song. It just came into my head randomly.’
He took a sip and raised an eyebrow.
‘Don’t you?’
Ginny’s stomach clenched in embarrassment as she remembered when she’d last heard Maria McKee’s hit single. Julien’s shoulders shook.
‘It is our song,’ he teased. ‘From the Charity Ball. Isn’t that what happens? People always have a song.’
‘No,’ Ginny said sternly, holding up a finger and nearly dropping her wine glass. ‘Couples have songs. People, like you and me, don’t have songs.’
Julien’s laughter subsided.
‘But you and other people have songs, non?’
‘What do you mean?’
Julien looked around him.
‘Where is Mark Rushin? You are a couple, aren’t you?’
‘Well,’ Ginny began awkwardly. She looked down at her squirming toes. Involuntarily, she wished she’d had time to paint her nails. The proposition of answering herself why made her look up sharply. ‘He’s at work. In London.’
A faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.
‘Unfortunate. He would have missed one of his horses running this afternoon.’ He fixed Ginny with a steady gaze. ‘But it lost so perhaps he is not so upset after all that he could not attend.’
Struck by his lack of sincerity, Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Right,’ she acknowledged. She was about to question his indifferent attitude when the click of heels on the hallway floor heralded Beth Kennedy’s entrance.
Beth beamed when she saw Julien.
‘Mr Larocque,’ she exclaimed.
‘Madame,’ Julien said, taking her hand. ‘This is a lovely house you have. A perfect setting for summer barbecues.’
Giggling, Beth waved him away and went to retrieve a Pyrex dish of salad out of the fridge.
‘Is Ginny being a good hostess to you?’
Ginny steeled herself from rolling her eyes. Until she had a ring on her finger, Beth’s purpose in life seemed to her to be to throw potential husbands in her direction.
‘She is being her most gracious,’ Julien replied.
Ginny narrowed her eyes further. Her guest flashed her a smile.
‘Can I help you take something to the table outside?’ he offered Beth.
‘No, no! You two carry on. I won’t interrupt.’
Ginny watched Julien to see which option he would choose. Her ego received a slight bruising when he insisted.
‘Please,’ he said, stepping forward and taking the dish from Beth. ‘I wouldn’t want you to trip. I will take that.’
‘What a gentleman,’ Beth gushed. ‘So helpful. Isn’t he, Ginny?’
Julien gave Ginny a sleepy smile.
‘Tremendously so,’ she drawled. She pushed herself away from the kitchen counter. ‘Do you need cutlery, Mum?’
‘Well, we’re not going to eat with our fingers.’
‘Yes, I know –’ Ginny began. She shrugged, ignoring the self-indulgent expression on their guest’s face, and pulled open the cutlery drawer.
Ginny took a respite on a deck chair beside Ray. Balancing her plate loaded with half-burned drumsticks, steak, coleslaw and potato salad, she handed her brother a napkin.
‘Cheers,’ he said in between a mouthful of chicken. He nodded to where Jim was in deep conversation with Julien. ‘What do you reckon they’re talking about?’
The same thing had been going through her mind as well but she gave an indifferent shrug.
‘Don’t know, don’t care.’
Ray grinned.
‘Liar.’
‘Shanghai Dancer probably. Don’t know why Dad had to invite him when he knows I don’t like him. I mean look what he did to Caspian. He all but put us out of the Dewhurst.’
‘Ginny, what is it about this guy?’ Ray asked, shaking his head. ‘Whenever he’s around, you become this cranky crow with hyper-tension.’
‘I do not!’
‘You see!’ Ray laughed.
Ginny sighed. She looked up at Julien sitting across the lawn from them. Their eyes met. Julien’s mouth twitched and he nodded almost indecipherably in acknowledgement. Ginny looked away hastily.
‘What is going on between you two?’ Ray asked.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, attacking her overdone steak with her knife. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘You seem to waging this silent war against him. And the less he fights back, the angrier you become.’ Ray grinned. ‘Is he not playing your game?’
‘He wasn’t so nice to begin with,’ she defended herself. ‘He thought I was a joke. It’s only lately that he’s started acting like a rational human being.’
‘Like you, you mean?’ her brother teased.
Ginny sent him a sidelong look and ignored him.
‘He just takes some getting used to,’ she said.
‘By the looks of things, Mum seems keen for you to get even more used to him.’
Ginny looked up to see Beth offering Julien more food. The Frenchman held up his hand and declined with a gracious smile.
‘Mum’s barking up the wrong tree. She knows I’m dating Mark.’ She grinned at Ray. ‘Maybe she fancies Julien.’
‘She’ll be joining a long queue if she does,’ Ray replied.
Ginny laughed.
‘What? You too?’
Ray grinned and patted Sarah’s knee on the other side of him. His girlfriend squeezed his hand in response but didn’t stop her conversation with Alex and Kerry.
‘According to my devoted girlfriend here, there is no immunity drug for his charms.’
Ginny couldn’t help herself. She stole another glance at Julien. He was patting his perfect mouth with a paper napkin.
‘No, can’t agree,’ she said with a stubborn shake of her head. ‘I only have eyes for Mark. In fact, I’m going to London tomorrow to spend the weekend with him.’
Ray raised an eyebrow.
‘Making progress then with Mr Smooth?’
‘Ray, don’t be so condescending. You don’t even know him.’
‘Ginny, he’s what – thirty-two, thirty-three and he drives a Jag. How many thirty-something men do you know who do that?’
‘Why shouldn’t he if he can afford it? Do you think he should fit the stereotypical rich thirty-something image and drive a sports car instead?’
Ray shrugged.
‘It’s not a bad image,’ he argued. ‘I wouldn’t mind having Julien’s car.’
‘Mark prefers to travel in comfort and style rather than image and style. We’re going to see The Phantom of the Opera tomorrow.’
Ray grinned.
‘Your favourite. Now I see why you’re being so protective of him,’ he teased. ‘You’re just after theatre tickets.’
Ginny grinned and played along.
‘What can I say? I’m a sucker for a box seat.’
Ray snorted.
‘Please rephrase that, Ginny. I’m trying to eat my lunch.’
Half an hour later, Beth interrupted post-lunch conversation when she stepped out of the house brandishing a box.
‘Come on, everyone. Games time,’ she cried.
Ray groaned.
‘Please, God, not Pictionary.’
‘You too, Ray,’ Beth said, fixing her son with a steely eye. ‘Darragh, where are you going?’
Darragh gulped.
‘I really do have to go, Mrs. K. I’d love to stay, especially if it is Pictionary. But I’ve already plans to meet up with friends, you know, and I wouldn’t like to disrupt the game by leaving in the middle of it.’
The genuine expression on his face provoked a forgiving smile from Beth.
‘Okay then. It’s not Pictionary anyway, so don’t fret, dear.’ Her eye was caught by Julien making departure signals. ‘But no one else must leave! Otherwise we’ll have an odd number of players. Everyone come inside to the dining room and we’ll play at the table.’
At Long Odds Page 12