Mark knocked a couple of times on the partly-closed door and walked in, his black coat wrapped around him.
‘Bit chilly out there,’ he said, grinning. Ginny tried to smile, managing just a faint tug of the corners of her mouth.
‘Have a seat,’ she said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. ‘Good trip?’
‘Hmm, you know. Nothing exciting. Same work, just in a different place. What was it you wanted to discuss with me?’ He made himself comfortable, and beamed at Ginny.
‘Well, Kenya.’ She hesitated, fiddling with the dog-eared corner of some papers in front of her. ‘I don’t quite know how to put this, Mark. I’ve never been in this sort of situation before – at least, not to my knowledge, I haven’t…’
‘What’s wrong, Ginny?’ His face showed concern, but she was now able to see through his smooth persona. In his eyes was a trace of wariness.
‘Remember Kenya in her Newmarket race? We lost to Samurai Prince because Damien said he couldn’t get a run?’
The smile that had been ready to charm was nowhere to be seen now.
‘Yes, I remember.’
With her lips set in a grim line, Ginny picked up the television remote and aimed it up at the screen mounted on the office wall.
‘Well, this is what’s wrong.’ Pressing Play, the room was suddenly filled with fuzzy cheering and the urgent call of the commentator. They watched the conclusion of the race in sombre silence, before she snapped it off. Putting down the remote with a deliberate hand, she met Mark’s gaze. He gave her a predatory smile, his steel eyes glittering. Ginny shifted in her seat, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden. She probably should have told someone she was meeting him tonight. What if he attacked her? Would her parents hear her if she shouted for help? And maybe she was wrong to have shown him the tape first; she’d now given him the chance to compose a defence.
‘You’re still hung up about losing to Larocque then? You’ve got to learn to let go, move on.’
‘Mark, it’s fairly obvious Damien didn’t ride her to win. He rode her to lose.’
‘You should be careful what you accuse people of, Ginny. It could get them – and you – into a lot of trouble.’
‘It wasn’t just that race though, Mark, was it? Barring the first, which I’m sure you didn’t fix just to show what Kenya is capable of and therefore lowering her odds for all her next starts, you and Damien have stopped her in all her races until last time out when she won at a huge gamble.’
Mark chuckled.
‘I think you’re in denial.’
‘Denial?’
‘Yes. You’ve been losing races, and now you’re looking for someone to blame. It’s a dangerous game to play.’
‘Dammit, Mark!’ Ginny said, losing her temper and slamming her palm down on the desk. ‘It’s clear as daylight what you’re up to! You’ve had me going this entire time! When I thought you cared about me, it was only to benefit your scam!’
‘Oh, God, don’t come over all female on me. I can’t stand it, Ginny,’ Mark snapped. He got to his feet and towered over the desk.
Despite having known he wasn’t going to be particularly amiable about this whole thing, she was still jolted by his sudden attitude change. But never one to back down, Ginny stood up as well and glared back at him.
‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ she challenged him.
‘You can’t prove anything,’ Mark replied, his eyes narrowing into menacing slits. ‘No one’s going to believe you. You’re not exactly hauling in the trophies at the minute, are you?’
‘Kenya would be if you let her!’
Mark held up a threatening finger and leaned forward until his face was only inches away from Ginny’s.
‘A little bit of video footage isn’t going to make any difference,’ he snarled. ‘You’re just going to make things worse for yourself.’
Ginny felt repulsed by this new side to Mark. She hadn’t thought him capable of being so evil.
‘I want you out of my yard,’ she said, trying to control the wavering in her voice. ‘You, your scumbag nephew,’ Ginny bit her lip, ‘and Kenya.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I’m not going to waste my time here anymore.’ He straightened up, and strode towards the door. At the last moment, he turned to glare at Ginny and in a quiet voice, warned, ‘But, if I were you, I wouldn’t go shouting my mouth off about this. All you’ll be doing is creating more trouble for yourself. And you really don’t need that, do you?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her throat constricting.
‘Such a small yard, only a handful of horses – good ones which could be counted on the fingers of one hand. You wouldn’t want to jeopardise it all, would you?’
‘You’re threatening me?’
‘You started it, Ginny. Not me. Now you’ve got to deal with it.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What’s the name of that colt you’re so fond of? Caspian, is it? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to him now, would we?’
Ginny gasped.
‘You wouldn’t!’
‘Keep your mouth shut and I won’t. Seems fair, doesn’t it?’ Without waiting for an answer, he left, leaving Ginny staring at the open doorway.
‘Mark!’ she shouted in desperation, but her only reply was the growl of his Jaguar starting up a few moments later and the rush of spewed gravel as it left Ravenhill Stables. Ginny sank back into her chair. It hadn’t gone well, but had she expected anything less? She didn’t really know what she had expected. But threatening Caspian hadn’t entered her head for a second.
He wouldn’t do that, would he? If it came to the crunch he would, Ginny realised. She’d have to do what he said. She couldn’t risk Ravenhill. Oh, why hadn’t she gone to the police instead of just confronting him? She dragged her fingers through her hair in despair. She’d wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, she knew. Despite being so sure of his guilt, she’d still not wanted to believe he would betray her, and maybe just a small part of her desperately wanted to be convinced she was wrong. But far from convincing her, he had only confirmed her doubts, and had now made it impossible for her to go to the police. Ginny groaned and rested her head in her folded arms.
It was dark by the time she left the yard. Bundled tight in her jacket against the cold breeze that seeped through her, she’d spent a long while with Kenya, trying to sift through her jumbled thoughts. Her heart wept for the filly who, with blissful innocence of her entire purpose in life being fraudulent, lipped at Ginny’s pockets, searching for treats. Moving over to Caspian’s stable, she admired the colt’s perfectly constructed body, right up to his small, alert ears. In the darkness of his stable the small white star on his forehead glowed, like a cut diamond on a bed of dark satin. She threaded his thick forelock between her fingers, letting the hair splay over the marking. With a deep sigh, she at last turned away. It was too chilly to stand around any longer.
Making doubly sure the gates were locked behind her, Ginny set off home. She hadn’t gone far though when she hesitated in front of Cobalt Lodge. As well as feeling frightened by Mark’s words, her heart was heavy with guilt over how she had treated Julien. From where she stood, she could see his parked car and a light projecting from a front window of his house. Not allowing herself to think twice, she changed direction and headed for his front door.
He answered the door before she could knock for a second time. He was dressed in jeans and an old black fisherman’s jersey, and seemed to fill the doorway. Leaning one arm up against the frame, showing off his lithe torso, the Frenchman looked at Ginny without saying a word. Ginny took in a deep lungful of courage.
‘I – I’ve come to apologise,’ she stammered.
For a moment more, he didn’t move and Ginny wondered if he was going to close the door in her face. Instead he finally moved to the side.
‘Come in, Ginny.’
Walking through, she found herself on an open plan landing.
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‘Take a seat,’ he said, gesturing towards the sunken lounge on their left. ‘Would you like some wine?’
‘Um, yes please.’
As Julien attended to their drinks, Ginny managed to compose herself in her unfamiliar surroundings, helped by the tranquil and relaxing mood which already inhabited the room. She wasn’t a huge buff on classical music but from the knowledge gleaned from her father’s passion for it, she recognised the soft and heartbroken tones of Tosca, which drifted around the softly-lit room. She noticed an open book, spine-up, on a sculpted wooden coffee table in the centre of the lounge beside which, was a long brown leather sofa. She could still see the indentation against the burnt-orange cushions from where Julien had obviously been lying. Feeling a little awkward, she perched on another chair, and waited for Julien to join her.
He returned with two large glasses of white, and Ginny took the one he offered with a polite smile. She took a tentative sip, and her taste buds turned over in ecstasy.
‘This is delicious,’ she said in amazement.
Julien smiled as he sat down.
‘Made on my uncle’s vineyard.’
‘Lucky thing. My uncle’s a mechanic. Not quite the same perks.’
He smiled again, but didn’t reply. Putting off the inevitable conversation she’d come to have with him, Ginny motioned towards the book.
‘Tesio’s Guide to the Modern Thoroughbred?’
‘Have you heard of him?’
Ginny nodded.
‘The Italian horse breeder.’
‘The great horses we have around today are better for his breeding theories,’ Julien commented. He continued to look at her, waiting for her to explain her unannounced visit. Ginny knew she couldn’t play for any more time. Looking into her lap she said in a small voice,
‘I wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry for being so horrible to you.’ She raised her eyes, searching for a reaction. ‘And not listening when you were trying to help me.’
Julien looked sad.
‘You figured it out then?’
Ginny nodded, an expression of self-disgust on her face.
‘It took a while, but yes. You were right.’
‘You’ve spoken to Rushin?’
‘Yes. Earlier today. Wasn’t pretty.’
Julien shook his head.
‘You are better off without him. I know he was more than an owner to you.’
‘But you knew I wasn’t involved in his scam – how?’
‘Because,’ he said, a smile playing on his lips, ‘you are too innocent – and that is a compliment, Ginny Kennedy,’ he added, lifting a stern finger. ‘And your father would disown you if he found out you were involved.’
‘You’re right about that. I’ve never really seen myself as innocent, though.’
Julien laughed but sobered up before speaking again.
‘What did he say?’
‘Well, he denied it, naturally. Said that I was in denial and was looking for someone to blame for my lack of form. Then he told me not to say anything to anyone, and –’ Ginny choked to a stop, her eyes stricken with panic. ‘Oh, God, here I am telling you!’
‘You told him you wouldn’t?’
‘I had to. He threatened Ravenhill – and Caspian!’
‘But you can’t let him get away with it,’ Julien reproached her.
‘If it means keeping my yard intact, then yes I can. I’m sorry, I know it’s wrong but I can’t tell. And neither must you,’ she implored. ‘No one must find out. You’re the only person I’ve told.’
‘Me?’
‘Well, you pretty much knew right from the start what Mark was up to.’
‘True. But I didn’t realise it was you he was scamming until the Charity Ball.’
‘How did you know?’
Julien took a swallow of his wine and leaned back into the sofa before responding.
‘Well, like you, I first worked as an assistant trainer. For a small stable in Somerset. Rushin had some horses with us and I realised what he was up to, so I told my boss. He was struggling to keep the yard afloat, and Rushin was his biggest owner, so he decided to turn a blind eye to it. I couldn’t say anything because if I did, then he would have lost everything, and despite his faults he was a good man. So I left instead. Went home before setting up by myself.’
‘You won’t tell, will you?’ Ginny asked in a timid voice.
‘Don’t you want to keep racing fair?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘He’ll carry on fixing races. You finding out isn’t going to stop him,’ Julien reasoned.
‘But what will he do if I go to the police? I could end up losing Ravenhill. He wasn’t joking when he told me not to jeopardise the yard.’
Julien shook his head, frowning.
‘I should have gone to the police when I first found out,’ he muttered. ‘It would have been the right thing to do.’
‘I know, but you can’t, Julien!’ Ginny clasped her hands together and leaned forward, looking desperately at him. ‘He’ll hurt Caspian!’
‘Does your father know?’
‘No. I don’t want him to know either. He might say he’s better, but I don’t want to give him something more to stress about. His heart…’
‘Okay. I won’t say anything. I wouldn’t want to put your father at serious risk.’
Ginny closed her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she breathed.
She took another sip of her drink as they lapsed into silence, swilling it around her mouth before swallowing. The delicious wine and soft music began to have a soothing effect on her nerves. Glancing towards the fireplace, her attention was captured by a huge oil painting hanging on the brick chimney piece. It displayed a head and shoulders portrait of a chestnut horse, a blaze running down its long, convex nose. Julien followed her gaze, and got up to study it closer.
‘Chant Royal,’ he provided. ‘My first Group One winner.’
Ginny struggled to imagine Julien before he became successful. A small trainer with nothing more than ambition and a family reputation to uphold. The pride he must have felt when Chant Royal had crossed the finish line in front. A milestone achievement, before Group winners had become the norm for him.
‘It doesn’t lose its magic,’ he added, answering her unspoken question.
‘The first must top them all though.’
‘It did feel pretty good. Better than se- no, on second thoughts, maybe not.’
Ginny stifled a laugh.
‘You’ll be raking them in with Silver Sabre.’
‘I’ll have to. Clinton Cole doesn’t take prisoners.’
‘He doesn’t seem a very nice man to train for,’ Ginny agreed.
‘No, he makes Forrester look like the Pope.’
Laughing again, she realised, much to her surprise, that sitting here, speaking with Julien, she wasn’t feeling nearly as melancholy now that she knew he was on her side.
‘Not planning on making him your father-in-law just yet then?’
Julien flashed a mischievous grin.
‘You are referring to Marianne?’
Ginny swirled her wine around its glass, embarrassed that she had probed so deeply into his personal life.
‘Sorry, it’s none of my business,’ she mumbled.
‘No, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘I was never dating Marianne. I was a convenience to her while she studied a semester away from her university in America.’
‘Oh,’ Ginny said in surprise. ‘I thought that –’
Julien shook his head.
‘She is tempting. She is a pretty girl, after all. But I gave Cole my word I would take care of her while she was here. There were occasions when her rebellious side might have rubbed off on me. But non.’
‘Are you not a rebel already without having to be influenced by attractive American students?’ Ginny teased.
Julien chuckled.
‘I am nothing compared to my younger sister. She inherited the Larocque rebelliousn
ess.’
‘You have a sister?’ She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice. For some reason, she’d never imagined Julien having siblings. He had such presence that she wondered how they might have got a look in in the family. Maybe rebelling was the only way.
‘Her name is Dominique. She is a journalist in Paris.’
‘Does she like racing?’
Julien made an undecided face.
‘So-so. She enjoys the parties. The horses? Well, they put on a good show. And Dominique likes to be entertained.’
‘I’ve a brother. Ray.’
‘I know,’ Julien said with a wry smile. ‘He gave me his card, remember?’
Ginny recalled her first morning back in UK when they had ‘bumped’ into Julien on the roundabout.
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’
Had that really only been seven months ago, she asked herself? It seemed enough drama to fill an entire lifetime had happened since then.
‘He did not inherit your father’s passion for horses like you?’
‘He likes them. I should think he’d have to to be a vet. But he wasn’t bitten by the racing bug quite as bad as me, no. You were though, weren’t you?’
‘Right from the start,’ Julien agreed. He ran a hand over a small bronze sculpture of a racehorse on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s an addictive sport.’
‘It is, isn’t it? There’s a thin line between it being a passion and an obsession.’
He nodded, and Ginny felt for a moment that they understood one another. She was glad she had come. She hated to dislike anyone, and although she had made a new enemy out of Mark Rushin, she felt happy that she had now, hopefully, gained a friend. With a rueful swallow, she finished the last of her wine, and stood up to make her departure.
At Long Odds Page 17