He wouldn’t know that though.
Finally, she settled for a smudge of lipstick, blotting it well on some tissue paper. She straightened her shoulders and tried to walk in as straight a line as possible out of the loos and back to Julien. She gave him a quick smile as she sat back down, pleased when he returned it.
‘I took the liberty of ordering some dessert for you.’
Ginny wasn’t a dessert sort of person.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said politely. ‘What did you order?’
‘Lemon meringue pie. That okay?’
‘Yes, lovely. Thank you.’ Lemon meringue pie wasn’t really a favourite, but on the other hand it could have been much worse. Anything sweeter she wouldn’t have been able to touch.
Laura returned with their two plates and set them down in front of them. Julien tucked into his with relish.
‘Sweet tooth?’
‘Mmm,’ he said through a mouthful. ‘My worst habit.’
With a bit more restraint Ginny cut into her pie and lifted a small forkful to her mouth.
‘If that’s your worst habit, then you can’t be that bad. But then again, it depends on what you consider to be the worst. For instance, you might snore, but that wouldn’t be so bad for you because it doesn’t keep you awake at night.’
‘True, but I don’t snore. You do though.’
‘I do not!’ Ginny chuckled. ‘Anyway, how would you know?’
‘Earlier. In the car.’
Ginny hesitated at his deadpan expression but then it creased into a grin.
‘Liar!’ she laughed.
‘Okay, so you didn’t and since you obviously don’t have a very big sweet tooth –’ he gestured to her barely-touched pie, which prompted Ginny to give an apologetic smile, ‘– what is your worst habit?’
Ginny thought for a moment.
‘Short temper, probably.’
‘I can believe it. But your anger is passionate, not vicious.’
Ginny didn’t realise anger could be different. When she had slapped him, it must have seemed more vicious than passionate, surely? She wasn’t certain how comfortable she was either with Julien calling her passionate.
‘Do you have any hobbies?’ she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
Julien chased the last crumbs around the plate with his fork.
‘Bird watching,’ the falcon replied, his eyes twinkling.
Ginny laughed.
Julien patted his mouth with his napkin and nodded towards her half-eaten dessert.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Oh, I do, I do. I’m a bit full though. I might leave the rest, I think.’
‘You’ve only got about three or four mouthfuls to go and you’ll be finished. Come on, eat up.’
Ginny edged her fork around a crumbling piece of meringue, gathering it together, but she didn’t raise it to her mouth.
‘Come on, Kennedy,’ he said, ‘You need a bit of meat on those bones.’
‘There’s plenty of meat on these bones!’ Ginny laughed.
‘We’re not leaving until you’ve finished.’
‘You might be waiting a while then,’ she cautioned.
Chuckling, he leant across the table and scooped up some of her pie on his fork.
‘Open,’ he instructed.
Giggling, Ginny accepted the mouthful, closing her lips around the small fork as he placed it gently in her mouth. He was heading for the next forkful, when they both realised what they were doing.
Staring at him in terror, Ginny swallowed without chewing, feeling the food move down her throat in a solid lump.
Julien looked just as shocked, his hand still hovering above her plate. He sat back in his chair and put his fork down with a clatter.
‘Shall we go?’ he muttered.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘I’ll go pay,’ he said, scraping his chair back and standing up. ‘Here are the keys to the car. You go ahead.’
Ginny took them, making sure that their fingers didn’t brush against each other in the process.
‘See you in a minute,’ he mumbled, not meeting her eye.
‘Okay.’ Without another word, she walked in the direction of the exit. Her knees felt as strong as the meringue she and Julien had just been – just been – what exactly had they been doing with that meringue? One thing was for certain: eating dessert had never felt quite like that before.
Ginny was grateful that the rest of the journey home was shorter than she had anticipated. She couldn’t wait to get away from Julien. The electric tension between them seemed to crackle and she sat as close to the passenger door as she could. Terrified of what was happening between them, she needed to be by herself so she could gather her thoughts and tame the emotions which Julien seemed to be letting loose in her.
Finally, they pulled up outside Sally G’s front gate and Ginny turned to look at Julien for the first time since they’d left the restaurant. He frowned in reply, but Ginny felt it wasn’t a frown aimed at her. It was more of a frown at himself.
‘Thank you for giving me a lift. And f-for dinner,’ she stumbled over her words as she relived dessert. She wouldn’t ever be able to look at lemon meringue pie the same again.
‘That’s fine,’ he said in a gruff voice.
For the past half hour, Ginny had been itching to get out of the car, but now she found it difficult to move. The next time she’d see him, how would they react? Their relationship was a rollercoaster at the best of times, so what new loop would it take tomorrow? With her hand poised on the door handle, she hesitated once more. Julien’s frown softened and Ginny almost willed him to reach out to her, but his hands remained clenched on the steering wheel.
‘Take care,’ she blurted and let herself out. She was very aware as she trotted towards the front door of Julien sitting in his car, watching her, waiting until she was inside.
It was still a good long minute after she had closed the door that she heard the growl of his car’s six-cylinder engine fire up as he drove away.
Chapter 33
Hardly able to concentrate on work, Ginny tried her best to focus on the final preparations for Sequella’s Doncaster Cup bid. The mare was so fit she was almost jumping out of her skin, and Darragh was most often on the receiving end of her sometimes uncomfortably high spirits.
Ginny walked down the row of stables the morning before her big race with Alex and Kerry, discussing the upcoming events when she was interrupted by a howl of frustration from Sequella’s stable. Curious, all three of them walked over to the mare’s box, where Darragh was inside grooming her. With amusement, they saw Sequella had stolen Darragh’s cap, and having extended her neck to giraffe-proportions was holding it in her teeth as he hopped up and down, trying to get it back. Her eyes glittered as, every time Darragh made to grab for his hat, she whisked it out of his reach. So intent was he that he didn’t notice his audience.
‘Sequella, stop it,’ he complained. ‘Give it back!’ He made a quick lunge, but the mare was faster, throwing her head back and rolling her eyes. ‘Come on,’ he grumbled. ‘Not funny anymore, missus.’ Standing in front of her, he put his hands on his hips and glared up at the horse. Sequella pricked her ears, then with all the complacency of a seaside donkey, dropped his cap on the floor. Stepping forward, Darragh picked it up then accepted the nudge of apology she gave him, pulling her ears through his hands. ‘I only let you get away with this, because you’re such a great racehorse, you know? They can give me ten good horses, but none of them would hold a candle to you…’
Realising they were now intruding on a private conversation, Ginny, Kerry and Alex tiptoed away, trying to suppress their giggles. Sequella could be a grouchy cow sometimes, but Darragh still adored her, that much was clear.
On the training front, Ginny couldn’t have been happier with her. It would take a freight train to stop her now.
The following morning, Alex and Darragh drove the long tiresome journey up to Doncaster in
the lorry, leaving Ginny to follow in the car. With regret, she had decided to retire her Fiesta and for now, she was dependant on her father’s generosity for transport. She wished Jim was beside her to discuss the horses’ form and distract her from her anxious thoughts but he had declined, saying he would feel better if he watched the races on the television in the comfort of his armchair. It was a long drive, especially coming back at rush hour, but it was bearable knowing she held the biggest ace in the pack.
Arriving in time to declare her runner, Ginny hurried to the saddling area where Sequella was already settled. Time, which up until that point had felt like it was standing still, now sped up. She grinned as she approached Darragh and Sequella.
The Irishman was trying to stencil some diamonds onto the mare’s rump but she kept whipping him with her tail and aiming half-hearted cow-kicks in his direction. With a growl of frustration Darragh gave up, then just to make sure the mare understood he wasn’t really angry, he scratched her behind her ears and, brushing her inky forelock out of the way, kissed her on her black forehead. The mare gave a well-meaning but overenthusiastic push into his stomach with her nose, and sent Darragh staggering backwards.
‘Right!’ Ginny said, letting herself in with Alex’s miniscule saddle. ‘All set?’
‘She’s feeling good, that’s for sure,’ Darragh replied with a shake of his head.
With less than ten minutes to post time, Ginny boosted Alex onto Sequella’s broad back. Alex beamed at her, looking every bit as confident as any jockey riding an evens favourite would be. He gave her the thumbs up.
Only allowing a trace of hope that they might actually do the Goodwood-Doncaster Cup double to filter through her mind, Ginny took Darragh up into the stands to watch from a good position. There were fourteen horses in the race, dominated by Sequella and her previous adversaries Jethro, Storm Chaser and last year’s Melbourne Cup winner Fastidious. To make life more difficult, Fastidious’ trainer was also sending out a pace-maker, a horse who is unlikely to win, but is useful to set a good gallop, especially favouring Fastidious’ style of running. It was bad news for Sequella though. She loved to lead the field and she had enough of a problem squabbling over that with Jethro, without having some no-hoper taking them along at a suicidal pace.
The excited roar of the crowd sent the horses on their way towards the grandstand, which they would pass twice on this two mile marathon. Sequella had drawn an inside position, and was running alongside Token Gesture, the pace-maker in the lead at the first turn. The mare was taking a keen hold and Alex was doing all he could to sit still in his stirrups and settle her down.
Holding her binoculars to her anxious eyes, Ginny followed the progress of the race as the horses made their way to the furthest point of the course before edging round the top turn to take on the last homeward mile.
Token Gesture had won the fight for the lead and somehow Alex had managed to settle his horse behind, snug between the inside rail and Jethro on her outside. Fastidious ran a couple of lengths behind, followed by Storm Chaser with a further gap back to the remaining stragglers in the field.
Ginny’s heart began to thump as Token Gesture started to tire, drifting wide and providing an opening for Sequella to slide through.
With minimal effort, the mare cruised to the lead, but as she did so, Token Gesture veered back towards the rail, and bumped violently into Sequella’s side. Behind her, Jethro’s jockey snatched up his reins as they all but ran into her rear end. Both horses pitched forward as their heels caught. The mare fought for a level footing while Alex clung to her black mane.
With her heart in her mouth, Ginny’s knees almost gave way and she grabbed Darragh’s arm for support. She whimpered with relief when a stumbling Sequella regained her stride and momentum and began to increase her lead.
Having being obstructed by Token Gesture and losing a couple of lengths in the process, Jethro’s jockey sat down to ride hard, a signal to Fastidious’ and Storm Chaser’s jockeys to do the same. Like a wave approaching, the tide of opponents moved forwards, snapping at Sequella’s heels. Feeling the pressure now on, Alex lowered himself onto the mare’s neck, pumping his arms and legs and urging her to dig deeper as the wire came into sight. With dogged determination, Jethro began to inch forward until his nose was at her girth. Ginny wondered if this was where their luck would run out. But Sequella certainly wasn’t done. Flicking her ears at the sound of Jethro and an approaching Storm Chaser, the mare found another gear and accelerated out of reach.
Amidst the thunder of the horses’ hooves and the roar of the crowd, Ginny felt as if she was right there with Alex, hearing the wind whistling through her ears, the hoarse gulps of breath Sequella was scooping up through her trumpet-like nostrils. She and Darragh, with adrenalin pounding through their bodies, leapt up and down with excitement, yelling. Darragh was already crying. Ginny screamed with glee as Sequella boldly galloped over the finish, clear of Jethro by three uncompromising lengths, and threw her arms around Darragh. Darragh howled in triumph. A universal gasp from the crowd though, made her look up. For a moment she couldn’t see Sequella. Then she found her. The mare was being pulled up by Alex, when she shuddered violently, like electric volts ricocheting through her body. She fell heavily forward onto her shoulder, projecting Alex hard into the turf, and slid for a few metres before coming to a complete stop. The crowd had become as still as the horse now lying motionless on the track.
‘No,’ Ginny whispered in horror. ‘Oh, no, please.’ She grabbed Darragh’s hand and they ran down the stand steps. Shoving people out of the way regardless of their affronted comments, Ginny felt her composure quaking on its foundations. Ducking beneath the white running rail, she saw Alex on his grass-stained knees, hunched over the mare’s body.
With heart-wrenching sadness in his blue eyes, he looked up at Ginny and Darragh running towards him and shook his head.
It was dark by the time Ginny got back to the yard in Jim’s car. Everyone had left and only the snorts and stamps of its residents betrayed the silence. With weary steps, she walked over to Sequella’s empty box. Peering in, she found it had already been cleaned out – Des or Kerry must have done it after seeing the race on television. She was relieved in one way that she wouldn’t be faced with it the following morning, but on the other hand, it almost felt like she hadn’t had time to say goodbye. Even standing in her stable amidst the messy rumpled bedding of shavings might have gone a way towards making her feel better.
Gripping the top of the stable door where Sequella’s teeth marks were still very much in residence, she felt the hard tickle of tears fill up her sinuses and well up in her eyes. Turning away, she walked to the office to drop off the race and veterinary reports.
The cause of Sequella’s death had been attributed to a fractured pelvis, possibly occurring when Token Gesture bumped into her. The on-course vet had explained this had caused internal bleeding and ultimately a massive heart attack. Alex hadn’t believed him, but the vet had insisted she probably hadn’t felt the break at all, and would have been none the wiser, even when she had fallen. She was already dead when she hit the ground.
Darragh was inconsolable, which in a way, made it more important for Ginny to be strong, and up until now she had shown very little emotion. She was still very worried about Darragh. The pair had had a special bond, and now left stranded, Darragh was like a house of cards caving in. Des had phoned to say he would give the boy some of his sleeping tablets when he and Alex returned with the lorry. Ginny warned him not to give too many.
Switching off the office light and locking the door behind her, Ginny heaved another deep sigh as she took one last look at Sequella’s deserted stable in the ill-lit yard, and began the miserable walk home. All she wanted was her bed. To curl up with the comfort of Jack next to her and to wash away the nightmare with sleep.
She’d almost reached Sally G’s garden gate when a car drove by, its brake lights burning in the dark before pulling over onto the pavem
ent in front of her. A flit of joy leapt in her chest as she recognised the car, then the man who unfurled himself from the driver’s seat. Julien was wearing blue jeans and a white button-up shirt which seemed to glow in the dark as he walked towards her.
‘I thought maybe – maybe you might need…’ he began. Ginny looked at him with wide vulnerable eyes. Might need a friendly face? A sympathetic ear? A shoulder to cry on? She settled for the latter body part, and with a sob, she felt Julien’s arms fold around her.
He held her so tight, his arms as strong as steel bars, Ginny felt at last she didn’t have to be the strong one anymore. Breaking down, she grasped his shirt in grief, great wracking sobs being wrenched out of her body. Julien whispered to her in French, holding her close. He rested his chin against her bowed head and stroked her hair.
As the tears began to subside beneath his soothing touch, Ginny raised her head, still clinging to his tear-soaked shirt. Through watery eyes she could see the compassion in his gaze, a softness so in contrast to the man she had first met that he might as well be a different person.
Julien, in turn bent to kiss her wet cheeks, lingering for a moment before lowering his mouth onto hers. Instinct took over and Ginny reached up to meet his touch, feeling her stomach do a triple somersault as she felt the pressure of his lips upon hers. His breath cooled the tears on her cheeks, and he moved his arm round so that he cradled her head with one hand. Surrendering herself to what felt so unbelievably right, Ginny loosened her grip on his shirt and slid her hand across his chest, revelling in the feel of the hard muscular contours of his body beneath her fingers and the rapid thudding of his heart. With confidence, Julien probed further, his tongue caressing hers as he drew her closer to him. A low moan of pleasure escaped from the back of Ginny’s throat.
It was enough to draw her up short. Alarm bells started to ring in her head. This couldn’t go on! It was wrong! There was no way any of this could work. She pulled away, stepping out of his embrace.
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