Solo

by Jill Mansell

  “But surely Daisy has a chance?” said Holly loyally. She had gone mad and bet twenty pounds to win on Max’s all-important dark horse, as well as a tenner each way on Secret Desire in the second race.

  “Every horse has a chance,” replied Colin diplomatically. “But don’t hold your breath. The track might suit Daisy, but she hasn’t had the experience over three miles. We’re just hoping she has a good race today, that’s all.”

  When Max told Tessa for the tenth time that Daisy was a great little horse but that they mustn’t expect her to win, she almost felt sorry for him. With his ashen face and unsteady hands, he looked as if he was suffering from a bad case of stage fright.

  “And bloody Holly’s not helping at all,” he complained. “She’s convinced that Daisy’s going to win.”

  “Have another drink,” urged Tessa, swiping a half-empty bottle from Ross’s grasp and refilling Max’s glass. “Owning racehorses can damage one’s health, it seems. And calm down, Max. It’s not as if we’re going to refuse to speak to you if Daisy finishes last. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

  The first race was fun, for Tessa at least. The sun came out, the huge crowd roared the horses around the course, and amid a crescendo of cheers, groans, and wild applause, the evens favorite, a big gray called Derelict, stormed past the finishing post, his jockey a blur of pink and white on his back.

  Tessa won two pounds. Holly’s choice, Black Monday, was seventh. Ross lost fifty pounds on a chestnut mare who tipped her rider neatly into the water at the third.

  Holly was having a fabulous time anyway. It didn’t matter in the least that Black Monday hadn’t won—as far as she was concerned it simply proved that Daisy would. And she reveled in her role of professional cheerer-upper, reassuring an increasingly jittery Max that in no time at all he would have his hands on both the Amerson Cup and the vast winner’s check that went with it. With her hat firmly secured by half a dozen hat pins and her skirt remaining decorously around her knees, Holly was convinced that she looked like a real racehorse owner’s girlfriend. Ascot, she decided, was her kind of place.

  At that moment an earsplitting whistle pierced the air, closely followed by a flying champagne cork, which, having been lobbed with unerring accuracy, bounced off the wide brim of her hat and dropped neatly into her cleavage.

  “Goal!” roared a voice, amid much male laughter. “Hey, Holly! I’ve lost my cork. Can I come up and look for it?”

  Snatching the offending missile from its resting place and blushing so hard that she clashed with her hat, Holly moved away from the balcony. Damn Adam Perry and his big mouth! How dare he humiliate her like this? And how could he take such noisy delight in doing so?

  “Nice friends you have, Holly,” murmured Max, glancing over the edge of the parapet at the crowds below. “Who is he, a boyfriend of yours?”

  “No, he is not!” she spluttered. “He’s an ill-mannered pig. I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last man left on the planet.”

  “Mmm,” said Max mildly. “Well, he’s blowing kisses in this direction, and I don’t think they’re meant for me.”

  “He’s revolting,” replied Holly dismissively, snatching up her racing guide and pretending to study it.

  “Well, I think he’s coming up to see you anyway.”

  “Oh my God!” she cried, mortified. If Adam Perry wrecked her big chance with Max, she’d kill him with her bare hands.

  How he managed to get past security she didn’t have a chance to find out. Thirty seconds later Adam swaggered into their private box, lifted Holly off the ground, and hugged her so hard she thought she’d burst out of her dress.

  “Holly, look at you! What a sight for bloodshot eyes! And fancy bumping into you here. Hi,” he added, turning to the rest of them and flashing a grin in Tessa’s direction. “Adam Perry. Nice to meet all of you. I’m the one Holly’s going to marry,” he continued blithely, “just as soon as I get my name changed by deed poll. By this time next week, I’ll be Adam Day, and then pretty soon after that this gorgeous girl, for better or for worse, will be—”

  Seeing the shame and loathing in Holly’s eyes, Max cut in. “Actually,” he said, his tone pleasant but firm, “the lady is with me. And she’ll be with me next month…and the month after that…so if I were you I’d shelve the wedding plans. If anyone is getting married it’s Holly and myself, OK?”

  Ross, whom Adam Perry couldn’t see, was struggling to control his laughter. Tessa held her breath, praying that nothing awful would happen. Holly, released from Adam’s bulky grasp, almost fainted.

  But Adam, instantly contrite, reached for Max’s hand and shook it. “I’m sorry, truly I am. I had no idea that Holly was…involved. I do hope I haven’t offended anyone.”

  “Not at all,” replied Max smoothly.

  Adam shrugged and looked relieved. “Well, I’d better return to my party. You’re a lucky man, if I may say so. Holly’s a wonderful girl. Far too good for the likes of me anyway.” Then he flashed another grin, encompassing them all. “But one can always hope. Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and find myself a girl as gorgeous as this one. Good-bye then, Mr.…”

  “Monahan,” said Max, shaking his hand once more.

  “Mr. Monahan,” said Adam, nodding his head in recognition. “Of course. And Holly,” he added, turning to her, “once again, I am sorry. Maybe next time we bump into each other you’ll be Mrs. Monahan. Anyway, I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

  “I’m sure we will,” said Max, smiling at Holly and giving her arm a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

  Holly, unable to speak at all, merely nodded.

  The second race passed her by in a blur. She didn’t even realize her horse had won until Tessa pried open her fingers and extracted the screwed-up bundle of betting slips.

  “Tess, I can’t believe it,” she whispered, gazing at Max’s broad back as he leaned against the parapet.

  “Neither can I,” said Tessa, flattening out the crumpled winning slip with the heel of her hand. “Secret Desire, a tenner each way…at twenty to one…that’s over two hundred pounds!”

  Holly smiled to herself. Tessa, always so down-to-earth and practical, simply didn’t understand. But it was really, really happening at last. Her whole life was about to change, just as Rosa Polonowski had predicted…

  Chapter 21

  By the time the horses were lined up at the start for the Amerson Cup, Max was chain-smoking. He’d watched Crazy Daisy racing before, of course, but this was different, her first really big race, and he’d never felt so wound up in his life. He knew she didn’t have a chance of winning but still…it was impossible not to imagine that maybe, just maybe, by some outrageous miracle…

  “She’s beautiful,” said Tessa at his side. She was peering through binoculars at the lineup, her expression intent, her swollen stomach resting lightly against the stone parapet. “And your jockey’s wearing a pink cap. They can’t fail.”

  “She won’t win,” repeated Max automatically. “I just want her to have a good race. I just hope that—”

  “Well, I want her to bloody well win,” declared Ross, coming between them and taking over the binoculars. “And our staff will be pretty pissed off if she doesn’t,” he added with a grin, “seeing as I’ve put next month’s salaries on her.”

  Seconds later they were off. Holly, having recovered her voice, yelled until her lungs were burning. Tessa clung on to Ross. At the end of the first circuit Crazy Daisy was lying in tenth place and the field was beginning to spread out. Max, scarcely able to watch, held his breath as one of the leaders fell at the ditch. Daisy’s jockey pulled her over to the left just in time to avoid ploughing into the fallen horse. She cleared the water jump, edged past two more contenders, and kicked out her heels as she charged over the next fence. Daisy was enjoying herself, which was more than he was. With Ross and Holly now yelli
ng together, urging Daisy on, Max closed his eyes for a second.

  “Max, look!” gasped Tessa, grabbing him. “She’s overtaken Hard as Nails! She’s flying!”

  Desperately in need of another cigarette but knowing that he wouldn’t be capable of lighting one, he gripped the edge of the parapet. Another fence was cleared…then another…and now Daisy was lying in fourth place with only three furlongs to go.

  “COME ON, DAISY!” screamed Holly above the tremendous roar of the crowd, and suddenly Max found himself clutching her hand. Glancing down, he saw that he had been squeezing it so tightly that her fingers were blue.

  But now he really couldn’t bear to watch the race. If he looked up, Daisy would fall. The crowd’s screams were deafening, Holly was leaping up and down beside him, and the horses were approaching the final fence.

  “She’s gaining on them,” said Tessa in wonder. Seconds later, realizing that Max was still unable to watch, she said, “They’re over the last, and she’s overtaken the favorite. Max, you have to see her!”

  He straightened up, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the horses as they stormed up toward the finish. Daisy was lying in third place, a length behind the second and a length and a half behind the leader. And even as he realized that he couldn’t yell, couldn’t utter a single sound, she accelerated again, her timing perfect, her black tail flying…

  The crowd went wild. Holly, ripping off her hat, hurled it into the air and didn’t even see it as it cartwheeled down toward the spectators below. She was in Max’s arms, hugging him, being hugged in return, and so overwhelmed with happiness that she almost wept.

  Then Max, in a daze, was kissing Tessa, and Ross was uncorking a magnum of Bollinger, which Max hadn’t even known he’d bought.

  “To darling Daisy,” pronounced Ross, handing them each a glass too hastily filled and lifting his own into the air. “Another ten feet and she would have won. But second place is more of a miracle than any of us really dared hope for. To Daisy,” he toasted, and they all clinked foaming glasses. “God bless her and all those who had an each-way bet on her. I don’t know about the rest of you,” he added, pulling Tessa to his side and dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, “but I’ve just won eight-and-a-half thousand pounds.”

  • • •

  “We have to go and see her,” said Max, his hand shaking dreadfully as he put down his glass. Semidrunk on elation and Bollinger, he looked down and found that somehow his arm had found its way around Holly’s waist. “Coming with me?”

  Holly, her stomach sucked in and her entire being focused on the glorious sensation of Max’s fingers actually touching her midriff, vowed to go on a diet. She could smell his aftershave, feel his warmth. She could almost swear that those were actual tears in his dark eyes.

  “We’ll all go,” declared Ross, grabbing Tessa’s hand. “I want to see her as well. But I have to warn you,” he added with a wink in Max’s direction, “I’ve fallen in love with that horse. If Crazy Daisy asks me to marry her, I’m going to accept.”

  • • •

  Realizing that she didn’t feel quite right but not knowing what was wrong, Tessa was keeping her dilemma to herself. It had been a wonderful day: the realization that Max was actually human had been a gratifying one, Holly was so ecstatic she was practically on another planet, and Ross had been in tearing spirits, fussing over her, making her laugh, and doing his best to ensure that she was enjoying herself.

  But she sensed now that his patience was beginning to wear thin.

  It wasn’t easy, thought Tessa, pretending to have fun when everyone else was getting plastered and you were stone-cold sober. It was even harder when they were celebrating and you were wondering why, after six marvelously trouble-free months, you should suddenly be experiencing a dull, aching sensation in the pit of your stomach. She was no garage mechanic, but it felt exactly as if her big end had gone.

  “I’ll wait here,” she told Ross as Holly and Max left the box. He looked blank. “Tess, you can’t! We’re going to see Daisy. She’s just run the race of her life.”

  “And you’ve fallen in love with her,” said Tessa, attempting to make light of the situation and failing utterly. “Maybe I’m jealous. Look, I just want to stay here. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Are you OK?” he asked, concerned but at the same time struggling to suppress a niggling irritation. He’d worked so hard to make the day a good one for Tessa, and now she was throwing it back in his face and looking merely bored. When she assumed that closed expression that so annoyed him, he knew that she was shutting him out, and that the happy, carefree intimacy between them had been lost.

  “I’m fine,” she retaliated shortly.

  “Right,” said Ross, turning to leave. “We’ll see you later. Don’t have too much fun on your own, will you.”

  Holly guessed that something was wrong as soon as she spotted Ross and Colin Eames’s daughter standing together in a far corner of the yard. She didn’t know what they were discussing, but there was a lot of universal body language going on which needed no explanation. Rachel Eames, a nubile nineteen-year-old, was tossing back her thick black hair, licking her pale lips and touching Ross’s arm for emphasis every time she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Ross was making her laugh. Neither of them was taking a blind bit of notice of Daisy, who was high-stepping jauntily around the stable yard in her white blanket, enjoying all the attention being paid to her by Max, Colin Eames, her stable lad, and other assorted well-wishers.

  Emboldened by alcohol and by her own happiness, Holly made her way—somewhat unsteadily in her high heels—across the cobbled yard.

  “A private word, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, addressing Ross but managing at the same time to cast a supercilious glance in Rachel Eames’s general direction.

  “You have that crusading look about you,” remarked Ross when they were alone. He wasn’t smiling now.

  “So what’s up?” she countered. “Bloody hell, Ross, why do you have to do it? What are you trying to prove?”

  His dark eyes narrowed. “We were only talking.”

  “Bullshit,” replied Holly flatly. “You were deliberately flirting with her. And where’s Tessa?”

  “Couldn’t be bothered to come,” he drawled. “Just not interested enough to make the effort. And you don’t need me to remind you how stubborn she can be when—”

  “She’s pregnant, for heaven’s sake!” exploded Holly. “Maybe she’s tired. Has that small possibility even occurred to you, or have you been too busy chatting up other women to think about it?”

  Ross shot her a look of sheer disbelief. “We are talking about the same Tessa Duvall, are we? My God, she’s as strong as an ox! She walks for miles, rides that bloody bike of hers everywhere, and refuses to borrow my car… She’s got more stamina than I have. Holly, Tessa is simply bored.” He gestured in despair toward Daisy and her circle of admirers. “I wanted her to have such a great time today. I wanted to show her the kind of lifestyle she could have with me. Any normal female would be impressed… Aren’t you impressed by all this?”

  It was a plea for reassurance Holly was unable to resist. Ross wasn’t used to being given a hard time, and he was at a loss to know how to deal with it. And although she wouldn’t dare tell him so, it rather suited him.

  She smiled, then shivered. The pale sun was disappearing behind a bank of dirty gray clouds and a light breeze was blowing. “Tessa has enjoyed herself. It’s been a marvelous day. But she is pregnant, and pregnant women sometimes need to take it easy. It helps,” she said sternly, “if their male companions show a bit of consideration. Storming off and chatting up the first girl they come across doesn’t solve anything. Neither,” she added casually, “does taking their phone number.”

  Ross grinned. Holly wasn’t a bad old thing. She certainly wasn’t slow, either. Removing his dark-blue blazer an
d draping it around her shoulders, he pulled a crumpled racing slip from the top pocket and tucked it into Holly’s palm.

  “She gave me her number,” he said, his good temper restored. “But don’t worry, I wasn’t going to use it.”

  “I know you weren’t,” Holly replied complacently, shredding the slip of paper and watching the pieces scatter like confetti in the breeze. “She wasn’t your type.”

  “In that case, we’d better be heading back,” said Ross with a rueful smile. “Or my type will be wondering where we’ve gotten to.”

  • • •

  By the time they had watched the video rerun of Crazy Daisy’s magnificent race in the Pall Mall bar, hedge-hopped by helicopter to a restaurant bordering Windsor Great Park, and enjoyed a noisy, celebratory meal, it was nine o’clock. The dull ache in Tessa’s stomach had disappeared. Putting her feet up and resting quietly for twenty minutes had done the trick, and it hadn’t even been necessary to mention its existence. Neither had she needed to apologize to Ross for her abruptness earlier; on returning to the box with Max and Holly, he had squeezed her hand briefly, murmured, “My fault. I’m sorry,” and gazed at her with such longing that for a second her knees had threatened to buckle.

  “It wasn’t your fault; it was—” she had begun to say, but Ross placed his finger against her lips, stopping her.

  “Shh. I don’t often apologize. Make the most of it while you can. Besides, I have great news.”

  “What?”

  “I asked Daisy to marry me.” He paused. “She turned me down. Said I wasn’t her type.”

  “You poor man!” exclaimed Tessa. “But why is that great news?”

  Ross winked. “Well, it means I’m still single, available, and open to offers…”