I scrambled to my feet, gritted my teeth against the vicious pain stabbing through my shoulder and ran after the frightened mare.
The lane led downwards, past the entrance to the stables. I hoped fervently that White Lace would have headed for safety and swung in off the tarmac towards the stable yard. No chance. Her flying hooves carried her past the entrance to the stables, past the church and lychgate, and on down the lane. I could only watch as she drew further and further away, until, reaching the bottom of the hill, she turned the corner of the churchyard and disappeared from sight.
I couldn’t see what was happening, but I could hear it. With gut-curdling certainty, I heard the distant roar of an engine. A vehicle was driving up through the village main street. Going too fast and getting closer by the second.
The car, obviously driving now along the road towards the corner, suddenly changed gear and applied brakes. The sound of its slewing, screeching tyres carried clearly in the cold, still air.
Although I was braced for an impact, the sound still rocked me. Above the protesting tyres, there was a hellish crash and an ongoing battering of steel on steel.
A terrified horse gave a single, shrill, agonized scream of pain.
SIX
Adrenalin coursed through me as I sprinted towards the scene of the accident. Gasping for breath, I rounded the corner of the churchyard wall, heard and saw the full horror. Saw the blood – scarlet – and spattered – and shocking. The car, a white Audi A4, had obviously struck White Lace, throwing her up and across the body of the vehicle. Half a ton of horseflesh was now sprawled over the bonnet.
The mare neighed wildly, her flailing, iron-shod hooves battering against metalwork and windscreen. Stirrups, thrown from side to side by the frenetic thrashing, added to the din as they clouted the bodywork repeatedly. But the car was no longer pristine white. The front end had blood splashed all over with rivulets running down the wings and dripping on to the pavement.
I skidded to a halt. Rushing the mare would only exacerbate her fright. I needed to approach calmly, confidently, project the image I was in control of the situation, she’d be OK now.
The driver and his female passenger cowered low in their seats. The woman’s left hand, her wedding ring glinting in the sunlight, was thrown up protectively in front of her face as the mare’s hooves threatened the windscreen.
I walked cautiously forward towards the frightened animal, talking a soothing stream of reassurance, and managed to catch hold of a rein. I put my full weight behind it and pulled her head around away from the vehicle. Her shoulders, already sodden with sweat and blood, followed through and she slithered down the side of the driver’s door, her hooves connecting with the solid pavement.
White Lace stood, shivering violently, shock preventing her from further wild exertion. I pulled on her ears whilst running my hand gently down the heated, sweaty neck, and murmured comforting words. Gradually, she began to relax, dropping her head down nearly to her knees with exhaustion.
A vehicle came round the corner and for a second she flung up her head, neck stiffening, fear flaring in her eyes, but Mike, who was driving, took in the disaster and immediately cut his engine. There were two men in the Land Rover. With relief, I saw the second man, now climbing out, was Desmond Bailey, our usual vet. I remembered Mike had said he’d be coming over first thing to check out one of the two-year-olds that had developed heat in a leg.
‘Bloody thing to happen,’ grunted Mike, his lips tightening to a thin line.
I handed the slippery reins over to him and left the vet to assess the damage and course of action.
Inclining my head towards the Audi, I said, ‘I’ll have a word?’ Mike nodded absently, already focused on White Lace’s injury.
The driver had lowered his window, and I went over and bent down.
‘You both all right?’
‘Just about. Christ it gave me … us … a fright. The horse came round the corner like a runaway train.’
‘She was certainly a runaway,’ I agreed ruefully, suddenly, strongly, aware now of an increasingly painful shoulder.
‘You were riding her?’ The white-faced woman in the passenger seat leaned forward and gave me a concerned look.
‘Yeah, until a tractor spooked her higher up the lane.’
‘Thank goodness we’re both OK – well, shaken up, naturally, but basically OK. Did you know your nose is bleeding?’
I rubbed it inelegantly with the back of my hand. She was right.
‘Goes with the territory. But let me give you our name and address. Whatever needs doing about repairs to the vehicle, we’ll obviously sort out with your insurance company.’
The man produced a scrap of paper and ballpoint. ‘Well, neither of us require repairs, thank God. We’ll be fine, when the shock’s worn off.’
‘So, that’s the humans sorted,’ said the woman, her face now slowly regaining colour, ‘but what about the horse?’ She craned her neck out of the passenger window. ‘Is it very bad? The poor thing’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘It was a good thing the vet happened to be up at the stables when the accident happened. I think there’s only the one bad gash down the shoulder.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ The man took the piece of paper from my hand, barely glancing at it. ‘Mr Grantley’s a sound chap; sure there won’t be any problems.’
‘You’re locals?’
‘That’s right, we live in the old creamery – you know, last building on the east side of Boxton, the neighbouring village?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I nodded. It was a conspicuous property. At this point, Mike came over to offer apologies.
‘Vet’s loading White Lace into the box.’ He flipped a hand towards the junction where the yard’s smallest horsebox had appeared.
‘Is it very bad or will she recover?’
Mike nodded to the woman and smiled. ‘Nice of you to be concerned when it must have given you one hell of a shock.’
She looked up at him and gave him a sweet smile back. ‘A car is a car is a car, isn’t it? Doesn’t have feelings, feels no pain. But an animal – well, that’s different. And horses are pretty special, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, yes, they are.’ Mike was holding her gaze. ‘Do you own one?’
‘No, but I love hacking out when I get chance.’
‘You must pay us a visit, up at the stables. Show you round – least I can do. I apologize again for the shock – and the damage.’ Mike cast a quick look at the car.
‘Apologies accepted,’ the man assured him. ‘Don’t think any more of it. After all, it was purely an accident. We all have them. Pep and I wouldn’t like to make a big thing about it. We’ve not lived here very long. Last thing we’d want, to be at odds with anyone.’
Mike nodded. ‘Very civil of you, Mr …?’
‘Paul Wentworth.’
‘And I’m Penelope. Pep to my friends. And I hope that will include yourself … and …?’ She turned her gaze on me.
Mike said hastily, ‘Harry Radcliffe.’
She frowned. ‘Surely I’ve heard that name before?’
‘He’s champion jockey.’
‘Oh, of course!’
It was starting to get embarrassing when Des Bailey came up. He nodded at the Wentworths.
‘All OK?’ They both nodded. ‘I’m going back in the box, Mike. I’ve given White Lace a couple of jabs and strapped up the wound temporarily. We’ll get her back to the stables and I’ll stitch it. Looks considerably worse than it actually is. She should recover quite quickly.’
‘Thanks, Des. Yes, you go back with Joe in the box and I’ll bring Harry in the Land Rover.’
He walked off and we watched the horsebox as it negotiated the narrow lane and disappeared back to the stables.
‘Such a pity to meet in dire circumstances,’ Pep said, ‘but it was nice to meet you.’
‘Indeed,’ Mike said. ‘Just let me know when you’d like to come up to the stables. I look forward to it.’
At the end of morning stables, the three of us – myself, Mike and Fleur – took ourselves over to the house. Walking through the back door directly into the kitchen, I was reintroduced to Maria who had rustled up a deceptively simple-looking lunch which proved very tasty: Caesar salad with omelettes flavoured with chopped tomatoes and red peppers. She offered crusty bread rolls that Fleur declined.
‘And for you, Harry?’ Maria gestured towards the plate.
‘Would love to, but I have to think of my riding weight.’
‘Of course. I’m well used to it with Fleur’s riding diet.’
I looked across the scrubbed pine table. ‘Fill me in.’
‘Modesty,’ Mike cut in. ‘Fleur won’t tell you, but she’s one of the best up-and-coming young women riders in Italy.’
‘Really!’
‘Oh, Uncle Mike does love exaggerating.’
‘She doesn’t ride like you, Harry,’ Maria said. ‘She rides on the flat.’
‘Right.’ I nodded and turned reproachfully to Mike. ‘You never told me.’
Mike smiled lazily. ‘You’ve had more than enough to think about this past year.’
‘You mean, I’ve been too buried in my own woes to surface and look for stars?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Can’t deny it.’
‘The brain puts blinkers on all non-essential information when it’s at full stretch coping with priorities.’
‘Talking priorities, you were on the spot pretty quick earlier. Who told you White Lace had dropped me and had an accident?’
‘I did,’ Fleur said. ‘Had my mobile with me, zipped in a pocket of my jacket whilst I was riding out first lot. Came in useful.’
‘I’ll say.’ Mike helped himself to a roll, split and buttered it. ‘She’s a quick-thinking lass.’
‘Yes, thanks. I appreciated you and the vet turning up so fast. Certainly shortened the mare’s bleeding time.’
‘How is the mare?’ Maria reached for the glass jug and helped herself to a top-up of mineral water.
‘Doing very well. Except she’s still spooky. Could do with calming down.’
‘Want me to ask Annabel to give her some healing?’ I asked.
Two curious females, eating arrested, stared at me.
‘Now that’s a thought.’ Mike was still chewing away on his roll. ‘Yes, it would help.’
‘Fair enough, I’ll text her after lunch. See if she’s free after work.’
‘What are you talking about, Mike?’ his sister asked.
‘Sorry. Annabel – Harry’s ex-wife – is a spiritual healer, works miracles.’
Two pairs of female eyes grew wide and round.
‘Like you say, Fleur,’ I murmured, flipping a dismissive hand, ‘Uncle Mike is given to exaggeration.’
‘But, this woman … Annabel … actually does hands-on healing?’
Mike inclined his head. ‘She sure does.’
‘But she doesn’t work miracles, Mike. Come on, Annabel wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing. And mostly she works with hands off, not on.’
‘OK, OK, maybe I was over-egging it a bit.’
‘Does it work, though?’ Fleur wrinkled up her nose. ‘Or is it like … well … faith healing?’
I sighed. It was always difficult for me to describe. Annabel herself would have done a brilliant and accurate job of explaining what she did.
‘First of all, she’s not my ex-wife. She’s still my wife.’
Mike groaned.
‘Well, she is … legally,’ I protested, dropping my gaze and concentrating on a delicate dissection of my remaining omelette. It was a very raw nerve and I didn’t want to think about the all too real likelihood of Annabel approaching me to ask for a divorce. OK, she had left me over two years ago to live with Sir Jeffrey – a very sober, upright man, who was also very rich. But above all else, very safe. He didn’t go hurtling down racecourses atop half a ton of pounding horseflesh at thirty miles an hour.
They lived in a beautiful country house on the outskirts of Melton Mowbray, where, incidentally, Annabel worked as a psychotherapist. She’d added spiritual healing to her list of accomplishments fairly recently. Also fairly recently, she had discovered she was pregnant.
I was still trying to come to terms with my feelings. I’d discovered in the last few months that despite Jeffrey being my successor and taking my beloved Annabel to his bed every night, I actually liked the fellow. Confusing – not to say very weird. But not so weird, I was insanely jealous that he was the father of Annabel’s expected baby.
‘Come on, Harry,’ Fleur prompted, ‘you haven’t answered my question. Does it work?’
‘It certainly worked in Harry’s case,’ Mike said.
‘Yes, it works. Annabel did a great job in helping me to heal from a bad fall a few months back. I don’t think I would have been riding White Lace last Saturday without having the spiritual healing. Apparently, it helped my bones to knit back together much quicker.’
‘Wow!’ Fleur’s eyes were now as round as milk bottle tops. ‘And you think she’ll be able to help the mare?’
‘Annabel prefers to see who she’s healing, but she does also do absent healing if she’s tied up and cannot get over personally.’
‘Does that work, too?’
‘Oh, yes, she did absent healing for me most days. I have to say I didn’t know, but I’m so grateful for all the time she put in. My future was looking pretty grim at one point.’
‘Hmmm … so interesting.’
‘So committed, I would add to that,’ Maria said and gave a knowing little smile. There were a few moments of awkward silence around the table.
‘Yes,’ I said to try to fill the gap, ‘Annabel is totally dedicated … to her work.’
‘Have we all finished lunch?’ Maria pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
‘That would be nice.’ Mike picked up his empty plate.
‘I’ll fill the dishwasher, Uncle Mike. Make myself useful.’
‘I’m very glad you’re here,’ he said, beaming. ‘Harry and I will be in the office, OK?’
We made ourselves scarce and headed down the hall.
‘Now,’ he said as we sprawled in comfortable, leather armchairs, ‘what about sending that text?’
Annabel replied within minutes.
‘Says she’ll pop in on the way back from work. Be around four thirty.’
He nodded. ‘And I’ll pay her.’
‘She probably won’t accept anything,’ I warned.
‘I don’t give a stuff. I’ve asked her for professional help – she’s going to get paid.’
Laughing, I shook my head. ‘Sooner you than me. She’s her own woman.’
But even as I said the words, how I wished to God I could say she was mine.
SEVEN
‘What about that other call – have you made it yet?’
Before I had chance to answer Mike, Maria came in with two steaming mugs.
‘Thanks very much – for the coffee and the lunch,’ I said, taking the mug she held out.
‘Well, Mike tells me you live alone. I expect it’s a nice change to have someone prepare a meal for you.’
‘How very true. But you and Fleur are here as Mike’s guests, not as his cook and bottle-washer.’
‘Piffle.’ She smiled. ‘It’s never a one-way street, life. I find it nice to be wanted.’
‘I certainly want you, Maria. You and Fleur. You’re all the family I have. You’re both a bit special.’
‘Here,’ she said and pushed a mug into his hand, ‘shut up and have your coffee.’ Turning as she reached the door, she said, ‘You’re making afternoon tea for us girls, right? When Fleur wakes up. She’s gone upstairs for a sleep. Expect she’ll be a couple of hours.’
‘Sure thing.’ Mike waved his coffee mug towards her, narrowly avoiding it slopping over the rim. ‘Let me know when she surfaces.’
As the door closed behind her, he sai
d, ‘So? Have you rung this Jake Smith?’
I shook my head. ‘No, not yet.’
‘Don’t you think you should do – like yesterday?’
‘You’re thinking about Chloe’s safety, yes?’
‘Too right I am. Well, that and her continuing to breathe and pay her horse’s stabling and training costs.’
‘Get away.’ I slurped the hot, very strong coffee.
‘No, let’s be serious here, Harry. That girl’s in danger if you don’t make contact.’
I nodded. ‘I was trying to decide the best place to meet an ex-con just out of gaol after a GBH sentence. You know, the place where I might just have a chance of carrying on breathing myself.’
‘Sure, yes, I’m sorry, Harry. It’s a bugger of a situation all round. Look, do you want me to ride shotgun?’
‘Oh, no, certainly not. Anybody gets their heads knocked off, it’s definitely going to be me. After all, it was me that set Carl up for the chop.’
‘But you didn’t know that,’ he protested.
‘Doesn’t alter the fact he died.’
‘Not your fault.’
‘Tell that to his brother.’
‘You tell him. As soon as you meet him. Get in first, before he has a go at you.’
I reached for my mobile. ‘No, I’ll tell him now.’
I didn’t need to find that piece of paper. The telephone number was imprinted in my mind.
Mike retreated behind his mug of coffee.
I tapped in 141 followed by the number, and knew beyond doubt, once I’d done it, that running my own life would not be left in my own hands. I’d be handing over the reins. Jake would be the one calling the shots.
Other people had been running my life far too much in the last few months and I was heartily sick of it.
This call, setting up a meeting with him, was only the first thing. A resultant chain of action and reaction would be set in motion – none of it of my choosing. An unpleasant feeling.
Anger flared inside as I tapped the final digit and waited. Not long. Within seconds, a man answered.
‘Jake Smith?’
‘Naah, I’m his dad. Just get him for ya.’
I raised eyebrows towards Mike. ‘Sounds like he’s living with his dad.’ Mike nodded.
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