The Enchanted

by Charlotte Bingham

  An eye was looking into hers, a large round brown eye, and in it she could see a land under the sea. The waves were high above her, with a bright sun shining through them, while first one horse then many swam through water which was as clear as crystal with the most beautiful people she had ever seen riding them. They rode bareback and without bridles and now Alice was riding as well, through an underwater palace whose walls were hung with gold drapes and harps and swords that rested in jewelled sheaths. As she rode silently through the ocean there was nothing but a sense of peace and a fine voice singing a song in a tongue she didn’t know, yet she thought she knew what the song was saying.

  Her horse looked round at her and she saw herself in its eye, young again, a little girl in a gingham dress with her hair in plaits just the way she used to wear it, and on her feet red shoes that sparkled in the sunbeams.

  She woke up just in time for Salisbury. People were already getting up from their seats in preparation for the train’s pulling in to the station, but Alice just sat there, remembering the dream, determined never to forget it.

  The two days of rain had stopped, so Millie and Alice drove through a rolling countryside warmed by late autumn sunshine, with a strong breeze making the clouds scud so that shadows flitted across the dark green hills. There was no traffic on the long sweeping road that went down into a valley then up and round a long barrow in front of them, so for a while it was as if they had both been transported back to a time when there was just the land, and the sky and the unseen sea beyond the hills. They drove in silence, hushed by the elegant majesty of the landscape.

  Finally they found themselves not in Millie’s hamlet but in the neighbouring picture-postcard village of Chalfont Magna.

  ‘Hold your horses!’ Millie stopped her car as she saw a man coming out of a thatched cottage at the top of the lane. ‘I think I know him. Yes I do – and it’s just the man we’ve been looking for – Mike? Michael?’

  Seeing Millie becoming involved in talking to her acquaintance, Alice decided to stretch her legs, and take a better look round the village. As she peered over garden walls and the tops of gates it seemed to her to be an idyllic spot if not the ideal one, peaceful and quiet, well away from any main roads and miles from any flight paths. In fact every property she saw seemed to be just the sort of small house or cottage for which she had been searching, particularly the one she finally found herself standing outside, the one up whose path Millie stood talking to a short red-faced man in a lovat green tweed suit.

  ‘Of all the luck,’ Millie said as she rejoined Alice in the roadway. ‘The man I’ve been talking to? He’s only the bloke who sold me my house, would you believe? And as luck would have it he’s just been taking instructions from the man who owns that drop-dead-lovely cottage. Not only that, ducks: no one, but no one else has seen it yet – and what is more and what is best of all, we are allowed to look round it, right now!’

  The old stone-built cottage was as lovely inside as it was pretty outside, with plenty of exposed beams, open fireplaces with fine old carved stone surrounds in the sitting and dining rooms, a flagstone-floored kitchen with an Aga, four surprisingly light and airy bedrooms, all of which enjoyed views over the unspoilt rolling countryside, and a beautiful acre of gardens that were laid to roses and lawn.

  ‘You are going to have to buy it,’ Millie whispered as they walked round inspecting the outside. ‘Because if you don’t the next person up the path most certainly will. It is perfect. Quite perfect.’

  ‘I’m about to do just that,’ Alice assured her. ‘Buy it, that is. I think I’d be mad not to.’

  ‘Bonkers,’ Millie said with a broad smile, taking Alice’s arm for one more stroll around the gardens. ‘And I would give good money to see the look on your children’s faces when you tell them.’

  ‘But I’m only doing what they’re always nagging me to do,’ Alice replied. ‘What is it they say? Getting a life.’

  ‘Right on, sister.’ Millie laughed. ‘Let’s hear it for the biddies.’

  A brief discussion with the agent and the owner was all that was needed for parties to make their resolutions clear. Alice agreed to buy the cottage at the asking price, and would put down a deposit to secure it as soon as was necessary while she issued instructions to put her London house on the market. On learning exactly what sort of property Alice owned and its location, the estate agent told her his firm’s London office would happily handle the sale, since they had a list of buyers looking for houses in that particular part of Kensington.

  ‘Couldn’t have worked out better,’ Millie remarked as they drove away. ‘It was as if it was meant.’

  ‘So all I have to do now is to break the news to the family.’

  ‘Any time, duck. There’s no obligation, you know.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Alice sighed. ‘I still think of them as depending on me.’

  ‘While they dread the likes of us depending on them.’ Millie laughed. ‘So come on – let’s go and have a drink to celebrate. After all, it’s not every day you get to turn your life around.’

  Alice agreed, unable quite to believe the change in her fortunes, while all the time wondering whether the strange and wonderful dream she’d had on the train might in fact have more significance than she thought; that in some way it had told her about this very moment in her life.

  Chapter Ten

  Himself

  Grenville arrived first. Rory found him wandering around the yard looking into the stables, gloved hands clasped behind his back, trilby tilted down to the edge of his spectacles, in the company of the glamorous young woman who had literally knocked Rory for six at Sandown.

  ‘Could do with a few more residents, old man, yes?’ Grenville remarked when accosted. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

  ‘Correct,’ Rory replied. ‘Want to go on to the next round?’

  ‘Seriously, Rory. With the old man laid up – how is he, by the way?’

  ‘Making progress.’

  ‘Good. Good. I’m sorry – allow me to introduce you to Mrs Fortune. Or rather Miss Faraday, as she wishes to be called now.’

  Lynne turned round from her inspection of the horse stabled in the box in front of her and put a hand out to Rory.

  ‘We’ve met. Hello again, Mr Rawlins. Great yard.’

  ‘Nice of you to say so,’ Rory replied, shaking the offered hand. ‘But it’s not really looking at its best.’

  ‘Long as the horses are happy, that’s all that matters. And they certainly look happy enough.’

  ‘To get down to business, Rory,’ Grenville chipped in, anxious to get to the point. ‘And racing is a business. With the old chap laid up, Rory, you could really roll up your shirtsleeves and get to work here. First of all, you could have an Open Day. You know, let Joe Public in to ooh and aah. Never know what the tide might bring in.’

  ‘With the number of horses we have in training, Grenville, they’d be here for all of five minutes.’

  ‘Do what some of ’em do over at Lambourn, in that case.’ Grenville lowered his voice. ‘Borrow a few nags from your neighbours and pretend they’re yours. Fill the yard and say they’re all spoken for, then along comes Bob your famous uncle. Shove a few geraniums about the place, couple of hanging baskets, you can even borrow some staff from your chums, too. Works wonders. Appearances are everything, as you know, old chap. Even if they do turn out to be mirages.’

  ‘Not exactly my style, Grenville,’ Rory replied. ‘And can you imagine if my father found out?’

  ‘Just a thought,’ Grenville said, taking his hat off and carefully removing a small piece of straw from the brim. ‘What about this famous horse, then? I like the look of that big bay in the second box.’

  ‘That’s not him, Grenville. That’s Tiger Talk. And as a matter of fact I’d far rather you saw the horse when he’s fitter. He’s only just arrived and we’re – we’re still acclimatising him.’

  ‘Do I hear music?’ Grenville wondered, looking
round. ‘Who’s that singing somewhere? Sounds like John McCormack.’

  ‘The lads play the radio when they’re doing the grooming and mucking out,’ Rory said quickly. ‘They say the horses like it.’

  ‘My mother loves John McCormack.’ Grenville smiled. ‘Daddy did as well. But look. Look, now I’m here and since I’ve come all this way, you might as well let me just have a quick dekko.’

  ‘I thought you said you had to come down this way anyway,’ Rory said, continuing to try to stall him. ‘I’d quite like a cup of tea, and I’m sure you both would as well, then perhaps I’ll give you a guided tour afterwards.’

  ‘I’d love a cuppa,’ Lynne put in quickly, sensing that Rory wanted to tread water for a little.

  ‘Of course,’ Grenville replied politely, offering Lynne his arm. ‘But I really would like to see what you’ve got afterwards, Rory. Now I have come all this way.’

  ‘Teddy?’ Rory hissed at his head lad, dropping back as the others made for the house. ‘While we’re inside, pile the little horse’s box as high as you can with fresh straw, and don’t ask why. OK?’

  ‘He’s just had a fresh bed, boss,’ Teddy replied. ‘I only just skipped him out.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying, Teddy,’ Rory insisted. ‘What I’m saying is bulk the horse’s bedding up as high as you can.’

  ‘Ah,’ Teddy said with a nod. ‘I hear you, boss. Gotcha.’

  ‘What one would dearly like is what’s known in the trade as a fun horse,’ Grenville said as they sat having tea in Rory’s seriously untidy kitchen. ‘A horse that will provide the necessary entertainment without necessarily breaking the bank.’

  ‘Really?’ Lynne said, dropping two sweeteners into her mug of tea. ‘I’d have thought if you were getting a horse you’d want one with a blooming good chance of winning. Sorry, but I mean that’s what I’d want.’

  ‘I didn’t know you wanted a horse, Lynne?’ Grenville looked vaguely unsettled, as if she had been keeping something from him. As far as he could make out Lynne had only accepted his invitation to come down to the country because she wanted to look at some apartments that were for sale in a large country house that had recently been converted into flats.

  ‘I don’t,’ Lynne replied. ‘That was – what do they call it? A something or other.’

  ‘An hypothesis?’

  ‘If you say so. Who knows what I might buy next?’ Lynne looked at Grenville, before starting to sip her tea. ‘The world is my oyster, right?’

  When they had finished their tea and Teddy had done the bed, Rory took the two of them round the yard and showed them three of the horses he knew the owners were keen to sell. Grenville failed to be taken by any of them, spinning all three for elaborate reasons that smacked to Rory of being straight out of the a-little-knowledge-is-a-dangerous-thing school of equine thought.

  Finally, he showed them The Enchanted.

  ‘The Enchanted?’ Lynne said, taking an interest for the first time. ‘What a great name for a horse. You call him that?’

  ‘He was named that when my father bought him,’ Rory said. ‘Something to do with some old Gaelic myth or other.’

  ‘The Enchanted,’ Lynne repeated, looking over the stable door at a horse that thanks to Teddy’s constructive bed-building looked considerably taller than he had before. ‘I think that’s a winning name.’

  ‘There’s not exactly a lot of him, is there, Rory?’ Grenville turned back to look at the trainer. ‘Hardly an Aintree type.’

  ‘But then he was hardly bought for that,’ Rory said defensively. ‘Although a horse that won the National just before the last war – Battleship, I think it was – was only just over fifteen hands, my father said.’

  ‘Can we see him out of the box?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll have him taken out for you,’ Rory replied, unable to think of a good reason to refuse. ‘If you go and stand in the school over there I’ll have the girl lead him round.’

  ‘What? Over there?’ Grenville said. ‘I’d quite like to see him led out from here.’

  ‘He’s still a little skittish,’ Rory lied, crossing his fingers. ‘I’d hate to see him take a lump out of Miss Faraday here.’

  ‘He moves well enough,’ Grenville observed as Pauline, the most diminutive of Rory’s skeleton stable staff, trotted the horse up and past them. ‘Gets his hind legs under him.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Where else would he put them, Grenville?’ Lynne puzzled. ‘Bit odd if he got them over him.’

  ‘It’s an equine expression, Lynne,’ Grenville explained. ‘Like the way this horse covers the ground, do you see? For a smaller sort of horse he walks out well and covers a lot of ground. You want a horse that covers the ground well, and picks his feet up, as this chap’s doing. He’s nice and short-coupled, too, and not over at the knee.’

  ‘All Greek to this lady,’ Lynne said with a shake of her head. ‘You are speaking complete Greek to me.’

  ‘Let’s see him stand up, if we may?’ Grenville called out to the lass. ‘If you could stand him up just there, please – I’d like to come and pick up his feet, if that’s all right, Rory?’

  ‘Your call, Grenville,’ Rory replied. ‘Just watch the sharp end.’

  ‘I understand that bit all right,’ Lynne said. ‘Hope you know what you’re doing, Grenville.’

  ‘I was brought up with horses, Lynne,’ Grenville assured her. ‘No worries.’

  He went up to the horse, which was standing eyeing him with half-flattened ears. He walked round him twice, nodding to himself, then walked round him twice in the opposite direction. Behind his back the horse kicked out, narrowly missing him.

  ‘Change of rein there, I see,’ Rory called out. ‘Even a change of leg perhaps.’

  ‘Got a good shoulder on him,’ Grenville called back, ignoring the tease. ‘Stands into himself well.’

  Rory winked at Lynne, who smiled back at him.

  ‘Nice and high in the wither as well,’ Grenville continued, bending down to pick up and flex one of the horse’s fore legs. When he replaced it he ran one hand down the back of it as he had often observed horse people doing when inspecting possible purchases.

  ‘Find anything?’ Rory called out.

  ‘Got plenty of bone as well.’ Grenville nodded. ‘What’s he got, Rory? Seven? Eight inches?’

  ‘Haven’t measured, Grenville,’ Rory replied, exchanging another look with Lynne, who came over to stand beside him.

  ‘I think he’s a smashing little horse,’ she said. ‘Just gorgeous. Not that I know a thing about horses.’

  ‘Long as you like him,’ Rory returned. ‘But a little less of the little, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I only mean that affectionately,’ Lynne said, taking him seriously. ‘I haven’t a clue what size a horse should be. I just think there’s something about him.’ She blushed a little as Rory turned to look at her. ‘I mean it. He’s got sort of – I don’t know what they call it. When a horse looks a bit special.’

  ‘The horse has presence.’

  ‘That’s it exactly.’ Lynne nodded. ‘That’s exactly what this horse has got. Presence.’ She looked back at the horse and found she was being stared at in return.

  ‘I’d say the feeling’s mutual,’ Rory told her, nodding towards The Enchanted.

  ‘Is he cantering, Rory?’ Grenville asked, still walking round the horse.

  ‘Not at the moment, he isn’t,’ Lynne muttered, with a sideways smile at Rory.

  ‘He’s in light work,’ Rory called across to him. ‘And he’s working fine.’

  ‘And he’s really done relatively nothing?’

  ‘Hardly any miles on the clock at all. Run in a point and a hunter chase – both of which he should have won, apparently.’

  ‘Ah.’ Grenville nodded, coming to join Rory and Lynne. ‘That old that-old. Ah.’ Grenville took his hat off, wiped his brow, nodded again, then replaced his hat. ‘Fine. No, I think I’ll pass on this one, Rory, thank
s – if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘Your choice,’ Rory said. ‘You’re the expert.’

  ‘Even so.’ Grenville smiled, nodding once more. ‘I think I’ll pass just the same.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t want him, I think I’ll buy him,’ Lynne said suddenly.

  ‘Lynne?’ Grenville turned and attempted a businesslike look. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Hang on, Grenville,’ Lynne said, turning to Rory once more. ‘Just for fun – if I was to buy him, just for fun, what would it cost me?’

  ‘Lynne?’ Grenville tried again, but Lynne wasn’t listening.

  Rory paused, cleared his throat and looked into the pair of bright blue eyes that were looking into his. Again he found himself between the notorious rock and a hard place. If he said too much he might put her off, whereas if he asked too little away would go the profit all trainers must make when selling on a horse.

  ‘Just for fun?’ he wondered, buying a little time.

  ‘Just for fun. How much would a horse like this cost?’

  ‘Fifteen thousand.’

  Grenville gave a small but significant whistle while Lynne’s eyes widened to the full.

  ‘Fifteen thousand – what, fifteen thousand pounds?’ she echoed. ‘God, I’m a right charley. I thought a horse like this in a place like this would cost, I don’t know – a couple of grand, tops.’

  Rory shook his head sadly and heaved a deep sigh. ‘It’s fifteen thousand guineas. And you could hardly buy a decent riding horse for two thousand now,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ Lynne agreed. ‘I said I was a charley. Oh well.’ She shrugged and buttoned up her coat as if that was the conclusion of any possible further business. ‘A girl can dream, I suppose.’

  ‘There’s more than one way of skinning the famous cat,’ Rory said lightly, sensing her very real disappointment. ‘You could get up a partnership. That’s what a lot of people do. Buy a leg, as they say. Find three others to come in with you – to buy the other three legs. That’s what a lot of people like yourself do to have a bit of fun, to have an interest, as it were.’