The Enchanted

by Charlotte Bingham

  Jack was still galloping flat out, with no one else apparently making the slightest impression on him. Then, in a second, it was over. Blaze let out an inch of rein, his horse picked up and that was that. The little horse didn’t look so little any more as he cut down the leader, ranged alongside and then left him, thundering past his trainer and his owners a good two lengths to the good and still hard held.

  The others followed on in a cacophony of hooves on grass, leather slapping, riders shouting and whips cracking, but all to no avail. The Enchanted had murdered them, so comprehensively in fact that the moment he flew past Trojan Jack the beaten horse dropped his bit and slumped from first to last. Alone At Last came out of the pack to finish second, but looked and sounded cooked when Rory got over to where the horses were pulling up.

  ‘Did you see that then?’ Blaze grinned down at him from the saddle. ‘But if I were you now, I’d keep it under your hat.’

  ‘I just hope no one else is up here this morning,’ Rory said with a shake of his head. ‘Was that as easy as it looked?’

  ‘That was just third gear, sir,’ Blaze assured him. ‘It doesn’t matter how good or bad the rest of them are, this fella wasn’t even in top, let alone overdrive.’

  ‘He’s blowing a bit,’ Rory observed.

  ‘Sure he is, but then isn’t this his first bit of real work? It’s a question of how long he blows for.’

  Kathleen trotted Jack up to join them.

  ‘Jeeze,’ she said. ‘One moment I saw his head and the next his backside. And this horse is nowhere near race fit.’

  ‘Fine! Thank you!’ Rory said, instructing his riders. ‘Keep your horses moving, please! Don’t let them stand still – particularly in this wind. Soon as they have their breath back, go back to the yard. Thank you!’

  ‘Blaze said he never let the horse down, Mr Rawlins,’ Kathleen whispered to him, bending down to him from the saddle, so close Rory could feel her warm breath on his cheek. ‘He said he could have picked Jack off from ten lengths.’

  ‘That’s good, but it’s early days yet, Kathleen, early days,’ Rory replied. ‘Now keep your h-horse moving, if you would.’

  ‘The little horse really is something other, I tell you,’ Kathleen said, before swinging Jack round to catch up with the others. ‘Quite something else!’

  ‘Ladies,’ Grenville said when the partners and Millie were back in Rory’s kitchen where Maureen was in the middle of making them all a fried breakfast. ‘Ladies, I am here to tell you I think we have a horse.’

  ‘He certainly looked jolly impressive,’ Millie agreed. ‘That was some gallop.’

  ‘Was it?’ Alice said. ‘I say.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Grenville continued. ‘I think what we saw this morning was most promising, and I really do think we may have a rather good little horse here. He might well pick up a nice little race somewhere.’

  ‘Less of the little, Grenville,’ Lynne warned him. ‘This little horse – our little horse – is going to win a lot of races and not little ones either. Any more of that little nonsense and Connie won’t be the only one calling you Glanville.’

  ‘OK,’ Rory said, coming into the room, having finished his debriefing. ‘Now then – look, I don’t want anyone to get overexcited—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Constance interrupted. ‘I’d quite welcome it.’

  ‘As you’ve probably gathered that was a very good piece of work we all just saw,’ Rory said carefully, still not quite able to believe what he himself had seen. ‘And I’m not going to make any great pronouncements – just this. There are such things as morning glories – horses that beat the birds on the gallops, but then when you get them to the course it’s an entirely different matter. I’m not saying this is the case here, I’m really not. No, all I’m saying is we won’t know how good or bad this horse is till we get him to the track, and with that in mind and with your say-so I think we should run him in the two-mile novice chase next week – at Wincanton again. It might be a country track but the going’s invariably good, the racing’s always competitive there so it’s not a question of an easy option, and given that the horse looks as though he might have a bit of toe—’

  ‘A bit of a toe?’ Alice enquired.

  ‘A bit of toe, duck,’ Millie corrected her. ‘Toe as in speed. Being a sharp track Wincanton might just suit him.’

  ‘A sharp track?’

  ‘Sharp as in fast, sweetie. A flat galloping track.’

  ‘I thought we were going jump racing.’

  ‘Flat as in level,’ Millie sighed. ‘There’ll be jumps all right, don’t you worry.’

  ‘I’m getting there, slowly,’ Alice replied.

  ‘We’ll give him another bit of fast work before then,’ Rory told her, ‘as well as lots of long slow stuff, but as he’s small and appears to be quite naturally athletic, I don’t think he needs a lot of hard work. So if it’s all right with the owners – Wincanton it is.’

  ‘What about a school?’ Grenville asked.

  ‘They want to send him to school now?’ Alice enquired, deliberately wide-eyed.

  ‘School as in jumping,’ Rory explained. ‘School him over fences. Yes, of course we shall give him a school – I was planning to do that tomorrow provided all is well. Although one thing I do know,’ Rory added, remembering a famous rainy afternoon in Cronagh. ‘I do know this horse can jump.’

  The following day Blaze schooled the horse over the yard’s four practice fences, jumping them twice. The first time they let him jump on his own, and he didn’t put a foot wrong. The second time they jumped him in the company of two of Rory’s neighbour’s hunter chasers who were both schoolmasters when it came to jumping birch, and The Enchanted jumped all four fences alongside, straight and true, and most important of all, as Rory noted, landing and getting away from the jumps much more quickly and nimbly than the experienced duo schooling with him.

  ‘You have to fancy his chances, Guv,’ Teddy said when they were back in the yard. ‘I know these two-mile novice chases take a bit of winning, but this horse doesn’t seem to be a novice.’

  ‘It’ll be a hot race. Tony Pope’s bound to run a couple,’ Rory said. ‘And I know Captain Timms intends to run a rather smart novice of his, so it’s not going to be exactly a gentle introduction. Pope’s will go off as if they’ve been scalded, and the captain’s will be able to jump.’

  ‘Nothing ventured,’ Teddy said, taking the saddle from Rory, and starting to head for the tack room. ‘This fella looks as if he was born doing it.’

  ‘One thing’s certain,’ Rory said. ‘He won’t start favourite.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Off and Running

  The four of them sat round Rory’s kitchen table studying the declarations in almost complete silence, as if the list of horses running was some rediscovered masterpiece. Occasionally Rory would click his tongue, or Blaze would inhale and exhale with apparent deep significance. Kathleen sat absolutely still, her lips pursed together so tightly that all the colour seemed drained from them, while Teddy chain-smoked his way through several cigarettes.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ Teddy said, finally breaking the hush. ‘The captain’s horse is the one to beat, given the way he trotted up at Ludlow.’

  ‘My father says there’s always one to beat, Teddy,’ Rory said, waving away a cloud of smoke from Teddy’s cigarette. ‘If there wasn’t we might as well keep all our horses in their stables.’

  ‘But look at the way it’s bred, boss,’ Teddy replied, tapping his paper. ‘This is a class horse.’

  ‘Mr Pope’s two have got form as well,’ Blaze remarked. ‘Both Taunton winners.’

  ‘There’s a decent-looking horse from Lambourn, too,’ Teddy added. ‘One of David Chambers’s. The yard’s in form and the horse cost a packet at Doncaster sales.’

  ‘Can we discount this unraced fella from Eddie Rampton’s yard?’ Blaze wondered. ‘Isn’t your man fond of using the racecourse as a schooling g
round?’

  ‘You want to watch what you’re saying if Mr Rampton is anywhere in the vicinity,’ Rory advised. ‘Eddie Rampton’s renowned for his short fuse. He’s had several head to heads with reporters for hinting that he hadn’t run some of his horses on merit recently.’

  ‘He certainly has,’ Teddy agreed. ‘Eddie Rampton is not someone to cross. Before he took up training he was the stable lads’ unbeaten lightweight champion for four years running.’

  ‘His training methods aren’t all that tasty either,’ Rory added. ‘Prone to hitching his horses to his Land Rover with a lead rope and making them gallop flat out behind him.’

  ‘Imagine working for a guy like that,’ Teddy muttered, returning to his study of the form. ‘Anyway, all things considered, it looks as if it’s going to be a hot one.’

  ‘They’re quoting our fella at anything from sixteen to twenty to one,’ Blaze said. ‘I’d say he’s going to make some people very happy.’

  ‘And I’d say that just about represents his chance,’ Rory said, getting up from the table.

  ‘Well, I’m going to have a touch,’ Teddy decided, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘In fact I’m going to have a wallop. Jack left a rather nasty hole in the savings.’

  ‘You’re very quiet, K-Kathleen,’ Rory said, looking at Kathleen, who was still sitting stock still and had hardly said a word since they had all gathered round the table.

  ‘I know,’ she said quietly, swallowing hard. ‘I think I have to say I’ve got what we call at home an attack of the reals. In fact I think I need a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Blaze said, getting up with her. ‘After sitting next to Teddy here, I need fumigating.’

  Rory watched the two of them cross the yard and walk over to The Enchanted’s box. When he next looked, Blaze had his arm round Kathleen’s shoulders and seemed to be talking to her most confidentially. The next time he looked, which he found he had to do, Kathleen had her hand in Blaze’s and was walking away with him towards the paddocks.

  ‘Don’t they make a pretty couple?’ Maureen remarked, handing him some letters to sign. ‘They’re both of them very good-looking.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Rory wondered, feigning ignorance. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Kathleen and your new rider fellow.’

  ‘Do they? I wouldn’t know,’ Rory said, glancing over the papers he’d just been given. ‘I was looking at the skies. Seeing what the weather’s doing.’

  ‘Don’t forget your appointment with your bank manager,’ Maureen said, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. ‘You’ve less than an hour.’

  It’s a race, Rory kept reminding himself as he drove into Salisbury. Or rather more specifically, it’s only a horse race. And anything can happen in a horse race, and usually does.

  But however much he tried to convince himself that he must treat the outcome of tomorrow’s race the same way he had seen his father react to racing’s ups and downs – treating both impostors just the same, in the words of Anthony’s favourite poem – he could not escape the feeling that he might just have a horse that was capable of winning what looked like a decent novice chase. There wasn’t really another animal on the yard about which he could say the same; they were all either exposed handicappers that were capable of running a good sort of race off the right weight in moderate company, or horses that had been weeded out from some smart yard or other as being simply not up to their elevated standards, or promising moderately bred novices such as Alone At Last. There was nothing that excited him the way The Enchanted had done the morning he had got his first glimpse of what this youngster might be able to do. The times he could remember being excited racing were those rare and memorable occasions when along with other racegoers he had witnessed a horse with that special magic – the ability to find another gear and leave its fellow competitors stone cold. Most times, like everyone else, he enjoyed watching good honest horses racing courageously over stiff fences on a fair course. That was the nature of the sport as it was the nature of everything in life. What stopped people in their tracks, what made the hair stand up on their necks, what made them gasp, tingle or become speechless, was witnessing something not just out of the ordinary but quite extraordinary, and however much Rory tried to dismiss the notion, he found he was unable to stop believing that the result of tomorrow’s race might actually prove to be a turning point in the fortunes of the yard.

  More than anything he wanted this to be so, not for himself but for his father.

  If it happens, he told himself as he walked towards the bank. If and only if it happens, this might just be the tonic you need, Pop.

  ‘I quite understand your position, Mr Rawlins,’ the bank manager told him. ‘And please don’t think I am not sympathetic to it.’

  ‘Yes, well, you might be, Mr Hawkins,’ Rory replied, ‘but certainly not the letter from the bank. The bank’s letter to my father was most certainly not, not at all. I mean, the bank must know that he’s lying in hospital not just seriously ill but he’s there fighting for his life, and instead of that – that is, instead of giving everyone a little more time here, the bank is saying it feels it must call in the loan.’

  ‘This is simply bank policy, Mr Rawlins. It is nothing to do with me personally. I have always done my best to find ways of helping your father and his racing business.’

  ‘And in return you’ve had some more than good information, at least so my father told me, Mr Hawkins.’

  ‘That is neither here nor there, Mr Rawlins,’ the bank manager replied after quietly clearing his throat. ‘All I am trying to point out is that these orders come from head office, not from me personally.’

  ‘Yes, fine – but can’t you put in a plea for special consideration?’

  ‘I have done that, believe me. But while my superiors are naturally sympathetic it must be remembered that this is a bank, not some form of charitable institution.’

  ‘So exactly how long do we have before you come and take the fixtures and fittings, then?’

  ‘It certainly won’t come to that, rest assured, Mr Rawlins.’

  ‘You mean you’ll accept an IOU.’

  ‘I think we already have that in some form or another, Mr Rawlins. But to answer your question properly, as to how long we can extend the current overdraft facility on the yard itself, I would say we shall be looking at a time scale of four weeks.’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, because I’ve forgotten … How much exactly does the overdraft stand at?’

  The manager turned the sheet of paper in front of him round so that Rory might be able to read it and pushed it towards him.

  When he saw the figures, Rory froze inside. Whatever happened tomorrow or indeed in the next month or even the next six months, there was no way he was going to be able to find the funds to repay the debt his father had run up on the business.

  ‘What about the farm?’ Rory asked, when he had got his inner breath back. ‘Leaving the racing business aside, if we can – or may— I mean, the farm itself must have a considerable value. More than considerable.’

  ‘Indeed so, Mr Rawlins. And while the bank would have been quite content to take that as collateral—’

  ‘Would have been happy?’ Rory interrupted, frowning. ‘Would have been?’

  ‘Your father resolutely refused to let us have a charge on the farm in return for what is owed on the racing business. He has consistently maintained that he would rather go to prison than put the farm at risk and thus his family, meaning you in particular.’

  Stopped in his tracks momentarily, since he had never realised this had been his father’s priority, Rory attempted to marshal his thoughts.

  ‘There must be some way we can use the farm now, isn’t there?’ he said. ‘After all, look, if I am to inherit it—’

  ‘Which I understand is exactly the case, Mr Rawlins.’

  ‘Can’t we somehow use it as security? I mean, if the worst comes to the worst—’

  ‘I’m very much afrai
d that’s exactly what would have to happen,’ the manager replied, averting his gaze. ‘If sadly your father were to—’

  ‘No,’ Rory said quickly and firmly. ‘Come on now – there just has to be some other way.’

  ‘The only other way would be for you to get your father to allow the bank to take a charge on the farm now. That way the loan would be permitted to stand, for a while anyway. But given your father’s condition—’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly ask him to do that, not now!’ Rory said. ‘If he’s been that determined to avoid putting the farm up, then to try to persuade him to change his mind now – I mean, can you imagine? For crying out loud, in his condition? No, I really couldn’t do that. Really.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Oh, no – sorry, but I don’t think you do,’ Rory said, beginning to get angry. ‘What you want is either to take possession of the stables and everything to do with it, or else – or else you want my father to die, isn’t that right? You would rather he died so that I can sign the other part of his life’s work over to you – in order to wipe out a debt that compared with what the banks are losing left right and centre with their totally ill-advised investments—’

  ‘I think that’s enough, Mr Rawlins, don’t you?’

  ‘No I do not, Mr Hawkins. Enough? No, this is far from enough, Mr Hawkins. The money the banks are losing and lending quite indiscriminatingly overseas? That money is their customers’ money, right? But in order to plug the holes in your boat—’

  ‘I really do feel this interview has come to a close, thank you.’

  ‘In order to try to balance your books,’ Rory continued, ‘what do you do? You start calling in every measly little overdraft you can find! And by doing so – by so doing—’