As for his affairs of the heart, he would really have to stop mooning about like some lovesick schoolboy and simply realise that Miss Kathleen Flanagan was spoken for, and that even if she was not he could think of not one good reason why he should ever be of the slightest interest to her. Besides, even if her heart did not fully belong to Mr Blaze Molloy, it was certainly given long ago to the little horse who was now the star of the yard, and not for one second did Rory imagine that even were Kathleen free she would find either time or reason to take the very slightest of interests in someone as incompetent and as diffident as he.
‘All we want to know is what we’re meant to do about Christmas, Mum,’ Georgina was saying on the telephone. ‘It’s not a lot to ask.’
Alice felt like reminding her daughter what they and everyone else were meant to do at Christmas, but resisted the temptation.
‘I’m not sure what I shall be doing yet, Georgie,’ she replied instead. ‘Our horse is meant to be running somewhere on Boxing Day, so I’m not making any hard and fast plans till we know where.’
‘It’s not exactly as if we’re seeing a lot of you at the moment,’ Georgina continued inexorably.
‘I know, love, but what with moving and everything … Once spring comes, and summer, then you must all come down.’
‘But what about Christmas, Mum?’
‘You’re more than welcome to come down here, I told you that.’
‘All of us? Plus Christian and his new girlfriend?’
‘He’s got a new girlfriend?’
‘Not in touch, then?’ Georgina sighed. ‘Yes, he’s got a new girlfriend who if anything is even more frightful than the last one – and they are an item. Yes? So all of us coming down would be a little out of the question? In your cottage, Mum? Do get a little bit real. No, much the best if you come up here to Richmond.’
‘When I know where the horse is running, and if he is—’
‘I hear he won again,’ Georgina cut in. ‘Thanks for telling us.’
‘I didn’t know he was going to win!’ Alice laughed. ‘And can you imagine if he hadn’t won? And I’d told you to back him? Can you imagine?’
‘As it happened Joe backed him, but at pretty miserable odds.’
‘He was favourite, darling. Anyway. Let’s discuss this as soon as I know my plans this end.’
‘Mum?’
‘Georgina?’
‘Nothing.’
But Alice was getting stronger. She still managed to hang up before her daughter.
Rory and Maureen had just finished entering The Enchanted up for several good-looking races on the great feast of National Hunt racing otherwise known as Boxing Day, when the telephone rang.
‘Noel,’ Maureen said, holding the receiver out to Rory.
‘Noel? I thought he was meant to call yesterday,’ Rory said with a frown, taking the phone. ‘Noel?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry for the delay, Rory,’ his vet said on the other end of the line. ‘We all wanted to be absolutely sure before we made any pronouncement, but the feed was definitely tampered with, no doubt at all.’
‘Right. Really? With what, Noel?’
‘Steroids,’ his vet told him. ‘There are definite traces of steroids in the food, and if anyone had gone on using this food – and why the hell shouldn’t they? – there’d have been enough there to show up in any dope test.’
‘Which of course means …’ Rory said, trying to remember the exact rules.
‘Automatic disqualification, Rory, and not just from any new race,’ Noel reminded him, ‘but from any races recently won.’
‘Nice,’ Rory said. ‘End of the horse and nice for the yard. We can’t get any winners, so we give them steroids.’
‘It’s a bit of an amateur plan,’ Noel said. ‘Yet one that just might have worked. There are a lot of yards where this sort of thing could well go unnoticed until too late.’
‘One month’s supply of fodder. And by the time the change in corn merchant is noticed, it could well be too late. The race could have been run.’
‘That’s possibly a very good horse you have there, Rory. So be vigilant.’
‘As of now I am riding shotgun, Noel.’
From then on security became of paramount importance. Kathleen, Teddy and Rory took it in turns to sit on watch during the nights, and no one was allowed into the yard without advance permission. All gates were kept locked and Dunkum roamed freely in the role of watchdog.
‘He might be as kind as a saint,’ Rory told Kathleen, ‘but the bark is quite off-putting.’
‘What else can go wrong, Mr Rawlins? Whoever it is, they’re up to right mischief, I’d say.’
‘We’ve hardly caned the bookies,’ Rory replied. ‘His first race he was any price. If you ask me, the money that shortened his odds all came from your homeland.’
‘Tell me something that would surprise me.’
‘And all right – he was favourite for his second race, but it was hardly a hot betting race. No, this is about something else altogether.’
Oddly enough, Rory might have put two and two together and made a decent stab at four had he read the racing papers more carefully that morning instead of getting some of the more important news second-hand from Maureen when he returned to his office.
‘There’s still plenty of it about,’ Maureen commented, looking up from the Sporting Life she was reading at her desk. ‘The favourite for the King George, My Pal Joey? He’s been sold for what they call an undisclosed sum.’
Rory stopped and looked at his secretary, who was back to reading the paper again, sticky bun in hand and a mug of coffee beside her.
‘Who’d want to sell a horse like that?’
‘One of those offers you can’t refuse, maybe?’
‘He’s also ante-post favourite for the Gold Cup,’ Rory said. ‘Who’d sell a horse like that? Mind you – yes. Yes, there were rumours that the present owner wasn’t at all well. So maybe … no, I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘I still don’t get it. Think I’ll go and see what the old man makes of it.’
‘“The deal was brokered by bloodstock agent Roddy Downes,”’ Maureen read, ‘“on behalf of Mr G. Fortune.” As in G for good, I imagine.’
But when she looked up Rory had already gone.
There was more bad news on Christmas Eve. When Rory came down to the yard at first light he found an agitated Kathleen waiting for him.
‘Not the horse?’ he asked quickly, seeing the expression on her face. ‘Please tell me there’s nothing wrong with the horse.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the horse, it’s all right, Mr Rawlins,’ Kathleen assured him. ‘But there’s plenty wrong with his jockey.’
Blaze had been set upon. It was as simple as that and yet just as baffling. Kathleen, Teddy, Teddy’s girlfriend Julie and Blaze had gone as usual for a drink at the local after evening stables, a safe and friendly pub that was even more so than usual because of the time of year. Everyone had been full of peace and goodwill towards their fellow men right up until the moment the three from Fulford Farm and Julie wished everyone a Merry Christmas and walked out into a starlit night, whereupon three men in balaclavas and anoraks had set about Blaze, and only Blaze. Teddy, who was brave but only a lightweight, was soon dealt with, felled by a single punch, leaving Kathleen and Julie to scream blue murder as the hoodlums went to work on Blaze, but because everyone was singing ‘Hark The Herald Angels Sing’ at full volume in the bar, no one heard their shouts for help.
Blaze could look after himself but only up to a point, and by the time Kathleen had run back into the bar and brought half a dozen of their racing friends rushing out to help, Blaze was on the ground and being given a serious kicking. The cavalry soon saw the thugs off and then the soberest among them drove Blaze to Salisbury General Hospital, where they found he had a split lip, a broken nose, and severe bruising to the ribs and back where he had been kicked. When Kathleen had left to come back to the farm Blaze was still wait
ing to be X-rayed.
‘There’d been no sign of bother inside the pub?’ Rory asked.
‘Not a bit of it, Mr Rawlins,’ Kathleen told him. ‘It had been the very best of nights. They were lying in wait outside, pure and simple. Waiting to do him over. But why? Everyone loves Blaze. You couldn’t meet a sweeter man.’
‘Yes,’ Rory said, preferring to avoid the subject of Blaze’s exemplary character and concentrate on the aftermath of the affray. ‘He’s not going to be fit to ride Boxing Day, then.’
‘Now we don’t know that yet, Mr Rawlins,’ Kathleen said quickly, with obvious concern. ‘He’s as tough as old boots, Blaze, and if he can ride, sure he will, he will.’
‘There are other jockeys, Kathleen.’
‘You said yourself – I heard you, Mr Rawlins, talking to Maureen – what a lottery getting a jockey was on Boxing Day. How many meetings are there?’
‘Far too many,’ Rory retorted, knowing that all the decent jockeys would have long been booked for the best rides over the holiday.
‘You don’t want to go trusting some untried lad on Boyo, I know you don’t,’ Kathleen persisted. ‘I’m sure Blaze will be fine, Mr Rawlins. He has a whole day to recover.’
‘I won’t put him up if there’s any doubt about his fitness, Kathleen,’ Rory said. ‘I’d rather not run the horse.’
‘But you have to!’ Kathleen insisted, before immediately recovering herself. ‘I mean, the poor owners, Mr Rawlins. They’d be mortally disappointed, so they would.’
‘That’s not why you said I have to run him.’
‘That’s all I meant.’
‘Hmm.’ Rory looked at her, then shook his head. ‘We’ll wait and see how the lad is,’ he decided. ‘Your precious Blaze.’
As soon as he said it he knew he shouldn’t have, since it sounded churlish and childish even to his own ears. Kathleen said nothing. Nor did she smile; nor did she frown.
‘Thank you, Mr Rawlins,’ was all she said, at last, before hurrying off to do her duties.
When Blaze appeared in the yard the next day, he looked as though he’d been acting as a punchbag for a heavyweight contender. Besides a thick lip he had two black eyes, and his nose, although apparently mercifully not broken after all, was heavily strapped across the bridge. In spite of his battering, however, he was his usual jaunty self, although he must have been feeling a long way from good.
‘You’re not expecting to ride tomorrow, are you?’ Rory said the moment he saw him. ‘Surely not.’
‘I am indeed, guv’nor,’ Blaze replied. ‘This is not as bad as it looks. Believe me.’
‘But how does it feel? That’s the important thing,’ Rory said. ‘If you’ve any cracked ribs—’
‘Devil the one. I’m a bit black and blue, but sure I’m all in one piece.’
‘I think I’d rather put someone else up, even so. Just in case.’
‘Tell you what, boss,’ Blaze said, following him across the yard. ‘See how I do riding work this morning. Put me up on old Jack since he’s not running over the holiday, and I’ll give him a blast. The both of us will know after that, particularly if you put Kathleen up beside me. She’ll tell you right enough.’
‘Isn’t she a little biased?’ Rory said sarcastically, then immediately kicked himself.
‘In favour of the horse, Mr Rawlins,’ Blaze said with the best smile he could manage through his swollen lips. ‘She won’t let me near him if she thinks I’m not up to him.’
So to the gallops they all went and Blaze passed the test with flying colours, giving Jack such a good ride he won the gallop. Afterwards Rory insisted on Blaze’s schooling one of the younger horses over the practice fences to make sure he was as confident jumping at racing pace as he was just galloping, and again there seemed to be no visible chink in his physical armour. Finally, since by chance Dan had dropped in to have a Christmas Day drink with Anthony and to check up on his well-being, Rory got their doctor friend to give Blaze a quick physical to make sure he really was fit enough mentally as well as physically to ride.
‘He might not be a very pretty sight at the moment, Rory,’ Dan told him when he had finished his examination. ‘But there’s absolutely nothing to make you think he can’t ride the horse. He’s a very strong and very fit young man, which is probably how he walked away relatively unscathed.’
‘OK, buster,’ Rory told Blaze in the yard. ‘You’re on. Now go away and have a quiet – and I mean quiet – Christmas Day. And a happy one.’
‘Happy Christmas to you as well, boss,’ a delighted Blaze returned. ‘And God bless you.’
Rory watched as Blaze hurried off to find Kathleen to tell her the news. She was just finishing grooming Boyo, and after she had put her box of brushes and combs away in the tack room Rory saw her making for Blaze’s car. He’d thought of asking her to have Christmas lunch with himself and Anthony, but had not, because Kathleen had volunteered the information that Blaze and she had been invited to spend Christmas Day with Teddy and Julie at Teddy’s parents’, so once he was sure all the horses were fed and watered he took himself back into the house to have his Christmas lunch with his father.
In the end, Alice had gone up to London to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Georgina, Joe, Christian and the new girlfriend, Sofia, at Georgina and Joe’s house in Richmond. Her daughter and she cooked lunch on Christmas Day and the whole event passed off happily and peacefully, with no anxieties being aired, and no quarrels being picked between brother and sister as they usually were when all the family were gathered. The only bone of contention arose when Alice was helping Georgina clear up the debris of lunch and tea, while the men were doing their best to dispose of the endless amount of decorative wrapping paper and cardboard boxes that now littered the sitting room.
Somehow, right out of the blue and without prompting, Georgina had managed to turn the conversation to her greatest ongoing preoccupation, the matter of her children’s school fees. There was no direct request for help, just a long conversation full of hints and bewilderment.
‘I just don’t know what we’re going to do, Mum,’ she kept saying. ‘Joe ran up the latest projections on the cost of privately educating two children the other day and it was horrific. I just don’t know what we’re going to do.’
‘You could send them to state schools, Georgie,’ Alice said, carefully drying the set of cut-glass Waterford wine glasses she and Alex had given their daughter as one of her wedding presents. ‘You were saying the other day that there are some good state schools in this area.’
‘There were, Mum,’ Georgina sighed. ‘You should see them now. They are huge, and it’s pretty obvious children like ours are not particularly welcome. Anyway, the feeling’s quite mutual really, after what I’ve been hearing about what goes on in these places. Last week one of the teachers was so terrified by her class that she barricaded herself in her office and wouldn’t come out.’
‘Then in that case you’re going to have to find schools you can afford,’ Alice said, with perfectly good common sense. ‘Other people manage, so I suppose you and Joe are going to have to do the same.’
‘Great,’ Georgina replied. ‘While you go and blow all the money Dad earned doing a job that finally killed him on some stupid racehorse.’
‘That’s enough, Georgina dear,’ Alice said, folding up her tea towel now she had finished drying up. ‘I don’t think this is the sort of conversation we should be having, particularly today of all days.’
‘When else are we going to have it?’ Georgina demanded. ‘We don’t see anything of you nowadays.’
‘Georgina.’
‘Do stop calling me Georgina.’
‘I don’t see why. It’s the name we christened you.’
‘You only call me that when you’re cross.’
‘So you’re forever telling me,’ Alice replied. ‘But let’s just get one thing straight, shall we? I have only just moved to the country. I’m hardly even settled in. When I am, then
from the spring onwards we can see as much – or as little – as we like of each other. And as for blowing all the money you say your father earned, for your information your father and I always saw the money he earned as being our money – not his, ours. That was your father’s idea. As it was that when … when he was gone, any money he left me should be mine to do with as I pleased. We used to joke about it. He was always telling me to shock everyone by going on a round-the-world cruise, or buying a fast car, or a wardrobe of brand-new clothes – Anything you like, Alice, he used to say. But for God’s sake, Alice, make sure you enjoy the rest of your life, because you’ve earned it. All you’ve done all your life, he’d say, is work, work, work – for me, and for the kids, so you just promise me you’ll do what you like, and have a good time.’
‘Yes,’ Georgina said, her mouth tightening. ‘But that – that was just Dad. The last thing Dad would really have wanted was to see you squandering all his hard-earned on a racehorse.’
‘You know that for a fact, do you?’ Alice queried. ‘I see. Then all I can say is that obviously you knew your father a lot better than I did.’
She went to her room and quietly packed her things. She had intended to stay over until the morning, leave early to avoid the traffic and drive straight to the races. But all of a sudden she was filled with an enormous longing to return to her cosy little home in the west, to light a fire, open a good bottle of wine, and dream of what might or might not happen on Boxing Day. She waited till all was quiet downstairs, with the adults sleeping off the effects of their lunch and tea, and her grandchildren sitting mesmerised by some traditional Christmas Day movie, before stealing outside to put Sammy and her belongings in the car. Then she wished everyone a fond but quick goodbye, resisted all protests against her leaving already, and drove off into the peaceful Christmas night.
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