‘It is not a wh-whim,’ Rory said, almost crossly. ‘I just don’t happen to think you should go, that’s all. That’s all there is to it. All right?’
‘Because?’ Kathleen wondered, widening her eyes at him.
‘Because – because of the horse, that’s what!’ Rory retorted. ‘Because of the Gold Cup! You know he’s running in the Gold Cup—’
‘I didn’t know for definite, Mr Rawlins.’
‘Well he is. It’s definite – and I’m s-sorry for shouting. It’s just that I got a bit – I was a bit thrown when I realised you’d gone and that they want to run him definitely in the Gold Cup and so I thought if anyone should be there – that is, if anyone shouldn’t be here – no, I mean if anyone should – if anyone should be here then that someone would be yer-yeryer—’ Rory came to a standstill, word-bound, staring back into the pair of green eyes that were staring so solemnly at him.
‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ Rory said. ‘You l-looked.’ He smiled at her while frowning at the same time.
‘OK,’ Kathleen said, clasping her hands behind her and nodding. ‘That seems only sensible. In that case, ’tis just as well I missed the train.’
‘Yes,’ Rory agreed, his frown deepening. ‘’Tis just as well you did.’
Shortly after teatime on the same day, Alice’s telephone rang.
‘Harry?’ she said in wonder. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I got your number from Rory,’ Harry replied. ‘I hope that was all right?’
‘Well, of course,’ Alice replied. ‘And congratulations. I just watched your horse winning. Well done. He won jolly easily.’
‘Thank you. I’d sort of hoped you might be there – except when I saw the runners, I thought no chance.’
‘I think we’re headed for Devon and Exeter next. And that’ll probably be his last race.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Harry sounded startled. ‘You don’t mean for the season, surely?’
‘Oh, no.’ Alice laughed. ‘No, of course not. I meant before Cheltenham.’
‘You’re really intending to run there, then?’
‘It rather depends on how we do at Devon, I think. Why? Don’t you think we should? You sounded doubtful.’
‘My, Alice,’ Harry replied, ‘that really wouldn’t be my place, and anyway it’s absolutely not what I’m thinking. I think if you want to go run, so you should. Your horse has earned a place in the line-up, whatever they say.’
‘You’ve heard, have you?’ Alice asked. ‘Even the other side of the pond, as you call it? A lot of the wiseacres are saying the race is no place for novices.’
‘Don’t listen to them. Listen to your trainer and to yourselves. He’s your horse, and you run him where you like. It’s a sport, not a religion.’
‘Thank you, Harry. I shall treasure that advice. And what about you? Cheltenham or Aintree?’
‘Tell you what,’ Harry replied, ‘why don’t we discuss that over lunch? Or even dinner? I’m coming down to London tonight to stay for a couple of days. I would love it if you came out for a meal.’
‘You would?’ Alice was unable to stop the catch in her breath.
‘I really would. But if it’s too much of a slog, you know – for you to get up to town – I don’t mind a day out in the country.’
‘No, Harry.’
‘Please don’t say no, Alice.’
‘No, Harry,’ Alice assured him. ‘I wasn’t going to say no. At least not to you. I was about to say no don’t worry about coming down here. I’d actually like a day in London. I have some things to do.’
‘Lunch or dinner?’
‘I think dinner.’
‘Better by the minute. I’m staying at Claridges. Let’s meet in the bar at around eight tomorrow, OK?’
‘Of course. I shall be there.’
Before she left to go to London to meet Harry, Alice wrote two brief but affectionate notes to both her children, enclosed the two vouchers that she had received that morning in the post and then drove into the village to send the letters recorded delivery. After that she drove to the station, parked her car and caught the train to Waterloo.
From Waterloo she took a taxi to Sloane Square, spent an hour shopping at Peter Jones, had her hair done, checked into a small hotel off Lower Sloane Street that offered special rates for country visitors, changed into her new clothes, then took a taxi to Mayfair, arriving at one minute to eight o’clock. Harry was waiting for her in the bar, dressed in an immaculate dark suit, handmade white shirt and dark red silk tie. He stood, took her hand as if to shake it, and then decided to kiss it instead.
‘My. You look beautiful.’
‘And you look very handsome.’
‘A mutual admiration society it is, then.’
Offering her a chair, he asked her if champagne would be all right, and after Alice had accepted the offer he sat down opposite her, started to speak and promptly fell to silence. As they waited for their champagne to arrive, neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other and after a moment smiled. Finally Harry breathed in deeply, and shook his head slowly, while Alice smiled once more and putting her hands together leaned forward slightly to speak to him.
‘Don’t let’s waste time at our age, Harry,’ she said. ‘I think I feel exactly the way you do.’
‘You do?’ Harry’s eyes widened. ‘You really think so?’
‘Absolutely,’ Alice replied with a nod of her head. ‘And if I’m right, if that’s the case, we don’t have to say another thing. All we have to do is enjoy ourselves.’
Which is exactly what they both did, and after a fine dinner and long and wonderful conversation, rather than take a taxi Alice and Harry decided to take a walk on what was a fine, albeit frosty, winter night, the two of them strolling arm in arm out into Park Lane, down round Hyde Park Corner and into the Brompton Road, stopping now and then to look into the brightly lit shop windows in Knightsbridge, before cutting down the side of Harrods to Alice’s small hotel, where Harry wished her a very good night, kissed her once, but only briefly, and then with a wave of his hand walked all the way back to his own hotel.
When they all arrived at Devon and Exeter racecourse, set high on Haldon Hill, the rumours were of abandonment, so heavy was the mist that enveloped the track.
‘It’s always like this,’ Rory said, taking them all to the bar. ‘Nearly always. This course is famous for its mists and fogs, as well as for being the longest oval track in the country.’
‘I don’t understand, Rory,’ Alice said. ‘How can one track be longer than the others when the races are the same length – no, I see what you mean.’ She laughed. ‘You mean longest all the way round.’
‘With most other tracks – well, all other tracks really –’ Rory replied, ‘for a three-mile chase you have to go round at least twice, sometimes near enough three times. But here – if you look at your racecard, the three-mile chase starts here …’ Rory pointed out the spot on a map on the card. ‘The circuit being two miles, you just go round one and a half times, and although it looks flat there’s quite a steep pull up the back straight, which at the moment you can’t see at all, so it calls for not only speed but stamina.’
Half an hour later a breeze got up and began to shift the fret that had all but obliterated the course, and after a further short delay it was announced that racing would go ahead.
By the time they got to the three-mile chase in which The Enchanted was running, the mist had thickened again, making it once more impossible to make out what was happening on the far side of the course. Even so, the runners went to post, with The Enchanted second favourite at five to two, the market leader being another of the season’s most promising novices, an athletic-looking grey called Mossman, from the same yard as County Gent. Once off, and past the stands for the first time, the field of ten runners disappeared into the mist, the commentary petered out, and nothing more was heard or seen of the action until the horses reappeared coming off the bend on the home tu
rn to head for the two fences in the straight.
There were three horses in a line, well clear of the rest of the field, which remained invisible, but at first the race reader was unable to call them with any certainty, finally naming them as Mossman, Pondarosa and Penny Off.
‘Where’s Boyo?’ Lynne cried, turning to Grenville. ‘Where’s our horse gone?’
‘What do you mean?’ Alice cried from behind Rory’s back, where, as usual, she was hiding. ‘What do you mean, where is he?’
‘Something must have happened out in the country,’ Grenville said, adjusting his race glasses in an attempt to get a better and more focused view. ‘Except – wait a minute …’
‘And as they land after the second last it’s still Mossman in the lead, but only just, and now with Pondarosa beaten and dropping back it’s Penny Off who’s laying down the challenge – except …’
‘Except that isn’t Penny Off,’ Grenville cried.
‘Except it isn’t Penny Off!’ the commentator agreed. ‘My mistake – it’s The Enchanted!’
‘It’s Boyo!’ Lynne cried joyfully. ‘Come on, Boyo! Come on, our little horse!’
‘Yes, it’s not Penny Off, it’s The Enchanted who’s now laying down a serious challenge to the favourite – and on the run to the last there’s nothing in it between Mossman and The Enchanted – whose rider Blaze Molloy appears still to have a double handful—’
‘Come on, Boyo!’ Alice yelled from behind Rory.
‘Come on, The Enchanted!’ Grenville shouted. ‘Come on, Boyo! Go for it!’
‘And as they jump the last it’s the two market leaders neck and neck,’ the commentator called. ‘But as they land Mossman pecks, but it’s too late anyway because The Enchanted has landed flying – and as they run from the fence The Enchanted has already opened up a two-length lead …’
‘Come on, Boyo!’ his owners shouted, Lynne jumping up and down as always, and Alice now daring to peep out from her hiding place. ‘Come on, the little horse!’
‘It’s OK,’ Rory managed to say, the first words he had spoken since the horses had disappeared into the fog. ‘He’s home and hosed.’
‘And it’s The Enchanted who is first past the post,’ the commentator announced, ‘by what looks like a good five or maybe six lengths, with a very tired Mossman just hanging on to second from what looks like an equally exhausted Penny Off.’
‘First number five, The Enchanted,’ came the official announcement. ‘Second number three, Mossman, and third number four, Penny Off.’
‘If you want to know, guv’nor,’ Blaze said after he had hopped off the horse in the winners’ enclosure, ‘don’t ask me, because you weren’t the only ones who couldn’t see a thing.’ Blaze looked round him in case the journalists had arrived yet, but seeing they were still alone except for the owners the jockey dropped his voice and continued, ‘We’d have won by a street if we hadn’t been all but knocked out of it – four from home, I reckon it was. Don’t ask me which horse it was either, because I hardly saw it, but Jeeze – it barged right into us and oh so nearly carried us out. I had to take a huge hook, but this little horse is something else. We were into the bottom of the fence but he still managed to pick up and jump it – no, fly it. But whichever horse it was took two others out, and one of them had the unholiest of falls. I hope to God he’s all right.’
With a tip to his cap Blaze was gone to weigh in, the thanks of the owners ringing in his ears.
‘Wonder which horse it was? I didn’t see the Rampton horse come in. But then we’re never going to be any the wiser, since nobody could possibly have seen anything that happened in the back straight any-old-how.’
‘There’s a horse coming back now,’ Grenville pointed out. ‘Someone caught him over there. By the last fence.’
They all watched through their binoculars as the loose horse was brought in, minus its saddle but otherwise seemingly unharmed, unlike, they soon discovered, its trainer, none other than Eddie Rampton, who had all but broken a blood vessel himself in his rage.
‘You!’ he yelled, stomping across the paddock with a thick finger pointed at Rory. ‘You. Rawlins or whatever your name is!’
‘Sorry? Are you talking to me, Mr Rampton?’ Rory wondered, pulling a help-me face.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Rampton continued, pushing Grenville, who had stepped in front of Rory, out of his way. ‘Or rather what does that idiot of a boy you allow to ride your horses think he’s playing at? Eh?’
‘Matter of fact your guess is as good as mine, Mr Rampton,’ Rory replied, retreating from the thick finger that was attempting to stab him in the chest. ‘Or rather it’s probably a lot more creative.’
‘Don’t you get fancy with me, Rawlins,’ Rampton warned him. ‘Your boy apprentice rode my horse off out there! I’ve just heard it all from my jock!’
‘Ah yes, Kevin Billings, right?’ Rory asked, consulting his card with a studied frown. ‘Yes, I gather he always has a tale to tell.’
‘I said don’t get fancy with me, d’you hear?’ Rampton roared, attracting the attention of several racegoers. ‘Your blasted learner jockey – for want of a better word – rode my horse off! Cut right across him five from home and ran my horse out! And I’ll tell you something else, shall I? We were cantering all over your stupid little horse! And furthermore it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he and his idiot pilot missed out a couple in the back straight!’
‘Careful what you say, Mr Rampton,’ Grenville said, in his gravest voice. ‘I happen to be a lawyer.’
Eddie Rampton spun round and stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like an oversize carp’s at feeding time.
‘We’ll soon see about that.’
‘Yes, we no doubt will,’ Grenville replied. ‘Whatever that may mean.’
‘I’m off to see the stewards,’ Rampton shouted. ‘I am off to lodge a formal complaint! You just wait, Rawlins! You haven’t heard the last of this yet!’
‘I have a feeling we might have,’ Rory turned to his startled owners. ‘The patrol cameras out there won’t have been able to pick up much, you see, but if they have, I bet they’ll find we’re completely in the clear. And if they haven’t been able to pick anything up then old Eddie won’t have a leg to stand on.’
‘Thank heavens he didn’t shout like that at me,’ Constance sighed from under her large hat. ‘I might have been forced to teach him a lesson.’
In the event, the stewards threw out Eddie Rampton’s complaint without even calling in any jockeys, since the far-seeing senior steward had positioned several of his staff at all the fences in the back straight to keep an eye on things in view of the lack of visibility and two of them had already reported an incident at the fifth fence from home where it appeared the horse trained by Eddie Rampton and ridden by Kevin Billings had been seen to dive and cut across the horse on its outside, the horse believed to be The Enchanted. The only thing the witnesses had to add to their official report was a commendation to the young jockey riding The Enchanted for managing his horse so well at the fence in question that an accident had unquestionably been avoided.
‘Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this, Rawlins,’ a furious Eddie Rampton warned Rory later in the car park when he passed him.
‘On the contrary, Mr Rampton,’ Grenville replied, stepping in front of Rory. ‘If you do not desist, you can expect a formal letter of complaint from my client. I hope that is understood. Good afternoon to you.’
‘Don’t you just love that? “Good afternoon, to you!”’ Lynne laughed, catching at Grenville’s arm. ‘Talk about old-fashioned cool.’
The call Alice had been expecting came that evening when she got back from the races.
‘Mum?’ Georgina said down the telephone. ‘Mum – please – what is this?’
‘What is what, dear?’ Alice enquired. ‘I can’t see down the telephone.’
‘This – this thing that’s arrived in the post. From some book
-maker or other. I don’t want to open a bookmaker’s account, thank you.’
‘It isn’t a bookmaker’s account, Georgie. If you look properly—’
‘Mum?’ Georgina interrupted. ‘There is this thing that says quite clearly on the top the name of a well-known bookmaker. OK?’
‘Yes. And what else does it say?’
‘I really don’t know. I have only just got in from a seriously exhausting day – I’ve got Will in bed with a sore throat and I think Finty is now sickening for it, Joe has got problems at work, and I come home and find this. This bookmaker’s thing.’
‘Your tone seems to have changed, Georgie.’ Alice smiled to herself. ‘Have you noticed something?’
‘I don’t understand, Mum,’ Georgina returned, her tone indeed changed. ‘It seems to be some sort of betting slip. For rather a lot of money.’
‘That’s exactly what it is, darling.’
‘Why? What’s this about? Do you want us to hang on to this for you for safe keeping or something?’
‘Why don’t you just read the note I wrote? In fact if you’d read the note first instead of just grabbing the telephone …’
‘Mum?’ All at once her daughter sounded just how she used to sound, before she had decided life was turning against her. ‘Mum, I really don’t understand. This is for a thousand pounds.’
‘No, it’s not, not really,’ Alice explained. ‘It’s not worth a thing, unless the horse wins, which probably won’t happen. It’s what’s called an ante-post voucher.’
‘For a thousand pounds?’
‘Yes,’ was all Alice could think of to say. She had been about to go into a long explanation of the whys and wherefores, but had quickly thought better of it. The deed had been done and now everyone concerned just had to go along with it.
‘I still don’t understand, Mum.’ The edge was beginning to creep back into Georgina’s voice, and, hearing it, Alice took a long, steady and deep breath. ‘No, OK, I think I do. You have bet a thousand pounds on your horse? A thousand pounds?’
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