by Gene
A gust of icy wind knifed into him, bringing him down from the high that had gripped him. Suddenly he felt weary. He spat out the lifeless cud of 9
gum that he had chewed throughout the whole operation. Flames were racing up the curtain now.
Time to go.
Chapter One
30 November, 2001
Pippa Hutchison eyed her brother surreptitiously as she drove west. He was unnaturally pale, the skin drawn tight over the bones of his face. His thick coffee-coloured hair had been clumsily shorn, making him appear even younger than his twenty-one years - until you looked into his eyes.
His once-open gaze was guarded, the hazel light dimmed by recent painful experience. To Pippa, Jamie looked washed-out and weak - like a plant that's been shut up in a cupboard and forgotten. But what could you expect after eighteen months in prison?
She had not exactly thrived herself since Jamie had been locked away. She had ticked off every day of his sentence on a calendar and now the day of his release had arrived she was surprised how nervous she felt. Things had changed since he'd been inside and she wasn't sure how he was going to react.
Jamie caught her looking at him. He managed a smile but it didn't reach his eyes.
`Not going too fast for you, am I?' she said.
Almost the first thing he'd remarked on as they'd driven away from Her Majesty's Prison Garstone was the speed of the car. `Slow down, Pippa,'
he'd gasped and she'd pointed out they were only doing thirty. Ìs that all?
It seems like twice that.'
`Just wait till you get back on a quick horse,' she'd said, laughing, but he'd not joined in and she'd let it go. She'd eased off the gas, too, and driven like a granny for the next few miles.
The road was winding. Puddles were still holding at the edges courtesy of the overnight rain. So far it had been a typically damp November day.
10
Now, Jamie said, `Bet you're glad you don't have to make this journey again.'
Was she ever. Racehorse trainers were used to crossing the country day and night to get to meetings. Pippa's base in North Yorkshire was a fair distance from the big Flat tracks of the south and she logged many miles every year without complaint. But the fortnightly trip down the motorway and the long slog east below the Wash to Garstone was as gloomy a journey as she'd ever made. It would have been different in other circumstances, of course. But the anticipation of seeing her brother, the anxiety she felt at the state she might find him in and the depression of the return always left her drained. She didn't want to live through that again, or travel on the road that reminded her of it. Not that she would dream of saying so to Jamie.
Ìt wasn't that bad. Handy for Newmarket.' It was what she always said.
He smiled at her properly this time. `Bloody liar.'
Newmarket was many miles from Garstone. Everywhere was miles from Garstone. Pippa often wondered how visitors without a car managed. They must spend hours on trains and a fortune on the local taxis. It wasn't just the men serving time who were being punished.
She slowed at the approaching junction and kept heading west, avoiding the turn which led north to the motorway.
He looked at her in surprise. `Where are we going?'
`Somewhere you can see the sky and fill your lungs with fresh air.' She waited a beat. `But first we're going to Wolverhampton.'
The joke fell flat.
`Pippa, you're not taking me racing, are you?' She said nothing, just concentrated on the road. Ìt's too soon. I can't face anyone yet.'
`But you said you were going to help me out at the yard. You haven't changed your mind, have you?'
`No.,
'Then you're coming racing. Lonsdale Heights runs in the third. The sooner you put a few faces to names the better.'
He made no further protest but she could tell from the set of his jaw that he wasn't happy.
11
Tough. Though she loved her brother and had bottomless sympathy for his recent ordeal, he couldn't be allowed to duck out of things any more. As a child he'd got away with murder. Their mother had always let her little boy off the hook. Pippa, on the other hand, had always had to pay the price.
She was the elder, she should know better, Jamie was only a kid'.
This indulgence hadn't done him any favours. Leeds Crown Court hadn't considered him a kid when he'd pleaded guilty on a drink driving charge, and all his success as a jockey had counted for nothing. Though the death of fifteen-year-old Alan Kirkstall was not deemed to be murder, this was one accident whose consequences thèkid' could not avoid. Jamie had been sentenced to three years, which had come down to a year and a half on remission.
Pippa's resentment about the whole business still burned - she couldn't help it. Throughout his sentence she'd been the one on the outside trying to be a rock, keeping Jamie's morale up while ushering their mother through the swift and hideous progress of lung cancer.
Now her rancour touched on the one topic she had sworn to herself she would not raise on this supposedly joyful journey to freedom. `So,' she asked her brother, `have you got your memory back then?’ 'What?'
Maybe he was startled by the question or by her tone, which was sharp, pitched higher than she had intended. The accusing tone of the aggrieved elder sister.
`Do you still not remember the accident?'
She had not raised the issue in any of her prison visits. It would have been impossible in that crowded and undignified room. But she'd assumed he'd come to terms with his crime during his year and a half inside. For God's sake, he'd pleaded guilty! He must have owned up to himself.
He was a long time responding, as if he was searching within himself for the right answer. Or maybe he was just trying to think of the right way of putting it. `No, Pippa,' he said at last. Ì feel shame and remorse and regret.
But the truth is, I can't remember what actually happened.' She still didn't believe him.
Though regarded as one of the least attractive in the country, Jamie had a soft spot for Wolverhampton racecourse. He'd had his first winner there as a green apprentice of sixteen, squeezing home by a neck in a sprint on a 12
summer evening. He'd been so nervous beforehand that he'd spent most of the time in the toilet. He'd gone down to the start dazzled by the floodlights, his head in a spin. It was a miracle he'd even started, let alone finished. But once his mount was settled in the starting stalls, drawn on a lucky low number, he'd tuned out all his problems. He'd gunned up the inner like a speeding bullet and never saw another horse until he looked over his shoulder when he was past the post.
So, all things being equal, he'd have been happy to spend his first day of freedom at this urban track with its multi-tiered panoramic restaurant and all-weather surface that so offended the purists. But this course, like all the others where he'd once performed so successfully, belonged to a past now closed to him. Though it would surprise many, including Pippa without a doubt, he had not planned his return to racing while serving his time. The accident had changed everything. He'd not ridden in anger since the crash and he wondered if he still could. Racing had been the best thing in his life but maybe he deserved to lose it. A boy had died because of him. He couldn't just climb back into the saddle and carry on riding winners as if that had never happened.
But he was young. He had to do something with his life - that's what everyone told him. And he didn't know much else apart from horses. His mind was in turmoil as Pippa parked the car and he followed her towards the stands. At least they weren't heading to the weighing room. He wasn't looking forward to meeting his former colleagues. They'd showered him with letters after the trial and he'd not replied to one. Some guys had asked if they could visit him and he'd said no. Maybe now they'd forgotten him.
He hoped so - it was no less than he deserved. It was early, there was nearly an hour to go before the first race, but the lunchtime clientele were beginning to gather in the restaurant, eager to get the eating out of the way before the
serious business of the day.
`Where are we going?' he said to Pippa as they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a chipped wooden door.
She didn't reply but opened it and ushered him ahead.
The surprise was total. The small room was jammed with familiar faces, all smiling. Jockeys, stable staff, journalists. A cheer went up at 13
the sight of him. Champagne corks popped. He'd have run if he could but Pippa was right behind him, blocking his escape.
She must have known what he was thinking. Òut of my hands, I'm afraid,'
she whispered in his ear as a sandy-haired giant gripped him by the shoulders and shouted, `Welcome back, you little rascal!' and crushed him in a bear hug.
Jamie found himself grinning. He'd not seen his brother-in-law for some months and he'd missed him. Somehow Malcolm made him feel that everything was going to be all right after all.
The celebration didn't go on for long. These were working people and most had a busy afternoon ahead. The riders in the opening race were the first to leave. Among them was Malcolm's brother - half-brother, in fact -
who bore a striking resemblance to him: hair the colour of toast, square dimpled jaw and pale blue eyes. Richard, however, was built to a different scale, being almost a foot shorter. When Jamie and Richard had started riding, Malcolm was well known through his bloodstock agency, and the other jockeys had christened Richard `Little Mal'. Jamie knew how much Richard had hated it but he'd smiled and put up with it. It wasn't in his nature to seek conflict. Since Jamie had been off the scene Richard had established himself as one of the top jockeys in the country. In the past year he'd won the Two Thousand Guineas, the Coronation Cup and over a hundred other winners. Jamie doubted that anyone referred to Richard as
`Little Mal' these days.
Richard shook his hand energetically. Àre you OK?' he asked. `This must seem a bit strange.'
`Yeah.' What else could he say? It was weird to be surrounded by so many people from his previous life. Jamie forced himself to smile - he was out of the habit. Where he'd spent the last eighteen months it was asking for trouble if you went around with a grin on your face.
`You've been missed, you know. When are we going to see you back in the weighing-room?'
Jamie shrugged. Ì'm not sure what I'm going to do, Rich. I don't know that I can still ride. I think I've forgotten.'
Richard laughed. `No one forgets - especially not you.' He turned towards the door. Ì'll see you later. I want to introduce you to my fiancée.'
14
That was news. `Congratulations,' he called after Richard as he left the room.
`You didn't tell me Rich was getting married,' he said to Pippa ten minutes later as they made their way to the saddling boxes.
`Sorry. I thought I had.' `So who is she?'
`Some thin blonde girl with a rich daddy.'
Ànd?' She was striding ahead athletically, her thick dark curls obscuring her face. `Come on, Pippa, what's her name?'
She stopped abruptly and fixed him with her coal-black eyes. He read irritation there and concern.
Ìt's Vanessa Hartley.'
Bloody hell. The silky-voiced siren who'd come gunning for him on the day that changed his life. Vanessa. The last woman he'd slept with. Now he understood why Pippa hadn't told him.
He lurched out of the shower at the sound of the phone. His way to the bedside table led across a minefield of tangled bedding, plates of leftover food and empty bottles. The place was a pigsty. But that's why you paid through the nose to stay in posh hotels - you could make as much mess as you liked.
Naked and still dripping, he snatched up the receiver. It was the porter on the front desk.
Just to let you know that your wife is on her way up to your room, Mr.
Hutchison.'
`My wife?'
`That's what she said, sir' The porter sounded amused, as if he knew full well that Jamie didn't have a wife.
Jamie replaced the phone without responding. It was hard to think clearly through the thump of his hangover.
He peered around the room. Maybe the girl who d stayed over last night -
Lorraine-had left something behind when she d scuttled out at first light and had returned to retrieve it. Or maybe she was after a bit more action, in which case she'd be out of luck. He d given her more than she deserved already. He was knackered.
He stumbled back to the bathroom and yanked a towel off the rail. Or maybe - a new thought surfaced - this was some tabloid trick, sending a 15
reporter up to try and catch him out. They d become pretty sneaky since he d been photographed in an Epsom Jacuzzi with another jockey's wife.
These days he wasn't just news on the racing pages.
He chucked an empty wine bottle in the bin and pushed a cluttered food tray out of sight behind the TV stand. Token gestures.
He ignored the first soft knock on the door but tucked the towel firmly around his waist. At the second summons he opened the door just a crack.
He recognised his visitor at once. Suddenly he felt a lot better.
A tall slim girl lounged in the doorway, all legs and tousled blonde locks.
`Hi, Jamie,’ she said. `Don't mind if I come in, do you?'
He stepped aside as she glided past, apparently unconcerned by his near nakedness.
Jamie had only met Vanessa Hartley once, three days previously on the gallops above Ridgemoor She'd accompanied her father as Jamie had put Morwenstow, a classy three-year-old, through his paces. Officially, Desmond Hartley was running the rule over his most promising sprinter ahead of the lucrative Diadem Stakes. Unofficially it was a chance for Hartley to check Jamie out as a replacement for champion jockey Kevin O'Connor, the unlucky recipient of a three-day ban which ruled him out of the race.
Whatever the background politics, both Jamie and Morwenstow had made a good impression. So too had Hartley's daughter, who'd traded innocent small talk with Jamie in a low-pitched drawl. A spoilt Sloane, he thought at first. But as her cornflower-blue eyes probed his, he'd revised his judgement. A super-sexy Sloane, he decided, who might just be interested in less innocent discussions.
She made no comment on the state of the room but strolled to the window and pushed it wide open.
Ì'm meeting Daddy here before the races so I've got a bit of time to kill,’
she offered. 'I thought we might have coffee or something.' Jamie pretended to treat the suggestion at face value. He had expected to be obliged to chase Vanessa. To have her turn up on a plate, so to speak, was astounding.
`Something sounds like a good idea.' He opened the fridge which, fortunately, still contained a bottle of champagne.
16
Her blue eyes flashed. `Do you think we should? I mean, are you allowed to before a race?'
He jerked the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop. `No one's going to breathalyse me charging past the post on Morwenstow, if that's what you mean.'
ÒK.' She accepted the glass he held out and drank languidly. She was standing with her back to the window with the sun lighting up the wheat yellow tumble of her hair.
`Why did you say you were my wife?'
She shrugged, causing her pastel-blue summer dress to skim the tops of her bronzed thighs. It occurred to him that she probably wasn't wearing much more than he was.
`How did you get that?’ she said. 'What?'
`That scar.' She placed the tip of her long painted forefinger on his sternum and traced it along the knotted ridge of tissue over his ribs. As he told her about the fall at York a year previously, his mind was elsewhere, wondering how long it would be before the towel ceased to conceal his excitement. To think only a few minutes before, he d considered himself completely shagged out, yet all it took was a wicked looking blonde to pitch up and he was straining at the leash.
Go for it, mate. You deserve it.
His heart was beating fast. He placed his hand over hers and pressed it to his chest. `Feel what you'
re doing to me.'
Ì know' Her full pink lips gaped open. She didn't pull away. Everything he touched these days seemed to turn to gold.
Jamie liked the look of Lonsdale Heights, a chocolate-brown four-year old with a splash of white across his chest. He regarded Jamie from gleaming mahogany eyes as he made a dart for his jacket pocket. Jamie allowed himself to be expertly frisked for goodies and regretted he had nothing to share.
Ì'm awfully sorry' said Jill, Pippa's travelling head lass. 'Lonnie's a terrible thief.'
Jamie scratched the horse's neck. Ì'm used to it. Plenty of those where I've just been.'
17
The girl's plump cheek flushed, obviously afraid shed put her foot in it.
Ì'm really glad you're coming to work with us,' she stammered. `You used to be a wonderful jockey.'
`Thank you.'
Ì mean,' she was becoming more flustered, Ì'm sure you still are. I don't suppose you've had the chance to ride in - that is, since . . .' Pippa laughed out loud and looked up from tightening the surcingle. `You've dug yourself a nice little hole there, Jill. If I were you I'd stop digging.'
`He looks a picture,' Jamie said, taking in the immaculately plaited mane and gleaming coat. `You've done a good job.'
`Thanks.' Jill was still blushing. `He's going to win today, I'm sure of it.'
Jamie knew Pippa thought so too. She'd briefed him in the car. 'Lonnie's been off for the summer with a strained tendon but he's sound now and working well on the gallops. He was third last time out at Southwell but finished really strongly. This race is a bit longer and I reckon he'll be hard to beat.'
He hoped she was right. It would be great for the yard to have a winner on his first day of freedom. A good omen.
Pippa made Jamie accompany her into the ring ahead of the third race.
`The sooner you show your face the better,' she said. `Let the papers take their photos and be done with it.'