Kate's Progress

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  Kate felt her face going scarlet, never a good colour with her hair. She was speechless. ‘Well, of all the—!’ was about all she could manage.

  Addison patted her forearm kindly, with a smile that could have etched glass. ‘Now, now, don’t take offence. I mean it in the nicest way. You’re a sweet girl, and I’m sure one day you’ll find someone at your own level and be very happy. And believe me, you won’t want to look back on this weekend and remember that you’ve made a fool of yourself in public. So do try not to stare at him all the time like a lovesick calf. I’m just telling you as a friend.’

  In such a situation, the only resource was irony. ‘Thank you so much,’ Kate said. ‘I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. I can’t think why you’d bother.’

  Sadly, they didn’t have irony in Addisonland. ‘Atta girl,’ she said encouragingly. ‘You’ll be fine. I just had to give you a hint. We girls have to stick together, don’t we?’

  ‘We certainly do,’ Kate gushed, and gave Addison an adoring, hero-worshipping gaze upwards. She thought she might have gone too far, but Addison was so used to that sort of thing, it just rolled off her like requests for autographs off a film star. She gave Kate another pat and went away. Kate turned back to the piano, wishing she could play, because she’d certainly have liked to thump seven bells out of something just then.

  Twenty

  The Buscombe ground was packed, under grey bank-holiday skies. But it was warm, and the cloud was high, and everyone hoped it wouldn’t rain. There was a flat area on the top of Buscombe Common where there was the car park, the horsebox park, the collecting ring, and the public area, hosting various tents, including refreshments, and an arena where there was going to be a dog agility competition and hound-racing. It was gay with flags and crowds, children and dogs, happy chatter, bookies calling odds, and the mingling smells of horses, bruised grass, fried onions and popcorn.

  The course for the races started and finished on the common, which made a natural grandstand from which you could see most of the action. From there it went down a shallow descent, across some gently undulating ground and over a narrow stream, which had been made into a water jump, before turning back up the hillside to the common.

  Kate stood with Susie looking down from the far side of the collecting ring. ‘Do I need to walk the course?’ she asked.

  ‘Some do, but I wouldn’t bother,’ Susie said. ‘You’ll see where everybody else is going.’

  ‘Suppose I’m in front?’ Kate said with a grin.

  ‘In that unlikely case, just keep looking for the flags. You won’t mistake the jumps for anything else – they’re obviously built, not natural.’ She looked at Kate. ‘We can walk it if you like, but I’d save my energy if I were you.’

  ‘Addison’s walking it,’ Kate mentioned.

  ‘That’s only so that she can be alone with Ed,’ Susie said robustly. ‘And show off her technical knowledge to anyone who’s listening.’

  Kate smiled, as there had already been a bit of that this morning, over breakfast: talk of take-offs, ground lines, optimum approaches and so on.

  ‘It’s a nice course and you’ll enjoy it,’ Susie went on. ‘The only place you need to be careful is down there.’ She pointed. ‘Where you take the turn to come back up the hill. A lot of people – the ones who are really competing – will try to cut the turn really sharply to get an advantage. They’ll be jumping as far to the left as they can and there might be a scrum. You don’t want to get mixed up with that. Just make sure you stay on the right.’

  ‘Keep right at the turn. Got it.’ Kate said.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Jocasta wailed. ‘Absolutely chukkers.’

  The pony races were first on the schedule: one open, and one Exmoor ponies only.

  ‘It’s supposed to be fun,’ Kate reminded her.

  ‘I know, and it is, but you can’t help feeling sick when you see the opposition. Some of those ponies in the open are as big as elephants.’

  ‘Never mind, Daphne’s good and he’s fast. And it doesn’t matter anyway if you don’t win.’

  ‘Might not matter to you, but it matters to Daphne,’ Jocasta said darkly. ‘And there’s no point in going in for it if you don’t try to win. Have you got any money on you?’

  ‘A bit – why?’

  ‘There’s an ice-cream van over there.’

  ‘I thought you felt sick.’

  ‘Ice cream’s the best thing for stopping it. I’ll pay you back.’

  ‘No need. Here.’

  ‘Oh, thanks! You’re the best. Shall I bring you one?’

  ‘I’m not nauseous,’ Kate said.

  ‘You will be later,’ Jocasta assured her, and dashed off.

  In fact, Kate did feel the onset of butterflies when she saw Jocasta line up at the start. A lot of the other riders looked like professionals despite being juveniles, and there was a certain amount of jostling and some hard glares. Once they were off, there was just excitement and a lot of shouting. Kate hadn’t thought of herself as one for shouting, but in about two seconds she was yelling her head off like everyone else. Daphne came in fourth, which Ed said was pretty good, given the competition; and since in the pony classes there was a highly-commended as well as first, second and third, he ended up with a rosette after all, a white one, which Jocasta was very pleased with.

  They watched the dog agility, which was great fun. The local foxhounds made an appearance, with the master and two whips mounted and pink-coated. They did a circuit of the ring, with hounds escaping at every juncture to mug the crowds for crisps, biscuits and bits of bun, and a couple of helpers went round with a collecting tin. Then the ring was cleared, the brush hurdles put up, and the hound steeplechase was run.

  And after that it was time for Ed’s first class. He was riding Gracie in the restricted and the men’s open, which he said were far enough apart to rest him between them.

  ‘This’ll give you a chance to see the course properly,’ Susie said. They watched together, with Jocasta on Kate’s other side gripping her arm so tightly she left fingermarks. She had thought the pony race fast, but this was faster, the horses making a thunder you could almost feel come up through your feet. She fixed her eyes on Ed’s figure, trying to keep him in sight all the way round, but at the farthest part of the course she lost him in the melee. He came fifth, and rejoined them at last saying he was well pleased with that, Gracie being a young horse and inexperienced. Addison descended on him with gracious words, and they led Gracie off to box him for his rest.

  ‘I see now why everyone kept saying I wasn’t expected to win, only get round,’ Kate said, watching them go. ‘If Ed can only make fifth …’

  ‘He mightn’t even make that in the open,’ Susie said. ‘The competition will be stiffer. But Gracie’s young, I think he’s really going to be something in a year or two. I’m starving,’ she added. ‘It must be time for lunch.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ Kate said.

  ‘Feeling sick?’ Jocasta said with interest. ‘You need an ice cream.’

  They lunched on hot dogs from one of the tents – chunks of crusty French bread stuffed with fat, sizzling local farm sausages – followed by apple pie topped with a slice of Wookey Hole Cheddar from another, all washed down with plastic cups of real ale or cider or, in the case of the children, apple juice. They ate sitting on the grass looking over the course and chatting relaxedly. Kate sat with Eric and Charlie who talked cattle breeding and kept her mind off the race, but did not quite stop her from noticing that Ed and Addison were sitting together a little way off and talking – or at least Addison was talking and Ed was listening – as if no-one else existed.

  Kate was glad to see Jack, Flick and Theo sitting together, with Jocasta, who seemed to be behaving like a big sister to him. She was wearing her rosette behind her ear like a flower and seemed to be delighted with herself and everything else.

  She was also glad to see Camilla and the Brigadier sitting side by side with th
eir heads together, talking contentedly and sharing cider from the same cup. Now and then Camilla looked up at him in a way that Kate would have sworn was admiring. Evidently Jeremy thought so, because he sat a little way off staring at them moodily, not talking to anyone else, and savaging his lunch as though he wanted to make something suffer.

  Magic surprised her when he was led down from the trailer by letting out a huge, long whinny that made his sides vibrate. His head was up and his ears were so pricked, they were almost crossed.

  ‘He’s just excited,’ Susie said affectionately. ‘He loves all this stuff, dear old boy. Maybe I’ve been premature in retiring him. He’s fourteen, but he’s still got plenty of go in him.’

  He looked around him at everything with such a tangible equine delight that despite the butterflies, Kate was really pleased she would be riding him. It was nice to give a fellow-creature pleasure. For the first time she stopped minding about Henna. Susie had plaited his mane and put a shine on his coat – not easy to do with a grey. Eric, who had gone to fetch Kate’s number, came back to pat him admiringly and say, ‘He really looks the business. I’m actually envying you, having this ride. I wish I’d entered now, but it’s late in the season and I thought my boy had had enough.’

  ‘I’ve been envying her all morning,’ Susie said. ‘Have you seen the opposition?’

  ‘The ineffable Mrs Murray’s riding Fly Direct, and Celia Carnforth’s brought Surprise Me. Obvious first and second. Then there’s Brightwell, though he’s not on form, and I spotted Tudor King being walked about. I don’t know who’s riding him. They ought to be placed.’ He looked at Kate. ‘You could easily make fifth. But anything could happen. That’s the joy of pointing. I’m just praying for Mrs Murray to fall off.’

  Kate smiled. ‘That’s mean.’

  ‘You haven’t met her.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m not expecting to be placed. I’m just here to have fun. As long as I don’t let him down,’ she added, patting the firm grey neck.

  ‘Just remember what I said, keep your legs on and keep contact with his mouth,’ Susie told her, ‘and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘There’s your real competition,’ Eric added, gesturing with his head. ‘If I read the runes right.’

  Kate glanced to where Henna had been led out, and was dancing about on the end of her rope like a sprat on a griddle. ‘Competition?’ she said vaguely, puzzled.

  ‘And Ed is the prize,’ Eric said with a wicked grin.

  Kate blushed, and Susie berated him. ‘Now stop that, Chubby. Behave yourself.’

  ‘Chubby?’ Kate queried, feeling better.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ the round-faced Eric said with dignity. ‘I happen to be a champion coarse fisherman. I got my nickname for a prize-winning catch of chub. One of them was a real monster – a nine pounder!’

  ‘Eight pounds thirteen,’ Susie countered.

  As they rode down to the start, Kate’s butterflies were completely routed by her concern over Henna. The mare was wildly excited, was tittuping about, making as much progress sideways as forwards, and was back to her bad old head-tossing habit. Addison, she noted, looked magnificent in the saddle, but her expression as she tried to control her mount was grim. Kate thought she was hanging on to the mare’s mouth too hard, and longed to call out some advice – but to say that would not have been well received was an understatement. Ed would have told her what was what during the practice yesterday, anyway. And Addison, as an experienced rider, ought to understand.

  At the start, Kate found herself more or less in the middle, and Henna was several horses to her right. She looked about quickly at the others, and thought they all looked like hardened professionals, with steely eyes and grimly determined mouths, and their horses were all gorgeous, gleaming beauties packed with muscle under their shining coats. The hell with them, Kate thought, patting Magic’s neck. I’ve got the nicest horse in the world and I’m going to have fun. Magic’s ears were going back and forth, and he was fidgeting on his toes and mouthing his bit eagerly.

  There was some surging about as horses tried to go and were reined back, and Kate, busy looking around her, missed the actual ‘Go’. But Magic knew the drill, and as the other horses leapt forward, so did he, almost unseating her. She lost a stirrup, and spent the gallop to the first jump desperately fishing for it. Magic rose like a bird and she grabbed a handful of mane to make sure she went with him. On the other side she found the stirrup, regained her balance, and settled herself down, all nerves gone.

  It was amazingly exhilarating, the hard pounding of hooves, the solid, muscular bodies to either side, black and brown and bay and chestnut, the snorting breaths, the flash of legs below and the narrow focus of the green and brown course between the pricked grey ears. In a pack they galloped, gradually spreading out after the first hurdle. There were horses ahead of her now – but plenty behind her, too. Jump after jump appeared before them, Magic thrust down with his mighty hind quarters and they flew and landed and galloped on. It was heaven, it was glorious! She never wanted it to end.

  She caught a glimpse of Henna off to her right. The mare was sweating and trying to poke her nose, but Addison, crouched forward, seemed to have an iron grip on her. She seemed to be controlling the head tossing by sheer force. Kate had a moment to think poor Henna, but another jump was coming. There were five horses ahead of her, she thought, startled – only five! And Magic was going strongly, his muscular shoulders working under her hands, feeling as though he could do this for hours yet. A light contact with his mouth told her he had more to give. She would have to decide when to let him out. But they were well placed for now. Another jump. As he rose, she saw two horses going up at the same moment on her left, and Henna just a beat behind, rising on her right.

  She began to cherish the idea that they might come in somewhere – not first second or third, but fourth or fifth did not seem out of the question, and she so wanted to do him justice, the darling horse! A loose horse galloped past on her left, stirrups flapping. Someone would be walking home. Without its rider it was keeping up easily, almost cantering, and at the next jump it went round the end rather than over, giving it several lengths’ lead.

  Another jump coming. She glanced up and saw the leaders, some way ahead now, veer left after it, and realized it was the turn Susie had warned her about. The horses to her left were moving over, taking the line, but she was more or less in the middle and a touch on the rein kept Magic going straight. A glance right showed Henna pounding along, level with her, matching stride for stride. Addison, crouched and grim, returned the glance; then Kate saw her drive Henna on faster.

  Not time to race yet, Kate thought. Henna pulled ahead, white foam flying from her mouth now, spattering back over Addison’s boots. Concentrate on the turn after landing – don’t want to lose too much ground.

  It happened in an instant. Afterwards, Kate only had a broken memory, a jumble of fragmented impressions, but she knew what must have happened. In the last paces before the jump, Henna, perhaps seeing the line of the lead horses, or perhaps at Addison’s instigation, veered suddenly left, across Magic’s path. He swerved left to avoid her, unbalancing Kate; he stumbled slightly, and made a heroic effort to clear the jump. She remembered the touch of the brush on her legs as he went through the top of it. He stumbled on landing, took another stride and fell, on his knees and over on to his side. Kate lost him at the stumble, hurling off sideways and forwards. Her left foot caught a moment in the stirrup and there was a violent, wrenching pain, so fierce it made her feel sick. Then the ground came up and hit her, and there was a momentary trembling, thundering, wind-shaking feeling as the rest of the field went past her.

  Somehow, Ed was there. She was still feeling sick and confused, but had managed to get to her knees, seeing Magic a little way off – the darling horse had stopped for her. She saw a spectator run forward and catch his rein to lead him off the course, glad to see he was moving smoothly, didn’t seem to be hurt. She tried to s
tand up but the savage pain in her ankle and foot made her cry out – broken it! she thought dismally – and she collapsed again, her head spinning. And it was then that Ed reached her. She wondered how he had got there so soon. He was kneeling beside her, his hands on her.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he said. ‘Where does it hurt?’

  ‘My foot. Left. Think it’s—’ she began, trying to sit up, but the black whirlies got her and she slumped back down.

  ‘I said, don’t move,’ he said grimly. She looked up vaguely into his face and thought how good it was to be in his hands, even if he did look angry.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, or thought she did. He didn’t seem to hear her. He was feeling his way down her leg.

  ‘Can you move your toes?’ he asked.

  ‘You just told me not to move,’ she protested mumblingly, closing her eyes. But she moved them.

  ‘Thank God. Not broken then. I’m going to carry you up to the first-aid tent. Quicker than waiting for them to bring a stretcher.’

  ‘Don’t need a stretcher,’ she muttered. Just you. She didn’t think she said that out loud.

  His arm was under her shoulders, his other under her knees, and he lifted her and stood up as though she weighed nothing at all. ‘Good job you’re so small and light,’ he said with a grunt.

  Nice compliment, shame about the grunt, she thought, and then wondered what was wrong with her. As well as sick, she felt rather drunk, and her thoughts didn’t seem to be entirely under her control.

  Being carried up a slope, even by a tall strong man, was not the most comfortable thing, especially with a foot and ankle waking from shock into throbbing pain. But her hand was on the back of Ed’s neck, and her head was against his shoulder, and the subtle, wonderful smell of him was around and inside her, so on the whole she didn’t mind. It was better when they were on the level. She opened her eyes and said, ‘Magic?’