by Dilys Xavier
‘We'll be there,’ Maria assured him, ‘and the best of luck, Gary,’ she said, firmly planting a kiss on the freckled cheek.
Gary put a hand to his face to hide his embarrassment, and rubbed vigorously where Maria had kissed him. With a wide swing of his arms he backed away, his complexion deepening under his summer tan. ‘Be seeing you then.’ He waved, still reversing until he had disappeared through the doorway.
Maria smiled as she considered Gary seemed to be the only chance of solving her problems. He was the only one who seemed to care enough to bother. When she climbed into bed that night, nothing was further from her mind than the paintings. She tossed and turned restlessly, of how much hinged on the outcome of the last race at Chepstow. As she lay waiting for sleep, she considered how best to place the money. Should she chance it all on Lucy's Lad to win? She took a deep breath… horses, races, the farm, Grandfather, and of course, Phillip Carter, all invaded her mind to hold her back from the sleep she so badly needed. Eventually, she slipped into the depths of the unconscious.
Next morning, Maria felt as though sand had been thrown in her eyes when she opened them to peer at her clock. It had seemed a long night. The big day had arrived, and soon she would know in which direction her future was going. She suddenly seemed to come alive, stimulated at the excitement of the day ahead. Moving briskly, she showered and dressed and ran downstairs for breakfast just as Gramps came into the kitchen, appearing unusually fussy. Maria sensed his mood; she knew just how he must be feeling. ‘I can't wait for this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I'm on edge.’
‘Give yourself plenty to do and the time will slip away,’ Gramps suggested. ‘It's good to see your change of mood, though. There's some life about you this morning. You've been so quiet it got me worried.’
‘Not half as worried as I've been about you!’ Maria poured their second cup of coffee. ‘Still, let's look forward to an enjoyable day at Chepstow, Gramps. The weather’s promising anyway.’
The old man smiled and nodded as he glanced at the sky.
‘I'll get my jobs done, Gramps, and I’ll fix an early lunch so we can leave soon enough to avoid heavy traffic. And I'll dress up to the nines,’ she added, her eyes taking on a dreamy look.
Eventually it was time to get changed. Maria's pulse quickened with excitement as she slipped into her black cotton two-piece, relieved with a pretty scatter pattern of tiny white daisies. She rummaged for her smoke-grey tights and pulled them on. The grey suede casual court shoes were next, then she paused, hands on hips. What else? Ah, the grey shoulder bag.
Without knowing it, Maria had allowed herself to get tensed up over the whole business. It was only when she realised she was panicking over getting ready, that she flopped onto the easy chair in her bedroom. Slow down she told herself, and showing greater control, she pushed the small purse, stuffed with all the money for the bet, safely inside the matching bag.
The long wardrobe mirror reflected the figure of a smartly dressed race-goer. Going nearer for a close inspection, Maria swept back her fall of rich chestnut hair, fixing it at the nape of her neck, and topped it with a ladies black racing felt. She tapped it firmly into position, then knotted the pure silk grey scarf on the left side of her neck, with the length dropping over her shoulder. ‘That's it,’ she said to her reflection. She was ready to impress.
‘Let's have a look at you.’ Gramps proudly surveyed her. ‘My word, you'll turn a head or two this afternoon. Not that you don't at other times,’ he hastened to add, ‘but today, you look something rather special.’ He moved towards the door with a slightly impatient look in his eyes. ‘Can we go now?’
The short journey seemed to go by in a flash, and Maria came to her senses as Gramps thrust a race card programme into her hands. She clutched it tightly to stop her hands trembling. Never before had she felt so petrified at a race meeting, but so much depended on the outcome of one race today. As she studied the pages she cringed at the thought of the long wait until the last race.
Chapter Thirteen
With the first race over, Gramps started to fuss about seeing the horses in the parade ring. ‘Let’s look at Carter's runner for the second race and what it's up against. Coming?’ He motioned impatiently to Maria. ‘We'll be too late if you don't hurry.’
‘All right,’ she said, reluctantly following him to the parade ring. The horses were already being led around, while the trainers and owners stood, waiting for the jockeys to arrive. It was only seconds before they came striding purposefully in, one behind the other, each brightly dressed in the colours allotted to the individual owners. They shook hands with the owners and touched their caps in the traditional mark of respect, as custom demands before mounting.
‘Jockeys please mount,’ came the command over the loudspeaker, and they all moved immediately.
‘I didn't have a chance to see them properly,’ Gramps grumbled. ‘That's because you dilly-dallied before coming.’ He made a grimace. ‘I'll come here on my own before the next race to be sure of having a good position.’ He grunted irritably and turned. ‘Let's hurry to the enclosure. At least I want a good spot to watch the race.’
Maria caught a glimpse of a tall figure leaving the centre of the ring just as the crowd around it began to disperse. ‘Carter, of course,’ she muttered. As trainer of a horse in the race, he has to be there. She wanted to get through the ring exit before Phillip reached it, but the crowd closing in on her obstructed her pathway.
Knowing he was closing in on her, she flashed a look in his direction and wished she had stayed where she was. Unable to resist it, she craned her neck to watch him and realised he was with someone. It was Davina Wright, looking elegant in a classic pearl oyster suit.
With one hand on Davina's shoulder Phillip’s attention was riveted on the blonde. Then, with his face wreathed in smiles, he bent to whisper in her ear. At that moment, Maria's instinctive reaction was one of resentment, not only for Phillip, but for Davina Wright too, although she failed to understand why she should feel this way. After all, the woman had done nothing to upset her; but it irritated her to see Phillip so happy when he was causing her such anguish.
In front of her a small gap in the crowd opened up. It was her chance to make a quick escape without Phillip noticing, so she darted forward and wriggled through before the crowd closed in again. With a sigh of relief she watched Phillip and Davina pass by, suddenly realising they would never have noticed her, so engrossed were they in each other. A voice close to her ear made her turn quickly. ‘Oh, Gramps, it's you. You made me jump.’
Charles Cable looked annoyed. ‘I've been looking all over for you, Maria. Where’ve you been?’
‘What's your fancy for the next race?’ she asked, distracting him and drawing his eyes to the race card. At the same time, she kept a wary eye on the jostling crowd in case her grandfather saw the couple and wanted to approach them.
‘Phillip's runner looks well; has as good a chance as any. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s first to the finish.’ He rapped the palm of his hand impatiently with his folded race card as he looked around, making Maria fear that his concentrated search would seek out Phillip. It afforded her some consolation that she had managed to avoid a verbal contact with Phillip.
Hooking her arm under Gramps' she gently turned him to look in the opposite direction as she caught a glimpse of Phillip again. She watched him walk away with Davina and the angst began to ease, but returned the very moment he unexpectedly turned and looked straight at her. He acknowledged her with a leisurely wave of his race card, and then hastily positioned himself for the next race, quite plainly indicating he was not interested in conversing with her.
Charles Cable had noticed her glances and followed her gaze, looking for what had attracted her interest. ‘There's Phillip,’ he exclaimed, surging forward, his hand clutching at Maria's arm to pull her with him. He turned as he felt her resistance. ‘Come on. What's the matter with you?’
‘Forget him,’ Maria said
. ‘Can't you see he's too busy to be bothered with us? He's seen me; he’d have come over if he’d wanted to talk. He didn’t. So we don't go chasing after him.’
Gramps flashed her a look of indignation. ‘Chasing after him? What a funny thing to say.’ He searched Maria's troubled face. ‘All right, leave him be then, but there's no need to get touchy with me about it.’
The wave of dismissal that Phillip had thrown her still stung. To have been so casually treated was irritating, made her feel more than a little indignant. The race started, and she watched it get well on the way without the usual enthusiasm. It did nothing to help that the crowds were cheering home Phillip's runner. Even less that the owner was Davina Wright. ‘We'll see how you do in the last race, Phillip Carter,’ Maria murmured through clenched teeth. She glanced at her watch and consulted her race card thinking how interminably long the afternoon seemed.
Then eventually, the time arrived and the announcement was made of the one race that mattered most to her; the last race. She waited with abated breath, her stomach cramping at the thought of what depended on this race. Then Gary, dressed in the blue and gold colours allotted to Don Lock, marched briskly into the parade ring along with the other jockeys. ‘Good luck, Gary,’ she said, catching his eye as he passed.
With a cheery smile, Gramps called out, ‘You can only do your best, my lad.’
Gary waved his whip in acknowledgement before mingling with the crowd in the parade ring. Maria’s stomach felt it was twisting like an eel out of water. ‘I'm going to put a little bet on Lucy's Lad now, Gramps,’ she said, trying to sound as normal as possible.
‘Let's go down to the bookies then,’ he suggested.
Maria shook her head and swallowed hard, desperate that he shouldn’t witness her bet. ‘No Gramps. I know you prefer the bookies so you go down to them, but I'd rather place my bet at the Tote office.’ She watched Charles Cable scurry away like an excited youngster as he made for the bookies to see what odds they were offering.
Slipping her hand into her bag, her fingers closed around the purse stuffed with money. She drew it out, clutching it fiercely as she looked around to make sure Carter was nowhere near, and consoled herself that today would soon be over. Hopefully, so would her troubles. Her legs felt weak as she waited in the noisy queue to push the money through the little window to the clerk. The man in front of her finally moved away as she gave a final glance at the monitor screen showing the prices of the horses running.
At last it was her turn, but it was getting close to the start, and she had barely time to say, ‘Five hundred to win on eleven,’ when she glanced sideways and saw Gramps moving towards the Tote office with alacrity. It was imperative she concealed her bet from him, so she grabbed the betting slip as the girl slid it towards her. Without checking it, she pushed it deep into her pocket and left only seconds before Gramps reached her. ‘Come on, we want a good position to see Gary clearly, so let's hurry.’ He pushed his way roughly through the crowd. ‘Just in the nick of time,’ he said excitedly.
‘They're under starter's orders and they're off,’ the commentator announced, followed by his professional commentary of the runners by name.
Maria held her breath, desperate to watch, yet afraid to at the same time. Her knuckles shone white as she gripped the rail in front of her. The voice went on, the pitch rising in excitement. ‘They’re at the second hurdle, and it's Lucy's Lad leading, closely followed by Paper Lace.’
Maria closed her eyes, not wanting to see, or even hear, but her spirits lifted as she heard the commentator continue. ‘And it's Lucy's Lad, still in the lead from the beginning. They’re at the third from the last hurdle, and…,’ The voice pitched higher and higher, inaudible because of the sudden cheering of the multitude around her. Then a sudden groan from the crowd told her distinctly that something had happened. But what?
She opened her eyes, not daring to look as the voice over the loudspeaker confirmed her worst fears. ‘Lucy's Lad made a bad mistake at the last jump. He’s fallen back.’ Still, the excitement in the commentator’s voice increased as he went on. ‘So it's Paper Lace now in the lead, with Lily's Love closing up as they come to the next jump second from the last.’ The high pitched voice imparted an excitement to the crowd as it went on, ‘and the distance between them is shrinking.’
Maria couldn’t bear to watch. She looked away, and gulped, wiping at tears of despair.
‘This is a tremendous effort on the part of Lily's Love,’ the commentator said. ‘They’ve come to the final flight, and racing now towards the finish.’
Maria's colour had ebbed from her cheeks by the time the verdict came. ‘And it's first, Lily's Love, number seven, owned by Jon Pritchard, ridden by Mark Thomas, and trained by Phillip Carter. Second, Paper Lace, number two, owned by George Brooke, ridden by Richard Beck, and trained by Jerome Weekes.’
In a dream of despondency, Maria heard the voice again, but it was almost a droll now. ‘And third, only half a head behind Paper Lace, is number eleven, Lucy's Lad, owned by Don Lock, ridden by Gary Marsh and trained by John Owen. So Lily's Love is the winner by half a length.’
Maria turned away abruptly, all interest gone.
‘What a pity,’ Charles Cable said, shaking his head. ‘I thought Gary had that race tied up. He almost made it, but at least he's in the frame at third place.’
Ordinarily, it would have been a great disappointment to say the least, but under the circumstances, this was a devastating blow. Scalding tears were hastily wiped away when she considered that her real loss was going to be My Chance. There was no point in letting Gramps see her distress, or he’d wonder why she was so upset over a race. He might even guess at what she had done. Nervously, she screwed the scrap of paper in her pocket that might have made all the difference into a tight ball. Biting her lip, she put a hand on her grandfather's arm, and spoke in almost a whisper. ‘Let's go before the crowds, Gramps. We'll see Gary later on.’
Charles Cable agreed and they made for the exit. ‘That's horses for you,’ he said, clicking his tongue. ‘You can never tell. If only Gary's horse hadn't stumbled; he was so near winning. Still, Phillip must be feeling on top of the world with two winners today.’
‘Please, Gramps, don't let's have a post-mortem of the race. I'm as disappointed as Gary must be. Come on, what's done is done,’ she said softly, anguish tugging at her heart at the full realisation that My Chance was as good as lost to her now. Nothing else seemed important any more. Nothing was.
Chapter Fourteen
It was late when Gary finally appeared at Manor Farm, his dejected walk up the drive showing just how miserable he felt. Greatly subdued, Maria watched as he approached and acknowledged her without the usual cheery look on his face.
‘Sorry,’ he said simply, with a shrug.
‘Don't be; you did your best. It's not your fault,’ Maria used all her self-control not to burst into tears. ‘I'll just have to get used to the idea of losing My Chance. He'll be well looked after with Phillip Carter, so that's some consolation, and no doubt I'll be able to see him whenever I want.’
‘Yes, but it won't be quite the same, will it?’
‘I'll get by. I’ll have to.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You look as if you need a double whisky. Anyway, come inside for a cuppa; that’s all I can offer you right now.’ Maria sighed and flopped down at the table. ‘Here, I made a pot only minutes before I went outside.’ She filled a mug and pushed it across the table then leaned back in the chair, dug her hands deep into her jacket pocket and drew out her loose coins and the crumpled up betting slip. She stared at the little ball of paper scrunched up in her hand and flung it onto the table. ‘So much for that!’
‘Aye,’ Gary agreed, pulling a face as he idly smoothed out the screwed up slip. ‘I feel guilty about all that money down the drain. I planted the idea in your head, so I must take some of the blame.’
‘No blame lies on you, Gary. It was a grand effort to try and save my horse, and w
hatever happened was for a reason.’ Maria looked despondently at him. ‘It was a good try, but let’s forget it now; what’s done is done.’
Suddenly, Gary jerked upright and shot her a puzzled look, a broad grin forming on his lips.
‘What's the matter?’ she asked, intrigued why Gary was staring at the betting slip so intently. ‘Just throw it away. I don’t want to see it again. I usually keep them to work out my gains and losses, but not this time.’ She shrugged and gave a wan smile. ‘I don’t want to be reminded about what happened.’
Still with a look of surprise in his eyes, Gary leaned over.
‘Do you know what you've done, Maria?’
‘Yes!’ she blazed defiantly, her eyes flashing, ‘I do. Cut it out and give me a chance to get over it, will you?’
‘Not likely. By George, Maria, it's a good thing you kept this in your pocket.’ He waved the piece of paper under her nose. ‘Look for yourself.’
Maria grabbed the betting slip and as she studied it, incredulity spread across her face. ‘I can’t believe this,’ she gasped and gave a nervous laugh. ‘How did it happen?’
‘Start believing; it’s true. You were given a ticket for number seven by mistake,’ Gary said. ‘My ride was number eleven, and somehow or other, you must have backed number seven - the winner.’ By now, Gary was grinning widely.
‘I did?’ she squealed. ‘I remember when the woman confirmed my bet and pushed the slip over to me, Gramps was only yards away, so I panicked, grabbed it, and ran without checking it. I wasn’t concentrating. The tote was so noisy, and about to close, so no wonder she mistook eleven for seven.’ She took a deep breath.
‘Look,’ Gary said, ‘it doesn't matter two hoots how or why that happened - it just did, and you've got a big win.’ He laughed and made victory thrust in the air. ‘You’re in the money, girl.’