Interim Two
‘And that was the beginning of your long and I believe happy association with Amanda Holford, yes?’
The tall man with the shock of prematurely white hair stopped taking notes for a moment and stared up at Cassie, who was standing looking at a framed and signed photograph of Mandy winning the world-famous Badminton Three-Day Event on Without Equal.
‘It also marked the turning point,’ Cassie replied. ‘And quite by accident.’
‘I see that,’ the man replied, smiling.
‘Our sponsorship of Mandy, and her meteoric rise to the top – well, you can imagine what that did for our bags of horse food.’ Cassie replaced the photograph and sat down opposite her interviewer. ‘Of course as far as eventing went, Mandy had carte blanche,’ she continued. ‘I knew nothing about it whatsoever, although I know a lot more now. Sheila Meath looked after that side of things. As far as Claremore was concerned, the success of our feeds meant financial independence. It also meant we could turn this place – and I’m speaking technically here – into one of the finest training establishments in the British Isles. Having the facilities that we have now didn’t make me a better trainer, of course. But it did mean I could do the very best by the horses people sent me. And it also meant that prospective owners were greatly encouraged when they first visited Claremore because they realised they’d get value for their training fees. You’ll see why when I take you around. We even have our own laboratory for analysing blood samples – for analysing anything.’
‘Forgive me, but in the words of the great Duke Ellington, it don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got swing. And you certainly seem to have it.’
‘The boys in my band certainly do.’
‘I think it has to be more than that, don’t you? All the great trainers, they’ve all had a special empathy with horses. What do you think it is?’
‘Luck,’ Cassie replied. ‘Luck, an open mind and above all patience.’
‘You certainly were patient when it came to them handing out ladies’ training licences.’
Cassie shook her head and smiled. ‘Not really. I could have got my licence earlier, but I was told there was no point in rushing these things.’
‘Who by?’
‘My head lad, Tomas. Tomas Muldoon. I had to wait till he said I was ready. Or rather, to put it in his precise equine phraseology, until I’d come good.’
‘Which was when?’
‘After we’d won the Gimcrack at York for Joe Coughlan. With the horse Sheila Meath and I found on that trip to Kentucky. He was a great big horse, even as a yearling. And when he arrived here, no one thought he’d stand training, he was so burly. And Tomas thought we shouldn’t even race him as a two-year-old. But I thought the opposite: that racing would fine him down and take the weight off his legs. I don’t really like racing my two-year-olds early. But this horse had such a lovely action that I didn’t think he’d jar himself up, so I made a kind of exception. The horse was kind of exceptional, too, finishing unbeaten as a two-year-old. And that’s when Tomas thought I’d “come good”.’
Her interviewer noted this, then pointed his pen at the firescreen. ‘This quite charming tapestry screen,’ he said, ‘with this logo. Does it have any special significance?’
‘The “logo”,’ Cassie replied, ‘was my husband’s coat of arms. And the words were his motto.’
‘“Compassion, Commitment and Celebration”. Aren’t those also the names of three of your best known horses?’
‘Yes, that’s right they are. Not forgetting Graceful Lady. Graceful Lady was our foundation mare, and Celebration our foundation stallion.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
November, 1985
Frank Christiansen met Cassie at Washington airport and drove her into the city. Over dinner, they discussed the chances of Frank’s horse Ready Steady in the following day’s big race, the Washington International at Laurel Park.
‘I’ve spoken to Liam already,’ Cassie told Frank, ‘and he says the horse didn’t travel too well. Which is odd, because he’s flown water I don’t know how many times, and never turned a hair.’
‘I think maybe he’ll find the track a little sharp for him anyway,’ Frank said. ‘You say he needs every inch of a mile and a half. And Laurel Park’s more like one mile three.’
‘Listen, whatever happens to your horse, Frank,’ Cassie replied, ‘it’s worth it to see you.’
They had become lovers three years after they had re-met at James Christiansen’s funeral. Frank had arrived over in Ireland for his first visit ever and had fallen in love with everything he saw, including Cassie.
‘Actually no, that’s not strictly true,’ he’d said with a frown as they’d walked the hills above Claremore. ‘I couldn’t get you out of my head after I saw you again in Locksfield.’
‘You had quite some effect on me too, Frank,’ Cassie had replied. ‘And all to the good.’
‘They’d flown over to England to see Amanda win the International Three-Day Event at Burghley; then, since Frank was anxious to see a little of England on his trip as well, they had driven across Yorkshire and up into the Lake District where they had booked in for one night at Sharrow Bay Hotel, and ended up staying three.
It was the perfect place and setting for a romance to flourish, set as it is idyllically on the Ullswater lakeside, with both the dining and drawing rooms overlooking the water. The food was the best Cassie had eaten anywhere outside Lasserre’s, and unequivocally the best Frank had eaten, period. They didn’t stay in the main part of the hotel, sleeping instead in a charmingly converted old farmhouse which belonged to the proprietors, situated a mile or so from the hotel, on a hill overlooking another part of the great lake.
The decision to become lovers was made by Frank. ‘I’ve booked us into a double room,’ he’d told her with a boyish grin, as they drove through Cumbria. ‘I hope that’s OK.’
‘I’d have been mighty miffed if you hadn’t,’ Cassie’d answered.
And so they’d spent a blissful four days in the September sunshine, eating, sleeping, walking and making love. Cassie knew it wasn’t the passion that she’d had with Tyrone, but she also knew that a grand passion was something she was no longer looking for. When Frank had once expressed some concern at his adequacy as a lover, compared with ‘the Great Man’, as he had affectionately dubbed Tyrone, Cassie kissed him and told him not to look for comparisons. He was totally different from Tyrone, which was one of the reasons most probably, she argued, why she loved him. And the way Cassie loved him and the things she loved him for were also different.
‘Don’t keep looking over my shoulder, Frank,’ she’d told him. ‘I stopped doing that when I met you.’
Marriage was only mentioned once. It was on one of Cassie’s frequent transatlantic trips, when they were driving down to visit Frank’s mother and father.
‘They asked me after your last trip what the game plan was,’ Frank had said.
‘Meaning if we were going to get married?’
‘I guess.’
‘What did you say, Frank?’
‘I said nope.’
‘Without even asking me?’
‘Do you want to get married?’
‘Nope.’
And that was the only time it had been mentioned.
Until now, as they lay in bed in Cassie’s hotel suite, Cassie on her side studying the form for the big race, and Frank on his back, hands behind his head, studying the ceiling.
‘Do you think maybe we should have got married, Cassie?’ he asked out of the blue.
‘Nope,’ said Cassie, turning the pages of her notebook.
‘Don’t you reckon it would have worked out?’
‘I don’t see how it could have worked out. I wouldn’t have given up my job for anything, and neither would you. Why should you? Why should I? And believe me, Frank, this has been a hell of a lot better than most marriages.’
‘I guess my mother would have liked it.’
Cassie closed her notebook and turned herself back to Frank. She stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.
‘Your mother, Frank Christiansen,’ she said, ‘couldn’t care less. What matters to her, and I know ’cos she told me, is that you’re happy. So there.’
Ready Steady was unplaced in the International, beaten not by the Atlantic crossing, as was first feared, but simply being found wanting for speed, as Frank had guessed. But he was far from disgraced, running on well at the end into sixth.
‘Another mile and a half and he’d have got there,’ he joked to Cassie as they walked back from congratulating their horse and jockey.
Cassie laughed, then stopped in her tracks when she saw a face in the crowd.
‘Frank, will you excuse me?’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you back up in the stands.’ She lost the face for a moment, and then she saw it again, as it turned and suddenly stared at her out of the crowd ahead, realising it was Cassie and that she was in pursuit.
‘Dexter?’
Cassie had finally caught him before he could slip past a crowd thronging a gate in the rails.
‘Dexter!’ she called. ‘It’s me! Cassie Rosse!’
Dex stopped and turned, having nowhere left to go. Cassie stopped in her tracks as she saw him close to. He was only a year or so older than she was, but now it looked more like fifteen.
‘Mrs Rosse,’ he said, tipping a non-existent cap, and grinding a cigarette out under his heel.
‘I thought it was you, Dexter,’ Cassie continued, recovering most of her composure. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m OK, Mrs Rosse,’ Dexter answered, looking down at the long-dead cigarette. ‘How are you?’
‘We can’t talk here, Dex,’ Cassie said.
‘You want to talk to me, Mrs Rosse?’ Dexter asked, sounding over deliberately surprised.
‘I’d like to, yes,’ Cassie replied. ‘Come up to our box and have a drink.’
Dexter laughed and lit another cigarette. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Rosse,’ he said, blowing the match out, ‘but if you knew me now, that’s the last thing you’d ask me to do.’
Then Cassie saw it – in his red and watery eyes, on his face where the veins had broken and in the yellowing of his skin.
‘Come on, Dex,’ she urged him. ‘Make it a cup of coffee then.’
‘I couldn’t, Mrs Rosse,’ he told her, trying to slip away from her in the crowd, ‘not with the sort of people who’ll be up there. Anyway, I don’t need a coffee. I need a drink.’
Cassie grabbed him by his sleeve just before she lost him.
‘And I need to speak to you. Come to my hotel before dinner. Please. I’m staying at the Belmont. It’s very important that we speak.’
‘Sure,’ Dex nodded, before pulling himself free and disappearing once again in the mêlée of racegoers.
Frank and Cassie were sitting in the hotel bar having a drink after dinner, when a man in a plain blue suit came up to them.
‘Mrs Rosse?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but I’m Security, and there’s a guy outside who says you’re expecting him.’
‘Thank you,’ Cassie said rising. ‘I’ll come at once.’
‘Mrs Rosse,’ the man warned, following her closely, ‘this guy is very drunk.’
‘So is the guy at the end of the bar,’ Cassie informed him, indicating a dark-suited business man who was making a nuisance of himself.
At first she couldn’t see Dexter, then as she stood on the sidewalk, thinking perhaps he’d had second thoughts and run, she saw him in the shadows, leaning sideways against a wall. She went and touched him on the shoulder, but he was barely sensible.
Frank and she walked him back into the hotel lobby between them, their arms round his back to prevent him from collapsing. The man in the blue suit caught them up as they pressed the button for the elevator.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Rosse,’ he said, ‘but I have to ask you what’s going on here? I’m afraid we can’t allow people in this kind of condition in the hotel.’
‘It’s OK, really,’ Cassie replied as the elevator doors opened. ‘This man is a friend of mine. I’ll take care of him.’
Together she and Frank undressed Dex and bathed him and put him to bed where he slept, hardly moving, until ten o’clock the next morning. Frank was out bying him some fresh clothes when Dex finally awoke.
‘Hi,’ said Cassie. ‘Care for some breakfast?’
‘I don’t understand,’ Dexter replied, rubbing his face and eyes.
‘All will come clear, don’t worry,’ Cassie told him. ‘You’re in good hands.’
Dexter looked round the luxurious room, then back at Cassie. ‘Have I died or something?’ he asked.
‘I hope not,’ Cassie laughed. ‘Because if you have, I have too.’
She rang room service for some breakfast, and then sat down in an armchair while Dexter got his bearings.
‘Do you remember coming to the hotel?’ she asked.
Dexter shook his head. ‘I just remember seeing you on the racecourse.’
‘You were in a pretty bad way last night.’
‘That’s the way it goes most nights.’
‘Most nights for how long now, Dex?’
He looked at her, then reached for his cigarettes which Cassie had left by the bed. ‘Most nights since Goodwood, I guess.’
He didn’t eat any breakfast; just drank a lot of black coffee and smoked about half a pack of cigarettes. Cassie didn’t ask him anything, preferring Dex to come to her. One thing she had most certainly learned training horses was to be patient.
Frank returned with some boxes of clothes, which he left in the drawing room of the suite, before going back out on some business. Cassie assured him everything was fine, and asked him to make sure he was back in time for cocktails before dinner.
She left Dexter to get washed and shaved while she fetched the new clothes Frank had bought. Then while Dexter was still in the bathroom, Cassie put through a couple of calls to trainers who were friends of hers, and for whom Dexter had ridden. They told her only what she already suspected. After that ill-fated season, when Willie Moore had refused to renew Dexter’s contract for the following season, disgusted with Dexter’s riding of The Donk and further infuriated by his retained jockey’s increasing insobriety, Dexter had flown back to America to continue his career back on home ground.
But he began drinking more and more heavily, and as a consequence developed a weight problem. He started to lose rides because of his increasing weight, and races because of his addled judgement. Within a space of five years he went from the top of the pile to the bottom. Since his last ride in public, over eight years ago, he had odd-jobbed round stables, picking up whatever menial work he could get, in order to finance his drinking.
‘Do you have anything to drink, Mrs Rosse?’ a voice asked her from the bedroom doorway.
Cassie put the telephone down and turned round. Dex was washed and clean shaven, and dressed in the new clothes they’d bought him. But he still looked terrible.
‘I really do need a drink,’ he said.
‘No you don’t, Dex,’ Cassie answered. ‘What you need is help.’
‘Sure,’ Dex nodded slowly. ‘But first I have to have a drink.’
He looked round the suite, but could see no bottles. Cassie had locked them all away. He went over to the drinks fridge and looked inside, but there was only Diet Coke and Perrier.
‘OK,’ he said, pulling on his new sports coat, ‘I guess it’ll have to be the bar.’
He went to the door.
‘You don’t have any money, Dex,’ Cassie said.
‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘I’ll put it against your room.’
‘I’ve already warned the bar.’
‘Then I’ll have to go drink someplace else.’
Dexter slipped the safety chain off the door and unlocked it.
‘That’s fine by me, Dex,’ Cassie told him. ‘But you walk out of
here now, and I reckon you’ll be walking away from the last chance you’re likely maybe ever to have.’
‘You offering me a chance?’ he asked, stopping with his back still to her.
‘I’m offering you the chance of a chance,’ she answered.
‘What’s the deal?’
Dexter still didn’t turn round, almost as if he was afraid to look Cassie any more in the eyes. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Mrs Rosse.’
‘I owe you an explanation about Leonora.’
‘I know you didn’t write that note, now. It’s OK. You’re off the hook.’
‘Then why did you believe I did?’
He paused once more by the half-open door, and then he shut it, leaning his head against it for a long time before replying. ‘You quite sure you don’t have a drink, Cassie?’ he asked.
Cassie sent down for some more black coffee instead, while Dex sat silently in a chair, staring at the carpet. Then he sat slowly back and rested his head on the back of the chair.
‘I’ve wondered every goddam day of my life since then,’ he suddenly said, ‘why I finally chose to believe her and not you.’
‘Leonora’s a very seductive person,’ Cassie replied, pouring him some more coffee. ‘There’s many the time she’s had me believing things she’s wanted me to.’
‘Sure,’ Dex agreed. ‘But I’ll bet she never seduced you in quite the way she seduced me.’
Cassie stopped drinking her own coffee and slowly put down the cup. It actually hadn’t occurred to her that Leonora and Dexter might have been lovers before the Goodwood race. But that, she decided, would of course make perfect sense. She had turned Dex down and Leonora had been waiting in the wings. She guessed that in fact Leonora had anticipated that Cassie would reject Dexter, and had timed her strike to perfection.
‘Did she tell you about the note before or after she got you into her bed?’ Cassie enquired.
‘Oh after!’ Dexter replied, laughing for the first time since they’d re-met. ‘We were lying in that huge round bed of hers, with that mirror behind it, and she was leaning on my chest with both her elbows, and her chin on her fist. You know? And she smiled, and said how she’d always fancied me, and how you’d hatched the plan to get me up to your room because she and you had a bet you wouldn’t lose your virginity before you went back to school. And that all the time you were both laughing behind my back.’
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