by Alex Stuart
Cars were parked in serried ranks down one side of the course, and horseboxes—ranging from the humble trailer to resplendent affairs, like that in which the Sheridan horses had arrived—were drawn up opposite, behind the parade ring.
Bookmakers vied with each other noisily in their efforts to attract the custom of the cheerful, carefree crowd. The South Kinsdale was neither a wealthy nor a fashionable pack, but its Point-to-Point was, nevertheless, an occasion in the district for farmers and townsfolk alike. It was a day when Carfield and King's Martin and other places in the vicinity put the shutters up and set forth, on foot, on horseback or awheel, to enjoy themselves, to risk a shilling or two in a mild flutter on a local horse, to sit down under the trees in the bright spring sunshine and eat heartily and hungrily from picnic baskets and paper bags.
Every race was watched and discussed with lively interest, the winners cheered to the echo, the losers consoled with shouts of: "Better luck next year, 'Arry!" or: "Pity yer didn't make it—'e was just a bit too good for yer!"
The Open Race was generally considered the peak of the afternoon, the prize of "Silver Cup and Twenty Sovereigns, presented by Sir Henry Hollis, Bt., M.F.H." attracting the cream of the county's amateur riders, on horses which were known by repute to most of the spectators.
Deirdre, fresh from her six lengths' triumph in the Ladies' Race, stood at the ringside, waiting for Alan to come out of the weighing-in tent. He was riding Gay Cavalier for Dan Haines, at the latter's request. Both Gay Cavalier and Dan's mount, Martin's Luck, carried penalties for previous wins and were well fancied, but the favourite was a big grey called Tartan Talisman, ridden by a slim young Guards subaltern whom Deirdre knew slightly, who had finished seventh in the previous year's National.
He came out of the tent at that moment with Alan and Dan, the three of them laughing and joking together in the best of spirits as they went into the ring to find their horses and saddle-up. Alan saw Deirdre and came over. "Well, darling"—his eyes were bright—"I'll try not to disgrace you."
"As if you could ever do that!" She regarded him proudly. He looked competent and attractive in his gay silks, his lean, tanned face softening as he gazed down at her.
"I've a lot to live up to, you know. Your performance on Moonbeam, for instance."
Deirdre smiled. "The credit was Moonbeam's. But I've got ten shillings on you—"
"To win?"
"Of course."
"No saver on Dan?"
She shook her head. "No saver on anyone, Alan."
"Then I'll do my best." The bell rang and he tipped his cap to her, adding softly, as Paddy led his horse towards him: "Darling, young Dwight's over there, all by himself. Put the boy out of his misery, won't you? I gather from Dan that you're very much on his conscience."
Deirdre followed the direction of his gaze. "All right," she agreed, a trifle dubiously, "but he's been avoiding me."
"I'll tell him to find you, as I go out, shall I?"
She nodded and called after him: "Good luck, Alan dear."
"Thanks, darling."
They went out in jostling single file, sixteen of them, with Alan and young Howard Grantley in the rear. Deirdre, on her way to the second fence, looked about her for Dwight. He saw her and fell into step beside her, very pink of face and sheepish. "Hullo, there! The Colonel said you wanted to talk to me."
"I thought," Deirdre told him gently, "that you might care to watch this race with me."
Dwight's tension relaxed. "Why, sure—you know I would. But I guess I—that is, I owe you an apology, Deirdre." He moved his injured arm awkwardly in the strap that held it in place, close to his side. "I acted like every sort of a heel."
"Oh, please, you don't have to worry about that. Let's forget it, shall we? How's the arm?"
"It's fine. And—thanks, Deirdre. I'm glad about you and Carmichael, for your sake, I mean. Not for mine, of course. I hope you'll be awfully happy. He's a decent guy."
"Yes," said Deirdre smiling, "I think he is."
Dwight hesitated and then he matched her smile. "And a lucky one! He's just about the luckiest guy I ever knew. Even if he hasn't got a hope in this race."
Deirdre was silent but she was still smiling. They reached the vantage point of the second fence and had scarcely taken up their positions beside it when a roar of "They're off!" from the tightly packed crowd of spectators told her that the race had begun. With so many runners, there was some congestion at the first fence: one horse fell, another refused, but the rest came thundering down towards them in a confused medley of rainbow-bright colours.
Deirdre made out Alan's black and yellow hoops, well to the left of the others and a dozen lengths behind the leaders. It was a left-handed course and the going was heavy after the fifth fence, when they would go out of sight, briefly, behind some farm buildings: she found herself admiring Alan's strategy. Gay Cavalier was a stayer, who could produce a good burst at the finish: a sound jumper, he could safely be held back until the course had taken its toll of the thrusters.
Dan Haines, on Martin's Luck, was riding at Tartan Talisman's side, evidently determined to keep a wary eye on the horse he considered his most dangerous rival. They jumped almost together and Dwight said, as they tore on to the next fence: "Dan'll get it! Say, Deirdre, d'you see the way he took that? Swell, wasn't it?"
"Oh, yes," Deirdre agreed, "it was swell." She strained her eyes as the runners took the water and made off, out into the country. Just before they vanished behind the buildings, she saw that Howard Grantley on Tartan Talisman had taken the lead, with Dan still tailing him. Alan was lying seventh and on his own.
"Come on," she called to Dwight, "let's run to the finish!"
As she ran, she was seeing, in her mind's eye, the jumps they would have to negotiate before she could expect to see them again. The cut-and-laid, with a sharp left-hand turn immediately after it, an open ditch, two fly fences followed by a stretch of very heavy land, then the water again and back to the first four fences for the second time. Moonbeam had pecked badly at the open ditch, she'd let him take it too fast. She hoped that Alan wouldn't make the same mistake…
She was breathless and her heart was pounding when she dragged herself up on to the competitors' dray, close to the flags which marked the finish. The crowd was shouting wildly and she caught the name Tartan Talisman. Sir Henry, glasses to his eyes, called out gruffly: "It's Talisman—Talisman and Martin's Luck. Nothing in it between them!"
Deirdre saw them, at the third from last fence, saw them rise to it together and come surging on, fighting for every yard. Howard Grantley had his whip out, the grey was tiring. He hit the next fence squarely and there was a groan from the watching crowd as he rolled over, very slowly, with Howard clinging to his neck. Howard remounted but he had lost the race.
Dan on Martin's Luck approached the last fence alone. And then there was a stir, someone shouted: "Oh, well ridden, sir!" and there was Gay Cavalier, gaining on Dan with every stride. Alan rode with easy confidence and his horse was fresher than Dan's. He jumped the last fence a length behind and Dan saw him and grinned. They were neck and neck for the last twenty yards and then Gay Cavalier went in front.
He passed the post to a roar of excited cheering, the winner by a comfortable two lengths.
As Deirdre scrambled down from the dray, she was trembling. Dwight called out: "Hey, Deirdre, where're you going, in such a hurry?"
A rueful grin spread over his face as she answered proudly: "To lead in the winner, of course."
"Okay," Dwight acknowledged, "I guess he deserves it. He's the luckiest guy in the world, at that. I wish I knew how he did it!"
Both envy and admiration sounded in his voice.
But Deirdre didn't hear, for she had reached Alan's side and his voice was the only one that mattered. Or ever would matter, for the rest of her days.
And he was saying her name and smiling down at her, his heart in his eyes.
nbsp; Alex Stuart, Gay Cavalier