FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (60 page)

They were off before Jenni realised it. Saskia and Angus watched through their binoculars as the starting gun fired and the horses set out on the twenty-four-hundred metre race.

High Noon streaked to the front and the crowd roared. Over the loudspeaker the race commentator barked breathlessly, ‘The favourite ridden by The Spook has taken the lead from the start and looks like he intends to stay there!’

Ambrosia was bunched on the rails while Mick had Toffee well placed, waiting for his moment to make a break.

Alfredo Camboni and George Bannerman exchanged a satisfied look. This was just how they’d planned it, the favourite would take the lead showing every intention of winning, but then slowly drop back and Ambrosia would move through to overtake and win. The two jockeys understood their task.

Bannerman looked slightly concerned. ‘I don’t like the way Ambrosia is bunched in on the rails,’ he muttered. As if hearing the remark, Ambrosia dropped back and swept to the outside close to Toffee.

Tango gripped his binoculars. ‘Ambrosia’s lost ground. Now we’ll see if he is as good as I think he is.’

Jenni dug him in the ribs. ‘He’s not going to beat Toffee!’

But down below the grandstand Saskia was muttering to herself as she watched, suddenly worried. Several horses, including Ambrosia, had closed in around Mick and Toffee. She knew how Toffee had hated being hemmed in
like this. But Mick pulled him back from the bunch then swept him to the outside and they began to move up as they approached the big sweeping bend.

Suddenly, to the crowd’s astonishment, High Noon began to drop back, surrendering his position. Bannerman smiled and looked relieved as Ambrosia started to make his move. Dina sat behind her father in their box and watched Colin. He too looked complacent, mirroring her father and Bannerman’s confidence, but she could tell that he was nervous — he must have bet heavily on Ambrosia.

As Toffee surged forward, striding out with ease and confidence, George Bannerman leaned forward and said, That horse, that looks like — ’

Colin interjected. ‘Yes, it is. The one you sold to Saskia. She says she’s retrained him.’

‘Shit. He used to freak on bends. Now look at the bastard go.’

Bannerman was not the only one to react to Toffee’s burst of speed. The Spook, holding High Noon back as instructed, saw Toffee begin to challenge and realised this was the horse he’d heard about just before the race, the one being ridden by the Aboriginal jockey who’d won the Melbourne Cup. Just ahead of High Noon was Ambrosia — this was going to be a real race. ‘Ah, bugger them,’ The Spook said to himself and began whipping High Noon back into the race. There was no way he was going to let the jockeys of Ambrosia and Toffee cream him. He’d done what Camboni had told him — ‘Grab the lead, then fall back
and be beaten by a better horse’. Well in this instance, it would be the jockey as much as the horse that got the credit — or the blame. He suddenly thought of all those punters who’d backed the horse he was riding and how they might blame him for its surprising loss. Nah, the money wasn’t worth it. He’d just tell Camboni that High Noon was too good a horse and he couldn’t hold him back. The Spook kicked in his heels and urged the horse on. Suddenly three horses were fighting for the lead.

‘Go for it Toff’ shouted Saskia breathlessly.

The beautiful bay suddenly found new energy and streaked into the lead alongside Ambrosia who responded to the challenge. Closing in on them came High Noon. It was a three-horse race and Jenni grabbed Tango’s hand screaming at Mick, ‘Go! Go! Go!’

In the Cambonis’ box there was silence as they watched, not believing what was happening, but all were on their feet as the three horses headed down the final straight.

‘What the hell is that bastard Spukis doing?’ muttered Camboni.

‘Trying to goddamn win, if you ask me,’ said George Bannerman as he peered through his binoculars at High Noon being whipped into a frenzy.

Ambrosia and Toffee were well matched in size, fitness and handicap. But Mick suddenly felt a quiver ripple through Toffee, which later he would describe as feeling like the horse had decided he wanted to win.

Toffee stretched out and flew ahead of his rivals, the combination of power and energy
giving him a speed that was breathtaking. Ambrosia rose to the challenge as Toffee overtook him, but Toffee had found his stride and with Mick sitting easily, a grin on his face as he leaned in close to the big horse’s neck, he went to an unbeatable lead. Ambrosia was hot on his heels but too late to make up the ground.

The crowd were on their feet, cheering, and they didn’t stop until Toffee flashed past the post, winning by a length. Jenni was jumping up and down and squealing, hugging Tango, then Queenie, then Tango again.

Saskia gave the grinning Angus a hug and realised her knees were shaking and her eyes full of tears. She collapsed in a seat, still holding his hand.

‘Looks like you girls have got yourselves a couple a hundred thousand dollars,’ grinned Angus.

‘Ten per cent is yours, Angus. But better than money, I’ve got myself a career!’

‘And a job, I reckon,’ added Angus. ‘Let’s get downstairs fast. Come on.’ They hurried towards the saddling enclosure.

In Camboni’s box ominous silence reigned. There were shocked expressions on every face.

‘This was not supposed to happen,’ said Alfredo Camboni angrily. ‘I thought matters had been taken care of. A lot of people have lost a lot of money. Including me. Who stuffed up?’ He glared around the now very nervous group.

Colin and George Bannerman began talking at once, George blaming Colin. ‘Listen, I took
care of things,’ said Colin defensively. ‘I didn’t know Saskia’s horse was any good. You said he was broken down, you sold him.’

‘You sold the winner to Saskia?’ asked Dina incredulously, then she began to laugh. Everyone stared at her.

‘Shut up, Dina!’ roared her father.

Colin too glared at his wife. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d lost. First Queenie, all those years ago, now her daughter had ruined his plans. But if he could stall Fredrico and the bookmakers long enough to get Queenie’s money, he’d be able to pay them off and then he’d be free. Free of this claustrophobic life and free of Dina.

Saskia and Jenni posed for yet another newspaper photographer. The story of two pretty young girl owners and Saskia’s dreams of becoming a trainer made good copy.

‘Enough!’ cried Queenie. ‘Let’s go and celebrate.’

‘I’ll be there soon,’ said Saskia.

‘I’ll organise the champagne,’ said Jenni, grabbing Tango’s arm.

Saskia led Toffee back to the stables with Mick and Angus beside her, excitedly going over details of the race.

‘I thought you’d done your dash when you looked a bit boxed in before the bend,’ said Angus, recalling how Mick had dropped back to get out of the scrum.

‘Yeah. It could have been real bad if some of the jockeys in that race had been taking us seriously. Luckily they didn’t know our form. I
reckon there were a couple of bought jockeys in that event. I got some nasty comments from the jockeys on High Noon and Ambrosia when we were riding back to the enclosure.’

‘Adds up, mate,’ said Angus brightly. There was a big interstate betting plunge on Ambrosia at the last minute. High Noon ran a very peculiar race. Now who do you think spread the money around?’ He raised an eyebrow and looked across at Saskia.

Saskia acknowledged the remark with a smile. ‘Sticks out a mile, doesn’t it? I just hope Colin didn’t plunge too heavily on Ambrosia.’

Colin emerged from the men’s public toilets and hurried across the patchy grass littered with betting slips. As he rounded the pavilion building, Dina stepped out in front of him. ‘Where are you off to in such a rush,
caro?’
she asked.

Colin was momentarily taken aback at seeing his wife here and was about to brush her off, but something in Dina’s expression made him pause.

A mocking smile curved at her scarlet lips and as she slowly removed her sunglasses she gave him a cool and challenging stare. ‘So, dear husband, your plan has gone off the road a little bit, no?’

‘What are you getting at, Dina? What plan?’ Colin was brusque and didn’t change expression, though his heart was beginning to race.

Dina studied him and saw how little he gave away. He was clever, practised at hiding things; she would have to watch him more
carefully in the future. ‘You lost a lot of money on this race?’

Colin shrugged. ‘We all did.’

‘But for you it was money you didn’t have, si, Colin?’

Colin narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. She was playing with him, like a fat cat prodding a ball of string. ‘I can cover my debts, Dina.’

‘I don’t think so, my darling. Don’t count on Queenie’s money.’ She smiled broadly as she saw him recoil as her remark hit home.

Colin waited, trying to figure out exactly what she knew.

The smile left Dina’s face. ‘Let me put you out of your misery, c
aro mio.
I know you had Fredrico have his man forge that letter from your father. I know you used it to blackmail Queenie for a vast amount of money. I know you intend to take the money and run . . . away from me.’ She allowed a faint sad smile to hover briefly. It was the look of a mother admonishing a silly child for thinking he could outsmart the grownups with his childish prank. ‘Where do you think you could go to hide from me, from my family, Colin? Even with so much money?’ He still stared at her in stony silence and she answered her own question. ‘There is nowhere in this world. But it is all a moot point now. I have told Queenie not to pay you. She keeps quiet and keeps Cricklewood and I keep you — a fair bargain I thought.’

‘What are you going to do, Dina?’ asked Colin in a low hoarse voice.

‘We are going to put this episode behind us. I have taken the precaution of keeping certain documents in a safe place — I have a letter from Fredrico revealing everything you asked him to do. He agreed — we didn’t want to drag Pappa into this and upset him. So, should it be necessary at any time, I can give Queenie or any interested party the proof of your little effort here. You are also implicated in other, er, business dealings that you might not want scrutinised. So, Colin, come along now and be a good husband.’ She pouted triumphantly at him. ‘I’m not so hard to live with, am I?’

‘How did you find out?’ Colin’s eyes were hard; they looked like glass that could splinter into shards at any second.

‘A chance conversation at the hairdresser about a lunch date, a little noseying about here and there. You’re really not very clever you know, my sweet.’

‘Dina, I need that money. I was planning to set us up, away from your father . . .’ Colin made a desperate stab at convincing her, but Dina held up a manicured hand. ‘Don’t bother, Colin, it’s too late.’

He glared at her, then his body, which had been stiffly held, seemed to soften and sag. ‘Dina, I do need money. I sunk all my cash and then some more on this race. I’m already in deep shit with these bookies . . .’

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, Pappa will take care of it. Like he always takes care of business. Come now,’ she linked her arm through his and turned back towards the grandstand, ‘let’s join the others for a glass of champagne
to commiserate. And we can make plans. I was thinking Greece sounds nice . . .’

She talked on as Colin walked slowly beside the woman he’d married and was now tied to more strongly than any marriage certificate could bind them. Queenie, Saskia, Dina . . . women, he cursed them all. Of all the endings to the saga of his life he had not envisioned this punishment: being tied to Dina, being watched, manipulated and blackmailed. The angry bile in the pit of his stomach rose into his throat and he thought he was going to vomit. He swallowed hard. Someday he’d get what he wanted. Somehow he’d show them all.

Chapter Forty

As she walked around the tiny Tingulla church, which had been restored from ruin by her mother, Queenie made mental notes of work that had to be done for the wedding — grass to be cut, paths to be fixed up, roses to be pruned and flowerbeds to be tidied up. However, other than a good spring-clean inside the church, there remained little else to be done.

Ruthie, motivated by her Christian childhood at the mission, wanted hymns and a proper churchman in robes to perform the ceremony. Queenie smiled to herself, wondering how Ruthie was ever going to contain her excitement.