Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (25 page)

‘
It’s been too long since I’ve seen my Blue Jean Baby. Been in hospital with a chest infection that wouldn’t shift. The joys of being a pensioner in winter.’

‘You used to train, didn’t you?’

Ron McCready responded with another warm smile.

‘That I did. Didn’t have quite as big a set-up as Jack does here, but we had our moments of glory.’

Frankie carried on brushing Dory. She bit her lip, summoning her courage.

‘My dad rode for you, didn’t he?’

He gave a wheezy cough and Frankie waited for him to answer.

‘If Doug Cooper’s your dad then yes
, he did. A fine rider just as you are, I’m sure. Not every Tom, Dick and Harry gets a job with Jack Carmichael.’

‘Thanks.’

She opened her mouth to ask another question then closed it again when she failed to compose the words. Airily brushing the mud from Dory’s temples, she tried a different approach.

‘Dad sometimes mentioned
a horse that you trained—Crowbar, I think it was,’ she said. ‘He must have been some horse to have.’

‘That he was. Lazy as a dog
at home, but he saved his energy for when it really mattered.’

‘But he had two jockeys, didn’t he?’

She paused in her grooming, fearful that she was probing too deep, but Ron didn’t seem to notice. He chuckled and shook his head. Even though his eyes still travelled over Dory’s body, she could tell he was looking back into the past.

‘Wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it? Your dad and Alan Bradford practically shared everything. Those two were inseparable.’

Frankie dropped the dandy brush.

‘They were friends?’

‘Well, of course. Shared a house when they were both doing their apprenticeships. Your dad was best man at Alan’s wedding if I remember correctly. Poor sod. Had to stand up and do a speech in front of hundreds.’ He paused to reminisce then nodded. ‘That’s right, I remember that day well now. Maria’s parents hadn’t spared any expense—mind you, they could well afford it. Your poor dad was so nervous about telling stories about Alan without getting him in trouble with the new in-laws. They were all Spanish too and—well, you know, the British sense of humour isn’t universally shared.’ He gave a raspy chuckle and shook his head.

F
rankie stared at him, her limbs numb. She nearly lost her balance when Dory shoved her. Her assumption that her father and Alan Bradford had always been enemies lay in rubble in her brain. They’d been friends? And by the sounds of it, not just friends, but
best
friends.

‘Is that why Alan Bradford rode Crowbar in the National then?
Because they were friends?’

The old man tilted his head back to look at her
curiously.

‘Doug never told you they were friends, did he?’ he said.

Frankie gave an ambiguous shrug and retrieved the brush from the straw. She started on combing out the clots of earth from Dory’s mane.

‘I kno
w that they knew each other. There’s no big secret or anything,’ she said. ‘I was just wondering why my dad didn’t ride Crowbar in the National.’

‘Why are you asking me these questions?’ he said with a grey frown. His face took on the expression of someone who’s realised they’ve said too much. ‘I think you should ask your father if you
’ve got questions. It’s not my place,’ he mumbled. He gestured at Dory with his hand. ‘Mind you use a soft cloth on her ears now.’

Abandoning her grooming, d
esperation got the better of her.

‘But why?
All I want to know is why they fell out. If I could just understand then it would be okay. But right now, I don’t know what Rhys and I are doing that’s so wrong.’

‘You and Rhys?’

Frankie grimaced. That one had slipped out like a fart in an elevator.

‘Yeah, kinda.’

‘Alan’s son, Rhys? Oh, Lord. Talk to your father, Frankie. That’s all I can say.’

‘But—
’

‘Come
along now. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with without standing around chatting.’

Frankie sighed. She saw Jack walking briskly over to them from across the yard and her shoulders slumped.
Theories and questions buzzed around her head like rush-hour traffic. So hers and Rhys’s fathers had been best friends. Where had it all gone wrong? Did Crowbar have anything to do with the bust-up? Who was to blame? Why wouldn’t Ron McCready tell her what had happened? Why did Doug Cooper still hate Alan Bradford’s guts so vehemently thirty years on?

Fine flurries of snow were still silently falling when Frankie mounted the steps to her parents’ front door that evening. The brass knocker, lit by the security lantern, burned her fingertips with cold. Vanessa answered the door, delight and surprise on her face.

‘Fran
kie, darling. This is unexpected.’ Her expression flickered in doubt. ‘It’s not Sunday yet, is it?’

Frankie grinned.

‘No, Mum. Still Thursday.’

‘That’s a relief. Come on in. It’s freezing out here.’

Grateful, Frankie stomped the snow from her boots on the mat and stepped into the warmth of the house.

‘So, to what do we owe this treat?’ her mother asked, closing the door behind her.

‘Urgh, you know. Just wanted to see you guys,’ Frankie shrugged.

‘I’ve just boiled the kettle. Would you like a cuppa?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Go on through. Doug!’ Vanessa called ahead. ‘Frankie’s here!’

Frankie walked through into the lounge warily. It had been five weeks since Doug and Rhys had clashed swords at Chepstow Community Hospital. During the one brief visit she’d paid to her parents’ house since then, Doug had been in bed with ’flu and hadn’t been up to further argument. Three weeks on, however, he was sitting in his recliner, pulled close to the crackling fireplace, and looking as healthy as ever.

‘Hello, Dad,’ she ventured.

‘Hello, Frankie.’

She hesitated, but when Doug gave her an appeasing smile, her confidence returned and she delivered her usual greeting kiss to his cheek.

‘Your nose feels like an icicle,’ he said.

‘It’s snowing outside.’

‘So I believe. Are you staying for dinner?’

‘I don’t think so, thanks.’ Frankie sat down on the hearth rug
to welcome the delicious heat of the fire. She was still unsure how to go about confronting her father about his dealings with the Bradfords. She’d played over all the different ways she could broach the subject on the drive over, but they’d all sounded prying or interrogatory. She supposed that was because whichever way she looked at it, she
was
prying.

Vanessa returned from the kitchen with a tray and set it down on a side table, slopping the contents of the three mugs onto the cloth.

‘Did I hear you’re staying for dinner?’ she said.

Frankie shook her head.

‘Thanks, but I won’t. I promised Tom I’d cook tonight.’ Well, that was only half a lie. She’d been promising Tom that she’d make a meal for the past fortnight, but she’d either arrived home from racing too late or she’d been at Rhys’s. Yesterday, Tom had looked less than thrilled by her absence so tonight was as good as any to get back into his good books.

‘Ah, Tom,’ Vanessa sighed. ‘I hope you th
anked him for his Christmas present. So sweet of him to think of us. How is he?’

Now there was a million-dollar question.
Moody? Irritable? Depressed?

‘He’s been a bit down lately,’ she replied.

Vanessa shook her head.

‘Winter does that to some people.
Short days, long nights, the cold, post-Christmas. Mind you, I don’t remember him having Seasonal Affective Disorder before. Is everything okay with him?’

Tom hadn’t given her license to tell anyone about his search for his birth parents so Frankie skirt
ed the issue.

‘He’s just got a lot on his plate at the minute. Plus, I haven’t been
around much for him to talk to.’

‘Aspen Valley keeping you busy?’ Doug said.

Frankie swayed. It wasn’t Aspen Valley so much as an Aspen Valley member of staff who was keeping her busy.

‘You could say that,’ she said.

Doug and Vanessa both cottoned on in the same instant. Doug’s mouth disappeared in a grim line while Vanessa’s formed a teasing ‘ooh’. Then she gasped.

‘Do you think that Tom’s—
I don’t know, do you think he might be a little bit in love with you?’

Frankie screwed up her face.

‘What? No way! Why would you think that? Tom and I are just friends, you know that.’

Vanessa gave her a knowing look.

‘Yes, but darling, does
he
know that?’

Frankie looked at her parents in disbelief. Even Doug looked quite taken with the
idea.

‘Of course he does. We’ve been friends for how many years? Believe
me, if Tom was in love with me, he’s had plenty of time to make it known.’

‘Men’s minds work differently to women’s, Frankie,’ Doug said. ‘You might think you’re “just good friends”, but you ask any guy honestly and he’ll tell you that isn’t possible.’

‘How long has he been depressed?’

Frankie shrugged.

‘A couple of months I guess. Ever since winter really set in.’ She wasn’t going to betray Tom’s confidence now even when her parents’ theory saw him as a love-sick pup.

‘Ever since
you-know-what
?’ Vanessa probed.

Frankie took an irritable sip of her tea.

‘I guess so, but that’s just coincidence.’

‘You sure about that?
Think about it, Frankie,’ Vanessa said, giving her a sidelong look. ‘Has Tom ever had girlfriends round?’

‘No, but he’s
never hidden past girlfriends from me. He might just be going through a quiet patch at the minute.’

‘How did he react when you told him
you-know-what
?’

‘Mum, do we have to keep referring to Rhys as
you-know-what
? You make him sound like Lord Voldemort. Tom was fine. He didn’t believe me at first, but he’s really not fazed. Like I said, he’s got other things on his mind right now.’

‘I bet he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it though, was he?’
Doug persisted. ‘Tom’s a good lad. He’s got pride. If he’s keeping it a secret then of course he’s going to act blasé about the whole thing.’

Frankie pa
used to think. She had to admit Tom had never shown much enthusiasm for her and Rhys’s relationship, but surely that was because he was too wrapped up in his genealogy search?

‘And he’s always been there for you, hasn’t he?’ Vanessa continued. ‘Now, you show me one per
son—of the opposite sex—who would give that kind of support and not be after anything in return.’

Frankie frowned. Tom was a very loyal friend. He put up with Frankie’s moods, always listened to her moaning,
always seemed pleased if she suggested they go to the Golden Miller for a drink together…Her eyes widened.

‘Do you really think so?’ she said dubiously.

Vanessa gave an exaggerated nod.

‘I don’t think so. I
know
so.’

Frankie blew on her tea, trying to grasp this new bombshell in her life. She’d come here to ask her father about
Alan Bradford, but had instead been persuaded that the person she thought of as her best friend might actually be in love with her. Just thinking those words though made her doubt herself. No, not Tom. Surely not. But what if they were right?

‘I don’t know,’ she compromised. ‘I’ll watch him from now on, j
ust to see how he reacts then—I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to talk to him about it. I mean, I love Tom, but I love him like a brother.’

Vanessa bit her lip and nodded sadly.

‘I know you do, darling.’

Frankie realised just what she’d said. She shot a quick look at her father. Doug was looking into the fire, his mouth twisted in bitterness. She wished Tom could be as much like a son to him as he was a brother to her, but they had never shared that closeness.

Ironic, Frankie thought. There was Tom breaking his heart trying to trace his mother and father, while Doug sat, still mourning Seth. All of a sudden, bringing up the subject of Alan Bradford didn’t seem so important. But a change in topic was definitely a good idea.

‘Jack said he’s going to enter Peace Offering in the Kim Muir Chase at the Festival next month,’ she said brightly. ‘Isn’t tha
t great?’

Doug’s gaze left the fire to settle on the mantelpiece above. His eyes came to
rest on the photograph of Seth winning on his one and only Cheltenham Festival ride. He was grinning from ear to ear and in his hands he held aloft the Cross Country Chase trophy.

Frankie sighed. For a brief moment, she found resentment rising up inside her as she looked at Seth’
s mud-splattered face.

Doug’s focus flickered back to her.

‘That’s very good, lovie,’ he said in a vain attempt to sound enthusiastic.

Frankie wanted to shake h
im. She wanted to shout at him:
Don’t you see that I’m doing all of this for you?
But she knew she never could. He was hurting enough already.

‘Yeah, isn’t it?’ she
mumbled instead.

‘That sounds very exciting, dear,’ Vanessa said. Her painted smile pleaded with them both not to tumble into
an argument. ‘I don’t think I know that race. Is it one of the big ones?’

Still the resentment simmered.

‘All of the Festival races are big ones. That’s why getting a Festival ride is such a big deal,’ she said sourly. Vanessa’s face fell at her bitterness and Frankie at once regretted her tone. She attempted a humble smile to compensate. ‘It’s one of the main amateur races of the week.’

‘We’ll have to come along and cheer you on then.’

Frankie downed the last of her tea and got to her feet.

‘Thanks,
Mum.’ She gave her mother a hug then turned to Doug. ‘Well, I’d better go.’

Doug nodded.

‘See you soon, honey,’ he said.

Frankie noticed that the words were barely out of his mouth
before his gaze was drawn back to the picture of Seth. She wondered if he was reliving the day he’d died or the day he’d won the Cross Country Chase. The wistfulness in his expression made it difficult to tell. All Frankie knew was that it wasn’t a wistfulness for her to win.

‘Will we see you this weekend?’ Vanessa asked. ‘We could take you out for a birthday dinner.’

Doug snapped back into the present and Frankie couldn’t help a wry smile from tugging at her lips. Her father had never been good with dates; the only one he never needed reminding about was the anniversary of Seth’s death. It was with some degree of malicious pleasure that Frankie said,

‘No. I’m racing at Ascot then
Rhys
and I are going to a Valentine’s fireworks display.’ There. That would serve him right for always putting Seth first. Doug frowned, but he didn’t say anything. ‘See ya,’ she said and walked out the room.