Jump! (53 page)

‘She’s had one small glass,’ protested Alan. ‘You’re staying, darling.’

‘Don’t interfere,’ snapped Martin.

Priceless wandered back again, weaving his head round Etta’s bottom.

‘Your mother’s very kindly agreed to look after Priceless next week,’ said Seth, shooting Romy a hot glance.

‘Impossible,’ snapped Martin. ‘She’s far too busy and dogs give Drummond asthma.’

‘No he don’t,’ cried an even browner Drummond, rushing into the bar and hugging Priceless. ‘I like him, he’s got short fur. Can I have a drink, Dad?’

‘You’re very tired, little man,’ said Romy.

‘No I’m not, I’m thirsty,’ said Drummond.

‘Have a large Scotch,’ suggested Alan.

‘Hello, Granny.’ Poppy came racing in to hug Etta and then Priceless, who flashed his teeth at her, hitting his ribs on either side as he wagged his long skinny tail.

‘Come away,’ shrieked Romy, snatching up Poppy. ‘He’s going to bite you.’

‘No, that’s smiling,’ protested Poppy. ‘He’s pleased to see me.’

‘He’s coming to stay with Granny,’ said Drummond.

‘I can take him for walks, he never pulls,’ crowed Poppy. ‘Skiing’s boring. I missed you, Granny.’

‘Poppy and Drummond seem to know that greyhound rather too well,’ said Romy ominously as she and Martin stretched out in the clean sheets Etta had ironed and put on their bed that afternoon. ‘I think Mother may have been minding it already. But we don’t want to antagonize Seth and Corinna by forbidding it. They’ll be invaluable for attracting punters when we have events.’

‘Norman was just telling me Lester Bolton’s joined the syndicate,’ volunteered Martin. ‘We must ask him round. He’s very wealthy and desperate to be accepted.’

‘Kitchen sups with Seth and Corinna, Bonny and Valent perhaps?’

‘Excellent.’ Martin put a sunburnt hand on his wife’s full white breast. ‘Seth’s right, you do look ludicrously beautiful.’ His hand slid down between her thighs, encountering warmth and wetness. ‘Exciting that you still fancy me.’

Romy smiled, closing her eyes, growing wetter and warmer as she thought of Seth. Gratifying to have the two handsomest men in Willowwood in love with her.

The next Becher’s Brook was stopping Furious eating Cindy and Bolton alive when they viewed him at the yard. Dora, however, had dreamed up a cunning plan. The moment Marius and Michelle set off to Hereford, Furious was locked away in the isolation box and a very kind, docile chestnut called Cheesecake
was imported from the nearest riding school for the day and polished all morning by Tommy and Dora. Cheesecake’s blaze was as white as the clouds above, an expression of delight on his sweet face, as he nuzzled the pockets of Cindy’s tight white breeches for Polos provided by Dora.

‘You must have a ride,’ urged Dora.

Cindy’s shrieks and giggles, according to her neighbour Alban Travis-Lock, were more earsplitting than the drills screaming on metal of her husband’s workmen. As Rafiq and Dora led her round the home paddock, she was in full throttle. All the lads, on a lunchtime break, stifled their laughter and clapped and cheered. Furious, in his isolation box, snorted, neighed, gnawed and scraped his hooves against his locked door.

‘Hubby,’ announced Cindy, ‘is very keen that my next movie should be Lady Godiva.’

‘How brilliant,’ cried Dora.

‘We’ll be auditioning mounts soon,’ said Cindy loftily. ‘Perhaps we should keep it in ’ouse and use Furious. He’s so gentle yet so good-lookin’, and if I’m going to be getting my kit off I don’t want anything too frisky, what’s going to buck me off on the cobblestones.’

‘Furious would fit the bill perfectly,’ said Dora, kissing Cheesecake. ‘You two are made for each other. Want to trot on?’

‘Might get a black eye from one of my boobs. Perhaps that handsome Rafiq could give me some lessons.’

‘He might,’ whispered Dora. ‘He’s been looking after Furious for yonks. He’s desperate for him to go to a good owner, so he can go on caring for him.’

‘He can care for me any time,’ giggled Cindy. ‘Phwoar, he’s well fit, he looks very pashnit.’

‘For Christ’s sake smile, Rafiq,’ hissed Dora.

‘Why’s horsey called Furious?’ asked Cindy.

‘Because he’s furious he hasn’t had someone as pretty as you on his back before,’ said Dora.

Cindy’s shrieks of mirth made even Cheesecake bound forward. At that moment, Lester Bolton rolled up in a vast Range Rover, and in a nothing-is-too-good-for-my-Cindy mood.

‘If you want this ’orse, princess, he’s yours. He’s certainly a nice-looking animal. Blood will out of course.’

‘And bloody-mindedness in Furious’s case,’ murmured Dora.

‘I love him.’ Cindy hugged Cheesecake. ‘He and Rafiq are to come and stay at Primrose Mansions on their ’olidays.’

‘So glad you made it today, Mr Bolton,’ whispered Dora. ‘So many big hitters are after Furious, they’ll tear their hair out.’

As Marius was at the races, Miss Painswick and the Major accepted the cheque.

‘Better frame it,’ said Dora.

‘It’s Bolton that’s been framed,’ said Painswick. ‘Better get Cheesecake back to the riding school before Marius returns.’

‘Can’t we keep him?’ sighed Dora.

Marius was not amused when Painswick showed him the cheque.

‘So I’ve got to deal with that monster on the telephone twenty-four hours a day now.’

‘You ought to be very grateful to Dora,’ snapped Painswick. ‘She masterminded the whole thing.’

At that moment, Dora sidled in.

‘Can we have a word about Mrs Wilkinson, Mr Oakridge?’ she asked politely.

‘No, we may not,’ said Marius, pouring himself a large whisky.

‘She’s not at all happy, and she jumps when you approach her suddenly from the wrong side. She’s slumped in her box with her head down. She needs a good win to cheer her up.’

Marius glared at Dora’s sweet round face, the picture of innocence, as she continued.

‘Companion animals are allowed on most racecourses. Cheltenham’s had ducks, hens, sheep, cats and goats. Rupert Campbell-Black’s Love Rat wouldn’t leave his box without his pony friend. The pony went into the parade ring and down to the start of the Derby and Rupert had to put Love Rat in blinkers so he wouldn’t see the pony hadn’t started and wasn’t racing with him.’

‘I know all this,’ snapped Marius, looking at his post with slightly less alarm because of Bolton’s cheque.

‘Poor little Chisolm meanwhile,’ Dora stopped to remove a burr from Mistletoe’s tail, ‘is going into a decline. She’s losing weight, her coat’s dull. Being abandoned for hours in her box must remind her of being trapped in that terrible compression chamber. And when Wilkie goes out without her she always gets up to mischief, butting Bolton’s skip lorry back into Willowwood last week, and if she’s shut away, she drives the other horses and the lads crackers with her pathetic bleating. Wilkie, on the other hand, needs Chisolm’s reassuring presence. Look what a state she got herself into at Wetherby. And if Chisolm fades away, Wilkie will also go into a decline, and you don’t want to jeopardize the career of a world-beater.’

‘Shut up, Dora,’ howled Marius, curling his hand round the bronze horse Mrs Wilkinson had won at Ludlow. ‘Just shut up
and get out, I don’t need idiot schoolgirls to tell me how to run my yard.’

Head hanging, shoulders heaving, giving pitiful little sobs, Dora had reached the door when an infuriated Marius called out, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, let the bloody goat go along then.’

Dora’s tears dried as instantly as a summer shower, and she beamed at Marius.

‘Oh, thank you so much, Chisolm will be absolutely delighted. She’ll be such a talking point at the races, I’m going to get her a new green collar and lead. Wilkie will have even more fans. Did you know that since Bonny, Seth and Corinna joined the syndicate, she’s been getting five hundred hits a day on her website?’

‘
Website
?’ thundered Marius.

‘Of course,’ said Dora sweetly, ‘and you’ll never guess, I’ve taught Wilkie to lie down – I know Count Romeo does it automatically – but think what a joke it would be if we could get Jude the Obese on her back at the fête and make Wilkie pretend to collapse. She might anyway. And if Bolton parks his Chelsea tractor on the pavement, poor Jude will never get up the high street. She’ll be traffic-jammed. What a problem for the Major!’

Seeing Marius was trying not to laugh, Dora said sternly, ‘You ought to thank Miss Painswick. She organized the whole thing
and
got Lester to pay up.’

Bolton joined the syndicate and was quite awful. At his first meeting at the Fox, which to his disappointment neither Corinna, Seth nor Bonny was able to attend, he suggested chucking out the Ford Transit and going to the races in something smarter.

‘I appreciate we need a minibus to retain the corporate feel,’ he told the group, ‘but if we each put in a grand or two we could afford a Mercedes Sprinter with infinitely superior facilities.’

Seeing Woody, Joey, Tilda, Pocock and Painswick turning green, Etta interrupted that the point of the syndicate was to make Mrs Wilkinson affordable to all of them.

‘We keep back any extra money for vet’s bills and things.’

‘The wages of syndicate is debt,’ murmured Alan, ordering red and white.

Bolton then suggested finding a sponsor for the bus and kitting out all Marius’s stable lads in smarter gear.

‘Tommy looks a mess and Rafiq needs an ‘aircut and a smile occasionally. Marius needs six monfs in a charm school. Pretty Michelle is the only one who gets it right.’

Painswick, who was embroidering a church vestment, raised an eyebrow.

It became plain that Bolton was not going to pick up bar and food bills like Valent. At this first encounter, he didn’t buy a round and suggested in a loud voice that if they were worried about costs, why didn’t they take turns to have meetings in people’s homes rather than at the Fox, buy any refreshments from the supermarket so they wouldn’t have to fork out pub prices and each bring food on the day. The Major, who’d been shocked by the prices of Chris’s hampers, agreed heartily.

‘Fun to go to different houses,’ cried Phoebe. ‘You’re welcome
at Wild Rose Cottage any time, although you’d have to sit on the stairs. As it’s your lovely idea, Lester, why don’t we start with Primrose Mansions? We heard from the Major how exciting it is.’

Lester bowed. ‘Cindy and I would be happy to receive you.’

‘We’ll give a pah-ee in the summer,’ promised Cindy.

From then on Bolton continually bullied for improvements and was constantly on the telephone to Marius, whose calls were fielded by Miss Painswick. He was unable to understand why horses couldn’t run every day. Nor could he appreciate that a lack of rain made the ground too quick for Furious, or that Mrs Wilkinson was still pulled down by her trip to Wetherby.

Bolton’s ambition was to showcase his princess, who would prefer a stretch limo to a minibus and was anxious to put a pink bridle on Mrs Wilkinson: ‘She is a girlie after all.’

Mrs Wilkinson’s first race since Ludlow was a novice hurdle at Cheltenham in the middle of April. Cheltenham had been chosen because it was only twenty miles from Willowwood and wouldn’t upset her, particularly as she was being accompanied by Count Romeo, History Painting and, best of all, Chisolm, who stopped bleating instantly she discovered she was coming too.

The day was full of incident. Bolton’s electric gates fused shut and Pocock and the Major leapt from the minibus and much enjoyed helping Cindy over them with much shrieking.

Toby’s lack of chin dropped.

‘Good God,’ exclaimed Alban from the driving seat, as Cindy tottered towards the bus, tossing her long blonde hair, flashing boobs, bare shoulders and a massive expanse of mantanned, tattooed bare leg. Hanging from her arm was a pale yellow bag in the shape of a unicorn. Flung round her shoulders, despite the mild spring day, was a floor-length mink.

‘How many animals died to give you that coat?’ hissed Dora.

‘Only my mother-in-law,’ giggled Cindy, which cracked up the bus.

Lester followed in a shiny, light brown suit, jewellery flashing in the sunshine. Despite Bolton’s call for austerity, Alan was circulating the champagne and everyone was lapping it up.

Corinna was on tour, Valent in China. Bonny, in a neat little grey tweed suit and a white silk shirt, was sitting with Seth, who introduced her to the Boltons.

‘A little birdie told me you was thirty-five, Bonny,’ shrieked Cindy. ‘I cannot believe it, I hope I’m as lovely as you when I get to your age.’

‘Where’s Valent?’ asked Lester.

‘Shopping,’ said Bonny. ‘He bought a mining company in South Africa last week.’

Not to be outdone, Bolton took his BlackBerry to the back of the minibus.

Trying not to mind Seth sitting next to Bonny, Etta feasted her eyes on primroses and celandines starring the verges, above which blackthorn blossom foamed in a tidal wave. White toadflax festooned the lichened walls and weeping willow branches hung like feather boas, with little lime-green leaves and yellow catkins curling outwards.

Cindy plonked herself across the row from Seth and Bonny and in front of Phoebe and Debbie.