Jump! (55 page)

Cindy went into complete hysterics of joy. Chisolm was almost
as excited and towed a laughing Tommy down the walkway to meet her dear friend, and a captivated crowd went crazy.

Amber didn’t dare look at Rogue and could hardly stammer out a coherent word when the overjoyed syndicate surged forward to congratulate her.

Bonny and Cindy, each determined to hog the limelight, were not pleased to be upstaged by a goat. Chisolm, having eaten the horn of Cindy’s yellow unicorn bag, butted away anyone who tried to stand between her and Mrs Wilkinson.

The rest of the syndicate, aware that Marius had been dreadfully rude, insisted that Lester and Cindy, as the newest members, went up to collect Mrs Wilkinson’s cup. Even on the podium Lester and Cindy were permanently on their mobiles, reporting on ‘our ’orse’.

‘Probably ringing each other up,’ Seth murmured into the very clean ear of Bonny, who’d been feeling unusually upstaged and gave him a smile of radiant gratitude.

‘Surprising he hasn’t tattooed LB on Cindy,’ she said.

‘We all know that stands for Little Bugger,’ said Seth and they both creased up with laughter.

Cackling at weak jokes was a sign of burgeoning love, reflected Alan, putting an arm round Etta: a rictus grin beneath her huge magenta hat.

‘All right, darling?’

‘Of course she is,’ cried Debbie. ‘We must make sure she wears her lucky hat every time Wilkie runs.’

Etta was in despair. Lester adored going into the winning owners’ room on the left of the weighing room to drink more champagne and watch the race again, but he was still hopping mad with Marius. So was Bertie Barraclough. Count Romeo had come last. Bertie was even crosser when Lester, complacent in victory, sidled up and suggested Bertie’s bouncing bed sales would rocket if he included a special offer of Cindy’s latest erotic fantasy. Marius, felt Bertie, should not lower the tone of the yard by taking on scum like Bolton.

‘Beware of winning,’ Alan murmured to Marius. ‘Bolton will expect it from now on.’

Bolton kept up the pressure, urging the syndicate to invest in a flat horse to race through the summer. He was particularly keen on a glossy black mare with four white socks, ‘and “useless” written across her forehead’, muttered Jase the farrier.

Bolton wanted to call the mare Cindy Kate. He was furious when Marius was disparaging about her prospects.

‘God, give me ugly winners.’

Bolton continually infuriated Marius by rolling up un-announced at the yard with clients. He also rang constantly for inside information on Marius’s runners – not many because Marius was still struggling to get back on track – and other trainers’ horses. He continued to march into the paddock and give Marius’s jockeys spurious advice. Rogue always ignored this, particularly after Bolton, while instructing Amber, left his hand a little too long on her succulent thigh.

In her next outing, to Wincanton in late April, Mrs Wilkinson was entered for her first novice chase over two miles. Bolton proceeded to take a box for some of his important clients, demanding an excessive number of owners’ badges.

Marius had told Amber to settle Mrs Wilkinson in third or fourth place and pull her up if she got tired. Mrs Wilkinson, however, took to chasing with alacrity, gaining with each fence she carefully jumped, preferring it to the rush and bash-through of hurdles. Out of a large field she came fourth, beating some very good horses. Marius was delighted. Cindy, a symphony in lilac after spending a fortune at Karen Millen, and looking forward to leading in Mrs Wilkinson, was not happy. Nor was Bolton, who made a frightful scene, to the amusement of his important clients,
who were fed up with him boasting about his horse and his tasty blonde jockey.

The syndicate was upset by the row, however, and were surprised the Major, as their chairman, seemed so reluctant to call Bolton into line.

‘Harvey-Holden’s horses are raced every few days, that’s why they’re so fit,’ spluttered Bolton.

Marius snarled back that Mrs Wilkinson tried so hard, she really took it out of herself during a race and needed to rest afterwards. ‘I am not going to push her.’

Not could the yard go on substituting Cheesecake for Furious when Cindy dropped in. On one occasion, tipped off by Michelle, she had turned up unexpectedly and flung her jangly braceleted arms round Furious, only for him to take a bite out of her. An enraged Bolton threatened to sue and, asking around, discovered he’d paid far too much for Furious and muttered about wanting his money back.

In his first race for Bolton, Furious had kicked the starter’s car and two other horses and refused to start. In the next, he wouldn’t even go into the parade ring.

The National Hunt season traditionally ends in April but jump racing continues throughout the summer for less good or less experienced horses or those suited to firmer ground. To appease Bolton, Marius entered Furious for a handicap chase at Worcester on Ladies’ Day, which was held in aid of a wonderful local hospice called St Richard’s. Bolton, in rare magnanimous mood, invited a party to join his table for lunch in the marquee.

Etta was touched to be asked. Petrified, however, that Debbie would frogmarch her into Larkminster and a pillarbox-red suit to complement the magenta stovepipe, she was relieved when Martin and Romy decided they’d like to accept Bolton’s invitation and pick up tips and big fish for their own charities, and left her at home to look after Poppy, Drummond and Priceless.

The syndicate were happy to be back at the lovely wooded course with the river running behind the Owners and Trainers bar.

Marius didn’t expect Furious to do anything, particularly as he himself had at last responded to pressure and sent Rafiq away on a course at the Northern Racing School in Doncaster to enable him to get a licence. But at least Tommy, whom Furious tolerated, was leading him up – and as it was summer they hadn’t had to go through the battle of trying to clip him.

*

The lunch tables in the marquee were crammed with glamorous people, but easily the noisiest, most glamorous and stared-at table was Lester Bolton’s, which included Shade Murchieson and Olivia Oakridge, Seth and Corinna, Martin and Romy, Alan, Bonny and of course Lester and Cindy with Harvey-Holden, Shade’s trainer, popping in for a bite and a glass of champagne between races.

None of his guests liked Bolton but the invitation gave them the opportunity to talk to each other and enjoy an excellent free lunch. Aware he was among peers, the people with whom his princess should be mingling, Bolton had pushed the boat out, offering ever-flowing vintage champagne, wonderful white and red, and a fabulous pudding wine to go with the glazed strawberry tart.

Bolton himself looked absurd. Having observed Alban and Toby at the races, Cindy had persuaded her husband into an avocado-green check tweed suit, into which he was now sweating buckets. She had also talked him into shaving his head, comb-over and all. Lester was now sporting a pancake-shaped spinach-green check cap.

‘Don’t he look the country squire?’ Cindy crowed to Alan, as they sat down to a first course of Parma ham and mango.

‘Lester Squire,’ grinned Alan, who, noticing the vicious cross-currents at the table, was determined to get drunk.

Bonny looked exquisite in a strapless grey silk dress topped by a shocking-pink and grey striped kimono jacket, with her hair up and tucked into a little pink pillbox.

She had been asked to judge the turnout in the first race and had given the prize to a mare ‘with her mane falling on the wrong side’, an increasingly impertinent and knowledgeable Cindy had told her scathingly.

‘I guess Cindy knows all about comb-overs,’ a furious Bonny hissed to Seth.

Corinna, stunning in a violet satin suit and a big black cart-wheel hat, had, to irritate Bonny, taken a public shine to Cindy, asking about her work, expressing huge enthusiasm for Lady Godiva in the wood. ‘You’re so ravishing, darling, the whole of Willowwood will be auditioning to play Peeping Tom.’

As admirers kept stopping at the table for autographs, ‘We’re so looking forward to your season at Stratford, Miss Waters,’ Corinna would insist Cindy sign their race cards as well. ‘This young woman is a serious actress, her autograph will be worth its weight one day.’

Bonny was hopping. She’d skipped her first course and was only drinking water, which didn’t add to her merriment. Corinna, suspecting a tendresse developing between Seth and Bonny, was further irritated that Valent hadn’t joined the party for her to flirt with.

‘Where’s your beau, Bonny?’ she called accusingly across the table.

‘Back in China.’

‘You ought to go away together, you must need a break,’ said Romy sympathetically.

‘We tried,’ sighed Bonny. ‘Valent doesn’t really do holidays. Like Sir Philip Green, he answers telephones in different parts of the world. And he hates sightseeing, not mad about the arts generally.’

‘Thinks Hedda Gabler is a footballer,’ drawled Seth.

Romy and Bonny shrieked with laughter.

‘Bonny and Clod,’ murmured Seth.

‘Oh shut up,’ murmured back Bonny.

‘I’ve always thought me-time was rather selfish,’ said Romy, crinkling her eyes engagingly. ‘Martin and I believe in we-time, that
we
should take time off together to celebrate our marriage.’

‘I believe in wee-wee time,’ said Corinna rudely. ‘Where’s the lavatory?’

Shade, in a beautifully cut white suit and black shirt which set off his dark tan, was being eyed up as much for his good looks as his bank balance.

He was now showing off to Bonny, who was on his left. ‘We’re campaigning Ilkley Hall next season, starting with the Paddy Power followed by the Hennessy, the King George and the Gold Cup.’

‘Why not enter him for Wimbledon, Henley, Cowes and the Grand Prix?’ mocked Seth. Shade was just thinking up a withering reply, but as the waitresses removed the first-course plates, a jolly bald man in a pale blue Peter Rabbit coat seized the microphone and was going through the race card, telling people which horses to back in the remaining races.

To Bolton’s irritation, he recommended three of Shade’s horses but Furious didn’t get a mention. Matters were not helped when Harvey-Holden returned for more champagne and a chat with Shade and Olivia.

‘Why can’t I have a trainer I can engage with?’ grumbled Bolton. ‘I asked Marius to join us,’ he added petulantly, ‘but with his usual lack of courtesy he hasn’t showed up.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ snapped Alan, ‘it might have something to
do with the fact that one of your guests took both Marius’s wife and twenty horses away from his yard.’

‘What’s that?’ Olivia swung round.

‘Poor Marius,’ sighed Cindy, ‘I don’t know how you could leave him, Olivia. I mean Shade’s well fit, but Marius is drop-dead gorgeous. Phwoar! I’d love to cheer him up.’

‘Really,’ said Olivia icily.

‘Reeely.’ Cindy leant across and admired the diamond big as a snowball on Olivia’s hand. ‘That’s a nice ring, where’d you get that?’

‘Shade gave it to me.’

‘Say no more,’ giggled Cindy. ‘I don’t fink Marius could have afforded that.’

A very, very bleak Olivia turned to Alan. ‘Isn’t she dreadful?’

‘I think she’s sweet,’ said Alan coldly.

As the waitresses swept in bearing roast pork with Calvados and cream sauce, and wild mushroom roulade for Bonny, Cindy turned back to Alan.

‘Doesn’t Lester mind you lusting after other men?’ he asked.

‘Naaah,’ Cindy hardly lowered her voice, ‘not as long as he can join in. Lester enjoys freesomes, but sadly, I don’t fink Marius is up for it.’

‘How exquisite freesomes sound!’ Alan filled up both their glasses.

‘Lester likes that stuck-up Michelle – he’s fumin’ she’s not leading up Furious today – and Michelle is seeing Marius so we could have ’ad a nice little foursome. Why don’t you join us one evening, Alan? Our jacuzzi takes eight, so does our bed.’

‘Gosh!’ said Alan excitedly. ‘Who else shall we have?’

‘Dame Corinna is a bit old to get her kit off,’ murmured Cindy, ‘but I found it very humbling and heart-warming, being singled out by her as an actress just now.’

‘We could ask Seth,’ suggested Alan and received a steely look from Martin and Romy.

Shade meanwhile was enjoying himself. It was music to his ears to hear Bolton bitching about Marius, and having patronized the little creep in the past he was prepared today to discuss fluctuations in the porn industry as seriously as if they were billion-pound arms deals.

Alan was then thrown to find himself almost liking Shade, when, as they settled down to their main course, Shade crossed the marquee and seized the microphone in order to praise St Richard’s Hospice, saying how miraculous they had been when his mother was dying of cancer.

‘They control the pain, families are allowed to stay, their kindness is unbelievable. I cannot thank them enough.’ He smiled round. ‘Death comes to all of us, but to some,’ his deep voice faltered for only a second, ‘in better ways than others.’

He then urged everyone to give generously to St Richard’s and to spend as much as possible at the auction after the last race.

Everyone cheered and clapped and as he returned to the table, Olivia hugged him: ‘Well done, darling, that was great,’ and Harvey-Holden patted him on the back.