Well Groomed (53 page)

By the time Tash and Snob were streaking towards the first fence, Stefan had already wandered away to help India, and Jenny was attending to Hugo’s girths. Only he watched Tash’s departure, his face pinched with concern.

Splattered with mud and grinning from ear to ear, Tash almost mowed India down as she galloped through the finish five minutes later and turned in a wide circle to slow Snob gradually to a walk. Pulling up too quickly could jar a horse’s legs, although she didn’t have to worry with Snob, who always took several hundred yards to battle down to a walk.

‘Fantastic!’ India whooped when they finally united. ‘That was really fast.’

Tash shook her head. ‘We had a stop at the ditches – he got his legs in a mess in the middle because we jumped the first part too big. But he was really obedient, so yah, boo and sucks to Hugo.’

She jumped off and started wrestling to undo the breast straps of the martingale.

‘I didn’t hear them mention the stop.’ India took Snob’s head. ‘Hugo’s still clear according to the tannoy. I’ve got Hunk ready – he’s by the box. You’d better go and get changed as soon as you’ve weighed in. And wash your face if you want to impress those judges.’

Tash grinned, amazed by India’s super-efficiency. She had only come to help at all because Franny, hearing that Hugo would be involved, refused point blank to care for Tash’s two horses that day. Tash was now pleased that she had.

She was so busy with Hunk that she didn’t see Hugo again until just before her second crack across country. Finished for the day, he was wearing a large grey sweater over his muddy breeches and sharing a cigarette near the start with the sport’s craggy-faced old timer Brian Sedgewick, a can of lager in his hands.

‘I hear we have you to beat,’ Tash called as she rode past them.

‘No chance,’ Hugo laughed. ‘You need to go inside the time to do that, and you’ll never make it on that old cob.’

Her competitive streak aroused, Tash exploded on to the course in a flurry of kicked mud. Although shorter-striding and less energetic than Snob, Hunk was more economical across country as he wasted less time pulling and fighting. He simply settled into his plodding, easy stride and bounced over the fences as though skipping for joy and simply taking a pipe-opener across the fields at home. Feeling him back to his full strength and running for fun underneath her, Tash barely glanced at her stopwatch. This competition was a confidence-bolster for Hunk, a dress rehearsal for Badminton without the pressure of the full event. Her primary objective had never been winning, she mainly wanted to give Hunk a big dollop of encouragement, but he was going so well that she was confident enough to tackle most of the direct routes to keep in touch. But even she was surprised when she glanced down to her watch at the final time-check to see that she was almost ten seconds ahead of the clock.

Another rider – delayed by a stop and a fall – pulled to the side as Tash and Hunk scattered dead leaves in their wake and bounded out of the final woods over the Elephant Pit. Then they raced up the hill to whistle over a pile of logs and pound through the finish, where Hunk proved a great deal easier to rein down to a walk than Snob.

‘Christ, that horse is fit.’ Stefan loped up, stuffing a hotdog into his mouth as he freed his hands to help her remove the saddle. ‘What’s your secret?’

‘Neglectful fiancé.’ Tash jumped off. ‘I’ve put a lot of work into him during the lonely evenings.’ She gave him a kiss on his black muzzle. Hunk threw a delighted, lip-smacking raspberry and hunted her pockets for Polos.

‘Well, unofficially you’ve won.’ Stefan spoke with his mouth full, winking at her as she undid the surcingle and pulled Hunk’s ears with delight. ‘I make you inside the time, and you were the only pair who could catch Hugs – he’s pretty pissed off with you for denying him his first win in weeks.’

But far from seeming pissed off, Hugo slapped her on the back and handed her a can of lager as soon as he caught sight of her.

‘Well done.’ He grinned. ‘Bloody brilliant. Have a fag and talk me through it.’

As Tash walked around with him and related, jump for jump, the delights of taking Hunk around the course, she shivered with happiness. It was so rare to be able to yak on about a triumph to someone who seemed eager to listen. Gus and Penny generally wore the ‘heard it before’ faces of those who had won and lost too often to want to pick the bones of each event anymore, and Niall – when he was in evidence – tried to join in her enthusiasm but bored easily.

‘Listen, there’s someone I want you to meet.’ Hugo led her towards the bar tent once India had emerged to take Hunk off for a cold sponge-over and a handful of Polos.

Twenty minutes later and Tash was even more ecstatic. She had an appointment for the following week with the marketing and managing directors of Mogo clothing, a very upmarket manufacturer who was breaking into the fleece and waterproof markets so favoured by events’ sponsors. They had initially approached Hugo with an offer, but he was tied up in an exclusive deal with an investment bank that he was eager to keep sweet, so he’d suggested Tash and had been politely haranguing them to attend the event that day. Having seen her compete, the two men seemed enthusiastic. Riders normally had to chase sponsors and badger them for funding and endorsements. To be approached by one was almost unheard of. Tash almost exploded with gratitude.

‘I can’t believe it.’ She wandered back to the lorry with Hugo to collect Snob for the presentation. ‘Why me? Why not Stefan – he’s independent right now, isn’t he?’

‘He’s foreign, Tash, and they wanted a Brit.’

‘What about Gus? He’s gagging for a sponsor.’

‘Tash!’ He swung her round by the shoulders, laughing with frustration, his straight dark brows diving towards one another in disbelief. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that for all the respect and experience the Moncrieffs have in the field, you have better horses right now and you’re winning more comps? Your profile is far higher than Gus’s. How many interviews or features have you had written about you this year in the horse rags?’

She shrugged uncertainly. ‘Half a dozen maybe.’

‘Which is half a dozen more than Gus.’ He clutched her shoulders and faced her. ‘Look, Gus might be a bit jealous if you pull this off, but the yard needs the money, whether it’s you or him pulling it in – you’ll get entry fees and petrol-money, insurance costs covered; your top nags will get nice new rugs to show off the Mogo logo, their grub paid – maybe even new transport if you’re very lucky. And their mistress will get a lot of two-tone designer fleeces, which beats those holey old jumpers she slopes around in now.’

She hung her head and realised he was speaking a lot of sense. Glancing up through her lashes, she saw him still watching her, hands gripping her shoulders bolsteringly.

‘You fit their product.’ His blue eyes were warm with encouragement. ‘Just believe that next week. You’re a winner.’

‘Today, I am.’ She shrugged. ‘Lots of unsponsored riders are winners – look at Brian Sedgewick; he’s one of the top riders in the country.’

‘He doesn’t look like you, though, does he?’ Hugo sighed despairingly.

Tash wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. ‘Brian’s very – distinctive,’ she said kindly.

‘Brian’s very ugly,’ Hugo laughed. ‘Whereas you are very beautiful indeed.’

Tash gaped at him. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that. She was longing for him to repeat it just to make sure, but he was still giving her that kind, encouraging big-brother smile that said nothing at all.

On the return journey, she sat between Stefan, who was driving, and Hugo, who slept throughout, his long thigh resting carelessly against hers, head lolling alternately against his breast bone and her shoulder. At one point her face seemed to be full of his slithering, sweet-smelling hair. With a great squirm of fear tightening in her stomach, she realised that the old magic was working again. Her crush was coming back like some terrible childhood illness one thought one couldn’t catch twice, but that hit ten times as hard when it returned.

Eating a Zoe special – cauliflower and carrot chilli – that night at Lime Tree Farm, Tash broke the news about her meeting with Mogo to Gus.

‘I see,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Well, that would be good if it worked out, but don’t build your hopes up – you know how things can go phut when it comes to sponsors.’

‘Sure.’ Tash forked her food around the plate unenthusiastically.

‘Well, I think it’s fantastic!’ India told everyone eagerly. ‘Tash rode brilliantly today – even Hugo called her “shit hot and bloody scary”.’

‘Language!’ Zoe laughed in mock-horror. ‘Although perhaps I should call Hugo and say that.’

‘I shouldn’t bother.’ India wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s got a hot date tonight. Stefan says she’s drop-dead gorgeous.’ She peeked furtively at Tash.

Tash was chewing on a whole green chilli, seeming not to notice.

‘Well, I’m jolly pleased you did well today, Tash.’ Penny cleared her throat and reached for the wine bottle. ‘We have a lame horse, twisted wrist, kicked shin and torn shoulder muscle between us to show for our day’s work.’

Tash kept quiet, not certain how to respond to that one. At her feet, Beetroot was licking the flagstones thoughtfully.

‘Niall phoned,’ Zoe told her as she started to collect up plates.

‘Did he?’ Tash looked at her watch to see what time it was in the States. ‘I could call him back now – where’s the number?’ The chilli was starting to bite and her mouth suddenly burst into flames.

‘He – er – didn’t leave one.’ Zoe bit her lip. ‘He was mid-way on his coast-to-coast promo and calling from some airport – even he didn’t seem to know which. Says he’s spent every day trapped in a hotel suite with a different journalist poling up every five minutes on roster to ask exactly the same questions. He sounded terribly tired.’

‘Did he leave a message?’ Tash’s eyes were starting to stream, her mouth positively dissolving now, her throat one big fireball of pain. She was trying to keep her dignity, but it was hard when one’s nose had started to dribble with chilli blast-back.

Zoe was looking at her in concern. ‘He says he loves you,’ she said unconvincingly, ‘and that he forgot to mention that he’s free for that weekend at your ma’s if you make it the second in May.’

‘But that’s just before Badminton!’ she howled, sounding like Darth Vader.

‘I shouldn’t worry, Tash,’ Gus stood up, his voice caustic. ‘You’re doing so well at the moment, you won’t need the practice.’ He walked out, taking the wine bottle with him.

Tash sank her head into her hands, nose going like an outlet pipe now, a blow torch blasting through her mouth and aiming into her throat, bonfire coming the other way. The only reason she was doing well right now, she wanted to yell if she only could, was because she had all the time in the world to practise. She was supposed to be getting married in two months and she had seen far, far more of her horses this year than of her lover. What was worse, she was finding she missed him less and less.

THE NEXT DAY, HUGO greeted her with a cup of undrinkably bad instant coffee made in the tack room and a big, genial smile. She still kept having to double-take when he smiled at her, it was incredibly hard to adjust to. She couldn’t wait to say hi to Mickey, who was looking spectacular now that his dull, clipped winter coat had been replaced by the glossy steel of his summer one. His lop ears waggled back and forth with amazed delight when he saw her and, thoroughly overexcited, he tried to thrust a mouthful of hay into her face.

Holding the jealous Snob at a safe distance, Hugo laughed in amazement. ‘He looks like some sort of camp make-up artiste.’

But he was far from friendly once he had her and Snob circling around him in the indoor school. Out of necessity rather than cruelty, he revealed all of their weak spots as easily as the king revealing the four and twenty blackbirds. One by one, he picked on her legs, her hands, her back, her head and her feet.

‘Okay, drop the reins but keep riding forward. Where does he go?’

‘To the left.’ Tash almost fell off as Snob veered dramatically to one side.

‘Know why he does that?’

‘Because he favours that side.’

‘Nope.’ Hugo walked forward and grabbed the rein to slow up Snob. ‘
You
favour that side. You might not realise it, but your weight is almost entirely on your left buttock – here.’ He slipped a warm hand beneath her rear. ‘He pitches that way to compensate for all the pressure bearing down on him.’

Tash shifted away, not wanting him to have a chance to assess the pudginess of her bottom.

‘That’s better.’ Hugo removed the hand, unsmiling. ‘When he gets overexcited across country, he veers left because it’s now ingrained. The same happens show-jumping, especially when he’s had a couple down and tenses up – I’ve seen him do it. Now go through those canter transitions down the centre line again, this time trying to place your weight evenly.’

Tash did and Snob veered left.

‘And again – concentrate.’

Again he veered left.

‘Once more!’

And so on for almost an hour until Snob was heading in a straight line but was looking exceptionally fed up.

‘That’ll need a lot of work,’ Hugo commented afterwards as they took a break, sitting on jumping barrels sharing a cigarette. ‘You both have a very stubborn habit to break. Right, let’s work on your confidence. Get that kit off.’

‘What?’ she yelped.

Hugo looked withering. ‘The horse’s, Tash, the horse’s. I want to lunge you both.’

‘Without the saddle?’ Her eyes narrowed. She knew this trick.

‘Yup.’

Ten minutes later and she was swearing every blue word she knew under her breath as Hugo lunged Snob around a jumping grid, letting him shoot out all manner of bucks and leaps and swerves which sent her sailing through the air time and time again. This was one of Hugo’s favourite old training methods and he had used it before on her – it was a guaranteed bum-crushing, bone-aching short-cut to shame. Black and blue after half an hour, she called it a day.