Telling all to Ben turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic. They’d sat in Babs’ Teashop drinking endless cups of tea while Kate spilled out her fears and frustrations.
Kate had plenty of time to go over that day in her mind as Aspen Valley’s lorry trundled east to Huntingdon where Fontainebleau was lining up in a midweek handicap hurdle. Her two work colleagues, Woody and June, were too busy pretending not to flirt with one another to notice the silence coming from her corner of the cab.
She’d taken a swallow of her cold tea once the last of her woes had been spilled, and Ben had nodded in thought.
‘Sometimes a person has to hit rock bottom before they can start climbing up. They call it the ping-pong effect,’ he’d said.
Kate couldn’t bear to think of her mother getting any worse. How was she meant to sit back and let it happen? And to let it happen to Xander as well as their mother?
‘Does Xander like horses?’ Ben had asked. ‘Send him round my place. It might do him good to have some male company, and I could always do with another set of hands.’
Kate had perked up at this suggestion. She couldn’t think of anyone better to ‘mentor’ her teenage brother – apart from Nicholas of course, but since she couldn’t tell Nicholas her family dramas he wasn’t a valid contender for the title.
The only challenge now was to get Xander to agree. He’d never shown much interest in her job, but then again, he was fifteen, he didn’t show much interest in anything but Man United or girls.
Before they’d parted, Kate had pleaded with him again not to tell anyone.
Ben had tapped his nose and winked. ‘Mum’s the word.’
*
Blue skies and white vapour clouds flew overhead as the sixteen runners circled the infield. Kate stood by the track’s exit chute, fingers rat-a-tatting the plastic running rail. Fontainebleau was no superstar, he was approaching thirteen and hadn’t won since his four-year-old season. That’s not to say he hadn’t come close over the years – Fontainebleau was Aspen Valley’s unofficial bridesmaid, with two dozen runner-up prizes to his name. But they’d switched back to hurdles for today’s outing and Kate was quietly hopeful of his chances. The sunshine that bathed the course wasn’t strong enough to dry the ground out and, with the overnight downpour, her horse would love the boggy conditions. The starter climbed his platform and raised his yellow flag.
Kate’s mobile vibrated in her pocket.
What do you say to a home-cooked meal Friday night? I do a mean oysters bienville. Nicholas xxx
Kate’s attention flickered back to the screen in front of the grandstands. The horses were filing out of the infield and jogging towards the tape.
‘Bugger,’ she muttered and pocketed her phone.
The starter’s flag fell and the tape whipped back. The sixteen horses set off at a sedate pace for the three and a quarter mile marathon. Kate’s confidence grew. Fontainebleau wasn’t a fast horse and the steady pace would suit his cruising speed. Kate picked out Rhys’s pink jacket and yellow cap bobbing in a tightly packed midfield.
The field rapped the first two hurdles. A couple out back, short of room with a view, blundered over the second and the field lost one rider to the turf. Kate winced. She wanted the pace steady, but she wished the front runners would pick it up a bit so the field could string out.
‘And it’s Gin Rummy showing the way to The Great Pretender,’ drawled the commentator. ‘Hiroshima shares third with Run Rudolph Run and Streetlife on the outside. Then it’s back to Quasimodo matching strides with Fontainebleau in seventh.’
The horses rumbled past the grandstands for the first time. Rhys’s pristine silks were already splattered with mud. The runners swung right around the far turn into the back stretch and up the incline to the third.
Kate transferred her gaze from the course to the screen. She knocked her knuckles on the rail as the field closed in around Fontainebleau.
Rhys pulled down a set of muddied goggles, making Kate grimace. Fontainebleau would be getting it all in the face, poor soul.
The horses popped over the next. Fontainebleau pecked as he clipped heels with the horse in front of him. Rhys took a tug, but it was a hopeless case. They were hemmed in on all sides.
Kate cringed as they took the next. There was no opportunity for Fontainebleau to find a rhythm, and even though she was no jockey, she knew rhythm was crucial for this marathon task. The four frontrunners led the way over the fourth. Two of Kate’s fellow grooms groaned in despair as a horse slipped on landing and brought down another. She wasn’t enjoying the race. Thanks to the boggy ground, what should have been a fairly simple task was becoming more dangerous by the second.
The depleted field hurdled the fifth, rounding the turn without any major mishaps, and steered back into the home straight for the second time.
‘The Great Pretender now takes over at the head of affairs,’ called the commentator. ‘Gin Rummy drops back. Run Rudolph Run—no, Quasimodo now moves into second...’ While the commentator had the thankless task of distinguishing the jockeys’ muddied silks, Kate kept her eyes trained on her horse. He’d found some room, helped by fallers and horses trailing out the back. She gripped the running rail in hope, encouraged to see Fontainebleau’s loping stride take them easily over the ground.
The sixth and seventh came close together in front of the stands and the small crowd gave a muted cheer. Rhys lowered his posture and Fontainebleau moved up into fifth position.
Kate jigged up and down. ‘Come on, Font,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s break this duck once and for all.’
With the increase in tempo, the field streamed over the seventh. Fontainebleau was caught off stride. Kate sucked in her breath. Her horse reached for the jump, nose and toes touching. Kate willed him to clear the jump. Fontainebleau touched down off-balance and slipped on the ploughed landing side. He crashed down onto his shoulder and slid along the ground.
‘And Fontainebleau is down! Takes a nasty fall!’ cried the commentator.
Kate’s knees gave way and only her hold on the rail kept her upright. The field corkscrewed around Fontainebleau’s prostrate bulk and galloped away, abandoning him in the mud.
Teeth chattering, Kate waited for her horse to get up. For agonising seconds, he didn’t rise. Then with a lurch of his head, he staggered to his feet.
Kate exhaled. She ducked beneath the rail and sprinted down the side of the course. Rhys was also on his feet, looking none the worse for his tumble, albeit a little muddier. Heart pounding in her ears, she watched him take Fontainebleau’s reins and lead him forward. She braced herself for the staggering step of a broken horse. Fontainebleau took four even steps and she relaxed. He was okay.
*
Dusk had long fallen by the time Kate led Fontainebleau down the ramp and back onto Aspen Valley soil. The gelding walked gingerly beside her. Stiffness had set in after the three and a half hour lorry journey, and his adrenalin was no longer a sufficient pain reliever.
While he tucked into his supper, Kate swept a massage pad over his neck, shoulders and back. Fontainebleau stamped his hoof and swung his head round to pull a threatening face.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s not pleasant, but it’ll help, I promise.’
It was hard physical work, but in the cosy confines of the stable with the salty taste of horses and hay in the air and the yard outside deserted in the darkness, Kate was content.
The gurgle of a young child’s laughter stopped her mid-sweep. A child? She poked her head over Fontainebleau’s door. Next door, d’Artagnan was also looking out, football hanging from his mouth, ears pricked towards the adjoining row of stables. Kate followed his gaze.
Outside Peace Offering’s stable stood Jack’s wife, Pippa, holding a toddler up to stroke the yard’s Grand National hero. Jack walked across from the office to join them. Kate moved back into the shadows, but couldn’t stop herself from watching them. She’d only seen Gabrielle a couple of times since her entrance into the world last Christmas. Small pudgy hands slapped down on Peace Offering’s forehead and she received a gentle telling off from her father. Peace Offering didn’t seem to mind. He nudged the child’s thick anorak, eliciting more giggles.
‘Mind her fingers,’ warned Jack. ‘He’ll mistake them for carrots. Come here, Gabs.’
Pippa handed over Gabrielle and Jack bounced her into a more secure position high in his arms. Gabrielle held out her flannel rabbit to Peace Offering and squealed in glee when he took an ear between his teeth and tried to tug it out of her hands.
Kate sighed and leaned back against the doorframe. She’d only ever known Jack Carmichael, the businessman and trainer, and when he was feeling particularly iron-fisted, it was difficult to remember he was still a person behind it all. Yet here was no better example of who he was when he let his guard down. Laughter relaxed the lines on his forehead, and a smile released the grim set of his mouth.
She couldn’t really blame Saskia for finding him attractive. And not just physically, so it was pointless saying one would have to be blind not to see it. It was in his manner – his total commitment to his horses, the competitive steel in his eyes, tempered with this softness for those whom he loved that Kate was now witnessing. But there was the key. Those whom he loved did not and should not ever include Saskia.
Even though she could see the strong bond between Jack and his new family, she also knew the might of Saskia’s seductive powers. No man was immune, regardless of their marital status.
Gabrielle made a grab for Peace Offering’s forelock and Jack was quick to ensure she didn’t pull it too hard.
What a lucky little girl to grow up loved by two stable (in all senses of the word) parents. What would it be like to have a father? Not just for when she’d been a child, but now into adulthood? Would he have sat her down to discuss the serious business of career prospects and taxes and home-buying? What about when she married? Her ‘fiancé’ wouldn’t have anyone to ask permission. Of course, the fact that that was old-fashioned and generally ignored in the modern world didn’t matter. For Kate, not having a father made this one more thing she’d be denied. He wouldn’t give her away at her wedding or make a speech at the reception or share part of the first dance with her. None of that would happen.
Kate shook her head. Gabrielle didn’t know how lucky she was.
As her thoughts lingered on wedding vows and marquee receptions, she suddenly remembered Nicholas’s text.
‘Oh, shit,’ she hissed.
Pulling out of sight of the Carmichaels, she retrieved her phone from her pocket. There was another message from Nicholas.
Or I can just do shepherd’s pie if seafood isn’t your thing.
Kate hesitated as she reread his earlier message and the penny dropped. She hadn’t picked up on the subtext before. A romantic home-cooked meal would mean visiting Nicholas’s house in Bristol. In the evening. Involving oysters. She didn’t need to be Miss Marple to figure out what he had in mind.
‘Sorry, been racing all day,’ she murmured as she typed. ‘I love seafood. What time?’
*
Kate and Saskia’s landlady was waiting on the landing when Kate dragged her feet up the stairs to their second floor flat.
‘Hello, Mrs Singh,’ said Kate. ‘Everything all right?’
The plump Indian woman folded her arms across her chest and glowered at Kate. ‘You think I don’t know what you’re doing in there?’ she demanded.
Kate paused, her hand on the balustrade. Mrs Singh lived in the flat directly above them and with walls like paper, it wouldn’t have surprised Kate if she did know everything they did.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You and your sister, you know what’s written in your contract? No smoking, it says.’
‘But I don’t smoke, Mrs Singh,’ she said, then, after a pause, added, ‘And neither does Saskia.’
Mrs Singh’s eyes blazed. ‘I’m not a fool. I know what’s going on in this building.’
Kate pulled out her keys and unlocked the flat door. ‘I’m not doubting you, Mrs Singh. Maybe it’s one of the other tenants, but neither Saskia or I smoke. It can’t be us.’ She opened the door and looked to her landlady for dismissal.
Mrs Singh tutted then waved a hand at her. ‘I have my eye on you two. And if you do not know how to abide by your contract then I can find someone else who does.’
Kate closed the door behind her and leant against it. Had Saskia started smoking without her noticing? She didn’t think so.