Jump.

Reaching into her pockets for an apple, she held out a flat palm to the horse, who ground to a halt, snorting wildly, rolling big hazel eyes.

'Come on, sweet thing, I'm sure you're hungry.'

Furious decided he was. He accepted an apple quarter and when he had polished off the rest of it, accepted two more before starting on the carrots. By this time Etta had put his reins back over his head, pushed his irons up the leathers, and was stroking his satiny neck.

'You are lovely,' sighed Etta. 'I better take you back to Marius,' then, as Furious nudged her pockets, she realized regretfully that she had only Polos left for Mrs Wilkinson. Perhaps she had better come back another day. But as she led him towards Marius's main gates, she caught sight of Rafiq scorching across the fields below on Oh My Goodness, and a Land-Rover containing Ruby and Bertie and a white-faced Marius at the wheel thundering towards her. Marius was out in a trice.

'Gimme that horse.'

But as he edged towards them, Furious flattened his ears, stamped his foot and lunged at Marius.

'Stop that.' Etta shook his bridle reprovingly. 'You mustn't bite people, have another Polo.'

Marius's drive was flanked on either side by sporadic hawthorn hedges. Having reached a gap, Etta glanced up and caught sight of Mrs Wilkinson and her entourage. A second later, Mrs Wilkinson gave a great rumble of joy and careered towards them, nearly cras.h.i.+ng into the fence.

'Oh Wilkie!' Chucking Furious's reins to Marius, Etta ran to the railings and Mrs Wilkinson, who, whinnying, nickering, nudging, placed her head over Etta's shoulder to draw her close.

'Oh my angel,' sobbed Etta, holding her tight, rejoicing in the rumbling warmth of her body, breathing in her new-mown hay smell, soaking her charcoal-grey shoulder with tears. 'I've missed you so much.'

Their pa.s.sionate embrace was only disturbed by Chisolm, who raced bleating down the hill and put her hooves up on the railings to greet Etta, b.u.t.ting away Count Romeo, Sir Cuthbert and Horace the Shetland to get a share of the Polos.

'That's the kind of relations.h.i.+p I want to have with my horsie,' cried Ruby.

So they won't buy Furious, thought Marius bleakly.

Ruby, however, was leaning over the fence gazing at Count Romeo. He was a big black athlete, with a white blaze and four white socks, and he strutted like a superstar basketball player.

'That is the most beautiful horse I've ever seen,' she gasped. 'Couldn't we buy that one instead, Bertie?'

Marius had in fact acquired Count Romeo six months ago when he was drunk, spending 20,000 altruistically given him to buy a horse by his younger brother Philip. Seduced by Count Romeo's looks as he had been by Olivia's, Marius got him home only to realize he'd acquired a complete turkey. Count Romeo was incurably lazy, stupid and so vain he admired his reflection in every puddle. Marius had even put a mirror in his box so he could wors.h.i.+p himself all day.

The Count had now fallen in love with Mrs Wilkinson, but kept getting bitten, kicked and seen off by his wily rival, Sir Cuthbert.

Marius was sure if he trebled the price and split the difference, his brother Philip would be only too happy to be shot of the Count, so he told an overjoyed Ruby he'd see what he could do, but it might cost them.

Nothing, said Bertie proudly, would be too much for his little lady.

'I wouldn't want to hurt Furious's feelings,' whispered Ruby.

'He's so beautiful, he'll find a home soon,' said Etta, wiping her eyes and her nose on her sleeve and handing Ruby her last Polo to give to the Count, and the love affair was consummated.

After Rafiq arrived and Furious greeted him with equal ecstasy, everyone retired to the yard for coffee and bacon b.u.t.ties, cooked by Mich.e.l.le, which the rest of the yard thought was very sinister.

The sun had dried off the frost enough for them to sit in the garden and Mrs Wilkinson and Chisolm were allowed to join them.

Looking at the weeds choking the parched and dying herbaceous plants and the s.h.a.ggy lawn, Etta decided a grazing goat and horse could only improve things. When Ruby and Bertie sloped off to have another love-in with Count Romeo, Etta took a deep breath and asked if she could tidy up Marius's garden.

'I'm sorry, I don't mean to interfere,' she quailed as his haggard face hardened. 'I expect Olivia did the garden.'

'Yes,' said Marius coldly. 'Anyway I can't afford it.'

'I wouldn't want paying,' stammered Etta, 'not at all, and it would only be a few hours a week. It would give me a chance to see Mrs Wilkinson. I miss her so desperately. I had a big garden in Dorset and I miss that so much too. It would be such a pleasure.'

For a moment Marius glared at her.

'OK,' he said brusquely. 'Probably be good for Mrs Wilkinson, she's missed you too, and thanks for catching Furious before he killed someone.'

At that moment, Ruby and Bertie returned.

'Count Romeo is such a charmer,' sighed Ruby. 'Can your brother possibly be persuaded?'

'I'll see what I can do. He's getting married quite soon, perhaps you could throw in a Bertie Bouncer Kingsize,' said Marius. For the first time he smiled and they all laughed, because his stony despair had before been so palpable, it was like seeing a corpse come back to life.

'Tommy's been telling me about your syndicate with Mrs Wilkinson, Etta, if I may call you Etta,' confided Ruby. 'I hope we'll have the pleasure of receiving you in our box at the races, bearing in mind Mrs Wilkinson and Romeo are such friends, and Tommy was saying they both might be ready to run in a few weeks.'

From that day, Mrs Wilkinson cheered up. Rafiq, who was pa.s.sionately grateful to Etta for saving and loving Furious, sang to her, Tommy cosseted her and Etta dropped in for an hour or two a day to garden, during which time Mrs Wilkinson and Chisolm trailed round after her.

There were also her two equine admirers.

Sir Cuthbert belonged to Nancy Crowe, the local MFH, who, because of a sentimental attachment to Marius's father, left the horse with Marius, even though he'd been off for two seasons with a tendon problem. Sir Cuthbert had been a good servant to the yard, coming second and third on numerous occasions. Heartbroken when little Gifted Child had been taken by Shade to Harvey-Holden, he had transferred his affections to Mrs Wilkinson. Now they called and called to each other when separated. Mrs Wilkinson knew Sir Cuthbert's approaching footsteps from twenty other horses and set up a din. Once united they would spend hours kissing and grooming each other. Count Romeo, looking on longingly, was occasionally let into the circle. Horace the Shetland, given to Romeo as a friend, had got a crush on Chisolm, who b.u.t.ted him away with her horns less and less.

'Love is in the air,' sang Rafiq.

As the weather grew colder, Mrs Wilkinson was stabled with Cuthbert and Romeo on either side.

'It's so sweet the way she pushes her hay through the hole in the wall to Sir Cuthbert when he's hungry,' Tommy told Etta. 'And when she's hungry she sc.r.a.pes her food bowl up and down the wall or drops it and rattles her empty water bowls.'

Adoring making people laugh, Mrs Wilkinson started doing the tricks Dora had taught her for the lads: pulling faces, shaking hooves, unpeeling a banana before eating it, curtseying and playing football with Chisolm.

'Next time we play football against Rupert Campbell-Black or Harvey-Holden, she and Chisolm better be in the side,' said Josh.

'We'll need them anyway,' said blonde Tresa gloomily. 'If Marius

Etta, now visiting most days, was making friends, particularly with Rafiq, Tommy and little Angel, at sixteen the youngest member of the yard.

'I love working here,' Angel told Etta. 'I rode out two lots this morning and had a s.h.a.g in the tack room.'

'Really,' said Etta.

There was a lot of yard b.i.t.c.hing about Mich.e.l.le, who was getting more and more up herself.

'When I go inside to pray, Mich.e.l.le say, "Why don't you ask Allah to teach you to ride?"' stormed Rafiq.

'How rude,' squeaked Etta. 'You ride beautifully.'

Mich.e.l.le, who clearly resented the fact that Rafiq didn't respond to her charms, never stopped b.i.t.c.hing at him. Every time there was a reference to terrorism in the papers, she'd say, 'Oh, that's your lot again.'

'And she put poor little Angel, because she's young and pretty, on the most difficult horses,' raged Rafiq, 'and she cheeky Collie the whole time, and he's her boss. Collie complain to Marius who always defends Mich.e.l.le.'

The morning after this conversation, the entire yard heard raised voices coming from Marius's office. Next moment Mistletoe the lurcher shot out and took quivering refuge in the tack room between Tommy's legs.

'There isn't any more f.u.c.king money to give you,' Marius was shouting.

Collie had started as a boy, looking after the hunt horses when Marius's father was Master, and had worked his way up to the glory years when the Throstledown flag was always flying. Marius had then made Collie head lad and given him and his wife a four-bedroom house as a wedding present with only 40,000 of mortgage left to pay.

Having for years invested his heart and expertise in nurturing Ilkley Hall, Gifted Child, Preston and most recently Bafford Playboy, Collie, although not showing it, had been devastated when Shade took these and his other horses away. He hated seeing them at the races, hepped up, unsettled, calling out to him, but now winning glory for Harvey-Holden, who was going from strength to strength and continually sneering about Throstledown's decline.

Collie was accustomed to running a winning s.h.i.+p, and bringing peace and harmony to the yard. Olivia had been his great pal and he missed her too. In turn Collie worried about Rafiq, who every night rolled up his mattress and rode it, practising changing his whip from one hand to the other, obsessively watching videos of Rogue Rogers, Killer O'Kagan and Bluey Charteris. Rafiq had a very short fuse and had nearly lost it the other day, when Mich.e.l.le threatened Furious with a pitchfork. Something must explode soon.

Marius, meanwhile, was impressed with Mrs Wilkinson but wasn't having much success in teaching her to load or accept a male rider on her back. She did, however, tolerate Rafiq with his soft voice, silken hands and fluid body. But Marius was no more ready to allow Rafiq to ride her in races than Amber Lloyd-Foxe, even though Amber was so determined to become a professional that she'd taken a foundation course at the British Racing School. Now qualified as a conditional jockey, she was allowed to carry 7 pounds less in races until she'd notched up twenty wins. Knowing Mrs Wilkinson's first race must be soon, she rang in every day asking for rides. She even offered to work for nothing if Marius allowed her to school the horses.

Mich.e.l.le had great delight in fielding these calls until Amber shouted, 'The only way to get put up is to sleep with the trainer, and you know all about that,' and hung up.

49.

By late autumn Mrs Wilkinson was flying over hurdles with Tommy on her back and Marius was so pleased with her progress, he entered her for a midweek maiden hurdle at Worcester. The Willowwood syndicate became frightfully excited, revving up for their first race. They had exerted huge self-control and stayed away, but had constantly pestered Etta for news of their horse.

Many had missed dropping in to see her at Badger's Court. Alban and Poc.o.c.k had called in as an excuse to see Etta, Dora and Trixie on their exeats and Joey and Woody on their breaks. Alan had come for black coffee when swaying home from the pub, Miss Painswick for a gossip and Chris and Chrissie bearing bread and b.u.t.ter pudding, which in the pub had been renamed 'Mrs Wilkinson's Favourite'.

Neither s.h.a.gger, the Weatheralls nor the Cunliffes had visited in the past, but now boasted about 'our horse in training, sired by Rupert Campbell-Black's Derby winner'.

The Cunliffes had returned early from Lanzarote and the Major had most unusually ducked out of a meeting of the Willowwood Improvement Society, which he was supposed to be chairing. Instead he emailed the rest of the committee to watch the 2.15 at Worcester on Wednesday, where they might see 'a most familiar face' in the winners enclosure.

As the race was midweek s.h.a.gger, Phoebe and Toby took a day's holiday and the train down from London, having emailed most of the City, Fulham and Chelsea to say that Rogue Rogers would be riding 'my horse in the 2.15'.

To everyone's disappointment, Seth was filming. Dora and Trixie were stuck in school. Dora, however, alerted the press to look up the court case and the point-to-point at which Mrs Wilkinson had beaten Bafford Playboy, who had since won three races. Niall the vicar was equally fed up to have a two o'clock funeral but had exhorted his tiny congregation to pray for 'the safe return of our Village Horse on Wednesday'.

Joey just skived, leaving his indignant team all fans of Mrs Wilkinson applying wallpaper at 8,700 a roll to the dining room at Badger's Court, with a portable television. They all had huge bets.

Direct Debbie bore Miss Painswick off to Cavendish House to do some shopping. In the next-door booth, Painswick heard a mobile playing 'Edelweiss' and Debbie's voice saying: 'Indeed the two fifteen at Worcester. Our National Hunt horse, Mrs Wilkinson, will be making her hurdling debut under rules.'

To mark the solemnity of the occasion, Miss Painswick splurged on an olive green coat in Whiskas brown to go with the blue hat to match Hengist's scarf and emailed her old boss that he might see his protege Rafiq at the races. Debbie, meanwhile, bought a royal-blue trouser suit and a vermilion sombrero to brighten the greyest day.

A heartbroken Poc.o.c.k didn't dare abandon Ione midweek. Tilda too was unable to leave her cla.s.s, who'd all drawn good luck cards for Mrs Wilkinson and would be allowed to watch the race in the staff room at the end of the dinner hour. Tilda, as Romy and Martin were being thoroughly unhelpful, had heroically offered to take Drummond and Poppy home after school to give Etta a chance to celebrate after the race.

'If she wins, you'll be guest of honour at the pub that evening,' promised Alan, who was not getting on with his book on depression.

Etta, who couldn't afford to buy anything new, took her charcoal-grey coat to the cleaners, to rid it of Cadbury and Priceless's hairs and muddy paw prints. She tried pulling her old pale blue beret on to the left side of her head, but her ear stuck out hideously through her hair on the right. At least that looked better than the check cap and matching scarf with snaffles on in tan, easily Etta's worst colour, which Direct Debbie and Painswick had brought her back as a treat from their shopping trip.

Expectation, however, was wildly high.

Two days before, Jase the farrier put four light racing plates on Mrs Wilkinson's little feet, 'so she'll no longer feel she's running in gumboots'. Jase returned, as usual, full of gossip. The yard was going from bad to worse. Marius, drunk, had accused Collie of sleeping with Olivia. Collie was so enraged, everyone was terrified he was going to walk.

Collie, not Marius, would accompany Mrs Wilkinson to Worcester on Wednesday because Marius was running a new horse, Count Romeo, belonging to a rich new owner, Bertie Barraclough, at Rutminster. Marius had had great difficulty finding a race bad enough for Count Romeo to win.

Bertie had hired a box and invited his entire board to watch. Ruby Barraclough would also have gone ballistic if, in an attempt to persuade Count Romeo to concentrate, Marius had hidden his beauty behind blinkers.

Expectation was terrifyingly high here as well.

Race day dawned. Down at five thirty, as the constellation of the swan began her flight and Leo the lion sank into the west, Tommy loved to be first out to feed and water the horses. They were all so pleased to see her. Mrs Wilkinson, already banging her bowl, was very put out to be limited to reduced racehorse nuts, little water and no hay, so she wouldn't be bloated before her race.

'It's your big day, darling,' Tommy consoled her. 'The honour of Throstledown is at stake.'

Yielding to her phobia of lorries, Marius allowed Tommy and Rafiq to take Mrs Wilkinson, whinnying continually for Chisolm, and History Painting, who was entered in the fourth race, to Worcester in the trailer.

Tommy drove past the great cathedral, through the town to the beautiful oval racecourse surrounded by trees and with the river running along the north side. She then felt a bit silly parking the little trailer beside huge lorries belonging to Isa Lovell, Harvey-Holden, Dermie O'Driscoll and Rupert Campbell-Black, all elaborately decorated with designs of horses jumping or loping past winning posts. Harry, the lorry park attendant, however, welcomed everyone with equal warmth.

Tommy liked to relax young horses by getting them to the course three hours before their race. Now she set about plaiting up Mrs Wilkinson.

As Mrs Wilkinson's first race was taking place in November rather than January, the spanking new Ford Transit Chris was getting sprayed with the Willowwood colours wasn't ready, so Alan, Etta, the Major and Debbie, Painswick, Joey, Woody and Chris piled into a hired minibus. A very subdued, dried-out Alban Travis-Lock, bossily directed by the Major, took the wheel. Etta, trying to cheer up Alban, took the seat behind them.

'Isn't this the most exciting day of our lives?'

If only she had something more glamorous to wear, but at least Seth wasn't there to witness her dowdiness.

In deference to Alban, Chris was surrept.i.tiously pouring b.l.o.o.d.y Marys out of a thermos into paper cups and circulating them to everyone else in the bus. How proudly they read about Mrs Wilkinson in the Racing Post Racing Post, which tipped her to win.

'Probably because Marius has put up Rogue,' said Woody.

'He's never ridden her before,' protested Etta.

'Marius believes horses need someone experienced on their backs in their first race,' said Alan. 'Rogue had a pony under his a.r.s.e before he could walk.'

'Got a pony under him today,' guffawed Joey.

'Ponies stop at fourteen two,' said Etta indignantly. 'Mrs Wilkinson's fourteen three.'

It was a bitterly cold day, with the trees wrapping their remaining leaves round their bare limbs and a vicious east wind sweeping those they had shed across the course. But nothing could dim the syndicate's expectations.

How proudly they collected their red owners' badges at the gates to tie on to lapel or bag, how proudly they repaired to the Owners and Trainers bar, where Etta insisted on buying the first round. How proudly they took their places in the owners' stand and watched Rogue Rogers win the 1.15 by ten lengths. He was also riding the favourite in the 1.45, so a win on Wilkie would mean a treble.

'There's a lot resting on your shoulders, kiddo,' chided Tommy as she polished the pewter coat of Mrs Wilkinson, who was increasingly put out by the lack of food. An inch of water in a bucket was no subst.i.tute.

The syndicate were returning to the bar when s.h.a.gger, Toby and Phoebe arrived from London. Phoebe, looking enchanting in a little green wool suit and a fur hat, immediately cried: 'Who's going to buy us a drink?'

'Have a coffee to warm you up,' said the Major, who was getting wily.

s.h.a.gger, still sulking at not being banker and getting his hands on a pot of money, had no intention of buying a round, so Alan ordered everyone except poor Alban a gla.s.s of red.

'You look gorgeous, Debbie, that is a serious hat. You must lead Mrs Wilkinson in,' raved Phoebe as the scarlet sombrero blew off for a third time and Woody scuttled away to retrieve it.

'What a pity Trixie and Dora aren't here to add a bit of glamour for the telly,' continued Phoebe, who actually loved being the baby of the party, 'but at least they won't shout at me for wearing fur. You look stunning too, Miss Painswick. I couldn't sleep a wink all night, I was so nervous.'