Jump.

'Yeah, yeah.' Valent smiled, thinking how he liked watching Etta's face as she talked.

'Anyway, the two young ganders were so furious, they got poor old Honky down, pulled out his feathers and pecked out one eye, like poor Wilkie, but it made no difference to young Spotty. She still adores her old Honky even with one eye, and leads him around everywhere.'

'So you think I ought to wear an eyepatch?' said Valent dryly. 'And talking about eyepatches, how's Mrs Wilkinson?'

When Etta had finished telling him, he promised to ring Marius first thing and say Rafiq must ride her.

'Oh, would you?' said Etta in delight. 'That's so kind. If he doesn't make it as a jockey Rafiq ought to become a pop star, he's got such a beautiful voice. Wilkie really loves him singing to her and waggles her ears in time.'

Valent suppressed a yawn. 'I must go.'

Gwenny thought better and jumped on to his lap, her tail fluffed up like a Christmas tree. Hearing a fox barking outside, Priceless leapt down and rushed sniffing and snorting to the door.

'Has Seth given him up completely?' said Valent in disapproval.

'Well, he can't take him on tour.'

'He must eat you out of house and home. And Gwenny?'

'Poc.o.c.k's sort of given her to me. I think,' she added, seeing Valent look even more disapproving, 'he rather fancies Joyce Painswick. He keeps nagging her to let him take the ivy off her cottage, says it's pulling out her brickwork.'

'Bonny's pulling out my brickwork.' Valent realized he'd spoken aloud. Christ, he must be p.i.s.sed. Then, reluctantly, 'I must must go. Everything all right up at the yard?' go. Everything all right up at the yard?'

'OK. Marius needs more winners. He's still eaten up missing Olivia.'

'Geese mate for life,' said Valent. As he opened the door Priceless shot off into the night.

The rain had stopped, the mature conifers were wearing stars as tiaras, narcissi scented the air.

'Good night, Etta.' Valent took hold of both her arms. There was a bit of a mish-mash as he kissed her on the forehead and she tried to offer him both cheeks, so they laughed.

'c.h.i.n.king cheeks is a bit luvvie for me, I like tooching flesh.' Valent put his lips to her fringe.

'Thank you so much,' said Etta. 'It was really lovely.'

'Could we do this again,' asked Valent, 'and have a home fixture next time?'

'Yes please, and you will put in a good word for Rafiq, won't you?'

100.

Amber was overwhelmed with jealousy when she learnt Rafiq was going to ride Mrs Wilkinson on Friday at Rutminster. She bombarded him with advice, until he was both confused and panic-stricken.

He had also learnt from stable gossip that Harvey-Holden had regrouped his army. Bullydozer was in the same race and Harvey-Holden and Vakil had taken the poor horse into the indoor school, subjecting him to their private and particularly brutal form of schooling, and deprived him of water to make him more biddable. Killer, his jockey, having been beaten for a second time by Mrs Wilkinson, was in even less of a mood to take prisoners.

Seeing Bullydozer in his box before the race, Tommy had peered over the half-door and was horrified to see the cuts on his legs inflicted by Vakil's pitchfork. Seeing Tommy, he ran trembling to the back of the box.

'Poor old boy.' When she surrept.i.tiously offered him a Polo, he nearly took her hand off. He trusted no one.

As Rafiq walked apprehensively into the parade ring, his olive skin looked the muddy green of a real olive. He was so desperate not to let the yard and Tommy down. Since he'd been given the ride he had prayed so incessantly to win, he hoped Allah wouldn't punish him for neglecting other things. He also felt guilty being blessed before the race by a 'Christian infidel', but '"My father's house has many mansions," ' Niall had rea.s.sured him.

The crowd, swollen by numerous fans of Mrs Wilkinson, had read of Amber's broken wrist and were fascinated to see how this handsome Pakistani would fare in her place. Rafiq had compet.i.tion. Feline little Johnnie Brutus was riding Shade's Last Quango and Killer was on Bullydozer. Bullydozer, however, who'd wasted precious energy walking his box and sweating up going down to post, had run his race before it started.

Goggles once more hid Killer's cruel, slanting, wolf-pale eyes, but the same evil smile flickered round his thin lips. Soon he was up to his old tricks. A discreet elbow in Rafiq's ribs as they jumped the first ditch nearly unseated him. At the end of the first circuit, he crept up the inner, pretending to be whacking a wilting Bullydozer, but instead the whip in his grey-gloved hand kept striking Mrs Wilkinson in her good eye, which totally disorientated her. And so it went on.

Hidden by the vast Bullydozer, Mrs Wilkinson was so small, even the television cameras couldn't pick up what was going on. But as Killer cut across them for the third time, Rafiq lost it.

'f.u.c.k off, you b.l.o.o.d.y Paddy,' he screamed.

'f.u.c.k off, you b.l.o.o.d.y Paki,' screamed back Killer.

As he dropped back to rest Bullydozer, Johnnie Brutus came upsides on Wilkie's left, blocking her view of the rails, b.u.mping her, but Rafiq held her steady and still she battled on, hearing the crowd yelling, 'Wilkie, Wilkie, Wilkie.'

Even when a sixth sense told her Killer was creeping up again, she found more and more, scrabbling at the boggy turf with her little feet, beating Last Quango by a length. Bullydozer, who'd fallen away, wasn't even placed.

The syndicate went crazy. Even more so did Rafiq. 'It's a dream, it's ma.s.sive,' he told Alice Plunkett as he gave Mrs Wilkinson equally ma.s.sive pats, 'no money in the world can make up for it,' ma.s.sive pat, 'she's tiny, but she's so tough,' ma.s.sive pat, 'she's a credit to her connections. I thank them for their faith in me,' ma.s.sive pat. 'Marius is great trainer, and Tommy Ruddock keeps her so well,' ma.s.sive pat, 'she has one eye only but biggest heart in the world. This is best day of my life,' three ma.s.sive pats, 'I am speechless.'

'Oh Rafiq, oh Wilkie.' Tommy and Chisolm hurtled up, sobbing and bleating. 'You rode her brilliant, she was so brave. That Killer ought to be shot. Both he and Johnnie were interfering with her, but she held on and you kept her straight.'

But Rafiq had been distracted by Killer riding back.

'What do you do that for?' he howled, all jockey hierarchy forgotten.

'You needed a lesson, new boy,' hissed Killer. 'Don't mess with me again, you little s.h.i.+t, or it'll really hurt. f.u.c.king suicide bomber.'

Rafiq raised his fist.

'Don't hit him,' cried Tommy. 'Marius will sort

This wasn't good enough for Mrs Wilkinson, who, swinging her head round, took a chunk out of Bullydozer. The much bigger horse shrank away, utterly exhausted, terrified of the beatings to come.

'Listen how they love Rafiq,' said Phoebe in delight as he and Wilkie were cheered back to the winners enclosure. 'It isn't just Amber who pulls in the crowds.'

Valent, who'd interrupted a board meeting in New York to watch the race, immediately rang Etta.

'Bluddy marvellous, Rafiq was awesome, he kept his cool and her on her feet. She looked bewildered. Well done for suggesting him, Etta.'

Marius stalked off to complain. Trilbies crowded the hat stand of that home of the establishment, the stewards' room. Gone were the days of a whisky between races. Now only coffee cups and papers littered the long, polished table.

'That was dangerous both for Rafiq and Mrs Wilkinson,' shouted Marius at the men sitting round it. 'Killer cut across her, b.u.mped her again and again and slashed at her good eye with his whip. Then Johnnie Brutus took over. Killer should be suspended for the rest of the season and Johnnie too. b.l.o.o.d.y hooligans.'

Alas, the Stipendiary Steward, who was a friend of Harvey-Holden, wouldn't s.h.i.+ft. Nor was there any way he was going to suspend Killer just before the Cheltenham Festival.

'We've made our decision. Mrs Wilkinson was given the race. Nothing Killer did altered the placings. Your jockey's the green one, Mrs Wilkinson was hanging left into Killer's whip. Look at the video.'

Then came the unkindest cut of all.

'Wait till you're back with the big boys, Marius, before you start throwing your weight about.'

Back at Ravenscroft, Harvey-Holden, s.h.i.+vering and spitting with fury that Mrs Wilkinson had won yet again, went into Bullydozer's box with a whip and a mad, set face.

Next moment, Bullydozer had him against the feed box. Just in time, Vakil dragged his boss to safety.

'That horse is going to the sales next week,' screeched Harvey-Holden.

'Bullet through the head if you ask me,' said Vakil.

Valent, who was delighted by Rafiq's victory, sent him 500, which he sent straight to his family in Pakistan. Valent also sent 300 to Tommy, who wrote to thank him and suggested he bought Bullydozer.

'Jessie, who does him, says Harvey-Holden's got it in for him. Vakil hit him with a shovel yesterday and he's done a leg, but he's a good horse...'

Under an a.s.sumed name, Valent bought Bullydozer very cheaply at the sales. Arriving at Throstledown, the huge horse gave a sigh of relief, ate and ate, put on eight kilos in two days and stopped biting people. By contrast Jude the Obese, as WOO's guinea pig, had lost eight kilos as she and Martin pounded the Willowwood lanes.

Realizing Marius had been on the brink of sacking him before his win, Rafiq tried to be more amiable and co-operative in the yard. But it was not easy.

He was constantly aware of the government continuing to bomb and destroy the social fabric of two Muslim countries. He had recently, on the internet, watched a film of American triumphalism joyous Tarzan howls accompanying direct hits on, among other things, an old farmer and his donkey. Another friend had just been killed by US bombs on the AfghanPakistan border.

Rafiq was frightened of pouring his heart out to Tommy, knowing her father was a policeman. Worst of all, Amber, whom he loved so much, was being poisonous.

When she came out of hospital, she refused to stay with her parents because she'd had a blazing row with her mother over the interview with Rogue so Tommy and Rafiq had found room for her in their flat over the tack room, which meant Rafiq sleeping on the sofa.

Amber was obsessed with getting her career back on track. When she wasn't going to the gym or on power walks she would monopolize the only television, watching endless videos of races even when EastEnders EastEnders was on. was on.

Putting aside his jealousy of both Shade and Marius, Rafiq had tried with extreme gentleness to make love to her, but she had shrieked at him to go away and not touch her, only later sobbing for him to come back.

She also made constant demands on Tommy, to pull on her socks, do up her bra, unscrew bottles, wash her hair, even soap her lovely naked body in the shower.

'Do you think Tommy's a bit of a d.y.k.e?' Rafiq overheard Tresa saying to Josh.

Storming upstairs to the flat in his break, Rafiq found Amber in floods. Having chucked the Racing Post Racing Post with a picture of Rogue on the cover into the bin, she was now, with her left hand, trying to pull it out covered in baked beans and tomato ketchup. A blazing row followed over the way Amber was treating Tommy. with a picture of Rogue on the cover into the bin, she was now, with her left hand, trying to pull it out covered in baked beans and tomato ketchup. A blazing row followed over the way Amber was treating Tommy.

A fortnight later, Tommy, who'd nipped into Larkminster during her break, returned to find Bullydozer's box empty and Mrs Wilkinson, who rather fancied him, yelling her head off.

After searching everywhere, Tommy had roused the other lads and was about to ring the police when through the blue April evening Amber came cantering towards them, popping the vast Bullydozer perfectly over the huge new Gold Cup fences. Her right hand was in plaster, her left held lightly on to Bullydozer's reins. Aware his charge was fragile, he was jumping with great care, an expression of seriousness and responsibility on his dark brown face.

Marius, who'd come back unexpectedly because Uttoxeter had been rained off, went ballistic. How dare Amber risk a valuable horse and her own life again? Secretly he was delighted he'd whipped another fantastic horse from Harvey-Holden.

101.

With Bonny on tour or filming, Valent took to ringing Etta when he was in England. They spent happy evenings gossiping, discussing progress at Throstledown, grandchildren and poems they'd read, listening to music and the nightingales singing and making plans for the garden.

On one occasion they even sloped off to Larkminster and bought Valent a lovely dull-yellow jacket checked with red to wear to the races. It was so nice, they reflected individually, not to be mocked, put down and corrected.

Etta was shopping in Tesco's one morning at the end of April. She was desperately broke and d.i.c.kering whether to run to another bottle of white, when the money ought to be spent on getting her shoes mended and some more deodorant.

To stink or drink, sighed Etta.

'Do you want a packer, Mrs Bancroft?' asked the checkout girl, glancing at Etta's pathetic pile of goods.

'She's already got one, I mean "wow",' said a voice, and a shoulder of lamb, a packet of mint, a bag of new potatoes, asparagus, frozen peas and a chocolate tart landed in her basket, followed by a lot of bottles. 'Let's have this for supper at my place,' said Valent, getting a card out of his wallet. 'I saw your Polo outside, nearly all Green now, Ione would be pleased.'

How lovely to be able to wash her hair and shower so the lack of deodorant didn't matter, put on her pretty lilac linen dress, and take time over her face.

She found Valent in the kitchen at Badger's Court, which, under Bonny's influence, was so like a laboratory, Etta expected to open cupboards and find poor little monkeys being experimented on. Valent, however, was playing Mahler's First Symphony, which Etta had told him she adored. There was a wonderful smell of mint, rosemary and garlic coming from the oven and a huge gla.s.s of Sancerre was thrust into her hand.

'You look smas.h.i.+ng, Etta.'

She then brought him up to date on yard gossip. Rafiq had clocked up another win on Mrs Wilkinson, 'And there was a big piece in the Express Express about racing's new pin-up. Rafiq's terribly embarra.s.sed but so pleased, he asked for five copies in the village shop to send home to Pakistan. Tommy's so excited for him. Amber's still a bit beady, understandably, poor child.' about racing's new pin-up. Rafiq's terribly embarra.s.sed but so pleased, he asked for five copies in the village shop to send home to Pakistan. Tommy's so excited for him. Amber's still a bit beady, understandably, poor child.'

Valent, who kept tabs, knew all this but he liked hearing Etta's version as he tested the lamb and the new potatoes.

She was now telling him about Amber sneaking out and illicitly riding Bullydozer over the new Gold Cup fences.

'Marius is so clever at recognizing a horse's potential. Bully's sweet, like a great puppy, and really responding to TLC.'

Valent just managed not to point out that he'd paid for all the fences and bought Bully, after Tommy's tip-off. As he turned the new potatoes, however, he couldn't resist telling Etta he'd got a lovely present that day, 'in that box over there'.

Inside was the most beautiful decanter shaped like a s.h.i.+p.

'Oh,' gasped Etta, 'how ravis.h.i.+ng. What does it say on the prow? "G.o.d speed to a great boss." Who gave you that?'

'The card's tucked in the side.'

On it were hundreds of signatures, all over the inside and even on the back of the card, accompanying the words, 'With admiration from all your friends at Goldstein Phillipson'.

'Oh, how wonderful. That was the American bank you felt guilty about abandoning. What an amazing compliment.'

She listened and remembered, thought Valent.

But as Etta took the gla.s.s s.h.i.+p out of its box to examine it, it slipped from her hands and smashed into a hundred pieces on the floor.

'Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry,' wailed a distraught, disconsolate Etta.

'It doesn't matter, pet.' Leaving the new potatoes, Valent put his arms round her. 'It doesn't matter. It's only gla.s.s, not a heart, that's broken, please, please don't cry. Stay there on the window seat, Priceless luv, you don't want to cut your paws. Now let's find a doostpan and broosh.' Then, when Etta couldn't stop crying as she seized them from him and began sweeping frantically: 'It's all right, luv, I've got the names on the card, I was so tooched by that, that's what matters.'

Sampson would never have forgiven her, thought Etta.

Valent was so, so kind, topping up her drink, leading her out into the dusk and turning up the sound fortissimo so Mahler's second movement, a lovely galumphing dance, erupted down the valley. On cue, the sinking sun burst through a rain cloud to light up Etta's blonde curls, her smudged mascara, her still falling tears.