Jump.

Meanwhile, high up in Valent's box, the syndicate had erupted with joy the second Mrs Wilkinson pa.s.sed the post. The cavalry charge to the Melling Road was nothing to Corinna and Bonny, who hurtled down the stairs to get in the photograph.

'Who came second?' asked Alban.

'Who the f.u.c.k cares?' crowed the Major.

'Penny in the swear box, Daddy,' chided Debbie.

'I can afford it,' laughed the Major, 'I've just won two grand.'

Even s.h.a.gger, who'd worked out they'd each get 8,000 prize money, was looking quite cheerful.

'Our horse came third,' cried an overjoyed Painswick, foxtrotting round the room with Poc.o.c.k. 'Good old Sir Cuthbert, Marius will be so delighted.'

'Your prayers did it, Niall,' said Trixie, who was so excited she spilled her drink all over the man in the box below, who promptly asked her out to dinner.

Alan, with his laptop on his knee, ecstatically writing the perfect ending, could hardly bear to stop to take a call from Etta in Willowwood.

'Wasn't she wonderful, wasn't she wonderful? Please tell Valent, I was so stupid to make a fuss over that portrait, one must never listen to old wives' tales. Please give Valent all my love and congratulations.'

'Fine, fine,' said Alan, typing with one hand, 'I'll ring you later, darling. We've got to belt down to the winners enclosure. No, I'm not sure what happened to Furious. Wish you were here.'

By the time he'd finished his paragraph and accepted a kiss and a gla.s.s of champagne from Tilda, Alan had forgotten all about Etta.

Marius was so enchanted with Sir Cuthbert coming third for Lady Crowe, and Mrs Wilkinson winning, that he and Olivia hugged Rupert, Taggie and Valent. Mrs Wilkinson, her little sides heaving, was so exhausted, she nearly fell over as she tried to shake hooves with her beloved ex-trainer. Instead she rested her weary head on Marius's shoulder.

Tommy was in heaven.

'I look after Wilkie, I do everything for her, I love her to bits,' she was jabbering to Clare Balding. Alas, her euphoria was fleeting as an ashen Lysander pushed his way through the crowd.

'Brilliantly done, Wilkie and Amber.' He gave Wilkie a huge pat and kissed Amber. 'Sorry to spoil things,' he turned to Rupert, 'but Furious had to be put down, broke a leg at the Ca.n.a.l Turn. Ilkley Hall broke his back at the same fence.'

'Oh G.o.d,' Tommy's tears of joy turned to horror, 'poor Furious, poor Rafiq.'

'Rafiq was there,' explained Lysander, who seemed still in shock. 'He was sobbing his heart out, begging the vets to save Furious. We had to drag the poor b.u.g.g.e.r off.'

'What about Eddie?' asked Taggie quickly.

'Might have put his shoulder out,' answered Valent, 'but he was able to walk to the ambulance.'

'How d'you know?' asked Rupert.

'I got there joost after they'd shot Furious, but I doubt if we could have done anything, it was a hideous break. Rafiq was absolutely demented, crazed with grief, he ran off down the course.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' snapped Rupert.

'I didn't want to spoil Wilkie's moment.'

And he managed to lead her in, keeping his unhappiness to himself. That was so brave, thought Taggie, giving Valent a hug.

As his overcoat fell open, she noticed his s.h.i.+rt covered in blood. 'I know how fond you were of him.'

'How the h.e.l.l did it happen?' demanded Rupert.

'Evidently Wilkie jumped across Furious, cut him up. We'll see on the rerun.'

All this was going on while a frenzy of press and well-wishers were desperate to congratulate and interview them.

'Don't say anything to Amber,' said Rupert sharply. 'She's trying to get through to the hospital.'

'Dad's asleep,' said Amber, switching off her mobile.

As they all posed for photographs, with Chisolm still bleating on Wilkie's back, Rupert turned to Valent.

'Sorry about Furious, as Hen Knight said after Best Mate died, "If you have livestock, you have to have deadstock." It's a risk sport. You can go to the races with a full lorry and come home with an empty one. I know it's hard.' He turned to Taggie, who was comforting a sobbing Tommy. 'Can you try and track down Eddie? He's probably been taken to the Fazakerley. We've got the presentation in a second and then Amber, Valent and I've got to face a press conference.'

'Well done,' murmured back Taggie, 'your first Grand National and your three-thousandth win,' and she kissed his rigid cheek.

'I'd forgotten about that.'

Walking back from the bookies down a side alley and carrying a bulging suitcase, Rupert b.u.mped into a man in a black woolly hat. Then, seeing murder in his eyes, he recognized Rafiq and said, 'I'm sorry we couldn't save him.'

'You killed him,' said Rafiq hysterically. 'Wilkie took him out, cutting across him. But it was the fault of your precious grandson holding him up, allowing him no daylight. Now he never see daylight again.' He gave a strangled sob.

'I'm sorry, we'll try and bury him at Pens...o...b...'

'I bury you first,' hissed Rafiq,

140.

On the television screen, after a rerun of the race the BBC showed Mrs Wilkinson's name being painted in gold letters on the Grand National winners' list.

'Not since Aldaniti,' observed Rogue to Richard Dunwoody, 'has an entire country been behind a horse.'

Clare Balding had made the presentation and Amber was now in the media centre facing the post-race press conference with Rupert and Valent, their early euphoria diluted by the death of Furious. Amber, her sweat- and champagne-drenched hair unloosed, sat looking vulnerable, still wrapped in her Union Jack and clutching her big silver winner's plate like a s.h.i.+eld to ward off trouble.

Clancy Wiggins, the racing correspondent of the Scorpion Scorpion, kept putting the boot in. 'Would Mrs Wilkinson have won if she'd stayed with Marius? How did Amber feel when Mrs Wilkinson was taken away? Was Marius upset when you opted to ride for Rupert?'

'Marius behaved impeccably,' said Amber crossly. 'He lent his best lads, Tommy and Rafiq, to Rupert.'

'But Marius still threw you out the next day.'

'He didn't.'

'Well, his wife kicked you out.'

'Shut oop,' snapped Valent, 'this has nothing to do with the National.'

'The course rode beautifully,' insisted Amber.

'Furious died in the race,' persisted Clancy. 'Why didn't you let Rafiq Khan ride Furious rather than your grandson, who couldn't stay on his horse either in the National or the Gold Cup?'

'We're not talking about Furious,' Amber said irritably. 'His death was a complete accident.'

'He was brought down by Mrs Wilkinson,' said Clancy, 'cutting across him, hanging left.'

'Was he?' gasped Amber, turning to Valent in horror.

'Am I going to have to come over and throttle you?' bellowed Valent.

'Amber has achieved the impossible,' began Rupert, then, pausing to answer his mobile: 'Yes, OK, we'll come at once.' He beckoned to an Aintree official, and after a few words rose to his feet.

'Sorry, guys,' he told the protesting room, 'we've got to go. Valent will answer any questions, thank you, everyone.'

Such was his chilling blue glare and his air of suppressed menace, no one tried to stop him.

'Your father's taken a turn for the worse,' he told Amber outside. 'He's conscious but he's sinking. He can't see any more but he heard the race on the wireless. We've got to move fast.'

Aintree provided Rupert and Amber with a VIP car. As police horses had escorted her back from the winning post, now a policeman on a motorbike led them out of the course, weaving his way through the happy home-going crowd.

They pa.s.sed the horsebox car park where horses were being led out with huge bandages on their legs, hay nets were being loaded into lorries for the journey home, and the lads were calling out: 'Thank you for having us, see you next year.'

I won't see Dad, thought Amber in terror.

The car had to weave its way through a swaying, limping forest of Liverpool ladies carrying their stilettos and queuing up to buy flip-flops, which were selling almost as fast as cuddly Wilkinsons.

Drunks slept peacefully in the gutter.

There was the sign by the exit: 'John Smith thanks you for drinking responsibly'.

Dad never did, thought an anguished Amber.

The nurses clapped her as she entered the ward.

'Your dad couldn't see the TV but Nurse Jenkins held the radio to his ear. He heard everything, he was so pleased and proud,' they told Amber.

'He's just been given another injection to relax his muscles, stop him tensing up against the pain and control the rattle in his throat,' said Nurse Jenkins. Amber looked at her round kind face in bewilderment.

'Is he dying?'

'He's near it. Go in and tell him you love him. Try not to cry, it's the last thing he'll want to hear when he's leaving this world.' Nurse Jenkins put her arm round Amber's shoulders. 'You couldn't be braver than you were this afternoon.'

Down the pa.s.sage Amber could see her mother Janey blubbing into her mobile.

'Amber and Rupert have just arrived, my sons Christy and Junior are on their way home.'

Amber ran into the room and shut the door.

'Daddy, it's me, I love you.' She took his hand.

Billy was lying on his side, the flesh on his face fallen away. She had to lean close to hear him.

'Oh darling,' he gasped, 'I don't need to go to heaven any more. I've been there today, most wonderful moment when you headed Playboy, and Rupe's three-thousandth win. What a brave little mare.'

Next moment Rupert stalked in with a briefcase and scattered thousands of notes over Billy.

'Two hundred grand,' he said.

'Should have done it both ways,' muttered Billy. 'Thank you, Rupe. It's your inheritance, darling. You rode so well and Wilkie, what a sweetheart.'

Billy's voice was hardly audible as Rupert sat down on his other side, putting a hand on his shoulder.

'Do you remember how The Bull hated water, Rupe? I hope I see The Bull again.' Billy's hand in Amber's went slack.

Out of the window against a rose-pink sky, Amber could see the black silhouette of Paddy's Wigwam and the Church of England cathedral with its spikes coaxed upwards.

After a minute Rupert, his normally deadpan face contorted by anguish, managed to say, 'I'm afraid he's gone.'

And Amber felt free to burst into agonizing sobs.

'I did it for Dad, I did it for Dad, I wanted Dad to call me home.'

Rupert was still patting her shuddering, champagne-soaked shoulders, unable to comfort her, wis.h.i.+ng Taggie was here, when a figure appeared in the doorway and a soft Irish voice said, 'G.o.d called your father home.'

'f.u.c.k off,' snarled Rupert, desperately wiping his eyes on a sheet.

Amber looked up in bewilderment to see Rogue, still with the mike in the lapel of his beautiful grey presenter's suit, still in his television make-up. But no eyeliner or shadow was responsible for the concern and tenderness in his eyes.

'What are you doing here?' she sobbed.

'Come to take care of you,' said Rogue, as she stumbled into his arms. 'I know when I'm wanted.'

Word had galloped round and the press prowling outside the Royal Liverpool surged forward as Rogue and Amber came out twenty minutes later. Amber was white and trembling, but warmed by Rogue's right arm round her shoulders. Before anyone could ask questions, Rogue raised his left hand.

'I want to say something. Amber and I are together now,' he ran a finger down her ashen cheek, 'for always. This afternoon, Amber achieved a miracle winning the Grand National,' loud cheers, 'but she has also just lost her father, Billy Lloyd-Foxe, an absolute hero just like herself.'

Even the most hardened members of the press groaned in dismay and sympathy.

'So I beg you to respect her need to mourn the loss of a truly sweet man and leave us alone.'

For once Rogue's handsome face was drained of laughter. His shoulders were twice the width of Amber's. They were the same height, but at that moment he seemed ten feet tall.

Tape recorders were switched off, cameras put down. As a car slid forward, Clancy Wiggins leapt forward to open the door for them.

'G.o.dspeed,' he shouted, banging the roof of the car, as they set out for Rupert's helicopter.