Jump.

Singing from Palestine hither I come; Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.'

'Rafiq,' gasped Tommy.

People were looking at each other incredulously, tears drying and then falling on their faces. 'Could it be?'

Then cautiously a white face came round the great studded oak door, angled to the right so she could see with her left eye, and Mrs Wilkinson entered the cathedral with Rafiq on her back. His face was as hostile and haughty as a young kestrel. He was wearing only black jeans and a torn grey s.h.i.+rt, pale rider, pale horse. Into the cathedral they came and up the aisle.

There was a stunned silence, broken only as people rose to their feet, screaming and yelling with joy, climbing on to pews and chairs, throwing their hats into the air, leaning out of choir stall and gallery, blowing joyous blasts on trumpets and hunting horns and giving Mrs Wilkinson the greatest standing ovation of her career.

As this was nothing that Mrs Wilkinson wasn't used to, she carried on, ears p.r.i.c.ked, looking from side to side, graciously acknowledging the pandemonium, whickering at friends and the children who broke into the aisle to pat her again and again.

Next moment, Chisolm had shoved through their legs, dancing and bleating and joyfully rubbing noses with her dear, dear friend.

Only Harvey-Holden, his face far whiter than Mrs Wilkinson's, was hysterically writhing with rage.

'Arrest that man,' he screamed.

'No,' roared Valent's voice over the loudspeaker, 'arrest that that man.' man.'

Mrs Wilkinson quivered with terror, her dark rolling eye showing so much white that it seemed for a second she would bolt out of the cathedral. Harvey-Holden's eyes were also darting from side to side, desperate to escape. But as the great cathedral door slammed shut, police poured in from all sides, two of the largest flanking Harvey-Holden.

'Silence, please be quiet,' shouted Valent, who'd followed Rafiq into the church and bounded up the steps of the pulpit. 'Let Rafiq speak.'

Tommy leapt forward, seizing a trembling Mrs Wilkinson's reins. Smiling down at her, Rafiq patted Mrs Wilkinson and turned coolly to Harvey-Holden. The cathedral was so well miked up, his every word could be heard.

'I know, Mr Harvey-Holden, that it was you who set fire to your own yard. You burn your own horses to death to hide that they were dying of starvation and so you claim insurance.'

'This is nonsense,' thundered Jude the Obese.

'Denny Forrester learn this when he was your head lad,' went on Rafiq, 'so you murder him and fake his suicide, and pretend he started the fire.'

'Utterly preposterous,' jabbered Harvey-Holden, foam flying from his lips.

'You were jealous of Mrs Wilkinson when Shade sent her you for training, because your then wife loved her.' Rafiq was continuously stroking Mrs Wilkinson's quivering shoulder. 'To get her into the starting stalls, you used electrodes on her legs. You denied her food for months to break her spirit and finally drove your Land-Rover into her, catching her legs in the b.u.mper and the radiator. The only reason she miss the fire was you left her out in a freezing field that wouldn't keep a budgerigar,' Rafiq's voice was even more filled with hatred and contempt, 'so you had to get her away quickly, but she refuse to load. For two hours you beat her unconscious with a shovel, so she lost an eye. Then you dragged her into the lorry, digging out her microchip and dumping her in Willowwood on the coldest night of the year, where Etta found her.'

Dora and Alan were scribbling frantically on their service sheets.

'This is fabrication,' shouted Jude with less conviction.

'I'm sure it's nonsense, dear.' Romy put a caring hand on Jude's vast arm.

The rest of the congregation, many in tears, were hanging on Rafiq's every word with increasing dismay. Even Chisolm, recovering her appet.i.te but not finding any of Debbie's bright flowers to eat, was listening intently.

'Jimmy Wade,' continued Rafiq relentlessly, 'was in prison at the same time as me, banged up for giving tips for reward, because you pay him so little. He tell me every terrible thing you did, and that he was going to expose you, but you had him murdered the moment he was released. I was terrified you murder me too, so I keep very quiet, but I was so upset about Furious, I blow gaff at National and told you I knew you started fire.

'You panic that I'm on to you. You're so frantic to get rid of me and Mrs Wilkinson that you plan to blow her up at Sport Personality Award and frame me, by planting all that Al-Qaeda propaganda and bomb equipment in my room, helped by your evil b.u.g.g.e.r friend, Vakil. Lucky my cousin Ibrahim tip me off.'

Harvey-Holden was just clenching his fists and muttering rubbish now.

'He's barking,' hissed Dora.

'Lucky too,' went on Rafiq, turning mockingly to the a.s.sembled policemen, 'I learn in the past a little about making bombs, so I recognize device fixed to stable door. One of Mr Murchieson's latest inventions. It only need mobile phone to set it off from fifty yards. I had so little time. Fortunately,' Rafiq turned and smiled at Michael Meagan, who was blus.h.i.+ng among the stable lads, 'Michael want to see Tresa, so I am able to ride Mrs Wilkinson out of empty racecourse. I am very good rider,' he nodded haughtily at Rupert, 'Mr Campbell-Black should have never jocked me off National, and Mrs Wilkinson turn out excellent cross-country horse. We escaped to friend who hide and protect us and Mr Harvey-Holden blow up empty stable.'

Shade, meanwhile, had jumped to his feet. 'I've never heard so much rubbish in my life,' he roared. 'I want my lawyer.'

'This is all nonsense,' screamed Harvey-Holden, 'all lies. Rafiq blew up Usurper because he's a dirty little terrorist and he loathed her because she took out that brute Furious.'

Maddened, he leapt forward, trying to claw Rafiq to the ground, but Mrs Wilkinson was too quick for him. Shuddering with recognition, squealing with rage, she lunged at him, catching his shoulder in her teeth, shaking him like a rat.

'Get off, you b.i.t.c.h,' he howled, raising his hand to punch her in the eye.

Next moment the police had swooped and grabbed him as well as Shade and Vakil, who were both racing towards the door.

Rafiq, who was thoroughly enjoying being centre stage, then informed the congregation that he had forgiven Mrs Wilkinson for taking out Furious.

'I love her,' he added, pulling her ears, 'and I love Tommy and I would never do anything to break her or Etta's hearts.'

Leaping off Mrs Wilkinson, he took a sobbing, deliriously happy Tommy

'This is a wonderful turn of events,' said the Bishop.

'It's a miracle,' said Niall, seizing the mike. 'Our little pet has risen like Lazarus from the dead.' Then, muttering to the Bishop: 'How on earth do we disperse this lot?'

'Perhaps we could see just the video, which is after all a celebration,' suggested the Bishop, 'and the children can sing their song and wave h.e.l.lo rather than goodbye.'

'Then end with a few prayers?' asked Niall.

'And those invited can repair to Willowwood,' murmured the Bishop, who hadn't had any lunch, 'where I hear there are some excellent refreshments.'

'What about my reading?' demanded Corinna furiously.

What about my 200,000 cheque? thought a shaken Martin. Which would be more advantageous, to comfort Jude or Bonny?

Rafiq was still ecstatically kissing Tommy, so Amber grabbed hold of Mrs Wilkinson.

'Where's Etta?' demanded Valent, his ruddy face for once paler than Rafiq's. Ignoring Bonny's cries of 'Valent, Valent,' he ran down the steps of the pulpit.

'Etta couldn't handle the service,' Amber told him. 'Oh Wilkie, I'm so pleased to see you again.' Then, turning to Rogue: 'Look, darling, isn't she gorgeous?'

'I'm not leaving any of you in charge of a national treasure,' snapped Valent. 'I'm taking my horse home.'

147.

The sun was setting, firing the trees, turning Marius's horses a glowing pink. Etta started to cry again at their carefree happiness. Covered in mud, their s.h.a.ggy manes held rakishly off their foreheads by burrs, they once more weaved in and out of the willows, as she had once so deliriously weaved in and out of Valent's rustic poles.

So many willows still weeping for Beau Regard and Gwendolyn, who poor Sir Francis had lost, as she herself had lost Mrs Wilkinson and Valent. How had Sir Francis carried on living? wondered Etta. As if in sympathy, a dark whale of cloud had drifted in front of the sun. The horses had stopped to drink from the pond, then, as if deciding on a last race, they re-formed and, snorting with excitement, set off again.

Calling for Priceless, who'd as usual pushed off rabbiting, Etta set out wearily for home. Then she froze, cried out in terror and crossed herself before clutching an overhanging willow branch for support, because the pack had been joined in the twilight by a ghost horse with a pure white face. Was it Beau Regard back from the dead? Could it be the ghost of Mrs Wilkinson?

Etta's heart was hammering louder than the hooves on the parched ground as the other horses raced on, then they too double-took in amazement, slithering to a halt, whinnying, squealing with joy and bewilderment, circling the newcomer, whickering, nuzzling, nudging and nipping her for staying away. An overjoyed Count Romeo laid his dark head on her shoulder. Sir Cuthbert kept b.u.t.ting her, making sure she was real.

Then, ecstatically, they all took off again, round the pond, swis.h.i.+ng through the willow curtains, but the little ghost horse led the pack. At her hurtling approach, Etta caught her breath and clutched the willow branch again, because the ghost horse had an iron-grey body, a white face with one big, wise, dark eye and a pink tongue lolling out.

Etta longed to call out, but no sound came. It must be a double, some cruel trick of similarity.

'Wilkie,' she croaked.

The ghost horse stopped in her tracks, then squealing in irritation as Count Romeo and Not for Crowe collided into the back of her, she peered through the pale green waterfall of leaves, searching everywhere. From whence had come that beloved voice?

'Wilkie' it was a strangled whisper but Mrs Wilkinson heard and, thrusting aside the branches, charged over to Etta, nearly sending her flying, whickering again and again, nudging her joyfully, nosing in her pockets for Polos, holding out one foot and then another, until Etta, who could only raise half a Bonio, tugged at a clump of gra.s.s for a reward.

She really was Mrs Wilkinson. There was the microchip scar and the scar above the closed right eye battle scars now she was home from the wars. Flinging her arms round Wilkie's neck, she breathed in her lovely, distinctive, newly cut hay smell.

'Where have you been, darling, where have you come from?'

Then as her stroking fingers crept over Mrs Wilkinson's face to check that she really was no ghost, they encountered a letter tied with a brown shoelace to her head collar. With frantically trembling hands, Etta ripped it off. Child- and OAP-proof, she thought as she wrestled with the knot and finally smoothed out the paper.

'Darling Etta,' she read incredulously, 'I've never stopped loving you. Dearest lady love, please welcome me home. Yours ever, Valent.'

The sun had set, but rosier blushes swept Etta's face, as her eyes darted round.

'Valent,' she cried.

And spitting out his chewing gum, letting go of an extremely restless Chisolm, the man himself emerged from behind an ancient oak.

'Where did you find her?' whispered Etta, as rocked by the pounding of her heart she clung on to Mrs Wilkinson.

'Rafiq had her the whole time.'

'I don't understand.'

'He had a tip-off from Ibrahim that she was going to be blown up, so he talked his way into the course, smuggled her out, then discovered he was the major suspect and was too terrified to come out of hiding.'

'My G.o.d, oh the poor boy.' Etta was too confused and shaken to meet Valent's eye. 'How did you flush him out?'

Valent clocked the letter which was shaking like a captured seagull in her hand, but he answered quite matter-of-factly.

'Alban's been bluddy marvellous. Put messages on the internet and Arabic and Pakistani stations begging Rafiq to come back, that we troosted him. Ironically, what did it was Tommy on the news saying Rafiq didn't mind about twenty-seven virgins in heaven, only about seeing Furious again.'

Etta laughed shakily. She was pa.s.sionately relieved Rafiq was innocent, but all she wanted to do was reread Valent's letter.

'Who planted all that stuff in his room?'

'Harvey-Holden, he's a psychopath. Hated Mrs Wilkinson obsessively. Each win, he loathed her more and more. Wicked thing was the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had been using Vakil to pretend to be the Mafia. They've been blackmailing Rafiq for months, saying they'd take out Tommy or his family in Pakistan unless he pulled Furious, among others, so Shade's horses could win. Shade's all tied up in it. Knows all about sophisticated explosives and he wanted to bury Marius.

'And Tresa was in on it too.' Valent's voice hardened. 'Rafiq reckons she and Vakil n.o.bbled Bullydozer and she shaved off Wilkie's whiskers before the Gold Cup.'

'How terrible,' said a dazed Etta, 'poor Rafiq. How did you flush him out?' she asked a second time.

Realizing she wasn't taking anything in, Valent said he'd explain later. Then, as Mrs Wilkinson and Chisolm wandered off to talk to their horse friends, he added roughly, 'Where the h.e.l.l have you been?'

'I went down to Dorset. It's Sampson's birthday, though I forgot actually and dropped in on our old house. Such a lovely girl living there now. She said that...'

Valent scuffed the ground with a laceless brown shoe.

'I went there.'

'She said you had.'

'Smas.h.i.+ng place. I recognized some of the flowers and the colour combinations. Must have hurt you leaving it.'

'Not that,' Etta almost shouted. 'What hurt was losing Mrs Wilkinson, Furious and Rafiq, but most of all you. I'm so pleased you've got her back.'

'You've got her back, she's yours,' blurted out Valent. 'She need never race again if you don't want her to. Not for a bit anyway, she's in foal.' Then, at Etta's look of amazement: 'Dora organized a stolen service with Love Rat. Rupert was livid and was going to bill Dora, now Mrs Wilkinson's alive he's tickled pink. b.u.g.g.e.r off, Chisolm luv, we're busy, and you too, Gwenny.'

Valent was once more slumped against the ancient oak, Etta against a willow, because their legs wouldn't hold them up any more.

'Rupert thinks-' Valent began.

'I don't give a d.a.m.n what Rupert thinks,' cried Etta, 'I've been so unhappy. I didn't believe it was possible to love anyone like I love you. It's made me realize I never loved Sampson.'

Valent said nothing, but he went very still.

'I went to apologize to him for not loving him,' stumbled on Etta, 'and to say goodbye.'

'I thought you adored him and then that it was Seth, then Sampson again. I was so jealous,' confessed Valent, then added bitterly, 'and Romy said you could never love a yob.'

'The b.i.t.c.h, that's vile,' stormed Etta. 'You're not remotely yobbish. I've loved you for so long, it began the first night when you were so sweet about Wilkie staying at Badger's Court. Seth was a stupid crush. He's got such a weak face.'

Somehow they'd both left their supporting trees and almost sleepwalked towards one another. Etta put a hand up to Valent's cheek, stroking it: 'You've got the strongest, kindest face in the world. I was always so happy when I was with you. The world lit up.'

Valent took her hands, kissing them slowly, lingeringly: 'Same for me. The times we spent together were the happiest of my life, discovering poems, listening to the nightingales and the Proms, planning the garden. I felt so cherished and peaceful, no more compulsion to work my a.r.s.e off, free to be completely myself...'

'Oh, so did I.'

Etta looked up into Valent's face properly for the first time, noticing how unusually pale and drawn it was, the circles beneath his eyes as black as his dark eyebrows.

'I don't believe it was just Alban that got Rafiq and Mrs Wilkinson back,' she protested in wonder. 'It was you working flat out night and day that did it.'

And as she found herself in Valent's arms, face against the yellow-check tweed jacket they'd bought for him to wear at the races, she realized how much weight he'd lost.

'I didn't know how to get you back,' muttered Valent, 'but I knew I wouldn't have a moment's happiness until I did. I bought Wilkie in such a cack-handed way to stop Harvey-Holden and Shade getting her.'

'That and the beautiful portrait I was so vile about, please can I have it back?' begged Etta. 'And all the other sweet things, mending the Polo and Sky in Switzerland and the rustic poles.'

'Hush,' said Valent and he kissed her, very tentatively then pa.s.sionately, until they both had to collapse on a conveniently mossy bank.