Authors: Paddy Cummins
Another inch of rein, Spinning Top was now really stretching, passing another three horses and into second place. The post was rapidly coming closer. The horse in front wasn't stopping - could he catch him? He didn't want to give the little horse a hard race on his first run. Still a
furlong to go, Len was tempted to give him a couple of 'back-handers' - he decided not - Garry wouldn't want that. He just waved his whip at him, the horse picked up again. As they neared the post, the horse in front faltered,
his stride shortened and he was hanging left under pressure.
Now, thought Len, one last surge. He squeezed, pushing with hands and heels. The little horse responded gamely. It was all over in a few strides. He won 'going away' by a length and a half.
Garry, Senan O'Sullivan, his wife and son were in a joyous collective embrace in the stand - they had done it.
The press swarmed around the happy group in the winner's
enclosure. This was sensational, a big story for the racing papers to-morrow.
"A young unknown trainer wins with his first runner!!!"
They wanted a word with him - several words. Garry was
responsive, courteous and unassuming.
He said he was delighted to get such a great start, was grateful to the owner and especially to Mrs Dilworth for recommending him to Mr O'Sullivan. He was also grateful to his stable lass, Emily, to his jockey Len
for a great ride, and most importantly to Spinning Top. He would remember that little horse for the rest of his life.
They wanted a C.V. of his career to date, his stable's
location, number of horses in training etc. Then the inevitable question: What are your ambitions for the future?
Garry thought. He didn't want to sound arrogant or carried away with his initial success. His ambitions were big - for sure they were -
had been driving and motivating him since he returned from England and set up in Dream Valley. He'd keep them to himself though - less pressure that way.
'My ambitions for the future? Well, I'd like to train good
horses, win nice races, and do a good job for my owners.'
Garry, Emily, Senan and his wife and son, enjoyed a sumptuous five course meal in the Country Hotel, halfway between Clonmel and Dream Valley. It was compliments of Senan, his way of saying thanks for a job
well done. Spinning Top enjoyed his net-bag of sweet hay in the horse trailer, while viewing the surroundings through his front window.
Full and happy, they resumed the journey home. It was late
when Garry eventually got to bed, tired but contented, at the end of a perfect day.
* * *
The staff canteen was located high up in the office block of Global Life. It was bright, airy, sunlit, and the view was brilliant through
the wall of glass that looked out over the south Dublin coastline. The food was excellent too, self-service, quick and efficient, meaning more time for relaxation after lunch. Jenny liked that, gave her a chance to skim over the
newspaper, make the odd phone call; perhaps write a letter or a greeting card. It was nice to do it while enjoying the sun, high up over the Blackrock rooftops that seemed to stretch all the way out to Dun Laoghaire.
'The Irish Times' was her link with the big outside world.
She would turn the pages briskly, reading the short articles that caught her attention, mentally noting the important long ones, to return to after work in the evenings. Sometimes she did - sometimes she didn't. It depended on her
schedule. The financial pages were rarely missed. She had to keep up with the markets, the investments, the exchange rates, insurance, general economic activity. 'The Times' was her main source of information.
The sport pages got scant attention. Headlines and pictures from the racing pages perhaps, or reports from big showjumping and equestrian competitions. She hardly ever read them through - hadn't the time. To-day though, one headline jumped up from the racing page, hit her between the eyes.
"Young trainer strikes with his first runner".
It wasn't! It couldn't be! Captivated, she read on, soaking the details in, going back again, reading it slowly, getting every word
embedded in her brain.
"Garry Wren, who trains a small string at Dream Valley in South Kilkenny, and who only took out a licence recently, won with his first runner at Clonmel yesterday. Spinning Top, owned by Mr Senan
O'Sullivan, ridden by Len Lovett, took the Pro-Am Bumper by one and a half lengths at odds of twenty-to-one. The horse, also winning the prize for the best turned-out in the race, made steady progress from halfway and won well,
prompting many shrewd observers to predict a bright future for his twenty-six-year-old trainer.
Wren, who hails from Glengriffen, served his time with Major Norton in Newmarket, and later was assistant trainer to Jack Holden in
Lambourn, purchased his Dream Valley stables just over a year ago, has eight horses in training, and hopes to expand".
Jenny leaned back from the table, still staring at the article, which she had read three times. She was ecstatic with genuine delight
for Garry, remembering how much he had helped her. That day in Punchestown, he probably saved her life, looked after her stricken horse, then at the hospital, helped her out of her depression with his lovely cheerful phone call.
She would return the compliment right now - immediately. This was her chance.
God, I could so easily have missed that headline - then I would never know.
She leaned down to her handbag on the floor, picked up her
mobile; then it dawned on her. The number! I haven't got Garry's number - now what? She paused, thinking intensely - 'Directly Enquiries' - that's it.
"No, I'm sorry, there's no 'Garry Wren' listed
here"
Damn it! He only has a mobile - where will I find that? She thought again - there must be some way - she got it! The Turf Club. They would need to have it for entries, declarations etc. But would they give it out to a
stranger? It was worth a try. Directory Enquiries again.
'The Turf Club, please.'
'Good afternoon. The Turf Club. How can I help you?'
'Oh, I wonder if you could let me have the phone number of
Mr Garry Wren, trainer, Dream Valley, County Kilkenny?'
'Certainly Madam - it's a mobile number.'
'I know,' replied Jenny gratefully, repeating and jotting down the number. 'Thanks a million' and she really meant it.
Now, how much time have I got?
She checked her watch
ten minutes - that will do.
Pressing the digits, she waited; no joy. After about ten rings it cut out. She waited, gave it another try. Garry's cheerful voice
answered after the first ring.
'Hi, Garry, it's me, Jenny Howard ... remember me?'
'Sure I do, Jenny, how are you? Sorry to keep you ringing ... my jacket with the phone in it was back in the yard. Emily heard the ring,
took it out here to me in the field.'
'No bother at all. Congratulations on your great win! I've just been reading about you. I'm delighted for you, Garry.'
'Oh, thanks very much, it was great alright.'
'Some achievement with your very first runner.'
'Ah, a bit of luck,' he said modestly, 'the little horse did it well ... a sharp little fellow. He's here with me now having a pick of
grass. We're lucky to have him.'
'That will surely give your career a great kick-start ... I mean, the publicity in the papers and all.'
'Hope so. I'd say it probably will. I had a lot of phone
calls congratulating me - two new horses coming to-morrow. We're full now ... had to turn down a couple more. Yeah, it's great ... I'm delighted.'
'Oh, that's wonderful Garry, you'll have to expand.'
'Yeah. I have plans for another ten stables ... probably go ahead with them now soon ... as soon as I can afford them.'
'Well now, that's a co-incidence. I'm building a little stable complex myself. I'm working on the drawings at present.'
'Good for you, Jenny. Doing the drawings? Are you an architect too?'
Jenny laughed. 'No Garry, I'm not, a 'chancer' would be more accurate.'
'Maybe when you've finished, you'd come down here and do
mine.'
'God, I'd love to.'
'That's a deal then ... I'll hold you to that.' They both laughed.
'How are you now, Jenny? As good as ever, I hope.'
'Yeah, I feel great, back to work and all ... I'm on my lunch break now.'
'Great. I'm glad to hear that. What about the riding ... done any since?'
'No Garry, I'm afraid I have to give it a break for a while.'
'Ah well, you'll be back ... that's for sure ... I know you will.'
'Oh, I will ... as soon as I get things sorted out. First I need three things.'
'Yeah?
'Well, I need a new horse, new stables, and a consenting husband ... the last one might be the most difficult.'
There was a pause. Garry felt awkward. The last thing he wanted was a discussion on Jenny's domestic affairs. He wasn't sure how to
reply.
'He's not fond of horses?'
'Not fond of them! He's totally anti-horse ... detests the thought of me "risking my life" on them'
'That's tough,' Garry tried to convey sympathy and
understanding - hoping to leave it at that.
'Oh, I don't mind, Garry; I can handle it. I'm working on him ... he'll come round.'
'Good' He wished she'd change the subject - she did.
'When is your next runner?'
'I'd say in about a month. I'll give Spinning Top a little break now. Some of the others should be ready about then.'
'I'll be away myself around that time, so I better wish you
luck now.'
'Oh yeah? Off to the sun, is it? Lucky you.'
'Yes, Ken and myself are going to Florida for two weeks. The Company I work for; it's their convention ... it should be good.'
'That's marvellous; I hope you enjoy it ... it's you that have the good life, Jenny.'
'Not complaining, Garry. Still I wouldn't mind having yours ... green fields, lovely wide open spaces, peace and tranquillity, horses,
nature ... sure you have it all.'
She could picture him now, probably sitting on a stone, relaxing, savouring the beautiful country atmosphere, the horse grazing peacefully in the lush green grass. She still didn't know what he looked like;
she could only imagine.
'Yeah, I suppose it sounds good when you put it like that. Here's an idea for you ... come down and join me ... I could do with a business partner.'
'Afraid not, Garry, I'd be trouble. You carry on as you are
... you're doing fine. I'll have to stick to the concrete jungle.' She glanced at her watch - ten minutes late.
'God, I must go, Garry. Congratulations again.'
'Thanks Jenny, and thanks for ringing ... have a great time in Florida.'
'I will, Garry, cheers.'
She was last leaving the canteen - they had all gone back to work. She wasn't bothered about it - that chat with Garry was worth it.
Garry was exhilarated. Switching off the mobile phone, he marvelled at what that little piece of equipment could do for a man's feelings. He was now on a high again. His feelings were a mixture of sweet sensations,
warm contentment, hope, confidence, ambition. He even felt the return of faith in a world and a God that had, only a month ago, robbed him of the one true love he ever had, leaving him with devastation and despair.
He felt a genuine admiration for Jenny. A warm feeling of growing friendship and companionship that seemed to intensify even while they spoke. He was thrilled to get her call, great to hear her fully recovered and in great
form again. Of all the phone calls since yesterday; that was definitely the best. She was something else, so generous in her praise and congratulations, so interested in what he was trying to achieve, so knowledgeable and understanding about horses, so cheerful and enthusiastic about everything.
He began to think more deeply about his own situation, his career, his whole life ahead. It seemed ridiculous what he was trying to do all on his own. After Sandra's funeral, he said he would never think of a wife or
partner again. His mother was right: "You should never say never ... no one knows the future ... God never closed one door without opening another." Mam was always right.
If he could find someone like Jenny, it would make his life.
His whole outlook on everything would be changed. He would have someone to celebrate the good days with him, to share the bad ones, to pool their knowledge, their opinions, their feelings. Yes, he was now convinced of what he
needed, what was so glaringly missing in his life, what he should actively search for now - a partner, a soul-mate, a companion, a true friend - someone like Jenny.
But was there another Jenny out there? Maybe not - Jenny was
special - she had everything. What a strange twist of fate, he thought. Here was a woman - a top business executive, married to a top doctor, and she finds time to call him, chat to him during her lunch break. He hardly knew her, saw her only once when she fearlessly displayed her wonderful spirit and exuberance
over those big banks at Punchestown. God, was he impressed? Then to find her beautiful and unconscious body buried in that dirty ditch through no fault of hers or the little horse.
He'd love to meet her now - they would have some chat - so
much to talk about. She might even steer him towards someone she knew that would suit him - someone like herself. God, that doctor was lucky. She said he was anti-horse. That's terrible. It must be very awkward for both of them,
especially Jenny - if only she was
his
wife.
He pulled himself back from his day-dream - shouldn't be loosing the run of himself.
She's
not
your wife - forget it.
* * *
The big American Airlines jet was flying smoothly at thirty-five thousand feet between London and Miami. Most of the passengers were asleep including Jenny. Ken wasn't - he was thinking - his mind was working overtime. He tried to keep focused on the two weeks ahead in Florida, what he
could do to make it memorable for Jenny. She deserved that. He would do everything he could to make the most of it for both of them. If things worked out the way he hoped they would, who knows? It could change their lives.
Dr Lucas could be right. His problem could be resolved in an instant, or it might never be resolved. The new sperm tests were inconclusive, not much better than the previous ones, but still a little better. With
treatment it could improve further; that was encouraging. Even as it was, Dr Lucas was convinced that conception could occur, "given all the right circumstances." He even suggested that this vacation in Florida could be the vehicle that could provide "all the right circumstances." So,
could this be his opportunity? He would make a special effort - Dr Lucas could be right. Ken prayed that he was.
Looking across at Jenny's petite face, veiled by her silk
blonde hair, he was savouring her beauty and serenity as she slept contentedly, child-like, as without a care in the world. He felt so lucky to have her. She was so special, had everything. If only he could make her a mother, what it would do for both of them. She would then be even more beautiful. Their lives
would be changed forever - their future secure - not as it was now, hazy, confused, uncertain, worrying, almost frightening. He could lose her, something he dreaded, but it could happen. Their relationship needed careful nurturing -
was a strain sometimes - they both knew that. He loved her intensely, more than anything else in the world. He believed she felt the same about him, hoped he was right. Still, it was becoming increasingly more complicated. Jenny was
strong-willed - had that from her mother - also practical and sensible - had that from her father. She knew what she wanted in life, knew what was possible, accepted what was not. But could she accept a childless life? He didn't know the answer to that, wasn't sure. That's what worried him most of all. If
he
couldn't give her one, would she look elsewhere?
She wouldn't, not Jenny. She was a true blue, had integrity, honesty, loyalty. He felt reasonably secure, but not completely. There was
still a niggling doubt - it would always be there. He gazed at her again, instinctively laying his hand on hers resting on her lap. Opening her eyes slightly, squeezing his hand in hers, she smiled that lovely reassuring smile. He leaned over, kissed her gently on the lips, snuggling back in their seats,
they both dozed off together.
The Breakers Hotel was even more impressive than it looked in the brochures. Towering majestically over the beautifully landscaped Palm
Beach, its excellence and splendour sent shivers of excitement and anticipation through Ken, Jenny, and the large party of Irish tourists as they alighted from the luxury coach that took them from Miami Airport.
Through the magnificent entrance and on to the Mediterranean Courtyard for welcoming cocktails, the group were astonished by the sheer vastness of the interior, the luxurious furnishings, exquisite décor, the hundreds of priceless chandeliers adorning this man-made miracle. The smell of
opulence and splendour was everywhere and confirmed their belief that only the Americans could conceive and create something as majestic as this.
One of Global Life's Vice Presidents, Mr Bill Long, gave the
welcoming address and also the history of 'The Breakers', concluding with this greeting:
'Ladies and Gentlemen of Global Life, this is your 'Palace' for our President's Convention. We hope you enjoy every minute.'
Reverse jet-lag caused Jenny to wake up at five a.m. on the morning of her first full day at 'The Breakers'. Ken slept on. She just lay there relaxed and happy, admiring the plush décor of the massive bedroom,
almost as big as some houses back home. Looking across at Ken, snoring soft bass drones, she hoped he wasn't too disappointed at he opting out of lovemaking last night - she was just too jaded - sleep was all she wanted. The travelling and nine-hour flight had taken its toll. Normally it wouldn't, but
it showed that she was only regaining her full strength. She felt great now though, ready for what would be the busiest day of the trip, a day filled with all kinds of everything.
An excursion to the Everglades and Loxahatchee Nature
Reserve in the morning, mid-day lunch at the Beach Club Patio, and in the afternoon taking part in the big Underwriting Meeting in the Magnolia Room.
That meeting was very important. It was one of the reasons
why they brought her there. She had her homework done, wouldn't need notes, worked better without them. Ad Lib was her style, always more comfortable that way, more intimate with her audience. She hoped it went well - felt confident
it would.
Then in the evening, the highlight of the whole programme, the Accolades Dinner in the magnificent setting of the Mediterranean Ballroom, followed by dancing to the early hours. This was the evening when the Company
recognised achievements. It would be a glittering affair with Black Tie/Formal wear, the whole extravaganza designed to leave a lasting impression on those 'Top Stars', motivating them to even greater success in the future.
Looking across at the open wardrobe she could see her dress,
was looking forward to wearing it. Sheryl and herself purchased it after much soul-searching and debating. Sheryl was great - pity she wasn't here; she'd love it. Perhaps she could make it up to her - take her back something nice.
It was six-thirty, she slipped out of bed, grabbed her jeans and slippers, headed down to see the sunrise, get a cappuccino and Danish pastry at the Coffee Corner overlooking the Croquet Courts. A peaceful start to
an exciting day ahead.
Ken was a bit apprehensive and up-tight as he straightened his purple bow-tie for the third time, while waiting for Jenny to put the finishing touches to herself. The next half-hour would be an unexpected
pleasure. The trip around the Everglades was memorable, but the sealed envelope, waiting in their bedroom on their return was a big surprise. It invited them to Pre-Accolades Dinner cocktails with the President in the
Mediterranean Courtyard at seven-thirty, before moving to the ballroom for the formal dinner.
This was a big honour, recognition by the President. Jenny knew it was special, felt good to be chosen - Ken felt a bit over-awed.
'Ah, for God sake, Ken,' Jenny reassured him, 'it's only the President ... isn't he privileged to get the opportunity to meet you. You look a million dollars Darling,' she flattered, putting on a mock American accent, 'come on, lets go.'
She was in great form, looked dazzling in her black evening dress and wonderful accessories, highlighting her stunning looks and perfect figure. Ken perked up too, felt proud and privileged to be escorting such a beauty. They headed for the lift.
Bob Taylor was a real regular guy, blessed with a lovely warm personality, put people at ease. He seemed to go overboard in welcoming Jenny and Ken. Introducing them to his Vice Presidents and the other
dignitaries present, he referred to the Underwriting Conference earlier that afternoon.
'I wasn't able to be present,' he said, 'but I have been reliably informed that your contribution was excellent, Jenny. I'm not
surprised. The performance of the Irish Division last year is testimony to your great ability and commitment. I want you to know that we are deeply grateful to you.'
Vice President, Bill Collins interjected: 'I'll second
that.'
'Fine,' said the President, 'why don't we drink to that?'
All agreed, and twenty glasses clinked merrily in Jenny's honour.
Smiling gracefully, she thanked them for the kind words and
hospitality, and expressed the hope that their confidence in her would continue to be justified.
Ken was hugely impressed. He was proud to be married to this beautiful young 'genius'. This was the living proof, the recognition, the confirmation
of what he always felt. There was only one Jenny - she was the greatest - God, how lucky he was.
The Gala Dinner was a glittering formal affair, hosted by the President and Chief Executive, Bob Taylor, and attended by the 'Heads' of
all the International Divisions. Jenny and Ken were impressed. They sat at round tables in the splendour of the Mediterranean Ballroom, bedecked for the occasion with masses of flowers, banners, enlarged hoardings, highlighting the
company's logo, and huge blown-up photos of the 'Top Stars.'
The Menu was special too, a unique, artistic production. Embossed with the Coat of Arms of the company, specially designed on luxurious art board, adorned with gold cord, tassel, and ornate lettering. It was a work
of art, a treasured memento, individually engraved with the name of each person present.
Each circular table sat eight. Jenny and Ken were ushered across to theirs, which was just a little way down from the podium, near the
top table which was rectangular, seating all the big chiefs of the company. Jenny was pleased with her table's position - a great view of everything. She was less happy with the proximity of Don Lenihan, to the right of Ken, his wife
Meg beside Jenny. Never mind, she told herself, he'll be on his best behaviour here. He'll be trying to impress the 'Chiefs.' No doubt, he'll be thinking of further promotion, perhaps Canada or America - Don isn't near finished climbing
yet. They can have him as far as she was concerned; they are welcome to him.
The meal was a seven-course feast, the vintage wine flowing like waterfalls. Jenny wondered was it all too much - would they be able to
rise from the table?
'Oh, never-mind, the dance afterwards will shake us up; it's a long night ahead.'
The speeches began. Toasts were proposed to the President of The United States of America, the Prime Minister of Canada, The Queen of
England, and The president of Ireland. Bob Taylor gave a fine welcoming speech, eulogising the successes of Global Life over 150 years and looking forward to even greater times ahead for "this great company."
Then the presentation of the awards to the high achievers. This was always the pinnacle in the careers of those highly motivated Sales Executives, their moment of glory. Jenny always admired those special sales-people. They were at the coal-face, brought in the business, kept the
whole show going. Their scrolls and awards would be cherished, as would the individual photos with the President of the company. The applause rang out for each recipient, the atmosphere was euphoric.
Then came the moment that silenced the ballroom - the revealing of the tightly guarded secret.
Mr Taylor explained. 'At every President's Convention, a special Award of Merit is presented to the person whom the company adjudged to
have made the greatest contribution towards its overall success. The person' he said, 'that exceeded the call of duty, excelled in their particular role, and through their ability and commitment, provided a shining example for the rest
of us.'
He opened the envelope to hushed silence.
'The Award of Merit of this President's Convention goes to a beautiful young lady from Ireland, the Head of Underwriting in Dublin:
Jenny Howard/McKevitt.'
Thunderous applause followed - a standing ovation. Jenny held her hands tightly against her face, stunned, bewildered and speechless. She looked at Ken, who was reaching over, arms outstretched to hug her. She was overwhelmed. Ken helped her to the rostrum, Bob Taylor embraced and kissed her,
then presented her with the award. She held it up - just a little, it was so heavy. It was a huge 'Waterford' crystal vase with something special engraved on the side. Holding it out, she gazed at it in amazement, tears streaming down
her cheeks.
The President took the microphone again.
'I better explain,' he said, ' The engraving that we chose for this magnificent peace of Waterford Crystal is from a photograph of Jenny
and her father, Sam, taken outside our head office in Dublin on the day she began her career with Global Life. What makes it special is the fact that sadly, Sam is no longer with us.' He turned to Jenny. 'We want you to know,
Jenny, that this presentation is in recognition of your great work, and also in remembrance of the wonderful contribution made to the success of our company by your late, great father, Sam Howard.
The crowd erupted again, cameras flashed from all sides of
the ballroom, the second standing ovation lasted longer than the first. Jenny approached the microphone. She thanked the President, the company, her colleagues, and all present. She said she hoped and believed that her father
was with them in spirit to enjoy 'this special moment.' On behalf of her mother, June, back home in Ireland, she thanked them again and assured them that she would cherish the memory of 'this wonderful night for the rest of her life.'
The dance was a joyous, swinging affair. With plenty of wine
consumed, legs were well lubricated. The powerful sound of the big band was too good to sit out - the floor was full for every dance. Previously over-dressed men were now in their shirt-sleeves, sweating profusely, hot ladies
endeavouring to keep their make-up intact. It was heavy going but wonderful enjoyment.
The band was something else, agreed Ken and Jenny. A multi-coloured ten-piece Showband, The Orlando Stompers. Their programme
included everything: Trad, Jazz, Rock-n-Roll, Latin American, Glen Miller, and even a bit of Irish. A brilliant two hour programme without a second wasted.
Jenny slumped down in her seat completely jaded after a long
session of wild jiving to a swinging medley of 'sixties' Rock-n-Roll. Ken was exhausted too and took a long swig of beer to cool down.