He had felt humiliated and was livid with Bonny for slagging off Pauline. The last straw was Bonny yelling: ‘And it’s a hangover, not an ’angover, Valent.’
He was about to take it out on Etta, when Mrs Wilkinson’s head appeared over the half-door and with infinite tact, she whickered despairingly.
Gratified, Valent moved forward, his angry red face suddenly softening. He pulled her ears, scratched her neck, raked her mane with his huge hands.
‘Poor little luv, had a bad journey, did you? Makes two of us.’
Then he turned to an equally apprehensive Amber, Marius and Etta.
‘These things happen, right decision. It’s so dark today, wouldn’t be easy for her to see with two eyes, would it, little girl?’
Mrs Wilkinson nudged him in the ribs in agreement.
‘I feel so awful it’s Bonny’s first race,’ stammered Etta. ‘Such a long way.’
‘Doesn’t matter, we want her to run again.’ He smiled at Amber. ‘Sorry, luv, disappointing for you, but something will come up soon. Let’s go and have a drink, we’ll leave Bonny to settle.’
Oh, you dear, dear man, thought Etta, as he led them into the nearest bar.
It was like a game of consequences. Bonny Richards met Corinna Waters, who’d already downed a pint of champagne at the White Rose restaurant overlooking the entrance to the racecourse.
Bonny, having positioned herself so the light fell on her flawless, unlined face, said to Corinna, ‘You are an icon, Miss Waters. You have been my favourite actress ever since my father took me to see you playing Hester in
The Deep Blue Sea
when I was a very little girl and I was hooked. I vowed that one day I would portray the suffering of older women. Whenever I seek inspiration I revisit your oeuvre.’
‘Charmed, I’m sure.’ Corinna took a slug of champagne. ‘But I was actually the youngest Hester ever seen in the West End.’
Bonny, however, was not to be deflected.
‘My other icon is Sarah Bernhardt.’ Then, to show she’d done her homework: ‘Like you, Miss Waters, Sarah triumphed as Phèdre.’
‘Both legless,’ drawled Seth.
‘Bastard,’ hissed Corinna.
‘Hi, Bonny, I’m Seth Bainton.’
Good-looking, unprincipled, terrifyingly charming, Seth smiled down at Bonny, and she made a smooth transition from heroine to hero-worship.
‘Indeed I know,’ Bonny gazed up admiringly. ‘Corinna’ (she pronounced it Coroner) ‘must be so proud of your versatility, as at home in
Hamlet
as in
Holby City
. With each part, you take us on a journey, truly connecting us with your character.’
Seth was actually blushing.
‘Christ, she’s awful,’ Alan muttered to Joey, then blushed himself when Bonny told him how much she admired
his
oeuvre and
how much she was looking forward to his seminal work on depression.
‘A subject on which I should like to exchange views. I feel I could have input.’
‘I’m sure you could. What a darling,’ Alan murmured to Seth.
‘And you must be Etta.’ Bonny seized Debbie’s hands and was shaking them up and down. ‘Valent has described you so often, I feel we are old friends.’
‘That’s not Etta, Etta’s beautiful,’ muttered Seth, whose diction was a bit too good and who received a scowl from Debbie.
‘This is Debbie Cunliffe, who’s lovely in a different way,’ said Alan hastily. ‘Etta’s gone to the stables to check on her precious Wilkie.’ Then, seeing Bonny’s eyes narrow: ‘She’ll be along in a tick.’
‘And you must be Debbie’s spouse, who makes everything run like clockwork.’ Bonny gave a bemused and ecstatic Major a little kiss.
‘And you must be Shagger, I can see why you’ve earned your naughty nickname. And I know Alban. How are you, Alban? Valent has so enjoyed engaging with you.’
‘Fritefly kind, very good of him.’
Corinna, after a late night and four hours on a bus, was edging towards a table in the dark of the restaurant. Bonny, trailing admirers, headed for one near the big floor-to-ceiling window overlooking flower beds and the entrance to the course, and where the harsh north light fell lovingly on her wild-rose complexion.
Everyone in the restaurant was nudging and craning. Older men, mostly members of the Check Republic, straightened their silk ties, whipping on their spectacles to look then whipping them off to seem more attractive, seeking identification from their wives. ‘Who’s she, who
is
she?’
Many recognized Corinna and some of them Seth. He slid in next to Bonny, who pointed to the seat opposite which was equally exposed to the harsh light, crying, ‘I want my icon to sit there.’
Fractionally mollified, Corinna sat down.
‘What are you reading?’ asked Bonny.
Corinna waved
Macbeth
, which after the earlier tour in America was being given a short West End run. ‘I immerse myself in every part, even relearning lines is tough in so short a time.’
‘I don’t have a problem with lines,’ Bonny opened her big eyes even wider, ‘but I guess I’m that much younger.’
‘Your generation don’t bother to absorb the meaning,’ said
Corinna rudely. ‘Valent sent us a tape of
The Blossoming
, couldn’t make head nor tail what it was about. None of you enunciate these days.’
‘You’re probably used to an older theatre audience,’ said Bonny sweetly, ‘some of them not wearing hearing aids, so you’ve got to shout.’
‘My generation combined clarity with subtlety,’ snapped Corinna.
‘I found
The Blossoming
very moving,’ said Debbie, who had maddeningly plonked herself next to Corinna to be near Bonny, on whose left a grinning Alan had seated himself.
‘Do you see Valent as the older man in
The Blossoming
?’ he asked.
‘There are elements in the movie which are reflective of the politics of our relationship,’ Bonny nodded sagely. ‘Valent is a guy, intelligent, kind, compassionate’ – where the hell was he? – ‘and strong enough to stand up to me.’
‘Could have fooled me,’ muttered Joey, who was still marking the
Racing Post
. ‘We better order some grub or we’ll miss the first race.’
Joey was not really enjoying himself. He knew from Bonny’s frosty looks she didn’t approve of him skiving and being part of the syndicate. He missed Chrissie and his mate Woody. This lot were a bit posh. He was also very worried about Woody, who was getting himself snarled up trying to save the Willowwood Chestnut, the beautiful tree in Lester Bolton’s garden that had provided conkers for generations of Willowwood children.
Bolton, hell-bent on felling it, had been heavily but surreptitiously backed by the Major, whose view of Cindy Bolton undressing was blocked by the tree.
Woody had taken yet more time off that he could ill afford to attend the last day of the enquiry. But the Major, randy old goat, reflected Joey, must be so sure of victory, he’d come to Wetherby instead.
‘Are you married, Alan?’ Bonny was asking.
‘Not in this postcode,’ quipped Alan. She really was pretty.
‘My first boss,’ Shagger boomed up the table, ‘told me: if you’re not at the races three days a week, my boy, you’re fired. That’s where your clients are. I hope you’ll become one of my clients, Bonny.’
‘Isn’t Shagger amusing?’ Bonny murmured to Alan, then calling down the table: ‘And you must be Toby and Phoebe, who live in Wild Rose Cottage, my favourite house in Willowwood.’
‘I cannot tell you what big fans Toby and I are, Bonny, congrats on your BAFTA,’ cooed Phoebe.
Toby, in a new yellow, red and brown check suit which looked good on his tall lean body, was quivering with excitement.
‘I work in a gallery,’ added Phoebe. ‘I hope someone’s painting you, Bonny, you are so lovely.’
‘Lovely,’ sighed Seth to Alan. ‘Delicate as a wood anemone.’
More like bindweed, thought Joey darkly, white, innocent face concealing the murderous tendrils that curl round and round the towering plant before toppling it.
‘
The Blossoming
sounds so moving,’ cried Phoebe, who was gazing at Bonny in such wonder that Debbie was getting quite jealous.
‘Shall we order some grub?’ said Corinna.
‘The point is,’ Phoebe hissed to Shagger, ‘is Valent paying? Because if he isn’t, I’ll skip the first course.’
‘And I’ll have cheese and biscuits,’ said Shagger.
‘I am so hungry,’ said Alban and ordered Yorkshire pudding and onion sauce for a first course and Yorkshire pudding and roast beef for a main course.
‘You can have Yorkshire pudding and treacle for dessert,’ said Debbie, consulting the menu.
‘Good idea,’ said Alban.
No one was anxious to fork out for an entire round.
‘Get another bottle of champagne,’ Corinna ordered Seth.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Alan.
Bonny, who was vying with Corinna to dazzle the waiters, announced that she’d like a glass of water. ‘And a castle of sweet seasonal melon with elderflower-scented compote.’
‘As a starter?’ asked Phoebe hopefully.
‘No, as a main course.’
Shagger, whose huge hairy nostrils were twitching as roast loin of pork went by, looked as though he was going to cry.
‘You ought to get something hot inside you, Bonny,’ said the Major heartily.
‘Preferably yourself,’ said Seth.
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ snapped Debbie.
‘If Valent’s paying,’ whispered Phoebe, ‘I’ll have smoked salmon, if not, I’ll skip a starter.’
‘I’m going to have steak and French fries,’ said Joey. ‘I’ve got a monkey on Wilkie to do the business, good little girl.’ Then he glanced up at the television: ‘Fuckin’ hell.’
‘Joey,’ thundered the Major.
‘She’s not running.’
Sure enough, on the blue ribbon along the bottom of the screen beside ‘NR’ in the 3.15 were the words ‘Mrs Wilkinson’.
‘Fucking hell,’ said Alan and Seth simultaneously.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded the Major.
‘Mrs Wilkinson’s been withdrawn.’
‘But we’ve come all this way,’ squawked Debbie, ‘and booked a room.’
‘Marius ought to be sacked, why in hell hasn’t he notified us?’ said Shagger, who hadn’t had a bet. ‘Toby and I have taken a day off work.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Running up the table, Phoebe put an arm round Bonny’s shoulders.
‘I’ll phone Oakridge,’ spluttered the Major.
Marius of course wasn’t answering his mobile.
‘Can’t organize a piss-up in a brewery,’ seethed Shagger.
Painswick’s number was engaged too.
‘Perhaps that’s why Etta and Valent have been so long down there,’ said Alan. ‘Poor little Wilkie. Shall we go down to the stables?’
The runners were already going down to the start for the first race.
‘We’re owners, we should have been consulted,’ puffed the Major.
‘We’ve come all this way in the bloody minibus,’ said Corinna furiously. ‘Seth turned down a commercial. And we won’t get to go into the parade ring.’
‘This is most disappointing,’ said Bonny, who was clearly furious.
Next moment Valent stalked into the restaurant, blue collar turned up, hair dark with rain, and the room went quiet, such was his impact.
‘He was in
Midsomer Murders
,’ said a Check Republic wife.
‘No, I’m sure he was Mr Rochester a few years ago. Very dishy,’ said her friend.
‘No, he was in
The Bill
.’
Valent as usual looked as though he brought the stormy weather in with him, black brows lowered, mouth set, followed by a cringing, apologizing Etta. He strode straight up to the table. Lunchers hastily pulled their chairs in to let him through.
‘What’s going on?’ blustered the Major. ‘Oakridge is refusing to answer his mobile. Damned disgrace. We’ve come all this way, no one’s consulted us.’
‘Is Wilkie OK?’ asked Alan.
‘She wasn’t, worked herself up into a terrible state,’ said Valent. ‘Furious took a piece out of her. I’m sorry you’ve come so far but Marius is quite right not to run her. Very gutsy of him. It’s
too dark, going too heavy, like quicksand, mud flying around. She’s a great little mare, let her live to fight another day. She’ll not let us down.’ Then he glanced ruefully up the table at Bonny flanked by Seth and Alan. ‘Sorry, luv, I’m afraid that’s racing for you.’
‘Oh Valent.’ Bonny’s eyes filled with tears and, running down the table, she disappeared into his arms.
‘We’ll all get our money back and put it on Furious instead,’ said a relieved Valent. ‘He belongs to Marius, who said anyone who wants to can go into the paddock to see him off.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ stammered Etta, opening her purse, ‘I’d like to buy a round.’
‘Don’t be silly, luv.’ Valent looked round at the hungry, apprehensive faces, the hovering waiters, the empty glasses. ‘Better have some more bubbly. I’d like a pint,’ he told the hovering waiters. ‘Now what are you all going to eat?’
‘I’d like smoked salmon for a starter,’ said Phoebe.