They didn't. Drew allowed himself a smug smile. Both Bonne Nuit and Dragon Slayer had had three outings now, separately, of course; there were going to be no head-to-heads until the Hennessey. Bonne Nuit had improved each time. Dragon Slayer, after that amateurish mistake at Worcester, had won two races in recent days and was currently ante-post favourite. Bonnie's odds were still in double figures, but both horses had started to show in forecasts for next year's Cheltenham and Aintree meetings.
He crossed his fingers. It might just work. Not that he'd be keeping the National Hunt side of the yard going, even if Bonnie did win. Kit and Rosa and the accountants had made it plain that he couldn't afford loss-makers – but it would bump his prestige up no end for the next flat season, and bring in enough money for him to continue. If Bonne Nuit won the National, Peapods would be safe. Both he and Charlie knew that nothing less than a win would do.
He'd explained the situation to Gillian, who had smiled vaguely and said that as long as Bonnie Nuts won the National and prevented Drew from going bankrupt, then God would have worked another miracle, wouldn't he? Drew still thought it was a miracle that no one in the village had yet discovered that Gillian was Bonne Nuit's owner. Gillian had shrugged and said that she might tell Glen – after Bonnie had won the race – but until then it was to remain their secret. Anyway, the village was convinced that Fizz Flanagan was the proud possessor, and who was she to destroy illusions? As to Bonnie's future – well, he was such a sweet little thing – if he won the National then she thought he deserved to retire in comfort. She'd pay Drew stabling fees and visit him.
Drew had pointed out that if he won the National then she would have more money than ever to explain away to Glen. This seemed to have thrown her for a bit – but not for long. She'd kissed his cheek and said she was having great fun, and if there was any money left over he was to share it between charities of his choice.
Charlie had been philosophical about losing his job. He'd said he might even retire and write racing thrillers. Drew, who knew Charlie hated writing anything longer than a cheque, had blessed him for his equanimity. There was always the possibility, of course depending on the National win, that he'd be able to offer Charlie a full-time job as his assistant flat trainer. Which he might just accept if he won at Aintree. If Bonnie didn't pull it off, then Drew was under no illusions that Charlie was more than likely to decamp to Lambourn and have another shot at it. He couldn't blame him.
Then, of course, next year he'd be looking for a new flat jockey. Perry Mitchell, who had ridden for him ever since he'd come to Milton St John, was going back to Hong Kong while he could. The Chinese take-over hadn't yet affected Happy Valley and he knew that Perry wanted to ride his last races there. Maybe he'd ask Suzy – always supposing that she and Naomi Birkett-Spence didn't hit it off.
Still, that was all in the future. He grinned and picked up the cravat again. At least he had a future. Thanks to Maddy, today was going to be the happiest of his life. He wasn't going to let anything spoil it.
It was half past three. The afternoon sun was sliding behind the Hills, but the sky was still as blue as a spring morning. It had been a glorious day. Reasonably warm for November, with no wind disturbing the piles of jewel-bright leaves along the High Street. Drew, sitting beside Charlie in the front pew of St Saviour's, took deep steadying breaths.
The church was decorated in the flames and golds and ambers of autumn. A thousand cream candles flickered gently in the draught from the rafters as the last rays of the sun illuminated the glorious colours of the stained-glass window. Petunia Hobday on the organ was playing a quiet version of 'Rhapsody in Blue', and every single pew was crammed with friends and relations, and some people who Drew'd considered neither but who had turned out for his big day. No, he smiled to himself –
their
big day. His and Maddy's. The day that had been destined to happen ever since Diana and Gareth James-Jordan's drinks party'
He turned his head, acknowledging the smiles. Everyone was there. All the trainers, the stable staff, the villagers, and hordes of people from Upton Poges and Tiptoe: all looking happy and wearing their best. He hadn't realised that he and Mad were quite so popular. It would have been perfect if his parents had been alive for this. He swallowed. He was sure they were around, somewhere, giving their love and approval.
Caroline in black and yellow was sitting with Peter Knightley and the Pughs. She'd always got on well with Bronwyn and Bernie. She'd kissed his cheek and wished him luck and said she knew he'd be really happy now – just as she was. And there was Luke Delaney, bravely carrying out his usher duties with Rory Faulkner and Kit Pedersen, and trying to look cheerful. Drew sighed. It was going to be difficult for him today. Being here with Suzy. Poor Luke – he sympathised deeply.
Charlie nudged him. 'Matt's struck the jackpot, eh?'
Matt, flanked by Tina Maloret in a man's suit, with the jacket unbuttoned just far enough to let everyone know she was only wearing skin beneath it, and Jemima in a long, clinging wool dress the colour of beech leaves, slid into a pew halfway down the aisle.
'He looks pretty miserable, considering.' Charlie continued to stare. 'God, he doesn't know how lucky he is. She's so beautiful.'
'No doubt you'll be able to tell her so all night,' Drew said, wiping his palms on his dark grey trousers. 'She'll be wrecking the bed with you, won't she?'
'Jemima? Christ – I should be so lucky!'
Drew grinned. Charlie had always enjoyed a challenge. He felt Jemima Carlisle was one lady who would always stay just out of his reach. 'Aren't Lucinda and the stalking clothes-horse enough for you, then?'
'More than enough.' Charlie sighed heavily, still scanning the congregation. 'But Jemima's something else. She's sort of like Maddy – you know, my friend. When I think about her, I fancy her like mad – then when we're together she's so bloody controlled, and I wonder what I see in her. Then she giggles, or lets the guard drop, and I know. Of course, she's far too bright for her own good – and she thinks I'm a complete bastard. But we seem to get on well, despite that. It's quite confusing, really.'
Christ, Drew thought, how lucky he was to have Maddy's uncomplicated love. He tried to look stern. The fact that he was shaking spoiled the effect. 'And she's Matt's girlfriend and you're supposed to be calming my nerves. And stop winking at Gillian. I'm still expecting someone ecclesiastical to come belting down the aisle and tell me we can't go ahead with this. Don't rock the boat. Oh, bloody hell –'
Petunia Hobday had ceased the Gershwin and urged the organ into a wheeze of Wagner. The church rose to its feet. Drew could hardly stagger to his. His knees shook.
'Up!' Charlie commanded, with a steadying hand beneath his elbow. 'You've won the Pardubice. This should be a piece of cake.'
Drew stood. Glen, leading the choir, glided by. Levi and Zeke, angelic in their surplices, were piping in enchanting twin falsettos. He turned his head.
Maddy, looking ravishing in a floaty gown of scarlet and crimson, her curls matching the colours of the autumn leaves, and carrying the simplest bouquet of cream roses and ivy over her bump, smiled at him as she came down the aisle. God! He was the luckiest man in the world. She was so, so beautiful. He hurt from loving her so much.
She stood beside him, beaming now. He wanted to kiss her. Her father grinned across at him. Poppy Scarlet, in her miniature dark green bridesmaid's dress, scrambled between them and sat on the chancel steps with a much-chewed Womble.
Glen moved forward, his eyes full of warmth. 'Dearly beloved...'
The photographs seemed to take for ever. Doubtful if they'd even come out because the November dusk had swept in from the Downs during the final hymn, Drew's face ached from grinning inanely for hours. And he still wanted to kiss Maddy. Properly. Not the self-conscious peck in the church, or all these posed smooches for the camera. She was snuggled up against him, entwining her fingers with his in the folds of the exquisite dress, every so often lifting her left hand and gazing at the narrow gold band in wonderment.
He had wondered if Maddy would think it a cheapskate gesture to suggest that he gave her his mother's wedding ring, but she'd been unbelievably touched. His parents had been the happiest couple he'd ever known. Until now, of course. He'd felt it would be fitting to pass on the love. Maddy had burst into tears and said she thought it was the most romantic thing she'd heard.
'Just one more!' the photographer shouted. 'Before we lose the light! Friends and family! Everyone in this one!'
There was a mad surge of morning suits and elaborate hats.
'I love you.' Maddy curled towards him as the cast of millions jostled into place among the yew trees. 'I can't believe I was stupid enough not to want to do this – for whatever reason.'
'Neither can I.' Placing a hand on the swell of her stomach he bent his head and kissed her. 'No one could look more lovely. And I love you too, Maddy Beckett. God, no – Maddy Fitzgerald. At last.'
'Maddy Fitzgerald,' she savoured the words. 'If only you knew how long I've wanted to be able to say that. Madeleine Jane Fitzgerald. Doesn't it sound posh? It's going to take a lot of getting used to ...'
At last the photographs were over, and Charlie, Rory, Kit and Luke were shepherding everyone towards the transport. A series of open-topped buses – the same ones that Milton St John used for their Derby Day outings – had been purloined for the short journey to the marquee at the James-Jordans'.
'We won't be able to see a thing,' Maddy's mum, in a purple two-piece with a strip of matching fabric round her shiny straw hat, said as they puffed up the stairs of the leading bus. 'It's practically pitch dark.'
'Part of the treat, Mrs B,' Charlie winked at her. 'All will be revealed.’
Maddy hoisted Poppy on to her lap at the front, squinting downwards, watching everyone else clamber aboard. She squeezed Drew's arm. 'This is the best day of my entire life.'
'And mine.'
The buses with their eclectic cargo, trundled off along the High Street. All rivalries seemed to have been set aside: the League of Light were cheek by jowl with the Rocky Horrors, Kath Seaward, a mass of roses attached to the panama, was laughing loudly with John Hastings, Vincent and Maureen were chatting with Bronwyn and Bernie Pugh, Caroline and Peter bloody Knightley were exchanging business cards with Maddy's Uncle Gordon, and Matt and Tina Maloret were squashed on to the same seat. So where, Drew wondered, was Jemima?
He laughed. Charlie had placed her next to Lucinda and was leaning over both of them from the seat behind. Ten out of ten, Somerset, he thought as they left the village, but I'll lay evens that you don't get any further.
The blackness was interspersed with small orange glows and rocked by staccato explosions, and every so often an occasional rocket starburst its way across the sky. The buses cheered and whooped. Maddy held Poppy up to watch. November the fifth was being commemorated across the country in the time-honoured fashion. For Drew the day would never be the same again.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Charlie's voice crackled rather dramatically through a microphone as the buses slowed to a crawl, 'before we reach the reception, there are a few things I'd like to say.'
Loud booing drowned him out. Charlie held up his hands. 'It's not a speech. They'll come later. I know you're all dying for a drink, so I promise to keep it brief. I just need to explain the next part of the celebrations –'
Drew looked at Maddy. 'Any ideas?'
'Not a clue. He's played this one very close to his chest. You ^ow Charlie – it could be anything.'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'You lot on the first bus are privileged. At least you'll have some idea of what to expect. The ones in the cheap seats –' Charlie jerked his thumb towards the following convoy, 'will be left completely in the dark. Which, actually, is fairly appropriate ...'
Drew put his arms around Maddy. He loved the feel of her warmth beneath his fingers. She snuggled her head on to his shoulder. He kissed her again, and grinned in the semi-darkness as Charlie perched on the edge of Jemima's seat. It was interesting to notice, Drew thought, that she didn't move away from him. Maybe he should lengthen the odds ...
'When we get to the marquee – so kindly organised by Diana and Gareth –' Charlie paused for a cheer, 'you'll probably think that we've forgotten to provide any power. Don't be alarmed by the blackout. Once inside, you'll discover why ... And then,' he indicated towards Maddy and Drew, 'everything else is our wedding present to you both. From Milton St John. Between you, you've made more friends than is decently acceptable. Everyone loves you so much it's quite sickening. Anyway – you're having a fabulous wedding day – and I have no doubt the rest of your life together will be totally blissful! No one deserves it more.'
The bus erupted in cheers as he sat down – again, Drew noticed, extremely close to Jemima.
'Ah,' Maddy sighed, slipping her hand inside Drew's jacket and stroking his chest. 'He'll have me in tears in a moment. Isn't this all too much to take in? Oh, God – I wish we could go to bed right now.'
'Trollop.' Drew kissed her. 'Christ, so do I.'
The buses rolled on to the James-Jordans' largest pasture. As Charlie had said, there was nothing but darkness. Intrigued, Drew pulled Maddy closer. 'God Almighty – what has he concocted?'
She giggled. 'Well, at least it's not going to be
This is Your Life.
We haven't got any fears of our past skeletons coming rattling out of the cupboard, have we?' She jerked her head towards the back of the bus where Caroline and Peter sat side by side. 'We've brought them with us.'
Charlie was on his feet and flirting like mad. 'If you'll all follow me – mind the steps, Mrs B – that's the idea. No, it'll be fine. Kit and Rory and Luke will make sure you get into the marquee without any problems. Would you like me to help you with the steps, Jemima? No – okay. I'm sure Gillian would ...'