Ì don't mind driving,' she'd said. `But if you insist. . .' He'd insisted.
So now, as she emerged from the front door of her house, her face registered surprise as she saw the Mercedes saloon. The uniformed chauffeur had asked Jamie if he'd like him to wear his cap and Jamie had said yes.
Ros giggled. Ì'm very impressed,' she said, but the smile on her face was one of simple amusement. Had he done something wrong?
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He was wearing a smartly pressed suit - Pippa had supervised the acquisition of a new wardrobe - and his tie matched the midnight-blue handkerchief that peeked from his top pocket.
`You look extremely smart,' Ros said. Ì feel positively underdressed.'
Beneath her overcoat she wore a pale can de nil sweater over a black pencil skirt. She had good legs - he'd never seen them before - and her hair hung loose for once, in a thick treacle-brown cloud. She looked great but she was not dressed for a gala evening.
The chauffeur held the door open for her and Ros settled herself appreciatively into the leather-upholstered seat. She was still grinning to herself.
`Where to, sir?' asked the chauffeur, turning in his seat. `Clayton Valley Girls' School, please,' said Ros.
To his credit the driver registered no surprise. `Certainly, madam,' he said and swung the car effortlessly out of the drive.
Ìt's a Year Ten concert,' she added for Jamie's benefit. `My friend's daughter has a solo.' She put a hand on the sleeve of his silky new suit.
Ì'm sorry, it's not exactly Glyndebourne.'
Jamie grinned, putting on as brave a face as he could manage. He felt a complete prat.
Though not quite what he was expecting, Jamie's evening was far from a disaster. The school buildings lay between wooded slopes and acres of green meadow marked out for games. The Mercedes purred through the grounds to a conspicuous spot in the car park, where it drew a degree of attention from the girls in their blue-and-white school uniforms. The chauffeur - John, as had now been established - attracted even more, which he appeared to enjoy hugely.
Ros soon located her friends, a middle-aged couple with a distracted air.
He gathered that Tom was some kind of doctor and Joanna he recognised as a show-jumper he'd seen on television. Thankfully they seemed to have no idea who he was.
`Quick, let's get a seat,' Joanna cried, the moment the introductions were made. Ì have to be near the front.'
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`Madam's more nervous than Poppy,' muttered Tom as they followed his wife through the crowd of other mums and dads and mutinous looking younger brothers.
They found places with a reasonable sightline to a stage on which the members of the school orchestra were arranging their music and unpacking their instruments. Jamie assumed that the large airy hall was used for school assemblies and a familiar dread gripped him as he sank onto the hard, straight-backed seat. His memories of such gatherings were shaped by boredom and, right now, he expected more of the same.
To his surprise, the evening passed swiftly as the orchestra lurched and sawed through a series of short pieces, each featuring a different soloist.
Beside him, Ros provided a quick commentary on the music and the ability of the performers, which helped. Some of them, in Jamie's opinion, seemed remarkably good - but what did he know?
Poppy - Tom and Joanna's daughter - was on last. She was a sulky looking dark-haired girl who, as she took her place at the piano, managed to give the impression she had done everyone a favour simply by turning up. She started hesitantly and there was a collective wince from her parents as she hit a wrong note.
Ìt's a rather ambitious piece,' Ros whispered in Jamie's ear.
He saw a flash of anger cross the girl's face, as if she were aware she wasn't doing herself justice. The sulky self-consciousness vanished as she began to focus. Suddenly she was switched on, the notes rippling around the hall, the sound of the orchestra swelling behind her. Even Jamie could tell that this was music-making of a different order to what had gone before.
He watched the intensity on the girl's face as she played and recognised it.
She was bringing all her doubt and dissatisfaction and adolescent anger to bear on the one special talent she possessed. He remembered doing just the same when he was her age, when he'd first begun race riding. As the music drove on, transporting everyone in the hall, Jamie knew he had to recapture some of the old passion. He'd turned into such a dreary stick since the accident - scared of life, playing it safe, afraid to trust in himself.
God, if a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl could make music like this, then he could damn well win some horse races!
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Poppy earned thunderous applause - even from the legion of younger brothers. She looked flushed and happy as she took her bow, transformed from the disgruntled child who had taken the stage. Her parents, too, were changed people. Tom's smile embraced the whole room and Joanna couldn't stop talking.
Ì was convinced she was going to blow it. When she fluffed those notes at the beginning! My heart was in my mouth.'
They were swept along in the departing throng, back to the car park.
`What was that piece of music?' Jamie asked Ros.
`The first movement from Rachmaninov's second piano concerto. It's lovely, isn't it?'
`Yes.' Something was nagging at Jamie. A familiar phrase was repeating itself in his head. Suddenly he remembered where he'd heard the melody before. `You can play it too, can't you?'
She stared at him. `How do you know that?'
He grinned. Ì heard it standing at your front door, the first time I came to your yard.'
Òh.' It was the first time he'd seen her unsure of herself. Ì wish I could play it like Poppy,' she said at last.
The young lady herself appeared at that moment, seemingly still punch drunk from her performance and the acclaim of those around. Jamie added his congratulations but her eyes did not meet his as she shook his hand; they were on John the chauffeur standing beside the Mercedes.
Jamie had a brainwave. Ros had explained that the five of them were going back to Tom and Joanna's house for a celebratory supper. Jamie ushered Poppy towards the Merc.
`Special transport for the star of the show,' he said. John opened the rear door with a flourish.
Òh gosh,' said Poppy, `really?' and jumped inside without being asked twice.
`Well, that's made her night,' Tom said to Jamie. `We'll see you back at our place,' and he steered his wife towards a mud-streaked Volvo further down the row.
Though Jamie enjoyed the rest of the evening, he couldn't work out why he had been asked along. Ros plainly knew the family well and hardly 158
needed an escort, and it wasn't as if he was being paraded as a new boyfriend - not that he knew of, anyway. Only when Poppy, tired and squiffy after too much cake and a celebratory glass of champagne, had been persuaded to go to bed, did things become clearer.
`Have you told Jamie about Gates of Eden?' Joanna said to Ros as she emptied the wine bottle into her glass.
Ros shook her head. `He's your horse. I'm leaving it to you.'
Jamie wondered if he'd heard correctly. `What's this?' he said. Ì know Gates of Eden. I rode him for Toby.'
The last time had been the day he'd won the Diadem Stakes on Morwenstow. Gates of Eden had been his only ride that day where he'd not finished in the first three. He remembered the horse well - a big solid grey with a nice nature, but not quite quick enough for the company he'd been keeping that day at Ascot.
`You didn't own him back then, did you?’ Jamie recalled an American woman in the ring beside Toby at Ascot. She'd almost lost her hat in the breeze as it whipped across the parade ground.
`No. I bought him from Mrs. Truscott before she went back to the States.'
Mrs. Truscott. He remembered her now. She'd told him he looked cute in his riding britches. She was nothing like Joanna.
Ì was really after his stable companion who has the making of a show-jumper, but Mrs. Truscott would only sell them as a pair. I thought I'd get rid of Gates of Eden but he'd strained a tendon and by the time I'd got him sound I couldn't bear to. He's a bit of an indulgence, really.' `You said it,'
added Tom.
Ros stepped in quickly. `Joanna wants to try him over hurdles and she's asked me to school him. Given your past history, we wondered if you'd like to help.'
`You bet,' said Jamie, almost before the words were out of her mouth.
Gates of Eden had been a real trier - maybe racing over obstacles would suit him. The feel of that broad-backed powerhouse beneath him stuck in his mind. Ì'd love to sit on him again anyway.'
Joanna beamed. `We were hoping you were going to say that.' `There's a problem with Gates of Eden,' said Ros as John drove them back to her house. Ì didn't want to raise it with Joanna. Come in for some coffee and 159
I'll tell you. And I'm sure our chauffeur has had enough of us for the night.
I can run you home later.'
As Jamie paid John off he looked at him closely, trying to read his expression. There was definitely a knowing twinkle in his eye as he wished Jamie good night. Since when had an invitation to have coffee come to mean something else?
Apart from that glimpse down the hall a few months ago, this was the first time Ros had allowed Jamie to see into her home. As she ushered him through into the kitchen at the back, he had the impression of antique furniture and walls full of pictures, a wood-framed settee with white lace headrests, vases of flowers and overflowing bookshelves. The kitchen was similarly cluttered with china on display and a fruit bowl on the square pine table.
Jamie watched Ros as she put on the kettle and ground coffee beans. She seemed to him such a mass of alluring contradictions. Though she worked with horses, no one could ever call her `horsey'. And despite her country occupation, here in her home, surrounded by her books and paintings, she seemed more of a sophisticated city-dweller. This evening, the stableyard martinet had been replaced by a good-humoured and sympathetic companion. A glamorous one too.
Jamie was well aware he'd been hiding from his feelings. He'd made no attempt to make new friends since he'd left prison. He'd certainly not sought out any women. His sensual life was frozen in time, two and half years in the past. Back then he'd been a greedy, hell-raising kid, joy-riding through life without thought for the consequences. And when it had all gone smash he'd tried to distance himself as much as possible from his old self.
But that wasn't the answer either. The passions that had once inspired him were still there and, like Poppy and her piano-playing, he had to find a means of expressing them. He had to take risks again. To ride fast horses.
To find a woman - one woman, not a succession of needy girls - and involve her in his life.
Ros, for instance?
She set his coffee in front of him and sat next to him at the table. `What would your sister say to stabling Gates of Eden?' she asked. He wrenched 160
his thoughts back to the business at hand. He was puzzled by her question.
`Can't you keep him here?'
'Not if he's going to be entered for a race. I don't have a trainer's licence.'
Of course, the horse could only run from a registered yard.
Ìsn't Ridgemoor a better bet? The Colonel's got a few jumpers already.
Pippa only has Flat runners.'
Ì talked to Toby about it this morning, but. . .' the full pink lips turned down `. . . we couldn't agree terms. I can speak to your sister directly though it might be better coming from you.'
Jamie thought about it. He liked the idea of bringing some business into Pippa's yard and he knew she had some empty boxes.
`What about schooling him? Pippa's not set up for that.'
`You're close to a schooling ground, aren't you?'
Jamie hadn't thought of that. Many people took their horses to the public facility just down the road.
Ì'll talk to her tomorrow,' he said. `Sounds like a good idea to me.'
She smiled. Èxcellent.' Then her expression changed, clouding over.
`Jamie,' she said. Ì hope you don't mind if. . .' Her words tailed off. Her hand was on the table next to his.
Go for it, he thought. Stop running away.
He captured her fingers in his. Her hand was small and shapely. He turned the palm upwards and raised it to his lips.
She looked at him with wide mysterious eyes. He couldn't read her emotions but, made bold by her silence, he kissed the soft ball of flesh at the base of her thumb.
She made a sound, a sharp intake of breath, and her hand slipped around his neck, turning his head to look directly into her face. She was smiling again.
Àre you making a pass at me, Jamie?' `Yes,' he said boldly.
She chuckled. Her fingers in his hair at the back of his neck began to stroke him. Like an indulgent owner strokes a pet dog. The chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh.
He jerked away from her. He'd misjudged her disastrously. He'd taken a risk and fallen flat on his face.
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`Jamie, don't be angry,' she said. Ì'm flattered.' `You're not. You think I'm a joke.'
`That's not true.'
`Then what's so funny?'
`Well, if you must know. . .' she hesitated. Was she dreaming up some good line to spin him? `Put it down to middle-aged hysteria. It's not every day a woman of my age is propositioned twice.'
Twice?
She read the confusion in his face. Ì spent half the morning sidestepping Toby Priest. Whatever anyone cares to think, I have no desire to become emotionally entangled with a man like him.'
Òr me either.'
`Don't think I'm not tempted. You're young, gifted and gorgeous.' `But?'
`Call me old fashioned but you need a girlfriend of your own generation.'
He didn't reply; he was still gnawing on his disappointment.
This time she took hold of his hand. Ì can't let myself fall for a man half my age. Do you understand?'
He rallied. `Not really. Men go with young women all the time.' `Quite.'
The word was uttered with contempt. She pulled her hand back and stood up. `Come on. I'm going to drive you home.'