Jamie found himself grinning. He'd not seen his brother-in-law for some months and he'd missed him. Somehow Malcolm made him feel that everything was going to be all right after all.
The celebration didn't go on for long. These were working people and most had a busy afternoon ahead. The riders in the opening race were the first to leave. Among them was Malcolm's brother - half-brother, in fact -
who bore a striking resemblance to him: hair the colour of toast, square dimpled jaw and pale blue eyes. Richard, however, was built to a different scale, being almost a foot shorter. When Jamie and Richard had started riding, Malcolm was well known through his bloodstock agency, and the other jockeys had christened Richard `Little Mal'. Jamie knew how much Richard had hated it but he'd smiled and put up with it. It wasn't in his nature to seek conflict. Since Jamie had been off the scene Richard had established himself as one of the top jockeys in the country. In the past year he'd won the Two Thousand Guineas, the Coronation Cup and over a hundred other winners. Jamie doubted that anyone referred to Richard as
`Little Mal' these days.
Richard shook his hand energetically. Àre you OK?' he asked. `This must seem a bit strange.'
`Yeah.' What else could he say? It was weird to be surrounded by so many people from his previous life. Jamie forced himself to smile - he was out of the habit. Where he'd spent the last eighteen months it was asking for trouble if you went around with a grin on your face.
`You've been missed, you know. When are we going to see you back in the weighing-room?'
Jamie shrugged. Ì'm not sure what I'm going to do, Rich. I don't know that I can still ride. I think I've forgotten.'
Richard laughed. `No one forgets - especially not you.' He turned towards the door. Ì'll see you later. I want to introduce you to my fiancée.'
14
That was news. `Congratulations,' he called after Richard as he left the room.
`You didn't tell me Rich was getting married,' he said to Pippa ten minutes later as they made their way to the saddling boxes.
`Sorry. I thought I had.' `So who is she?'
`Some thin blonde girl with a rich daddy.'
Ànd?' She was striding ahead athletically, her thick dark curls obscuring her face. `Come on, Pippa, what's her name?'
She stopped abruptly and fixed him with her coal-black eyes. He read irritation there and concern.
Ìt's Vanessa Hartley.'
Bloody hell. The silky-voiced siren who'd come gunning for him on the day that changed his life. Vanessa. The last woman he'd slept with. Now he understood why Pippa hadn't told him.
He lurched out of the shower at the sound of the phone. His way to the bedside table led across a minefield of tangled bedding, plates of leftover food and empty bottles. The place was a pigsty. But that's why you paid through the nose to stay in posh hotels - you could make as much mess as you liked.
Naked and still dripping, he snatched up the receiver. It was the porter on the front desk.
Just to let you know that your wife is on her way up to your room, Mr.
Hutchison.'
`My wife?'
`That's what she said, sir' The porter sounded amused, as if he knew full well that Jamie didn't have a wife.
Jamie replaced the phone without responding. It was hard to think clearly through the thump of his hangover.
He peered around the room. Maybe the girl who d stayed over last night -
Lorraine-had left something behind when she d scuttled out at first light and had returned to retrieve it. Or maybe she was after a bit more action, in which case she'd be out of luck. He d given her more than she deserved already. He was knackered.
He stumbled back to the bathroom and yanked a towel off the rail. Or maybe - a new thought surfaced - this was some tabloid trick, sending a 15
reporter up to try and catch him out. They d become pretty sneaky since he d been photographed in an Epsom Jacuzzi with another jockey's wife.
These days he wasn't just news on the racing pages.
He chucked an empty wine bottle in the bin and pushed a cluttered food tray out of sight behind the TV stand. Token gestures.
He ignored the first soft knock on the door but tucked the towel firmly around his waist. At the second summons he opened the door just a crack.
He recognised his visitor at once. Suddenly he felt a lot better.
A tall slim girl lounged in the doorway, all legs and tousled blonde locks.
`Hi, Jamie,’ she said. `Don't mind if I come in, do you?'
He stepped aside as she glided past, apparently unconcerned by his near nakedness.
Jamie had only met Vanessa Hartley once, three days previously on the gallops above Ridgemoor She'd accompanied her father as Jamie had put Morwenstow, a classy three-year-old, through his paces. Officially, Desmond Hartley was running the rule over his most promising sprinter ahead of the lucrative Diadem Stakes. Unofficially it was a chance for Hartley to check Jamie out as a replacement for champion jockey Kevin O'Connor, the unlucky recipient of a three-day ban which ruled him out of the race.
Whatever the background politics, both Jamie and Morwenstow had made a good impression. So too had Hartley's daughter, who'd traded innocent small talk with Jamie in a low-pitched drawl. A spoilt Sloane, he thought at first. But as her cornflower-blue eyes probed his, he'd revised his judgement. A super-sexy Sloane, he decided, who might just be interested in less innocent discussions.
She made no comment on the state of the room but strolled to the window and pushed it wide open.
Ì'm meeting Daddy here before the races so I've got a bit of time to kill,’
she offered. 'I thought we might have coffee or something.' Jamie pretended to treat the suggestion at face value. He had expected to be obliged to chase Vanessa. To have her turn up on a plate, so to speak, was astounding.
`Something sounds like a good idea.' He opened the fridge which, fortunately, still contained a bottle of champagne.
16
Her blue eyes flashed. `Do you think we should? I mean, are you allowed to before a race?'
He jerked the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop. `No one's going to breathalyse me charging past the post on Morwenstow, if that's what you mean.'
ÒK.' She accepted the glass he held out and drank languidly. She was standing with her back to the window with the sun lighting up the wheat yellow tumble of her hair.
`Why did you say you were my wife?'
She shrugged, causing her pastel-blue summer dress to skim the tops of her bronzed thighs. It occurred to him that she probably wasn't wearing much more than he was.
`How did you get that?’ she said. 'What?'
`That scar.' She placed the tip of her long painted forefinger on his sternum and traced it along the knotted ridge of tissue over his ribs. As he told her about the fall at York a year previously, his mind was elsewhere, wondering how long it would be before the towel ceased to conceal his excitement. To think only a few minutes before, he d considered himself completely shagged out, yet all it took was a wicked looking blonde to pitch up and he was straining at the leash.
Go for it, mate. You deserve it.
His heart was beating fast. He placed his hand over hers and pressed it to his chest. `Feel what you're doing to me.'
Ì know' Her full pink lips gaped open. She didn't pull away. Everything he touched these days seemed to turn to gold.
Jamie liked the look of Lonsdale Heights, a chocolate-brown four-year old with a splash of white across his chest. He regarded Jamie from gleaming mahogany eyes as he made a dart for his jacket pocket. Jamie allowed himself to be expertly frisked for goodies and regretted he had nothing to share.
Ì'm awfully sorry' said Jill, Pippa's travelling head lass. 'Lonnie's a terrible thief.'
Jamie scratched the horse's neck. Ì'm used to it. Plenty of those where I've just been.'
17
The girl's plump cheek flushed, obviously afraid shed put her foot in it.
Ì'm really glad you're coming to work with us,' she stammered. `You used to be a wonderful jockey.'
`Thank you.'
Ì mean,' she was becoming more flustered, Ì'm sure you still are. I don't suppose you've had the chance to ride in - that is, since . . .' Pippa laughed out loud and looked up from tightening the surcingle. `You've dug yourself a nice little hole there, Jill. If I were you I'd stop digging.'
`He looks a picture,' Jamie said, taking in the immaculately plaited mane and gleaming coat. `You've done a good job.'
`Thanks.' Jill was still blushing. `He's going to win today, I'm sure of it.'
Jamie knew Pippa thought so too. She'd briefed him in the car. 'Lonnie's been off for the summer with a strained tendon but he's sound now and working well on the gallops. He was third last time out at Southwell but finished really strongly. This race is a bit longer and I reckon he'll be hard to beat.'
He hoped she was right. It would be great for the yard to have a winner on his first day of freedom. A good omen.
Pippa made Jamie accompany her into the ring ahead of the third race.
`The sooner you show your face the better,' she said. `Let the papers take their photos and be done with it.'
He'd protested that he looked awful but she insisted. Ìt's important that you're seen here. It's a statement. It says you're back in business.' Privately she thought he did indeed look awful. She'd brought him some clothes from home but they no longer fitted snugly, she noticed. The trousers were too short and the jacket was tight across his shoulders. Despite the deficiencies of the prison diet, could he have grown in the past year and a half? She supposed it was possible.
She kept an eagle eye on Lonsdale Heights' connections as she introduced her brother, but if they knew Jamie's history they didn't let on.
`Pleased to meet you, old boy,' said Geoffrey Lane, the horse's owner.
`Best trainer in the country, your sister.'
Pippa shot him a sharp glance; she didn't like having the mickey taken out of her.
18
Geoffrey, a podgy mid-sixties antiques-dealer, added, 'Best-looking, anyway,' at which everybody laughed, even Jamie. Then they all moved on to discuss Lonsdale Heights' prospects in the race and it was time for Pippa to do her stuff.
It was apparent that nothing less than a victory would satisfy the Lane party.
Ùncle Geoff says you've laid him out specially for this race,' said a clean-cut young business type.
Ì've had it in mind since Southwell. The longer distance should suit him.'
`What's he up against? You used to train Black Knight, didn't you?'
'Lonny's the better horse. He'll gallop the legs off Black Knight any day.'
Lane's nephew grinned as he pulled a mobile from his mackintosh pocket.
A lock of hair fell over his forehead. It struck Pippa that he was a bit of a dish.
`Time to get the money on then,' he murmured `Don't get carried away,'
she said quickly.
She realised, however, that she shared his expectations. This was just the type of race that should suit her horse - a test of guts and stamina over a mile and seven furlongs - and the opposition didn't look that hot. She supposed she must have said as much to the owner in recent conversations. It was difficult sometimes to keep her enthusiasm to herself.
By the time she'd finished answering Geoffrey's endless questions, calmed Mrs. Lane's nerves and briefed the jockey, shed lost touch with Jamie.
Like an anxious mother hen she looked round the ring for him, chastising herself as she did so. He was a grown man tasting freedom for the first time in more than a year. He could go where he liked.
She could see him now talking to a tall distinguished-looking figure in a cashmere overcoat whom she knew well. Her father-in-law, Toby Priest.
Pippa didn't rush over to join them. Related though she was to Toby by marriage, there was too much rivalry between them for her to be easy in his company. Toby was the doyen of northern trainers, the master of Ridgemoor stables which saddled some three hundred runners in a Flat season - one in four of which reached the winning post ahead of the competition. And he'd been competing at this level for twenty-five years.
19
Pippa didn't like to admit she was intimidated by anyone, but Toby, the senior of the extensive Priest clan, walked over most people in his path, including his sons and his wives - so far there had been three. Being related to Toby Priest certainly didn't guarantee an easy ride.
With relief she saw Jamie and Toby part in friendly fashion, the trainer pumping Jamie's hand energetically and gripping his forearm with his free hand. All was well there, then. And so it should be, Pippa reflected. Jamie had made his name at Ridgemoor and piloted a string of winners for Toby and his owners.
Òffered you your old job back, has he?' she said as they made their way to the stand for the race.
`He was only sounding off. He doesn't need me now Rich is riding so well.'
`Suppose he wasn't - would you consider it?' She couldn't resist. He played the question with a straight bat. Òf course not,' he said. Ì'm working for you, aren't I?'
She manoeuvred him into the trainers' and owners' stand and he hesitated at the crush ahead, his eyes darting suspiciously around. Pippa felt a pang of guilt at subjecting him to this public ordeal so soon after his incarceration. She suppressed it quickly. The sooner her brother adjusted to normality the better. No one here wished him any harm - quite the contrary.
`So, how did it go?'
Richard took his time replying. He avoided Malcolm's probing glance, pretending to adjust his chin strap as they walked across the parade ring.
Malcolm stopped him before they reached the knot of people surrounding Black Knight, Richard's mount.
Ì'm concerned about you, Rich. You were in a bit of a twitch the other night.'
Richard didn't want to have this conversation, not here at any rate. But no one was close enough to hear and, anyway, they were all preoccupied.
Ìt went fine. He thinks I'm chuffed to see him back.'