The Pleasures of Spring (35 page)

‘We’re not friends. He’s not welcome here,’ he told her.

He couldn’t leave his parents alone. He didn’t think Hall would be back. He had delivered his message, but Andy couldn’t risk it. They needed protection. His mind raced, seeking a solution.

‘I need a favour. A friend of mine from work has broken up with her boyfriend. She needs a place to stay for a few days. I was wondering if I could invite her here.’

‘Oh the poor thing,’ Poppy was full of sympathy. ‘Of course she can stay here. I could do with some company. I miss having Roz about the place.’

His father grunted his agreement. He was already lost in his crossword puzzle.

‘Great.’ Andy drained the last of his whiskey. ‘I’ll have a quick shower before dinner.’

He raced up the stairs two at a time and punched in Reilly’s number. ‘How would you like a week in the country?’

‘How would you like a slap in the head? You know I hate all that cow shit and fresh air stuff.’

‘Hall was here.’

‘Here? Where here?’

‘Lough Darra.’

‘Are your parents okay?’

‘They’re fine, but I’m concerned that he might come back.’

Andy held the phone away from his ear as Reilly raced through a litany of curses, some of which he wasn’t familiar with. The petite Ranger was the only girl in a family of six boys and Reilly knew how to hold her own.

‘Well at least we know that she’s in hiding and that Hall hasn’t found her,’ she offered when she had run out of swear words.

She was right. Hall’s resources were almost as good as Niall’s and he didn’t believe in going through official channels for anything. The fact that he believed Roz was in Ireland cheered him. But if Hall was desperate enough to come knocking on his front door it meant that he would stop at nothing to find her.

Andy couldn’t let that happen. He had to find Roz before Hall did. Apart from missing her like crazy, his hand itched. He had an overwhelming desire to spank the ass off her. Where could the bloody woman have got to? He had been to every county in Ireland looking for her.

He heard Reilly tapping the keys of her laptop. ‘There’s
a flight to Belfast at 10pm tonight. I’ll let Niall know that I’m on my way.’

‘Thanks, Reilly. I’ll pick you up at the airport.’

‘Great. Is there anything I need to pack for a visit to a stately house? A tiara? A pair of corgis?’

‘No. We have enough dogs. Make sure you bring warm woollies and wellies.’

He heard her snort of disbelief. ‘To go with my tiara?’

‘I’m not joking.’

He disconnected the call. Despite the bone-tiring day, Andy felt a glimmer of hope. Roz was alive and in Ireland.

The night before the time trial was a nightmare of tossing and turning and worrying. Roz played every scenario over and over in her head, looking for things that could go wrong and trying to find ways to deal with them.

There were too many variables. Too many disasters lying in wait. This was the biggest scam she had ever pulled. The biggest scam she had ever heard of anyone pulling. What had made her think she could pull this off? It was bound to fail.

Stop it. You have to make this work. You have one chance. Don’t fuck this up
.

She heard an echo of Andy’s sexy Northern Irish growl in her own words and wanted to laugh. He was invading her dreams, and now her conscience sounded too much like his voice.

That was all she needed. She got up and used the bathroom for the fourth time that night. Andy Junior might only be the size of a lime, but he was making his presence felt. On the plus side, she had only puked twice today, so maybe she was getting over the worst.

Apart from the birth.

She’d heard horror stories about that. What size had Andy been when he was born? She wished she could ring Poppy and ask her. Poppy’s warm common sense was what she needed right now, and what she couldn’t have.

Roz knew, deep in her bones, that if Andy discovered he had a baby, he would never let her go and neither would Dougal or Poppy. And there was a big part of her that wanted to be caught. But she had a job to do – one which she knew would put the law-abiding McTavish family out of reach.

Stop being maudlin. Concentrate on the hustle
.

She forced her thoughts back to the job.

Patrick swore that Nagsy was in peak condition, and would put up a great performance at the time trial. He had been a bit taken aback when he heard the names of the other horses who were running against him, two of the previous year’s best newcomers and both tipped to win big. But he agreed with her that Nagsy needed well-known horses to show off his quality.

The horsebox was ready for the trip to Kilbeggan race track for the trial. She had loaded the tack the night before, along with rugs, water, hay, oats and nuts, brushes and hoof pick, and even his favourite snack – carrot – for afterwards.

The O’Haras’ jockey, Willie O’Brien, a small, wiry lad who lived locally and rode out before driving to college every day, was keen to show his talents against the well-known jockeys riding Queen of Tarts and Five of Diamonds. He promised he would be ready and would not take a drop of drink the night beforehand. He was determined to win.

Frankie would be there, too. He told her he had a suitable outfit and could play his part, but Roz worried about his health. If he wasn’t strong enough, would he give the game away? Could he maintain the façade? Hell, could he walk? He swore he would be ready and could pull it off.

She had the paperwork. It had taken hours with the O’Haras’ computer, but the documents should stand up to almost every examination. Except … She had no idea what else Tim would want. Suppose he demanded a document she didn’t have? Or what if he changed his mind and didn’t come? Everything depended on him turning up, and being anxious to buy. Would her carefully worded invitation attract him to the time trial or turn him off?

Panic quickened her breathing and she forced herself to calm down before she barfed again. She didn’t need that.

By the time she managed to get to sleep it was almost dawn, and she slept through the knock on her door, the dawn chorus of the birds who arrived to raid the chicken seed, the clatter of hooves outside and the rattle of buckets of horses being fed.

Roz woke with a panicked start at 10am.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, how had she slept so long? Why had no one woken her? This was one day she couldn’t afford to miss anything. She leapt into her clothes and raced to the kitchen. She bitterly resented the time it would take to eat, but knew from experience that skipping a meal would result in crippling nausea before long.

‘Where is everyone? What’s happening?’ she panted.

‘Everything’s fine,’ Suzanne said as she heated some milk for her cocoa and dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster.

Roz would have preferred her home-made sourdough, but it seemed the baby didn’t. One of her worst bouts of vomiting had been after eating that. She allowed herself to relax a little and reached for a pear.

Suzanne continued, ‘There was a bit of a problem with the race track, but Patrick has handled it.’

Roz froze. ‘What sort of problem?’

‘Oh, a water pipe burst and the whole bottom end of the track is water logged.’

Slowly, Roz put down the pear. ‘That’s not a bit of a problem. That’s a huge one.’ And one she hadn’t planned for.

‘Don’t worry, it’s all sorted. We’re having the time trial here instead.’

‘WHAT?’ Roz was aware she was shouting, but couldn’t control herself.

Unaware of what a disaster this was, Suzanne poured out a big mug of cocoa and put it in front of Roz. ‘Yes, he phoned everyone, told them to come here instead. He’s got the lads out clearing the old race track now.’

Stunned, Roz held the mug in trembling hands. What could she do now? Even if she managed to find another race track for the time trial, people now knew the address of the ranch, and Hall could track her down.

How long did she have before he traced her? Her thoughts scurried like mice being chased by a cat. She couldn’t bring Hall here. His focused ruthlessness terrified her. Patrick and Suzanne wouldn’t have a chance against someone like him. She longed for Andy, but knew he would never let her go ahead with the scam.

Could she call it off and start again? She shook her head. That would never work, it had taken too long to set up, and her chances of finding stables like this one, where she and Nagsy could live below the radar, were non-existent.
Besides, she would start showing soon, and had to be far away before that happened.

She had to go ahead with it and pray that she would be gone by the time Hall arrived. She hated to leave without saying goodbye to Suzanne and Patrick, but it was for their own safety.

Roz forced down half the mug of cocoa, ignored the toast and went out to help groom the turf of the old race track for the time trial.

‘This is going to be amazing publicity for us,’ Patrick said. ‘We’ll be in the news.’

For all the wrong reasons, Roz knew, but kept her head down and kept clearing. How many people had she hurt? She didn’t have the heart to remind Patrick she was supposed to be hiding.

By 1pm, she was hot and sweaty, but the ranch looked great.

She grabbed a handful of dried apricots and ate them as she showered and changed. With the aid of Suzanne and one of the ranch guests, she had put together an outfit that looked understated and expensive. She had lost weight, and though she worried how this would affect her baby, it did have the advantage of making her look elegant, like someone who might own a world class horse.

The other horses had already arrived and been assigned stables. They were on the track being warmed up by their jockeys. She nodded to the men and they nodded back, but no one spoke. There was no need to remind them how much she would give them when Nagsy won the race. If they could arrange it so Nagsy won by at least ten lengths, there was a bonus.

Their owners were being shown around by the O’Haras.

Nagsy was being warmed up too, and looked every inch a champion with the way Willie had groomed and turned him out.

Tim O’Sullivan arrived next, in an Aston Martin that looked like something James Bond would drive. He inspected the well-kept yard with a certain amount of respect. The O’Haras looked after their ranch with love and it showed.

She nodded to him. ‘Uncle Tim,’ she said politely.

He rubbed his hands, suddenly looking much more like a Cork horse trader than an airline magnate. ‘So where’s this horse you think I’m going to buy?’

‘Buy?’ She managed to sound astonished. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I must have misled you. I’m not selling
you
the horse.’

He scowled. ‘Then what did you drag me down here for?’

‘I thought you’d be interested to see the trial. But I doubt you could afford Hagar’s Son.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Now listen here, missy. If, and it’s a big if, this horse is all you say, you should keep him in the family.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but another buyer has first refusal.’

He snorted. ‘Load of nonsense. You’ve probably been sold a pup.’ Tim wandered off, but she saw his eyes taking in Nagsy’s quality. And, no doubt, his resemblance to his famous ‘father’.

So far, so good.

Frankie arrived in a black stretch limo. It swept into the
yard and stopped close to the house. The driver, elegant in a black uniform, opened the rear door. When Frankie stepped out Roz had to choke back a laugh. Who would have guessed that he could clean up so well? He must have raided the wardrobe department of the film set, as well as the props department.

He wore a white suit and a neat headdress which showed off his tanned face and newly trimmed beard, while he leaned on an ornate walking stick.

Roz approached him deferentially. ‘Your highness. So good to see you.’

If she hadn’t known it was her old friend Frankie Fletcher, she would have been impressed. She had been a bit afraid he would overplay the part, but he looked modern and businesslike as well as suitably Middle Eastern.

He bowed slightly. ‘Miss O’Sullivan.’ Even his accent was perfect, pure English public school with the merest hint of Middle Eastern wealth. ‘I’m anxious to see your horse.’

If his dark eyes twinkled at her, she hoped no one else would catch it.

‘Of course.’ She turned and found that his flamboyant arrival had attracted attention. ‘Shall I perform the introductions?’

Permission granted, she turned to do her duty. ‘Your highness, may I introduce Patrick and Suzanne O’Hara, our hosts for this event? This is Prince Farhad Al Husseini. He is interested in building up his racing stables.’

They looked over-awed but bowed politely.

Roz continued through the group, introducing owners
and jockeys to the prince, and purposely leaving her uncle last. ‘And this is Mr Tim O’Sullivan.’

He glared at her before sticking his hand out to the prince. ‘Her uncle, and the owner of O’Sullivan Airlines.’

Frankie, looking bored, allowed him to shake the tips of his fingers. ‘I believe I heard of it.’ The disdain in his voice was priceless. ‘I usually fly in my cousin’s personal plane.’

‘And who is your cousin?’ Tim snapped.

‘Why, the Aga Khan, of course.’

He turned away from Tim and back to Roz. ‘Now, Miss O’Sullivan, you have the DNA certification?’

Roz guided Frankie away from the crowd, and lowered her voice enough that Tim had to strain to hear her. She pulled out a certificate from Wetherbys which had taken her weeks to fake and handed it to Frankie, allowing Tim to catch a glimpse of the letterhead. ‘Here is it, your highness. As you can see, Shergar is clearly the sire of my horse.’

Frankie took it and made a show of examining it. ‘Excellent. Now, perhaps you can tell me how my cousin’s horse has managed to sire a foal from beyond the grave.’

Roz lowered her voice even more, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Tim take a step closer so that he could hear what was being said. He had taken the bait.

‘There are some details that are a little unclear, but it appears that when your cousin’s horse was kidnapped from Ballymany stud, one of the kidnappers must have been a racing man. He took semen from Shergar before the poor horse, er, met his fate.’

‘My cousin would have loved to have the horse restored to him, you know. He was distraught, and would have paid, if your police had not advised against paying the ransom.’

Roz banished a pang of guilt at the thought of Nagsy in uncaring hands. Was it her pregnancy that made her want to cry all the time? Now she had a deal to seal. ‘At least we can rejoice that his son is well and healthy.’

She led them towards the race track where Nagsy was frisky and eager. He pranced along, nostrils flared, tail high and ears pricked.

The other horses, with greater experience and an innate awareness that this wasn’t a proper race, were more sedate as they lined up at the start. Roz handed out stopwatches to the spectators. ‘This is a six furlong track. I suggest they race three circuits?’

Everyone nodded, the horses lined up and Patrick fired the starting pistol.

It was the first time Roz had been at a horse race. She had never realized how fast they ran, how thrilling the chase, how loud the thunder of their hooves. She, along with everyone else on the ranch, cheered for Nagsy.

The three horses galloped around the first lap. They were close together, first one edging ahead, then another. Nagsy’s bay head inched out in front, but he was overtaken by the black Queen of Tarts. On the outside, Five of Diamonds raced along beside them, his long legs keeping pace.

Roz barely glanced at her stopwatch as they finished the first lap. She was too busy shouting for Nagsy. The smell of the horses, grass and expensive cologne combined
to fire her energy. She danced from foot to foot as she watched the horses begin the second lap. They had spread out a little, Five of Diamonds in front, Nagsy half a length behind and Queen of Tarts a neck behind him.