Christopher's Medal (2 page)

Another wink. “Yes, Boss.”

Harry turned Allonby in and Grace gave Billy a leg up. She caught a glimpse of the favorite who jigged about, coat darkened by sweat. “It seems,” she said to him, “that the Godolphin horse is a bit worked up. That’s no bad thing.”

Billy grinned. “Don’t worry, Boss. I’m on it. Just put your eyes back in your head and do your be-nice-to-the-owner thing. I don’t think you’ll find it hard tonight, somehow.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Nah. I just know you, that’s all.” He gathered up the reins and patted the colt on the neck. “See you in the winner’s enclosure.”

Grace stood on the edge of the grass and watched them walk toward the course. Allonby was still calm, still taking everything in. Even in the warmth of the evening, he hadn’t broken into a sweat. He swished his black tail and followed the other horses.

“So, Grace, what do you really think?”

She was unaware that the General had come to stand beside her. “I think he could win. He worked really well last week and ate up afterwards. That’s always a good sign.”

“What does that mean?” Christopher asked. “That he ‘ate up’? Is that important?”

Grace looked at him and felt absurdly pleased that he seemed interested in what she had to say. “When a horse does hard work it takes a lot out of them. Some horses can be a bit picky and they won’t eat afterwards. It’s as if they get too wound up and they won’t settle. Allonby didn’t let his hard work bother him. He ate everything he was given. He’s like that. He’s very laid back, except where it matters.”

Someone strolled past with a huge plastic cup full of Pimms and Grace wanted one. She also wanted a cigarette but resigned herself to waiting until after the race. “We’d better find a place in the stands,” she said absently.

They followed her as she picked her way along the front of the stands. She kept her eye on Allonby, watching as he cantered lightly toward the start. She could tell from the set of his ears that Billy was talking to him, keeping him calm. She loved the way that the colt skimmed so easily across the grass. Her father was convinced that he could win the big sprint at Newbury in September, and this race was the first test of his ability.

Christopher discovered some space in the stands and Grace found herself wedged between him and the General. She tried not to let the cologne distract her and, instead, studied the formbook with more diligence than usual until the horses went behind the stalls and the steward raised the flag. Then, Grace forgot all distractions when the gates flew open and twelve two-year-old thoroughbreds sprang onto the track in a melee of jockeys, silks and thundering hooves. Grace spotted Billy and was glad to see that he had tucked himself neatly behind the Godolphin horse at the rail.

Allonby ran smoothly, not fighting his rider’s hands. He flicked his ears back as he listened to Billy. At the three-furlong pole, Grace held her breath when he eased out from behind the other horse. It was clear that he still had plenty of go in him. Billy hadn’t even picked up his stick. Instead, he leaned low and pushed forward with his hands and heels. Grace sat on her hands. If she’d been watching the race alone at home, she would’ve been riding the race with Billy, yelling him on, pushing her hands out as if she were holding the reins. At the two-furlong mark, Allonby stretched his neck and found another gear. He pounded past the third-place horse at the next pole and, when he approached the final furlong, swept past the second horse with contemptuous ease before bearing down on the laboring leader. Billy showed him the stick and he quickened once more.

Grace finally let her trainer’s restraint slide. “Go on, Big Al, you can do it.” She stood up and shouted, “Come on, boy!”

Allonby pinned his ears back as he came alongside the leader and ran on, galloping toward the finish. The General squeezed her arm when his horse flew across the line, a clear half a length ahead of the other horse. Grace could hardly feel his grip and she tried, very hard, not to jump up and down like a schoolgirl at a Take That concert. Trainers weren’t supposed to do that. She caught a drift of cologne and remembered the other reason why she needed to restrain herself.

“My God,” the General exclaimed. “He made it look easy.”

Grace nodded. Her heart pounded. “He did, he was wonderful.” Her legs shook. She also realized that she’d just made herself look a bit of a fool in front of a very attractive man. She really wanted that cigarette. She led the way through the crowd and back to the paddock, where a jubilant Harry was already in possession of his charge.

Billy greeted her with a huge grin when he slid from Allonby’s back. “That’s a hell of a horse, Gracey.” He unfastened the girth and took the saddle. “I’d better go and weigh in.” He ruffled her hair with his free hand. “The Old Man did a bloody good job with this one.” He shook the General’s hand and headed for the weighing room. Harry walked the colt around the tiny enclosure. Grace threw the light netting rug across Allonby’s back and wanted to hug him. Instead, she patted him and let his owner do the hugging. The General hugged everything and everyone, from his horse, to Harry, to Grace, to his companion. She was sure he would’ve hugged the steward given half a chance.

“I’m going to get us all a drink,” he declared while Harry led Allonby back toward the saddling boxes. “What would you like, Grace?”

“A Pimms, I could really use a Pimms.”

“Excellent choice.” He turned to his guest. “Come on, then, Chris, let’s get the lady a drink while she sees to my horse.”

Christopher scarcely heard what Richard said while they walked across the grass toward the trees and the bar. The paths were crowded with people and clustered three or four deep around the bar. He hated crowds. He hated this crowd more than others because he wanted to get back to her.

“Are you all right, Chris? You seem miles away.” Richard edged through a gap and found a space by the bar.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He was thinking of Grace.

When Richard had persuaded him to escape the barracks for the night, he’d expected nothing more than a pleasant evening at the races. Horseracing was a foreign country to him and he’d liked the idea of being with a racehorse owner and getting a glimpse behind the scenes. All the way up in the car, Richard had talked about his horse, the trainer and the trainer’s daughter. By the time they’d reached the Newmarket turnoff, Christopher had realized that the conversation had turned almost exclusively to Grace with Richard singing her praises. He wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to matchmaking. Christopher had gazed out of the window and let the talk go over his head. Doubtless, she’d be all teeth and tally-ho. He’d met plenty of that type at Regimental Balls, hard-riding debutantes who hated that fox-hunting was banned and soon lost interest in him when he said he’d never been near a horse.

Grace wasn’t like that.

He couldn’t remember the last time his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of a woman. Richard’s chatter had faded to a vague buzz when he’d seen Grace walk across the lawn with the jockey. She was a head taller than the man she’d been laughing with. The sun had caught in her dark brown hair, finding glints of bay and chestnut in it. Unlike most of the other women attending the races, she was dressed simply in a beige linen suit, which did little to conceal long, slender legs and a very appealing cleavage. He couldn’t for the life of him work out whether her eyes were green or brown or something in between. All he knew was that, when he’d shaken her hand, he hadn’t wanted to let go.

“Here you go, Chris.” Richard handed him a large, plastic glass swimming with fruit. “Take that to Grace, will you. I need to visit the loo. She’ll be over by the saddling boxes.”

Christopher didn’t need persuading.

Grace was glad to reach the relative peace of the box. She poured a bucket of water over the colt. He snorted and shook his head. Beads of water scattered and caught the rosy evening light and for a moment, Allonby turned into a creature of myth. The illusion dispelled and he became just another horse when Harry led him away to the dope-testing box. Grace gathered the racing kit together, packed it away and sat down on an upturned bucket. She groped through her handbag for her cigarettes, leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply. It felt good to close her eyes and enjoy the warmth of the setting sun on her face. It was the first moment of peace she had known all day and she was going to enjoy it. She hoped that Allonby would take his time because she was in no hurry to load him up and take him home.

“Tired?” Christopher’s voice interrupted her reverie.

If anyone else had disturbed her like that, Grace would’ve probably disemboweled them. Instead, she smiled and opened her eyes. “Yes, it’s been a very long day.”

“I brought your drink.” He handed her a large, plastic cup crammed with Pimms-soaked strawberries and cucumbers. “Richard’s disappeared off to the toilet.”

“Thanks.” She took a long, grateful sip and stubbed out her cigarette. “That’s lovely.” She watched him as he found another bucket and sat down beside her. The cologne was still a distraction. It made her think of quiet woods and juniper trees shadowing a churchyard gate.

He took a sip of his beer. “That’s made Richard’s night.”

“It’s made my night. I knew he could do it, I just didn’t think he could do it that well. I think that your friend may have something a bit special there.”

“That’s good. He deserves this.”

“Yes,” she agreed, picking a strawberry out of her cup. “He does.” It had been a long time since she’d sat so close to a man. She found herself looking at his long thighs. Grace bit into the strawberry and tried to think of more prosaic things—a nice bran mash for Allonby and driving the horsebox back to the sanctuary of the yard. Everything about the man was a distraction, from his rolled-up shirtsleeves revealing sun-browned forearms lightly covered with hair, to his hands and long fingers curled around the cup.

“It’s a nice course, this,” he said. “Will you be staying for the music? I hear they do concerts after the racing’s finished.”

“No. I have to be up early in the morning, since Dad’s away, I have to keep an eye on things. I can’t remember the last time I stayed after for the music.” Grace stopped herself before she started babbling to fill the silence. “Are you?”

“Nope. We’ll be getting up early tomorrow morning too.”

“Back to London?”

“No, I guess we’re coming to the yard and having breakfast. Didn’t you know that?”

Oh, Christ
.

“I think I’m supposed to know that.” She remembered the list her father had pinned to the board in the tack room, the list she had been in too much of a hurry to read before she dashed out of the door.

Oh bugger.

She would have to drive her guests to the gallops. Grace’s mind raced. Her car was a moving collection of empty pop cans, paper cups, sweets wrappers and tissues. The yard’s elderly Land Rover needed a good muck-out. She would have to start work half an hour earlier to tidy it up. “I hope you realize how early you will have to get up.”

“I think Richard said we’d be there for six.”

Grace took a mental inventory of her work clothes then stopped herself. She was getting her knickers in a twist over nothing. This was a one-time-only distraction and she was hormonal.

It will pass.

She found another strawberry.

Some dinner, Pimms-soaked strawberries.

“Yes, sorry about the early start. We like to get the horses out and back again before it gets too warm. Still, Mum will have a nice breakfast for you both when you get back.” She hoped he hadn’t heard the mutinous rumble from her stomach. The smell of chips drifted across the lawn and she tried to remember what she had in the fridge.

He took another sip of his beer. “Richard didn’t really tell me much. What do we do?”

“You turn up, you climb in the Land Rover, I drive you to the gallops, we stand and watch the horses run up the hill and then go back to the house for breakfast. If it’s not too crazy busy, I’ll show you both around. That’s about it.”

“It sounds fine to me, better than being at work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m in the army.”

She should’ve known. The short hair, family friend of the General, it all added up. “What Regiment?”

“The Grenadier Guards.”

Grace spied the General and Harry returning at the same time. The moments of peace were over. She found the last piece of cucumber and ate it with a sigh. “I suppose I’d better get this horse loaded up and back to the yard.”

“I think Richard wants to get something to eat.”

Grace stood up and brushed the bits of straw from her trousers. She finished the last of her Pimms. Harry wrapped the traveling boots around Allonby’s legs while the General patted his horse’s neck. “We’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said, cheerfully. “Bright and early.”

She smiled. “Very early.”

* * * *

“Boss.” The head lad’s face appeared over the stable door. “The General’s here.”

Grace glanced at her watch. “Bugger, they’re early.” She’d only just finished mucking out and bits of dirty straw and worse clung to her T-shirt. She hurriedly brushed the straw off. “No time to bloody change, no time for another coffee. God, I hate early morning visitors. I’ll be with them in a minute. Take them to have a look at Allonby, tell them how well he ate up and rested.”