Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (35 page)

Tom might have claimed to be her guiding light, but come Wednesday, as she walked away from Haydock Park’s winner’s enclosure with her saddle looped over her arm, Frankie was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t some greater force at work. A television crew loitered outside the weigh-in steps and the presenter, Sarah Swann, was quick to stop her.

‘
Frankie! Well done on Blue Jean Baby back there. You must be pleased with the way she reversed the form with Faulkner. Can we have your thoughts on the race?’

Frankie paused. Was she allowed to say that the only thought going through her head all the way up to the line was that she’d beaten Rhys?

‘I let Blue Jean Baby down when I rode her on New Year’s Day, so yes, I’m very pleased that she got to show her class today,’ she said instead. ‘She handled the soft going very well and hardly put a foot wrong the whole way round.’

Sarah nodded in eager agreement.

‘It’s very modest of you to give her all the credit when your form since Cheltenham has been inspired. This is your fifth win in how many rides?’

Frankie shifted her saddle to her other arm uncomfortably.

‘Nine if you include Bold Phoenix.’

‘We certainly are. Bold Phoenix was your one and only ride at the Festival and I’m sure viewers don’t need to be reminded of the terrific victory you enjoyed on Gold Cup Day. It strikes me that your partnership with Aspen Valley has really taken off. Jack Carmichael must also be very pleased.’

Frankie eyed the doorway and edged towards it. She really didn’t want to discuss her job at Aspen Valley. For fear of being sacked on the spot, she still hadn’t told Jack of her plans to quit as amateur jockey. She tensed when, in the fading light of the early spring day, she saw Rhys returning from his runner-up ride. Sarah Swann’s face lit up when she too saw him and she beckoned him over.

‘Rhys, do you mind having a quick word with us?’

Frankie tried to make a quick exit but Sarah (out of camera shot) closed her hand over her arm in a vice-like grip. Rhys reluctantly stopped and he and Frankie exchanged guarded glares. Sarah beamed at the camera.

‘I’m here talking to two of Aspen Valley Stables’ retained jockeys, Fra
nkie Cooper and Rhys Bradford—a great team if the last race is anything to go by. They are also the most familiar with the Grand National favourite, Peace Offering.’ She turned to address Rhys. ‘With the big race just a few short weeks away, can you tell us how he’s doing?’

‘He’s okay,’ Rhys mumbled.

‘And how do you rate his chances over the Aintree fences?’

Frankie bit her lip. She’d had dentist appointments more enjoyable than this.

‘He’s been working well at home,’ Rhys said, keeping a wary eye on her. ‘He’s got as good a chance as any.’

‘That’s very reassuring for the punters at home to hear, I’m sure. Now, I must ask: Frankie, it was a pleasant if unexpected turn of events when you were given the ride on Peace Offering back in October. Yet only a month ago, we were told that another switch had been made and now Rhys is back aboard. What prompted this late jockey change?’

Even though the question was directed at her, Frankie raised an eyebrow at Rhys. He could talk his way out of this one.

Rhys swallowed and his eyes flittered guiltily away from hers.

‘The decision was made in Peace Offering’s best interests.’ He licked his lips nervously and sent Frankie a wary glance. ‘Frankie very generously gave up the ride so he could have the best possible chance of winning. Frankie’s a very good jockey but I have more experience over the National fences. And while a certain amount of luck is involved in the race, experience can come in handy.’

Frankie ground her teeth, so tempted to turn their interview into a soap-opera. She was speechless that he had the gall to stand there, live on television, and say
nothing but his superior skill had anything to do with her decision.

‘And now that you seem to have struck form-gold, Frankie, are you having any second thoughts?’ joked Sarah. ‘Being the first woman to win the Grand National would write your name well and truly into the history books.’

She heard Rhys hold his breath. She measured her own with control.

‘It’s too late now for second thoughts,’ she replied. She gave Rhys an evil smile. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Rhys opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. Sarah Swann looked at them, confused.

‘Well, as Rhys said, it was very generous and unselfish of you to make the sacrifice. And while I’m certain you would love to win the National, I’m sure Rhys would too. And since
you’re a couple, it shouldn’t really be any surprise that you would be willing to compromise for the sake of your other half’s happiness.’

Rhys shot Frankie a warning look, but Frankie had had enough.

‘We’re not a couple anymore,’ she said flatly. She nodded a farewell to the camera and at Sarah. ‘Excuse me.’

Walking into the warmth of the building, Frankie heard the presenter trying to regather her interview. She hoped Rhys was squirming in his boots.

Perhaps because of Frankie’s streak of good fortune on the racecourse, Jack was more accommodating when she approached him the next morning to remind him of her Girl Guides GFI Animal Active that he’d promised to host.

‘Okay, just so long as they don’t run around like hooligans. God forbid. I don’t know how good I’d be at giving a talk, but June has said she’ll help out.’

Understanding how far out on a limb he was going, she grinned.

‘Thank
you. And you never know. Some of them might be so impressed they’ll be asking for a job in a few years’ time.’

‘As flattered as I am, we’re not short of staff, Frankie. The CV pile is about as
high as Becher’s Brook. Just–just keep them under control.’

*

Now the following week, and with all her duties completed by a quarter to six, she waited at the yard entrance for the troops to arrive. June came over to join her.

‘Thanks for staying on and helping out tonight,’ Frankie said.

‘My pleasure. I’ve nothing else to do. No man to rush home to look after,’ she said with a wink.

Frankie replied with a half-smile, suddenly reminded of how June had once had a man in her life. Perhaps not one she could rush home to, but a man nonetheless.

‘We watched Bold Phoenix’s race on TV,’ June went on. She paused before continuing. ‘Seth would’ve been proud.’

‘Thanks.’ Frankie turned away to search the dusk for headlights. The main road at the bottom of the hill lay dark and undisturbed. Would Seth have been proud? Or would he have been worried sick like Doug always was? Would it have been different if Seth was still alive?

‘And I–I’m sorry to hear about you and Rhys,’ June said hesitantly. ‘It can’t be easy.’

Frankie snapped back to attention.

‘Er…yeah. Um, it’s not.’

‘If you ever need anyone to talk to…’ June’s voice faded and she dropped her gaze. ‘I know what it’s like to bottle things up.’

Frankie looked at her with a newfound sympathy. She might be mourning the loss of Rhys, but at least he wasn’t dead, and at least she had friends and family that she could talk to. June had had none of that when Seth had died.

‘I know about you and Seth,’ she said gently.

June looked up sharply.

‘What?’

‘I know you and Seth were having a…
thing
.’

June’s eyes were wide, glistening in the darkness.

‘You don’t hate me for it?’

Frankie shook her head with a small chuckle.

‘On the contrary. It allowed me to realise Seth wasn’t perfect. It was a bit of a relief in a way.’

‘How did you find out though? Nobody knew.’

A wave of sadness broke over her. That night Rhys had told her, he’d sounded so genuine, that he’d had her best interests at heart. Obviously, it had just been another ploy to break her confidence and doubt herself.

‘It
doesn’t matter. But, you know—’ Frankie shifted awkwardly. ‘—If you ever want to talk about him, you can come to me. I don’t mind. In fact, it’d be quite nice to talk about him. My parents don’t like talking about him so much.’

June gave her an uncertain smile.

‘Um, thanks. That’d be nice.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘He always spoke about you, you know.’

An inner
warmth dissipated the chilled night air.

‘He did?’

‘Yes. He used to tell me how talented a rider you were. The pony that you shared—Toffee, was that it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Yeah, he told me how you were the one who put in all the hard work schooling her and he felt bad that he was the one that used to take her to shows and collect all the prizes. He said you never got the plaudits you deserved.’

Frankie smiled at his memory, vaguely aware of two sets of headlights now bouncing up Aspen Valley’s long driveway.

‘I didn’t mind,’ she said.

The two minivans crunched to a stop in the gravelled car park and June shifted off the wall she’d been leaning against.

‘He was proud of you, you know.’ She took her hands out of her pockets and rubbed them together to generate some warmth. ‘Now, I take it these are your Girl Guides, are they?’

*

Dusk turned to night unnoticed as Frankie and June led the twenty girls around the stables, explaining to them the differences between feeds and haylage and the nutrients in each source. Under the glare of a security light, June led Peace Offering out of his stable for the girls to pat. Being one of the quieter horses in the yard, it was a bonus that he was also their Grand National hope.

‘Peace Offering nearly won it last year,’ Frankie said. ‘Just like you have favourite places to hang out, horses sometimes have favourite courses, and Peace Offering really sparkles at Aintree.’

‘Like Edward Cullen in
Twilight
sparkles when the sun shines on him?’ Charlotte piped up.

Frankie took a patient breath.

‘No, Charlotte. Not quite.’

‘Has anyone heard the expression “No foot, no hoss”?’ June said, stepping forward. ‘That’s because if a horse has sore feet he can’t run fast.’ She ran her hand down Peace Offering’s shoulder and down his leg. He lifted his foot obligingly. ‘Although his hoof looks hard on the outside, it’s soft on the inside and this cushiony bit here is called the frog.’

A chorus of ‘eurghs’ greeted this and the girls crowded round to see Peace Offering’s foot. Frankie grinned, pleased with their curiosity. Her smile faded though when she took the time to consider what she’d given up. Was she that upset that she was no longer going to ride the Grand National favourite? Honestly, no, she wasn’t. As she got her head round this, her anger towards Rhys quietened. Yes, he’d conned her out of the ride, but since it wasn’t something she’d wanted as bad as all that, she felt the resentment she’d been harbouring quell. Could she forgive him? Frankie turned away from Peace Offering with a sigh. Rhys had still betrayed her, and that she couldn’t quite get over.

*

Half an hour later, June was leading the tour around the remainder of the yard. Frankie walked at the rear, making sure no stragglers wandered off. In the darkness though, she almost missed Cassa Preston stopping outside Ta’ Qali’s stable. The gelding had his head over the door, his ears pricked forward at the little people.

‘Hey, Cassa.’

Cassa stopped stroking Ta’ Qali’s cheek.

‘Hi.’

‘I see you’ve made friends with Ta’ Qali. He’s one of my horses that I have to look after every day.’

‘He’s so soft,’ she murmured. ‘Is he a nice horse?’

Frankie threw the question from side to side in her mind.

‘Yes and no. He’s a love
ly horse here at home, but he–he gets stage fright when he goes racing, so he doesn’t always do very well.’

‘I know how he feels.’

‘But you still love to be on stage, don’t you?’

‘I love to sing,’ Cassa said simply. ‘Does he love to gallop?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ Frankie considered. ‘He’s very good at it here at home so I guess he enjoys it.’

‘How did he get hurt?’

‘He hasn’t hurt himself, has he?’ she said, peering closer at the horse.

Ta’ Qali
waffled Cassa’s palm, enjoying her soft fingers on his lips.

‘Here, on his nose. He has a scar.’

‘Oh, that,’ Frankie said with a wave of her hand. ‘That’s just a marking. Horses can have all sorts of markings.’

Cassa sunk into silence and Frankie sighed.

‘I’m sorry about the singing competition, Cassa. It was just too risky. You must see that, don’t you?’

‘I guess
so,’ she said with a shrug. ‘It–it’s just that when I sing, I forget everything else. It makes me feel happy. Not like happy when Mum takes me places, but something deeper—I don’t know how to explain it. And at the competition, there were people there that I could tell were happy too when I sang.’

Frankie squeezed Cassa’s shoulder.

‘You do make people happy when you sing. And it might not seem it now, but soon you’ll be old enough to do what you want and if you want to sing then that’s what you should do.’

‘But Mum thinks it’s a bad thing. Not my voice, she says my voice is quite good, but she says the people in the
music business are bad, that there’s too much drugs and stuff going on.’

‘Well, she’s probably not wrong,’ Frankie said, her loyalties tilting. ‘Have you asked your mum if you can be a singer?’

‘No. But it’s obvious she doesn’t want me to be one. She wants me to be a nurse, like her.’

‘Has she told you this?’

‘Well, no. But I can tell.’ Cassa turned back to Ta’ Qali as he nuzzled her pockets. ‘She’s always dropping hints and telling me I should start doing voluntary work because it looks good on a CV.’

‘You’re a bit young to be thinking about CVs, aren’t you?’

‘Mum says you’re never too young to help people.’

‘I suppose so,’ Frankie said grudgingly. ‘But even though it seems clear as daylight that she wants you to be a nurse or a doctor, maybe you should talk to her about it. I had the same thing with my dad only recently and we found out that we were completely off-track when it came to knowing what each of us wanted.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

Cassa twisted her mouth into a reluctant smile.

‘I’ll see.’