Keeping the Peace (15 page)

She split the pile of cards in half and handed one to Emmie then picked up a tube of Styrofoam cups and handed it to her like a soldier in a gun parade.

‘Help me with these,’ she said, giving the bewildered-looking stable lass a stapler.

‘What is this?’ She looked at the strips of paper and read it out loud. ‘
Aspen Valley Stables
. What are these for?’

‘To stop your fingers getting burnt,’ Pippa explained.

She held up a strip with the loopy red writing on it and folded it into a cylinder, then used her stapler to seal it. She took a cup off the top of the tube in Emmie’s arms and slotted it into the hole.

Emmie looked impressed.

‘Wow, were you a big fan of
Blue Peter
when you were younger?’

‘I have all the badges,’ Pippa winked. ‘Come on. Let’s get cracking. If we get these done in ten minutes, I’ll buy you a round tonight.’

‘You’re on,’ Emmie laughed and started folding.

With a couple of minutes to spare, Pippa and Emmie marched out of the office bearing the now brightly-coloured cups against their shoulders.

‘Just in time,’ Pippa murmured as a flock of new arrivals wandered in from the car park. With Emmie dispatched to saddle up her next lot, Pippa waited with a ready smile for her next guests. Walking towards her was Jack with Melissa and a much older man. His bald head, freckled with age spots, reflected the bright sunlight like a bowling ball. She recognised him from the trophy presentation she had watched on television when Virtuoso had won on Sunday. This must be Ken Mardling.

‘Two Pimms please,’ Melissa said.

Nice to see you too, Melissa
, Pippa said silently.
Yes, everything got finished in the end. Thanks for your concern
.

‘Of course.’ The rebel in her made her hesitate as she reached for two of the few glasses still on the table. Instead she picked up two Styrofoam cups and poured warm Winter Pimms into them. She held them out to Melissa and her father with a gracious smile.

Jack looked on in horror.

Melissa took her cup between one manicured finger and thumb and held it up to read the writing.

‘How very –
quaint
,’ she said, smiling at Pippa.

Ken Mardling looked at his cup, turning it as he read the inscription and pulled an indifferent face before taking a long sip.

Jack stared at Pippa, dumbstruck.

‘Mr Mardling,’ she said, avoiding her boss’ gaze. ‘Congratulations on Virtuoso’s win on Sunday. He was brilliant to watch. Rhys could so easily have won by further.’

Ken Mardling puffed out his chest.

‘Thank you. It was a very satisfying result.’

‘Would you like a copy of our Horses In Training booklet?’ she said, picking up a copy and holding out to him.

He took it from her and held it at arm’s length to peer long-sightedly at it. He beamed when he recognised Virtuoso on the cover.

‘Very good, very good,’ he muttered and turned to walk away with Melissa by his side.

Jack hung back and leaned over the table.

‘We’ll speak about this later,’ he whispered through clenched teeth.

But not even his simmering rage could dampen Pippa’s mood. The booklet might not be perfect, but it was decent enough, and more importantly it was
there
. The cups might not be what they had planned, but she had sorted it out and again, they were
there
.

Yes, Pippa glowed, she was very proud of herself.

T
he Plough was crammed that night and toasting from its patronage of alcohol-warmed bodies. Pippa had to weave a sideways dance to get from the door to the bar counter. She struggled to remove her coat while she waited to be served. Not for the first time, she cursed her five-foot-three stature as she tried to spot Emmie. She balanced on the brass foot rail that encircled the bar and peered over the sea of bobbing heads. Amidst the throng, she glimpsed Emmie over at the pool table in the corner.

The stable lass stood against the patterned sea-green wall, her cue stick planted in front of her as she waited for her opponent to take their shot. Pippa squinted at the spirits bottle she raised to her lips, then, satisfied, she turned to make her order.

After tripping her way through the crowd, she felt almost isolated in comparison when she reached the pool table, people respectfully giving the players space.

‘Pippa!’ Emmie said, her voice raised above the chatter and music of the pub.

Pippa grinned and held up a bottle of WKD for Emmie.

‘I promised you a drink earlier.’

‘So you did. Ta – Billy, come on. You don’t have to play like an idiot just because I’m a girl.’

Her opponent, his hand now only strapped with a plaster rather than a bandage, looked up, offended.

‘I’m not. I’m just trying to pot the ball.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Emmie lapsed into silence.

Pippa looked on with interest.

Billy, his short brown hair plastered neatly to his skull with gel, frowned in concentration. He tapped the ball and it rolled obligingly into the far pocket.

‘Ha!’ Emmie said in triumph. ‘Thank you for that. Two shots to me.’

‘What?’ Billy frowned.

‘I’m solids, you’re stripes. Remember?’

‘Aw, fuck it,’ he scowled and withdrew to the table where Pippa had just placed her and Emmie’s drinks to retrieve his own. ‘All right, Pippa?’

‘Can’t complain. How’s the hand?’

Billy flopped his hand around to show it wasn’t painful.

‘Got a shard of glass in it when cleaning up this morning. Ain’t sore or nothing.’

‘Thanks for helping,’ Pippa grinned.

‘No problem.’ A scowl returned to his unlined face as Emmie sunk another ball. ‘Here, give us a chance. I’m playing handicapped,’ he called, holding up his hand.

Emmie, a wicked grin on her face, merely glanced in his direction before returning to her shot.

‘Evenin’ all,’ a rich Irish brogue interrupted whatever Billy was about to rebuke Emmie with.

With an unfamiliar feeling of almost pleasurable surprise, Pippa turned, coming face-to-face with Finn.

‘I didn’t know this was your local, Pippa?’ he said.

‘First time in here,’ she replied. ‘Nice place.’

‘Aye,’ he nodded. ‘But come the weekend, it can get a bit mad. Noisier than a skeleton wankin’ on a tin roof when they’ve got a live band in.’

Pippa choked on her drink, trying to swallow and giggle at the same time. A groan from Billy beside her made her look back at the pool table. Emmie was busy sinking the black ball to win the game.

‘Would you like a game, Pippa?’ Billy offered. ‘You and Emmie?’

Pippa shook her head.

‘I’m useless, really. I don’t even know how to hold the pole thing.’

‘Called a cue stick,
a thaisce
,’ Finn said. ‘Whyn’t we have a game of doubles? Me and Pippa against you and Emmie.’

‘Okay, but I warn ya, Emmie’s a shark,’ Billy said.

Finn grinned.

‘Maybe so, but I’m just as savage. To the extent that I share the same name as part of a shark’s anatomy.’

Pippa leaned over the table, the unfamiliar stick in her hands, and clumsily bounced it off her splayed knuckles. She felt her right hand become enfolded as Finn leaned over her. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist and Pippa gulped.

‘Just relax,’ he murmured in her ear. His breath was hot on her cheek as he stretched forward to correct her bridge. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating. ‘Think of it as playing the violin.’

‘I don’t know how to play the violin,’ Pippa faltered.

‘Neither do I, so, but this is how I’d imagine it works.’

Pippa’s initial discomfort dissolved into giggles.

‘That’s better,’ Finn said. ‘Slide it over your bridge, rather than pushing it. Concentrate on the ball you want to pot, not the white ball. Then it’ll be easier to hit.’

With Finn’s body framing her own, his hands guiding hers, Pippa tapped the white ball, watching with bated breath as it kissed the side of another, which smartly rolled into a side pocket.

‘I hit it!’ she said, turning her face sideways to grin at Finn. Beneath the light hanging over the pool table, she noticed the tips of his dark eyelashes were tinged with a red blond.

His Adam’s Apple bobbled as he swallowed.

‘Aye, you’ve hit it all right,’ he replied, his green eyes holding Pippa’s in an intense fix. He loosened his grip on her hands, allowing her to straighten.

You still have a boyfriend, remember? a steely voice in her head cut through Pippa’s haze of uncertainty. She gave Finn a weak smile and glanced at Emmie and Billy.

They were both staring, their drinks half-raised, their mouths open at Pippa and Finn. Emmie was first to regain her composure.

‘Good shot, Pippa,’ she said, nodding vigorously.

Billy joined in, even clapping to overcome his shock.

‘Yeah, you’re a natural, like. We might be in some trouble here, Emmie.’

P
ippa wasn’t wholly sure Jack had forgiven her for the Styrofoam cup debacle. He certainly wasn’t praising her for her ingenuity. Nevertheless, the day before Peace Offering’s first run of the season he had dropped a couple of owners’ badges on her desk and asked if she had needed a lift over to Ascot.

‘Thanks, but I’m going to stay in London for the rest of the weekend,’ Pippa had replied.

Now Saturday had arrived and Pippa sat in one of Ascot Racecourse’s bars, her frozen hands wrapped around a glass of mulled wine. Somewhat apprehensively, she watched her fellow-racegoers while they referred to their racecards and studied the televisions mounted high on the walls showing the Tote betting. It was all a meaningless jumble of numbers to Pippa, but everyone around appeared to have no trouble deciphering them. She pulled up the sleeve of her beige and cream fake fur-lined coat and glanced at her watch for the ’nth time.

She was about to resort to checking her mobile for any missed calls when she heard her name being called.

Tash trotted towards her, dangling a vast black handbag from her shoulder.

Grinning, Pippa stood down from her stool and held out her arms to receive her friend’s enthusiastic embrace.

‘Ooh,’ Tash cooed, hugging her from side to side. ‘I’ve missed you so much. How are you, Pip?’

‘Much better now you’ve arrived,’ Pippa said. She cast a cautious look around the warm busy room as she sat down again. ‘I feel a bit out of place here. I don’t even know how to place a bet.’

‘Probably half the people here don’t know either. You just got to look like you belong and no one will doubt you.’ Tash smoothed her dark bob of hair away from her face and put her leather-gloved hands on her broad hips. She frowned at the screen closest to her, nodding with apparent knowledge.

Pippa laughed.

‘That’s all well and good until you get to the Tote window.’

Tash pulled out a stool from beneath the high oval table and sat down, crossing her legs and extending a black suede-booted foot.

‘What do you think of these?’

Pippa scrutinised the boot’s silver studs encircling the ankle and calf and nodded in approval.

‘Very nice. I thought you already had a pair like this?’

Tash grimaced.

‘I do, I know, but I got sick of the tassels on the last pair. So I bought these as my reward for asking Aladdin out. Do you have any shoe shops where you live?’

‘One,’ Pippa giggled. ‘In fact, I bought a new pair of boots there a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Nice ones?’

‘They call them Wellingtons.’ Pippa laughed at Tash’s shocked expression.

Tash leant forward and held her friend’s face in her hands with exaggerated tenderness.

‘Sweets, are they turning you into a country bumpkin? Do you know how to milk a cow and drive a tractor yet?’

‘No, not yet. I wouldn’t mind learning how to drive a tractor though. It could be quite fun. Jack has one at Aspen Valley.’

‘Ah. The man whose name is never far from your lips. Where is he?’

‘That’s not true, at least not for the reasons you would like to think,’ Pippa said sternly. ‘It’s just that he’s one of the few people I know out there. Anyway, I think he’s probably with some owners. We’ve got a runner in the next.’

‘When can I meet him?’

Pippa shrugged.

‘He said he would come fetch us here before Peace Offering’s race so I guess then.’

‘Good,’ Tash said, smacking her hands together in a gesture of anticipation. ‘Now, in the meantime, I need a drink. What are you having?’

Half an hour later, her confidence bolstered by her friend and the alcohol, Pippa joined the queue in front of the Tote window.

‘Um, twenty pounds – I mean quid – on Peace Offering, please,’ she said, slapping a bank note on the counter.

The lady on the other side of the Perspex glass looked nonplussed.

‘To win or to place?’

‘Er, well, I hope he’ll win,’ Pippa replied, her bravado faltering. ‘What’s the difference?’

‘Place odds are lower than a win,’ the lady explained. ‘That’s because you get paid out if your horse finishes in the first three, regardless of which position.’

Reminding herself of Jack’s less than enthusiastic belief in her horse, Pippa said,

‘Okay, I’ll go for a place then.’

‘Place on Number Eight. There you go.’ She slid a betting slip under the window to Pippa.

Pippa looked at it, her fingers trembling with excitement. She stood to the side while Tash placed her bet.

‘The lady said place odds were lower than win odds, but this says I’ll win a hundred and seventy-five pounds if he comes in the first three,’ Pippa said once Tash had joined her again.

‘Sweets, I don’t know if that’s very encouraging. How many horses is he up against?’

Pippa pulled her racecard out of her pocket and flipped it open to the 2.30 three-mile steeplechase.

‘Says here there are thirteen runners. That’s not too bad. He’s only got to beat ten of them for us to win some money.’