Keeping the Peace (33 page)

She grimaced.

Jack was due to go to London for the charity single recording on Tuesday. That wasn’t going to improve his opinion of her.

The telephone rang and she welcomed its interruption.

‘Pippa? It’s Jack.’ He sounded breathless, his voice raised above the background roar of traffic. ‘I need your help.’

Pippa frowned. He’d left over an hour and a half ago.

‘What’s the matter? Have you broken down?’

‘No, no. I’ve just arrived at Newbury Racecourse. Is Finn around?’

Oh, God, Pippa quailed. Mick Farrelly hadn’t turned up. She reassured herself that she had definitely booked him to ride Virtuoso that afternoon. She couldn’t be blamed for this.

‘I don’t know. He might be. Do you want me to go get him for you?’

‘No, don’t do that. There isn’t time.’ Jack sounded almost panicked. ‘I need you to do something for me, Pippa. Right now, please. I’ve forgotten Virtuoso’s passport. He can’t run without it.’

‘Bloody hell, Jack,’ Pippa groaned. She opened her desk cabinet where all the horses’ passports were kept and flicked through to V’s folder.

‘Yes, I know. I’m not so proud of it myself, but I might not live to tell the tale if Virtuoso doesn’t run. Newbury are sold out with people coming to see him race. I need you to find his passport, find Finn and get him to drive over here with it. It’s too late for me to come all the way back.’

‘But where is it?’ she exclaimed as she unearthed only Victory Speech and Viscount Camperdown’s passports. ‘It’s not here in the folder.’

‘It’s at my house. Bloody fool that I am, I had it out last night and forgot to put it back with the others this morning.’

‘Your house? Is it locked? Can I get in?’

‘In the bottom drawer of my desk in the office, there’s a spare set of keys. The passport should be in the lounge. Get it and go find Finn! Please, Pippa. As fast as you can!’

‘I’m gone. Where will Finn find you?’ Pippa said, standing up and threading her free arm though her coat sleeve.

‘In the saddling enclosure. He’s a jockey so he shouldn’t have a problem getting in.’

‘Okay, don’t panic, Jack. Everything will be fine. You’ll have the passport in no time at all.’

‘Now!’

‘Okay! Good luck!’ Pippa slammed down the phone and grabbing her handbag like a relay runner’s baton, sprinted for the door. ‘Oh, shit. Need the keys first,’ she said, guiltily back-tracking to Jack’s office.

There was no obvious sign of Finn in the yard. Most of the staff had either finished work for the morning or were taking cover from the rain. Pippa flicked up her collar and dashed to the car park. She scanned the few cars left hunched in the drizzle for Finn’s Honda Civic.

Her heart plummeted.

Finn had obviously already left.

‘Only one thing for it,’ she muttered, hurrying over to her car. ‘How do you fancy a trip to Newbury?’ she asked the Beetle.

It felt strange to pull up outside Jack’s house, which she’d never really seen before. The solid stone walls of the converted barn were stained a dark grey by the rain, the trellised creeper draped soggily over the front door. It felt even stranger letting herself in the house with the spare keys and entering Jack’s personal space. Despite the urgency of her mission, Pippa stopped to gape at the mammoth open plan lounge-cum-dining room spread out before her. It was as big as a church, fit for a king, with dark wooden beams overhead like arched swords held aloft in reverence.

A soft whine from the opposite side of the room caught her attention and Pippa noticed Berkeley, Jack’s aging Retriever in a wicker basket thumping his tail at her.

‘Great guard dog you are,’ she said, walking further into the room. ‘Don’t you ever get claustrophobic?’

In spite of her casual irony, she was struck by the solitary place setting at the six-seater dining table, in the lounge only one empty glass on a table beside a leather recliner chair. There were no family photographs above the open stone fireplace, only brass and stone sculptures of horses and a carriage clock frozen in time.

It felt lonely.

She ran her hand along the mantelpiece, unable to stop the smile of amusement when she saw an open CD case of the Beatles’ album
Help!
lying next to the hi-fi cabinet.

Her gaze travelled along the walls and stopped at the picture opposite the recliner. She gulped. It was the picture of Black Russian on the Gallops, framed in dark wood to match the beams.

A deep gong emanated from the depths of a grandfather clock made her jump and she shook herself back to the present. Jack was waiting for her. She had to find Virtuoso’s passport. She sifted through the haphazard pile of thriller novels and
Racing Posts
littering a central coffee table. A booklet slipped out between two newspapers. Pippa exclaimed with triumph.

‘Right!’ she said, snapping it in her fingers and addressing a bemused-looking Berkeley. ‘Newbury, here we come!’

Pippa fidgeted as she stood in the queue waiting to enter Newbury Racecourse, ignoring the boozed-up party behind her all dressed as John McCririck. Such was their presence that the ticket man at the turnstyle didn’t notice Pippa at first.

She tried to walk through ‘like she belonged’ as Tash had taught her, but the man held out his arm at the last second.

‘Hold on, can I see your ticket?’

Pippa gave him her most helpless big-blue-eyed look.

‘I don’t have a ticket. I’m just here to drop something off.’

‘Sorry, I can’t let you through without a ticket,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not here to watch the racing.’ She pulled Virtuoso’s passport out of her bag and pushed it towards him. ‘I just need to drop this off. It’s a horse passport.’

The man gave her a bored look, which became pained when the John McCririck impersonators started getting fractious at the delay.

‘Nobody comes through here without a ticket. No exceptions, I’m afraid.’

‘Bugger. Okay then. How much is it?’

‘Everything’s sold out. If you’d come earlier or booked online you’d have been fine, but now…’

‘But I was never intending to come!’ Pippa cried, panic beginning to rise. She did not want to have travelled all this way to be turned away for something as mundane as a ticket. ‘Don’t you see? This is a horse’s passport,
Virtuoso’s
passport! It was left behind.’

The ticket man sucked his teeth.

‘That means absolutely nothing to me. My instructions are to not let anyone in without a ticket.’

Pippa bit her lip, her gaze darting from the man’s obstinate face to the throngs of warmly-dressed race goers milling on the other side of the gate. Weak sunshine split the overcast skies, reflecting off the windows of the grandstand beyond.

‘Please, you have to let me in!’ she begged. ‘If I don’t get this passport to Jack Carmichael, Virtuoso won’t be able to run in the Denman Chase. He’s the reason why you’re sold out!’

The man folded his arms across his chest.

‘Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who Virtuoso is –’

‘But you work here! Surely you must know who he is!’ Pippa exclaimed.

‘Sorry, miss, you’re holding up the queue,’ he replied, gesturing to the party behind her. ‘Now, if you don’t have a ticket, please can you move aside before you create a traffic jam.’

Panic got the better of her and she stamped her foot.

‘You’re going to have more than a traffic jam on your hands if I can’t get this passport through. You’re going to have a bloody riot! Everyone’s come to see Virtuoso race, but he won’t unless you let me through!’

‘Miss, I don’t want to have to call Security on you –’

A deerstalker-capped man with fake ginger sideburns, part of the group standing behind Pippa, poked into her line of sight.

‘That really Virtuoso’s passport? Let’s have a look, love?’

Pippa sighed and held it out for him to see.

‘Yes, it’s his.’ A thought occurred to her and she smiled at the young man looking cross-eyed at the booklet. ‘You’re a big fan, right?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he enthused. ‘We’ve come all the way down from Liverpool to see him win.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said, shaking her head.

‘What d’you mean?’

Pippa gave a forlorn shrug.

‘Well, Virtuoso won’t be able to race unless I can get his passport inside. And the gentleman here won’t let me in without a ticket.’

‘Oy, let her through, mate!’ the deerstalker said.

‘No, please don’t blame him. He’s only doing his job. Such a pity, really. For everyone. Your wasted journey, Virtuoso’s wasted journey. God knows what effect this will have on his Cheltenham Gold Cup chances.’

The deerstalker and his now attentive friends all squared up to the ticket man who took an uncertain step backwards.

‘It’s against the rules to let anyone on course without a ticket,’ he defended himself.

‘Yeah, and it’s also against the rules to retract the star attraction when we’ve paid to come all this way,’ the deerstalker retorted.

‘Look, fellas, just calm down a minute. I’ll call a steward to help us sort this out, shall I?’

Pippa looked at her watch. Jack had twenty minutes in which to declare Virtuoso as a confirmed runner for the Denman Chase.

‘That might be too late,’ she said.

‘Aw, fuck,’ yelled one of the deerstalkers. ‘An’ it’s Barry’s stag do. Don’t spoil it for us, mate. Just let her through and stop dicking around with your stupid rule book.’

‘You must understand, I can’t
do
that,’ the ticket man replied, looking more frazzled. ‘My job is to only let people through with valid tickets.’

‘Fuck that, mate! Let her through!’

‘Yeah! Let her through! If you don’t, Virtuoso’s not gonna race!’

Heads turned as the John McCriricks raised their voices.

‘What? Virtuoso’s not going to race?’

‘Only because this dick-wad won’t let this girl through. She’s got the horse’s passport.’

‘What! Let her through!’

‘Yeah, don’t be a tosser! Let her through!’

The ticket man paled as his objectors swelled in numbers.

‘Oh, Christ,’ he faltered. ‘You promise you’re telling the truth?’

Pippa nodded, beaming and flapped Virtuoso’s passport in front of her.

‘Proof’s all here.’

The ticket man closed his eyes for a brief moment then waved her through.

‘Go on, then. Go do what you have to do. Just don’t mention me.’

‘Thank you!’ Pippa skipped through the gateway feeling like Lassie escaping from the dog pound, the yells of well-wishes from the group of John McCriricks ringing in her ears. She turned to wave at them. ‘Send the stables an email! I’ll get one of Virtuoso’s horseshoes sent to you!’

Pippa slipped through the gateway towards the pre-parade ring, unnoticed. Amidst the calmer atmosphere of the saddling enclosure she spotted Jack pacing back and forth outside the stalls, his trench coat flapping around him.

‘Jack!’ she called, trying to run across the grassy interior while her heels plugged into the soft ground.

The trainer whirled round at the sound of her voice.

‘Pippa! Thank God you’re here. Did you find it? I thought Finn was bringing it?’

‘Right here,’ she said, handing over the passport. ‘I couldn’t find Finn so I came myself.’

‘Thank God,’ Jack said, holding it to his heart. ‘Thank
you
, Pippa. I’ve got to go declare him, but thank you.’

She watched him stride away, relief that she had got here in time now replaced with awkwardness as she fiddled with her coat buttons. With her task now complete she suddenly felt superfluous to proceedings. A sinking feeling set in as she realised she would never get to stand in the saddling enclosure ever again with Peace Offering’s inevitable departure.

As abruptly as he’d set off, Jack stopped and turned back. He strode towards her and guided her into an empty saddling stall. He cupped her face with his warm hands and looked down at her, his eyes intense.

For a wild moment, Pippa wondered what he was going to do next.

By the fleeting expression on his face, the same irrational thought seemed to cross his mind too. He transferred his hands to her shoulders.

‘You have saved my arse today, all of ours’ in fact,’ he said soberly. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come all this way.’

Pippa attempted a modest smile, unused to receiving flattery from Jack and even more unsettled with him standing so close to her.

‘You would have thought of something,’ she said.

‘We’ll never know, but I
do
know you went beyond the call of duty to help me out. Pippa, listen,’ he said, tightening his hold on her shoulders. ‘Finn spoke to me this morning and told me about your concerns over keeping Peace Offering –’

‘He did what?’

‘No, don’t be angry with him. I’m glad he told me. My point is, I know Peace Offering is the one thing that keeps you with us at Aspen Valley. If I have to train him for free and pay for his entries to keep it that way, then that’s what I’ll do.’

Pippa forgot how to breathe.

‘You mean that?’ she squeaked.

‘Yes. This time I
am
paying attention,’ Jack answered with a small smile. ‘You’re not going to sell Peace Offering. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Oh!’ She hadn’t realised just how heavy the blanket of gloom had been until it slid off her shoulders. Without thinking, she flung her arms around Jack’s neck, squeezing him tight with joy.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered in his ear.

She felt his arms fold around her, a feeling of strength and solidity adding to her relief. She closed her eyes and inhaled a deep lungful of his damp trench coat. She pressed her cheek, cold from the chilly wind blowing across Newbury Racecourse, close to his neck, finding comfort from his warmth and faint graze of his skin. She felt his chest swell against her as he breathed, his embrace tightening before relinquishing her in an unhurried, almost reluctant manner.

‘I’ve got a horse to declare,’ he said needlessly.

With the faint tang of his cologne still lingering in her nostrils and the heat of his skin still warming her cheek, she gave him a shy smile and nodded.