Keeping the Peace (4 page)

‘
H
ey Tash,’ Pippa greeted her best friend the next morning. Scooping her mobile phone between her ear and her shoulder, she wandered over to her smoking window in the lounge with a cup of coffee and fumbled for her cigarettes on the dresser. ‘Here’s your wake-up call.’

‘Huh! Since when have you ever had to get me up? You all right?’

‘Hmm, not bad, thanks. Just wanted to remind you that the sale at Harvey Nicks closes today if you still wanted to that pair of Jimmy Choos.’

‘Already there. I’ll nip in at lunchtime and pick them up. Thanks for reminding me. Even so, this is a bit early for you, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, well, Ollie’s agent rang at the crack of dawn wanting him to go for an audition. At last! And hopefully I’ll be a whole lot richer by the end of today.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Those horses that Dave gave to me. They’re being sold today. Remember?’

‘Ah, yes. Life with the jet-set short-lived then, eh?’

Pippa snorted.

‘You could say that. Oh, shit.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. I’ve just knocked everything off the dresser. Hold on.’ Pippa rounded up a mound of paperwork and hefted it back onto the dresser. The paper of stats she had been looking at the night before caught her eye on the top of the pile and she frowned at it. ‘Tash, do you know anything about horses?’

‘Course not, you know that. I grew up half a mile from you in central London. Remember? Why?’

‘It’s just these papers I’ve got here. They were amongst Uncle Dave’s stuff and it’s got a whole lot of statistics and the names of horses on them.’

‘What sort of statistics?’

‘I don’t know. Listen to this...’ Methodically, Pippa read through Peace Offering’s piece of paper. ‘Any idea what this race is?’

‘You know what, sweets? I think I do! Only because I decided to have a flutter on the horses a couple of years ago. Mon Mome won the Grand National at some huge price. Only put a pound on him, and bought a lovely coat with the return.’

‘The Grand National?’

‘Yes. I bet if you Google all those names you’ll find they all won the Grand National. Ooh, how exciting! Dave’s leaving you messages from the grave!’

‘Messages? God, Tash, what are you on? They’re being sold today anyway.’

‘Dave obviously had plans to enter – who was it, Peace Offering – in the National and was trying to prove that even the outsiders have a chance.’

‘That’s really sad. Such big dreams for his horses and now they’ve all come to nothing.’

‘It might have been his dying wish.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you see? Dave has given you these horses. It’s your – your
duty
to fulfil their destiny!’

‘Did you mistake the cocaine for the sugar on your cornflakes this morning?’

‘Pippa, you can’t sell them!’

‘It’s too late. They’re at the sales now.’

‘Ring up that trainer guy –’

‘Jack Carmichael.’

‘Yeah, ring up Jack Carmichael and tell him to withdraw them.’

Pippa pulled a face.

‘But Tash – I don’t know. Is it worth the hassle? He’s a right grump. He’ll give me such a bollocking.’

‘Who cares? They’re your horses, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, I know, but –’ Pippa thought back to Jack’s scathing comments about Peace Offering and then had a sharp painful memory of Dave sitting with her as a child and describing a particular race with such passion and enthusiasm. Had it been the Grand National? Didn’t the name Foinavon ring a bell? She couldn’t remember. ‘Ooh, what if it was his dying wish? Maybe he was the only one who believed in him...’

‘Exactly. Peace Offering’s future depends on you. The Grand National might be there just waiting for him to go and win it. But he might not be entered if you sell him,’ urged Tash.

Pippa wavered, curling her toes in her slippers as Tash’s influence swayed her. What would the new owners’ plans be for the horse if she left things be? Would they see him as a potential Grand National horse? Probably not, if the formbook was anything to go by.

She took a troubled drag of her cigarette, exhaling the smoke with force as if she was trying to dispel her indecision. This might be the one moment in Peace Offering’s life for him to shine and she was about to throw it all away. She was about to ruin Peace Offering’s life.

‘Oh, Tash! I’ve got to stop them being sold!’

‘Pippa, get off the phone and ring Jack Carmichael!’

‘Okay, okay –’

‘But ring me back!’

‘His phone’s turned off!’ Pippa wailed two minutes later.

‘Did you leave a message?’

‘Yes, but will he get it in time, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. Where is the sale?’

‘In Doncaster.’

‘Right. Get up there!’

Pippa stubbed out her cigarette, but nearly upended the ashtray.

‘It’s about two hundred miles away! How am I supposed to get there?’

‘By car, silly. Go find your nearest car hire shop and get one. Do you know what time they’re being sold?’

‘About lunchtime his secretary told me. But that could mean any time between twelve and two. She sent me a sales catalogue and they’re Lots 281 and 282.’

‘Well, get moving!’

‘Oh, God.’ She whirled round, unable to decide what to do first. ‘Ohgodohgodohgod.’

‘Don’t panic! Now get yourself dressed and go get a car.’

Pippa pulled up short.

‘How did you know I’m not dressed?’

‘Pippa, I’ve known you for the past twenty years. You’re wearing your pyjamas.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘GO!’

‘All right! I’m going!’

Pippa slammed the front door behind her and clattered down the two flights of stairs in her heels. The car hire company she had used last time was at least twenty to thirty minutes away, if one considered journeying through the streets and Underground of London at peak time. She looked unenthusiastically down the road, the far end of which was blurred by a fine drizzle. Her gaze flickered closer, to Ollie’s beloved red Alfa Romeo in its usual parking space ten feet away.

She rustled through her handbag for her mobile and checked the time. It was a quarter to nine. Even if she left now she wouldn’t get to Doncaster until at least twelve o’clock. She chewed her lip. Would she be too late if she had to traipse across London to the car hire company? She looked at Ollie’s pride and joy again. Ollie had left about seven-thirty, hung over but cheerful that he had an audition planned. Dare she risk phoning him in the middle of it?

‘Who am I kidding? Of course he’s not going to let me use it,’ Pippa muttered before whirling round and hurtling back up the stairs to get the spare set of car keys.

After eventually mastering the gears and the Sat Nav, Pippa found the Alfa quite easy to drive. Its powerful acceleration let her zip clear at the traffic lights and merge two cars further up. She grimaced as angry hoots followed her and she silently apologised to all women drivers for giving them a bad name.

Once on the M1, Pippa put her foot down. The drizzle had now become fully-fledged rain and the car’s windscreen wipers batted frantically to clear her view. As the weather worsened, Pippa found herself easing her foot off the accelerator. When she saw the illuminated clock hands on the dashboard reaching for eleven o’clock she hastily pushed on. Twice more, she tried Jack Carmichael’s number. Both times she got his voicemail. Gripping the steering wheel and inadvertently shredding her lower lip with her teeth, she refused to let herself wonder what on earth she was doing. Common sense could feature later.

She groaned as the midday news jingle began on the radio. Thoughts of Peace Offering being led into the sales ring flashed through her mind, making her grit her teeth and tighten her hold on the steering wheel. She gave another howl as the petrol light on the dashboard flickered into life, the dial pointing ominously below E. She didn’t have time to stop, but should she risk running out of fuel?

Her anxious gaze moved from the fuel gauge to the clock, now beginning its descent past noon. If she stopped she would surely miss the horses being sold, but if she ran out of petrol then there was no chance of getting there in time. A sign for a service station flashing by made up her mind and she swung into the left lane and took the exit. Keeping to the twenty mile-an-hour speed limit through the entrance, Pippa felt like she was moving in slow motion.

‘Oh, God, no! What more?’ she yelled in anguish.

There was a tailback of at least six cars waiting to refuel. She drummed her fingers on the wheel as she waited in the queue, her eyes forever being drawn to the clock whose hands seemed to be gathering momentum.

Gradually the queue shortened, but she was still three cars back. She would be sitting there for another quarter of an hour, Pippa predicted. It would be nearly one o’clock at least by the time she got to the sales. Taking a deep breath she took the initiative. It would be so much easier to push in front if you didn’t have to stop immediately to put fuel in so she decided against that tactic.

‘I’m just going to have to risk it.’

Spinning the wheel, she put her foot down and powered past the white van in front. She exhaled as she zoomed past the stationary cars towards the exit, relief at being on the move again. For how much longer was anyone’s guess, but while there was heart, there was hope.

Pippa whooped with joy five minutes later when she saw the first signs for Doncaster Racecourse just as the sun came out. Trying hard to control her breathing and mounting excitement, she eased the Alfa Romeo off the M28 exit, praying the car would get her there. The light on the dashboard seemed to glow brighter and brighter. If she ran out of fuel there – well, she would tackle that hurdle when it arose.

‘Come on. Don’t let me down,’ she said, patting the steering wheel.

The Alfa rose to the task. Pulling up in the racecourse car park, she tried Jack Carmichael one last time while reattaching her heels and scrambling out of the car. There was still no answer. Heart pounding, Pippa ran through the lines of parked Range Rovers and Jaguars. An icy hand of fear clutched her gut as she heard the echoing voice of the auctioneer from a nearby loudspeaker.

‘Lot 282 from the Aspen Valley consignment. This is an eight-year-old gelding by Off The Record, out of Forgiven...’

‘Oh, no! No, no, no!’

Ignoring the curious stares from bystanders, she sprinted towards the sales room.

‘Next we have Lot 283, from Dunstanton Fields...’

Her spirits belly-flopped down to her arches and seeped out of her open-toed sandals.

‘Oh, God. I’m too late.’ She slowed to a walk, her ragged breaths shaking her narrow shoulders. With weary footsteps she skirted the main auction house to the rear. She sighed as she recognised the broad white blaze down the face of a bay horse being led away. An oval sticker on his rump read 282.

‘Wait!’ Pippa called, her voice laden with disappointment.

The blonde girl leading Peace Offering stopped short and looked up in surprise.

‘Can I help you?’

‘No – no, I don’ think you can anymore.’

‘Pardon?’ The girl pushed up her red Aspen Valley baseball cap and looked at Pippa with curious hazel eyes.

‘Sorry, don’t mind me. I’m Pippa Taylor. I own – or did own – Peace Offering and Astolat.’

‘Oh. A pity about Peace Offering, isn’t it? At least Astolat got some attention.’

‘They’re sold?’ Pippa’s shoulders drooped as the reality hit home. There would be no Grand National for Peace Offering. After all her uncle had done for her and given to her, she couldn’t even manage this one thing in return. ‘Poor Dave. If only I could have got here just a few minutes sooner.’

‘Are you okay?’

Pippa looked bleakly from Peace Offering, who was trying to eat his lead rope, to his lass.

‘No. Not really.’

‘There wasn’t much you could have done about Peace Offering, I’m afraid. But like I said, at least Astolat did well. He went for more than we expected.’

‘Oh, dear.’

The girl looked anguished.

‘I’m sure Mr Carmichael can find a private buyer for Peace Offering.’

‘What?’ Pippa said, for the first time listening to what the girl was saying.

‘I said I’m sure Mr Carmichael can find someone else who wants Peace Offering.’

Pippa’s heart began to thump again.

‘You mean he isn’t sold?’ She held her breath.

‘Well, no,’ the girl replied, puzzled. ‘Weren’t you watching?’

‘No, I’ve only just arrived. He’s still mine? How come?’

‘He didn’t reach his reserve.’

‘Thank God!’ Pippa wanted to hug the girl, but managed to restrain herself by squeezing her hands together.

Peace Offering’s handler looked at her in bemusement.

‘You’re glad?’

‘Yes! I didn’t want to sell him! What about Astolat? Is he still mine?’

‘No, he sold. Quite well actually.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘Sorry.’

‘Oh, dear. Never mind, Peace Offering’s the one I really wanted to keep.’

‘Are you going to keep him in training at Aspen Valley?’

Pippa twisted her sales catalogue in her hands as she considered the question.

‘Um, I think so. I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Where is Jack Carmichael?’

‘Mr Carmichael? He was in the ring, but he was going straight to see some client or other afterwards. You might catch him if you’re quick.’

Imagining the trainer’s inevitable response to her idea of keeping Peace Offering, Pippa stalled.

‘Maybe not just yet.’ It wasn’t a response she was looking forward to getting.

She gazed up at the lanky horse. He looked so majestic with his Roman nose held high and his long ears pricked forward. The lead rope now hung limp between his lips, forgotten momentarily as he watched the activity around him.

Her heart softened. For a moment, she imagined the warm smile on Dave’s face.

The girl grinned at Pippa.

‘I’m glad you’re keeping him. Peace Offering might not be Kauto Star, but he has just as big a heart.’