Mount! (40 page)

‘Your husband and Quickly are going to bankrupt us today,’ sighed Rupert’s handsome friend, David Williams, who was Ladbrokes’ Media Director.

The first race had started, the jockeys’ breeches like tiny white bugs bobbing along the rail in front of the dark trees lining the track.

The din in the box was incredible. ‘Come on, come on ’Eavy Duty, come on ’Ollygofaster, get to work, get your arse into gear,’ yelled the high-rollers.

‘He looks nice,’ said Etta as a man went up to accept a large cup after the first race.

‘Should be,’ said Barney, ‘he’s werf five hundred million.’

Ladbrokes were thrilled with Jan’s cake. ‘We’ll have it for dessert. We need some comfort,’ they told Taggie. ‘Your Quickly’s one to three now.’

‘He’s never seen a crowd like this before,’ fretted Taggie.

‘Is it true one isn’t allowed to bet in China?’ asked Barney as Bao extracted his own wodge of notes and set out for the mobile till.

‘I think so,’ said Taggie, ‘but he’s making up for it now.’

‘What are you on?’ Barney asked a returning Bao.

‘Hell Bent Hal and then Fleance in the Coronation Cup. I like Fleance, he talk to me.’

‘Would you like to join Ladbrokes?’ asked David Williams.

Having eaten the most delicious pâté, they moved on to rack
of lamb. With his napkin tucked into his shirt collar, Barney was gnawing away like a starved dingo.

Hell Bent Hal and Meerkat hacked up in the Woodcote Stakes.

‘I lumped on that one,’ said Barney as Bao came back to the table with a fistful of notes. ‘Should have listened to you, Bao.’

A great cheer went up as Taggie accepted Hal’s Cup.

‘What a lovely lady,’ said everyone.

Fleance and Meerkat won the Coronation Cup – a mighty race worth £170,000 to add to Love Rat’s figures and a double for Rupert. As Taggie took Bao down to accept the Cup, she just managed to prevent him asking for a selfie with the Queen. Still giggling, fuelled by champagne, she escaped to a corner of the Ladbrokes box to ring Jan.

‘Everything’s wonderful, clever Hal and Fleance, and Ladbrokes adore your cake, such a success. Is everything OK?’

‘Fine, all the dogs are fine – I’ll go and give Love Rat a carrot.’ His voice softened. ‘I miss you so much, mam; you looked so lovely accepting the Cup.’

‘And I … I mean we – are missing you.’ Taggie jumped out of her skin, as on the television screen appeared Janey Lloyd-Foxe, most dangerous of journalists, always looking for cracks in Rupert and Taggie’s marriage.

‘It was the proudest moment of my life,’ Janey was saying as she mopped her eyes carefully, ‘my daughter Amber winning the Grand National on Mrs Wilkinson. But it was a bittersweet moment, because just afterwards my beloved husband Billy Lloyd-Foxe, great showjumper and broadcaster, died in hospital. I’m sure he’s looking down from heaven, so proud that Amber and Mrs Wilkinson, Master Quickly’s dam, are parading before the Derby this afternoon.’

‘Pissed,’ said Dora as she joined Taggie. ‘She’s had a hell of a lot of work. Botoxic bitch.’

‘What are you working on at the moment?’ Mick Fitzgerald asked Janey.

‘A sort of autobiography about my life with Billy, who was of course Rupert Campbell-Black’s best friend so it’ll be all about Rupert too. It’s going to be called
Billy and Me
.’

‘Look forward to it,’ said Mick.

Oh God, thought Taggie, what will she dig up?

The vast crowd, in expectation of a Campbell-Black treble, cheered themselves hoarse as Quickly’s mother, with beautiful Amber on her back and Chisolm trotting behind, came grandstanding, showboating and parading up the course. Mrs Wilkinson, always a frightful show-off, loved every moment, graciously acknowledging the applause, approaching the rail from time to time to press a white nose against a patting hand, posing for every photographer.

Taggie, Dora, Etta and Bao hung over the balcony to watch her.

‘She’ll be off to shake hooves with the Queen,’ said Dora. ‘Amazing she produced a thug like Quickly.’

‘I’ll always be grateful to that little mare,’ said Barney. ‘I was on her in the National, paid for a house in Malibu; you must come and stay, Etta.’

‘And you must come and meet Mrs Wilkinson. She’ll sulk terribly when she realizes she’s not racing.’

‘Let her have another foal,’ said Barney. ‘Breeders should breed.’

‘It’s the Thoroughbred Breeders Awards next week,’ said Dora. ‘If Quickly wins the Derby, Mrs Edwards will certainly win Small Flat Breeder of the Year.’

‘Nuffing flat about Mrs Edwards,’ guffawed Barney, admiring Etta’s cleavage.

‘Let’s go down to the parade ring,’ said Dora. ‘Quickly’ll be in soon.’

‘Must go and help Milburn Gala,’ said Bao.

A terrific tension was building up. Half an hour to post time, the weighing room was unnaturally quiet; no one was joking. Most of the jockeys were dressed in their Derby silks. Some watched the television to see the odds and what was being said about themselves and their horses, others were doing crosswords, playing cards, checking their mobiles or psyching themselves up for the race ahead.

Handsome Manu de la Tour, the French jockey whose father Guy had been Rupert’s showjumping rival back in the 1970s and who was riding the third favourite, Leconte de Lisle, was playing poker on his phone. Tarqui, who was riding the black Eumenides, was talking to Dermie O’Driscoll, who was riding Geoffrey.

The
Racing Post
fluttered like a captured seagull in Eddie’s hands as he read a piece headed: C
AN
Q
UICKLY
B
E
B
EATEN
? suggesting the colt was a monkey and it was loyal of Rupert to keep it in the family, but surely he needed a more experienced rider. Eddie jumped as Ash wandered out of the bog, naked except for a large tattoo of David Beckham on his chest and a soft white towel which he dropped in front of Eddie, turning and thrusting high, taut buttocks in his face.

‘Look at my arse,’ he told the startled company as he reached for his tights. ‘That’s all you’re going to see in the next race.’

Two minutes later, his valet helped Ash into purple and gold silks.

Christ, thought Eddie, those are Sheikh Abdul Baddi’s colours. Cosmo must have sold him a huge share in I Will Repay.

Down at the grey brick stables, Gala was even more nervous. She shut the green half door to keep out the din and activity outside. At least Quickly looked wonderful. He carried no excess weight. Running her hand over his silken silver coat, she rejoiced in the hard slab of muscle beneath. Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto on the radio prepared him for the trumpeters ahead. Irritably he delved in her pockets in search of the food he had been denied for several hours, and kicked his bucket for he had also been denied water. Purrpuss was lying in the manger. Finding nothing there, Quickly nipped Purrpuss’s shoulder. Mewing furiously, Purrpuss retaliated with a punishing left hook which only just missed Quickly’s eye.

‘Pack it in, both of you,’ yelled Gala. Oh God, she must keep calm.

The other Penscombe staff were still off celebrating Fleance’s magnificent victory. Rupert was poised for a treble – Quickly mustn’t let them down. She needed a pee so badly she’d be reduced to going in the corner of the box.

For once she was pleased with her appearance: dark-blue stretch jeans and a gorgeous shirt patterned with pink, white and yellow frangipani, her favourite flower. The only thing missing was the heavenly scent.

A perfect fit, she’d found it in her holdall wrapped in gold paper with a label saying:
You have been very kind to me, Gala, and answer my questions. This is from Bao
.

Gala had wanted to weep. How did Bao know about frangipani? And she’d been so vile to him. And now here he was knocking tentatively on the door.

‘I am not nuisance?’

‘No, no, come in, shut the door, thank you for my wonderful, wonderful shirt. You are so kind.’ She hugged him really hard and Quickly gave a surprising whicker.

‘See? Even Quickly loved it.’

‘You look very beautiful,’ said Bao, ‘and so does Quickry.’ He patted him several times, then out of his pocket produced a box of Temptations. ‘I have something for you, Purrpuss.’

Asking Bao to keep an eye on Quickly, Gala fled to the Ladies. She was horrified to find a long queue.

‘Let me through, I’m leading up the Derby favourite,’ she pleaded and sportingly they did.

Washing her hands afterwards, she saw a really pretty woman in the mirror and gasped because it was herself. The shirt was so divine. Eat your heart out, Sauvignon.

Then she heard sobbing, and huge Harmony had collapsed on her shoulder.

‘Gala, it’s not fair. I’m still not allowed to lead up Repay. Cosmo promised I could to stop me leaving and now he’s broken his promise, just said there wouldn’t be room for me in the winners enclosure, and Sauvignon’s leading him up instead.’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Gala wriggled away from Harmony. ‘I can’t leave Quickly any longer – so, so sorry, we’re going down any minute, talk to you later,’ she cried and fled. Oh help, she’d be punished for lack of compassion.

She found Purrpuss, turbojet-purring in Bao’s arms.

‘I like him, Gala, he likes cat sweets.’

Cathal banged on the door. ‘They’re going down, Gala.’

Fighting through the crowds, Bao joined Dora and Barney on the parade-ring rail. Beside a clump of silver birches, Etta, Valent and Taggie were ignoring Cosmo, Mrs Walton and Isa Lovell, and there was Bao’s heroine Dame Hermione. Standing proudly near them was Repay’s new co-owner, Sheikh Abdul Baddi, surrounded by dark men in dark glasses and morning coats: his Qatari retinue.

Bao had never seen such beautiful horses, a gleaming cavalcade of wonder – Irish, Japanese, German, French as well as English. The tone was, as usual, slightly let down by Geoffrey, ears flopping like an old donkey, led up by a blushing Rosaria.

‘Lamborghini pedigree,’ said Barney sardonically.

‘His stable girl’s a darling,’ protested Dora. ‘Actually she’s the trainer’s wife. That’s Brute, her foul, lecherous husband, talking to the owner’s son.’

Both men were leering at Sauvignon, who was leading up I Will Repay in bright-pink hot pants.

Dora then dragged Bao over to look at Quickly, still in the saddling boxes. Like a make-up artist calming an actor before he went on set, Rupert, having handed his top hat to Gala, was checking girths and every bridle strap, soothing Quickly with a damp cloth, dipping a brush in water to tidy his mane, putting a wet sponge in his mouth.

‘Why he do that?’ asked Bao.

‘Horses aren’t allowed any water for several hours before a race,’ explained Dora. ‘They get terribly thirsty, but water makes them sluggish so they can’t run properly. Also, it can give them colic, so it’s very dangerous.’

Out spilled the jockeys, strutting in their rainbow colours.

‘Shit,’ said Rupert, clocking Ash preening in Sheikh Baddi’s purple and gold colours. ‘That was twenty million down the drain that could have bought into Quickly.’

Eddie came out last. He had superstitiously put his left foot first in his breeches, carried his whip in his left hand, left the weighing room last and was determined as he entered the parade ring to put his left foot on the grass. But he was clobbered by screaming girls wanting autographs whose biros wouldn’t work on race cards, and he discovered he’d put down his right foot. Oh Christ, there was Sauvignon who’d monopolized his dreams, looking breathtaking in those shorts. He tried to take in Rupert’s instructions.

‘He’s a little horse, so try not to get him bumped at the start. Get him into a good rhythm on the outside as soon as possible. Don’t hit the front too soon. Then rely on his turn of foot at the furlong pole.’ Rupert might have been talking Swahili for all Eddie was taking in.

Jockeys were being legged up for the parade. Rupert ordered Eddie to get Quickly down to the start as fast as possible. Being ponied down by Jemmy on Safety Car, however, was a mixed blessing. Spectators, yelling good luck to Eddie, were almost
more thrilled to see their old friend Safety Car, who had, in the past, won them so much money.

Waiting to reassure Quickly down at the start, Gala and Cathal were appalled to discover he’d shed one of his very light off-fore plates.

‘It was there in the parade ring,’ cried Gala. ‘Oh Jesus, get the farrier.’

Even with Cathal, Gala and four loaders hanging on to his sweat-drenched body, Quickly fought against being shod and lashed out with hooves and teeth, as the other runners arrived from the parade. The minutes ticked by, the expletives flew bluer than the sky, as half the jockeys dismounted and led their horses round.

‘We’ll have to go without him,’ said the starter, as Quickly lashed out again. Two loaders then held up his hind leg so he couldn’t kick out without falling over.

‘Nearly there,’ called out Marti Farrell, the farrier. ‘Stay still, you bugger.’ As the last nail went in, Quickly squealed and plunged.

Immediately the orange blindfold went over his eyes, and more loaders joined forces, yanking one foot in front of the other, and another and another, forcing him into his padded cell – the dreaded No. 1. The moment Eddie, distraught at holding up furious jockeys, crawled into the stalls, to mount from the side, Quickly reared and plunged, threatening to bash Eddie’s head on the steel roof.

‘Don’t hit the front too soon,’ Eddie told himself.

Fat chance. As the gates flew open, he whipped off the orange blindfold and Quickly lurched forward. Badly bumped at the start by Eumenides, anything to escape the claustrophobia of being trapped on the rail, Quickly hurtled ahead, battling desperately for his head, pulling and pulling.

‘Get him balanced, for fuck’s sake,’ yelled Rupert.

Quickly was soon so far ahead, he must win. The great excited roar of the crowd lifted him up, rising and rising, to the height of nine buses. Reaching Tattenham Corner he was eight lengths ahead, then there was a collective groan as he suddenly ran out of fuel and seemed to go backwards. Boris Badenough, Repay’s
pacemaker, meanwhile had set a sluggish pace for the rest of the field, but began to accelerate. Trapped behind a wall of horses, I Will Repay swung right and then straightened up, the purple and gold colours of Sheikh Abdul Baddi coming down like a wolf on the fold, as Ash overtook jockey after jockey. Realizing Quickly had nothing left, Eddie put down his whip, as Ash’s beautiful arse flashed by to win by three lengths, with Eumenides second, Geoffrey an amazing third and Boris Badenough fourth. Total victory for Cosmo and Isa.