Mount! (71 page)

Where was Rupert? Where was Lark? Where was Marketa? Where was Quickly? And his sheep friends? By this time, he was dying of thirst. Weak from lack of food and hoarse from calling out, he was yet again unloaded, but nothing prepared him for the hell ahead of a big red lorry. He could hear moaning and banging and breathed in a terrible stench of blood and
excrement. But once again, hoping he was going home, he had trotted up the ramp where a scene of utter horror greeted him.

Horses of all shapes and sizes were rammed together – injured, diseased, exhausted, distraught: ponies, donkeys, terrified racehorses, massively stressed, violent stallions showing white eyes, trying to mount mares, who were in turn frantically trying to protect foals, before they were crushed underfoot.

Almost most pathetic were the horses who’d been deliberately fattened into obesity, their feet and fetlocks buckling agonizingly under their immense bulk. Some had gashes on their sides, some had broken limbs. Every so often, once they were on the move, a horse would have a panic attack, shaking the whole lorry, leaving more gashes and broken limbs until the entire floor ran with blood.

There were no stops for water or feed or rest. The gypsy drivers, mostly Eastern European, were paid to reach Northern Italy as soon as possible, dump their cargo of horses and drive back again to collect another load. There were meant to be border checks, but the drivers, warned in advance of these, were able to sail through without being stopped.

And all because the Italians liked to eat their horse and donkey meat fresh, and believed the lies on the packet that the animals had been reared locally. Anyway, nobody kicked up a fuss, because the live horse trade and the slaughterhouses were run by the mafia, and people were too scared to rock boats.

When the horses were finally unloaded, Safety Car was one of the few who could still stumble down the ramp, leaving a litter of corpses and groaning bodies behind him. Filthy, bloodstained coat coming out in handfuls, tail and quarters rubbed bald, his head, sunken between his shoulders, felt too heavy for him to lift. Then he heard even more hysterical neighing from a building ahead, smelled fresh blood, and violent trembling once again jolted his wasted frame. Dragged inside the building, more tortures awaited, as pints of blood were drained off for the plasma, needed for blood transfusions to combat equine diseases like swamp fever.

Hearing more groaning and crashing and terrified whinnying from the slaughterhouse ahead, Safety Car pulled back in panic. As the two slaughterhouse hands in charge of him swore and yanked him forward, the one who wasn’t smoking clubbed him round the head.

‘Stop that,’ yelled a voice and in burst a dark man in a grubby off-white suit, followed by a slender, fair girl.

Recognizing them, Safety Car managed the faintest of whickers and pricking his one ear, staggered forwards.

‘Give me that horse,’ shouted the dark man.

Pretending not to understand, the first slaughterhouse worker was about to stub out his cigarette on Safety Car’s shoulder when the cigarette was shot out of his hand, which was a language both workers understood, particularly when they saw that the dark man was brandishing a gun, and, in his other hand, waving a big handful of notes.

‘Give us that horse,’ he ordered, and only when the girl had taken hold of Safety Car’s lead rope did he hand over the cash and didn’t lower his gun until they’d both helped a tottering Safety Car to safety.

‘Bastards, bastards,’ screamed Lark, taking in the bloody moaning wreckage inside and out of the red lorries. ‘We’ll get you for this. We’ll never give up until this never happens again.’ Then, realizing she was frightening Safety Car, ‘Poor old boy, we’ll get you cleaned up and find you something to drink and half a ton of electrolytes – and then you’re going home.’

Taggie came out of hospital on the Monday after the World Cup. She would later have to have chemotherapy and perhaps radiotherapy, and it still hadn’t been ascertained if the cancer had spread to her lymph glands, but Rupert, petrified of her catching an infection, refused to let her stay in any longer.

Once the world learnt why Rupert had walked out of the World Cup, the family came storming in from all over the world and none of them demanded their airfares. Marcus cancelled a huge concert in Moscow. Tabitha was unexpectedly devastated.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been so awful. I love you so much – you’re the best stepmother anyone ever had.’

Equally devastated was Taggie’s father Declan, who bit off the head of his wife, Maud, when she claimed Taggie had been selfish not to tell anyone she was ill.

Nor would there have been a daffodil left in the world as flowers poured in.

‘An entire flora,’ said Rupert proudly as vases ran out and yellow buckets had to be plundered from the yard.

‘I hope you realize, Mum, at last, how much people love you,’ chided Bianca.

Eddie had brought back Quickly’s World Cup saddlecloth for Taggie, and when she praised him, replied that it was easy to get winners when a horse was gotten that ready.

Rupert’s frightful press had in turn subsided overnight, particularly when people learnt of Love Rat’s death. There was also huge praise for Gav: ‘Small talk, but great victories’, and how wonderfully he’d readied Delectable, Chekov and Quickly and how, when stepping into Rupert’s shoes, he hadn’t found them at all too large.

Rupert was the first to praise Gav, but appealed to the media to leave them alone: ‘Taggie needs rest.’

Taggie was ashamed of feeling so cast down. It was lovely to be home, and Rupert was being so adorable to her. He’d told her not to worry about chemo or radiotherapy; he’d be with her every step of the way. She was so pleased about Gav and Gala, who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and seemed so happy. But outside, the emerging spring was so beautiful, she couldn’t shake off the dread it might be her last. She found it impossible to stay in bed, longing to get up and feed the dogs, who’d been banished from her bed, and the birds. Rupert had really lost it when he caught her sneaking out to feed the badgers.

She was heartbroken about Love Rat and worried stiff about Safety Car and Lark, who’d unaccountably vanished on the night of the World Cup, evidently with Bao who everyone said was an evil villain but who had given her such a beautiful necklace.

And what had become of Jan, who’d been so lovely to her and never shouted? Rupert, beyond saying he’d walked out, didn’t elucidate and Taggie didn’t want to upset him by appearing too interested. However, when Dora came to see her, bearing a big box of marrons glacés, she had, in a whisper, asked where Jan had gone.

‘He walked,’ said Dora. ‘No one seems to know where. Rupert came back and told him to bugger off and he did.’

Later in the day, however, Constance Sprightly popped in to see Taggie, bringing a bunch of narcissi.

‘So exciting about the World Cup,’ she cried. ‘Gavin Latton did so well. We were glued to the television. I must remind Gavin, he owes me a bunch of lilies.’

‘Really?’ said Taggie.

‘Well, he hit your hubby across the nave on the morning of your surprise do, and Hubby sent a big vase of lilies I’d just arranged flying.’

‘Gav?’ said an amazed Taggie.

‘Yes. He told your hubby he’d got to go to his birthday party in no uncertain terms, and evidently Hubby did.’

‘But that was Jan,’ protested Taggie.

‘No, no, I know Jan, he’s an occasional worshipper. It was definitely Gavin Latton. Very brave when he’s so much smaller than your hubby.’

But Gav had never come to the party, thought Taggie. He must have got back from America, heard Rupert had gone missing and routed him out – and Jan had claimed it was him. Taggie felt a distinct sense of disquiet.

There was endless speculation about what had happened to Lark. Everyone was worried stiff – but Eddie was utterly demented. Suddenly he’d realized how much he loved her. Why couldn’t Rupert offer £1,000,000 reward as well as the half million for Safety Car?

Quickly, the great World Cup winner, flew home on Monday, outraged to find no Safety Car and no Lark awaiting him. Safety’s sheep never stopping bleating, driving everyone crackers.

Only the weather picked up, so lovely on Tuesday afternoon that Rupert and Taggie sat out rather self-consciously on the terrace and Rupert tried hard not to look at his iPad. There was a pale-green mist of young leaves on the trees, softened by white blackthorn blossom. A gentle breeze mingled wafts of wild garlic and balsam poplar, reminding Rupert of the Friars Balsam his old nanny had made him inhale for chest infections when he was a child. Why did everything make him cry? The birds were singing their heads off; what right had they to sound so perky when Lark and Safety were still missing? Clutching Taggie’s hand, asking her for the hundredth time if she were warm enough, he heard the chugging of a plane.

They were then startled by a chorus of bleating as Safety Car’s sheep hurtled across the field, to be greeted by hoarse whickering. Taggie and Rupert looked at each other, frantic with hope. Could it be?

Hearing the commotion, Quickly, throwing off jet lag and a squawking Purrpuss, jumped clean over his half door, clattering across the yard, leaping over the gate into the field.

‘He’d better go chasing,’ said Rupert, then gave a shout of joy as a still weak Safety Car, supported by Lark and Bao, tottered into view, trailing overjoyed sheep, and an ecstatically whickering Quickly.

Returning from jogging – to work off all the celebratory booze before the flat season began – an incredulous Eddie raced towards Lark yelling, ‘Stable-lassie come home,’ and despite her laughing that she was all dirty and scruffy, he kissed her almost unconscious, begging her never to leave him again.

Word hurtled round and Safety Car received a greater if more restrained welcome than for any of his thirty wins, as yard and stud poured out and gathered round. Every inch of him was stroked and patted, particularly by an ecstatic, incredulous Marketa.

‘He could probably use a drink,’ said Rupert in a shaken voice. Only after he had summoned Charlie Radcliffe to check every hair of Safety’s emaciated body was the old boy bedded down in the barn. Here, jealously watched by Quickly and with a thunderously purring Purrpuss curled up between his front legs, Safety Car, counting sheep friends, fell into a deep sleep.

‘Time for you and me to talk.’ Rupert shook Bao’s hand. ‘You can have the £500,000 reward as long as you don’t put it on a horse – and at least the Green Galloper will get worldwide coverage.’

Rupert gave Eddie’s carer strict instructions to take Taggie straight back to bed, then took Bao into his office and poured him a vast vodka and tonic.

‘I can’t begin to thank you for saving Safety. I want to know exactly how you and Lark found him, but first I must apologize for totally misjudging you. We heard you were at Valhalla with Wang, and Jan claimed to have found one of my lucky shirts in your room, and a photograph of Wang and your mother in a pocket.’

Bao took a huge gulp, eyes watering at the strength, and then collapsed on the sofa.

‘Mr Campbell-Black, you are very good kind man.’

‘That’s pushing it a bit.’

‘But you have wicked enemies and they are very bad men. Wang is on bed with Cosmo Rannaldini. He give him many billions. He has spend forty million on stallion called Boo Sucks. He want to be big racing man. He kill anyone in his way.’

‘My God,’ said Rupert.

‘He kill husband of Milburn Gala, because he try to save
rhino. My father is successful workaholic, my mother loved him but feel he should have stop adoption of my sister, so marriage in trouble. Wang hates my father for his success, and he wanted my mother because she is beautiful, so he murder his first television star wife and marry my mother and promise to find my sister, but he never did. My mother not happy with Wang. I worry stiffly for her. I went to Valhalla to check she was OK.’

Bao got up and started pacing the room.

‘Wang was there, he much like Dame Hermione and opera. I play the piano for Dame Hermione, she sing Schubert Trout. That Chablis was there.’

Rupert smiled slightly. ‘You mean Sauvignon.’

‘Sorry, Sauvignon. I heard Wang ask her if she was having a baby. She say she miscarry in January, but I think she and Cosmo make whole things up to divide you and Young Eddie.’

‘Well, we’re back together now,’ said Rupert, as Gilchrist and Cuthbert scampered in from their dog walk with Clover, and went into growling battle to be the one to sit on Master’s knee.

‘I hear Wang say he would help Sauvignon have baby,’ went on Bao, ‘and he much fancy her. This makes my mother sad, so I must rescue her, because Wang takes out wives when he wants to move on.’

‘Christ, where does Jan fit into all this?’

Bao took another large gulp.

‘I think Jan wish to destroy you. He know you love Safety and kidnap him to upset Quickry. Mr Old Eddie’s loving horses give him chance to visit stud. Jan let out Love Rat. He hack into all your calls. He off tip Cosmo about red Filly and tell him moment you take on Tarqui and sack Young Eddie. He take lucky shirt. I’m sure he frighten Quickry in Leger. And Smith black, Marti Farrell, who put nail through Quickry’s foot in Derby now works for Wang in China.’

‘Jesus! Why aren’t you working for MI5?’ An outraged Rupert poured himself a vast whisky and topped up Bao’s vodka. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I want to tell you these things but think I might imagine mistake like I gave Quickry too big water before Derby. Then I hack into call and hear Jan’s kidnapped Safety, taking him to
Italy, and learn detail of lorry he is using. It was terrible there, poor boy. Horses must never travel like that. Lark was wonderful, she save his life, and gun you gave me.’

‘You saved it too. Who sabotaged Quickly’s saddle in the World Cup?’

‘I do not know. Jan was in England. Could have been Chablis, I mean Sauvignon, but I do not think she know enough about horse. Difficult with much security, but someone from Cosmo’s team in same barn could have done it.

‘It go on. I think Jan give horses virus before Royal Ascot. Wang knew my father excited to come and wanted to spoil it. Jan put Russell Jack,’ Bao smoothed Gilchrist’s brown and white forehead, ‘in horse walker and bugs in your bedroom.’