Jump. Part 39

The Willowwood syndicate opted to watch the race from the warmth of the Owners and Trainers bar. The television cameras, whose lenses were pearled with raindrops, picked up the arrival of Cosmo's mother, the great diva Dame Hermione Harefield, smothered in fur, who was making a great fuss about the rain and icy wind endangering her voice as she swept into the bar.

'Why in h.e.l.l did they make that stupid cow a dame?' grumbled Corinna.

Bonny, however, sidled up to her.

'Dame Hermione, you are an icon, I so admire your oeuvre.'

'What a pleasant young woman,' cried Dame Hermione. 'My son Cosmo's horse Fur Calf is running in this race and there, about to mount, is Amber Lloyd-Foxe, a very old friend of Cosmo's and G.o.d-daughter of my very good friend Rupert Campbell-Black. She's riding a horse called Furious.'

Furious at first refused to go into the parade ring, then refused to leave it, spooking at everything, lunging indiscriminately with hooves and teeth at humans and horses. Marius was reduced to legging Amber up on the path down to the course.

'There are good horses in this race,' he shouted as he hung on to Furious's reins. 'Hold him up as long as possible, don't let him tire himself, keep out of trouble and make a late run. He's very forward going,' he added as he jumped free.

'I.e., an absolute sod with no brakes,' snarled Amber.

Rafiq, ignoring her and gazing stonily into s.p.a.ce, had noticed Amber's reddened eyes. Maybe it wasn't going so well with Rogue. As he led her down to the start, he addressed her for the first time in days: 'Eeegnore Marius. I know Furious. He hate other horses, let him make it and he will run like a wind to get away from them. He like daylight. You will not see another horse. Good luck,' he added, giving Furious's ear a last pull.

The start was by the B1224. Amber wished she was hurtling away in one of the cars as Furious, tail lashing, ears glued to his head, took a lunge first at Umbridge, then at Fur Calf, then at Ilkley Hall to a chorus of f.u.c.k offs.

And they were off, hurtling through the downpour, except Furious, who reared up and nearly right over, before taking off and carting her. After four furlongs, she gave up hauling on his mouth and let him go. Trees and houses flashed by as, bucketing over each fence, he landed running.

'Got a plane to catch?' yelled Dare Catswood as she overtook him and Umbridge.

Having walked the course, she was able to steer Furious away from boggy ground. The rain lashed her face, harder than the jockeys' whips. As other young horses in the race exhausted themselves trying to keep up with her, others were forced by the headlong pace into making errors.

Dame Hermione was giving tongue in the Owners and Trainers: 'Go on, Fur Calf, go on, Fur Calf.'

'Did Dame Hermione really shout f.u.c.k off ?' whispered Debbie to the Major in horror.

Poor Fur Calf fell at four out, Umbridge at the next.

Looking round to left and right, Amber saw the rain-shiny hats of the rest of the jockeys bobbing like seals in the distance. The race was at Furious's mercy as the winning post flashed by.

'You glorious horse,' gasped Amber, brandishing her whip in the air. Furious punished her by taking about three weeks to pull up.

Rogue, who had no opinion of Furious, had from the motor-way seen the horses circling at the start and noticed Amber on board. She'll be riding me later, he thought complacently. For the moment, she wouldn't have a hope of holding up Furious. Contemptuously parking his blue Ferrari at an angle, he loped towards the paddock.

But no one ran faster than Rafiq, as he raced up to welcome Furious, hugging him, patting him over and over again, kissing his sly chestnut face, crying, 'Oh, thank you, thank you,' then praising Allah and patting him again.

'Don't pat him so loudly,' mocked Amber, 'or I won't be able to hear myself boast.' Then she smiled. 'Oh Rafiq, this is an absolutely fantastic horse, he could win a Derby, he could go round again. He's hardly blowing, couldn't blow out his own birthday cake. You were right, I didn't see another horse.'

Looking down at Rafiq's dark, arrogant, sulky face totally transformed by happiness, split by a huge white grin, Amber ignored Alice Plunkett's microphone.

'Welcome me home,' she murmured and bending down, kissed Rafiq long and lingeringly on the mouth, only drawing away as Marius came striding up.

'Amber,' he roared, 'why in h.e.l.l didn't you hold him up? He's beaten so many good horses by so many lengths, he'll be top weight in his next race.'

'You b.l.o.o.d.y well try riding him. Don't be so ungrateful,' howled Rafiq, turning on an amazed Marius, at which point Furious, in support, bit Marius sharply on the arm, to distract him from firing Rafiq.

As quickly as it had started, the deluge stopped and the sun came out to admire this wonderful horse. The Willowwood syndicate, who'd backed him for a joke, were ecstatic.

'I'd like to lead Furious in,' cried Bonny and Corinna, reaching for their powder compacts.

'I'm afraid he's not our horse yet,' laughed the Major, 'but by Jove, he ran well.'

'I think we should try and buy him,' said Seth, putting his arm round a cheering, sobbing Etta. 'Your baby's come good, darling.'

'Hasn't he?' gasped Etta. 'But he's Rafiq's baby, he made him, he always had faith.'

Dame Hermione, who'd intended to lead in Fur Calf, was most put out.

Fur Calf's owner, her son Cosmo, was even angrier, eyes blazing, face white with fury above his late father's black astrakhan coat. He had flown back from New York especially and bet very heavily. So had Harvey-Holden, who'd put 10,000 on Umbridge at 301 and had expected to clean up.

As Willowwood swarmed down to congratulate Amber and Rafiq, they were overtaken by Rogue, racing towards the winners enclosure.

'That guy's appealing,' observed Bonny.

'All the time,' said Joey.

Having placated and congratulated Marius 'Desperately sorry, bad crash outside Wakefield. Ill wind though, I probably wouldn't have won on him' Rogue turned to Amber, who'd probably have slapped his laughing, unrepentant face if she hadn't been clutching her saddle on her way to weigh in.

'Well done, darling, brilliant. You'll probably win Ride of the Week, might win it later.' Dropping his voice, he drew her aside.

'Not with you on my back,' hissed Amber.

'Hush, hush, darling, we'll discuss it over dinner.'

'We will not, you never confirmed it. I've got a better offer.'

'But I've booked 20 The Calls, a lovely hotel in Leeds,' said Rogue softly, 'and the unbridled suite for later.'

'You'd better take Tara Wilson then,' spat Amber. 'She looks as though she needs a good night's sleep,' and she stalked off to weigh in.

The water in the shower was cold, bringing her back to reality. All the joy of winning was extinguished because she'd stood up Rogue. As she talked briefly to the press, she could see him doing a number on Bonny.

As she drove home in the dusk, she pa.s.sed a crash outside Wakefield, still holding up oncoming traffic for miles. Maybe he had been delayed. Maybe he had just been escorting a drunken Tara Wilson out of that nightclub. Tears poured down her face. People kept ringing and texting to congratulate her, but each time, because it wasn't Rogue, she had difficulty being polite. She was asphyxiated by the smell of burning bridges.

b.l.o.o.d.y jockeys.

Her thoughts drifted towards Rafiq. That had been a great kiss and he'd stuck up for her to Marius and risked getting the sack. Marius hadn't praised her and he hadn't even noticed Rafiq kissing her.

b.l.o.o.d.y trainers.

67.

All the way home, Mich.e.l.le and Josh went on and on about the wonder of Bonny Richards. A silent Rafiq, ripped apart by emotions, gazed out at the stars and a sickle moon, with which he'd have liked to cut down both of them. His beloved Furious, after such an impressive victory, would be a target for every owner. His beloved Amber had kissed him and asked him to welcome her home, and she'd clearly had a blazing row with Rogue.

As the lorry left, she had told him she just might drop into the yard later to break the journey home to Pens...o...b... And Rafiq had found himself saying that, as Tommy was away, why didn't Amber crash out on her bed?

Why had he said that? Now he wouldn't sleep all night praying she turned up.

That was the worst part of being a lad. Trainers and owners swanned off and drank champagne all night while you faced an endless journey home, after which you had to unload, feed, water and settle the horses, fall into bed and be up again at six to ride out. The horses didn't get champagne either, thought Rafiq, only a net of hay.

Without Tommy around he had to put Furious and History Painting to bed as well as a thoroughly depressed Mrs Wilkinson, to whom the races had come to mean lots of clapping and cheering in the winners enclosure. She was in no mood to hear Chisolm's grumbling about boxed ears and indigestion after raiding Ione's veggie patch and eating Mich.e.l.le's scarf.

Having patted Dilys and given Furious a final good-night hug, Rafiq emerged from their box, wondering if he'd ever been so tired in his life, to find Amber outside, her hair as gold as the sickle moon which, across the valley, was setting into the dark arms of the Willowwood Chestnut.

'I looked in at the Fox, everyone's drinking to you and Furious. I wanted to buy you a drink to thank you,' she said. 'I bought a bottle instead. I've had a few, don't think I ought to drive home. Thought I'd take up your offer of Tommy's bed.'

Josh, already plastered, had urged her to go back and s.h.a.g Rafiq. 'Might improve the moody sod's temper.'

Rafiq's face betrayed no emotion.

He might kiss me, thought Amber sulkily, but having showed her the bathroom and Tommy's room, he bade her good night.

Amber was touched by Tommy's room. Just as Tommy would never leave a horse's box unskipped out, she had put a clean sheet and a duvet cover, patterned with jaunty Jack Russells, on her bed ready for her return. You could hardly see the walls for photographs of horses Tommy'd looked after, alongside pictures of Rafiq, Etta, Marius, Amber herself and of Tommy's parents and her sister's wedding.

On the mantelpiece were trophies she'd won, and on the shelves books on racing, autobiographies of great jockeys, novels by d.i.c.k Francis and Johnnie Francome and slimming videos. They hadn't worked, nor had the exercise bicycle in the corner.

Beside the bed was a rocking horse alarm clock, which neighed, made a sound of galloping hooves and never let Tommy down, and a biography she was reading of Amber's father, Billy. Seeing his sweet youthful face on the cover, Amber shivered at the memory of how pale and ill he'd looked earlier. It was b.l.o.o.d.y cold in this room.

Having warmed herself up with a shower and washed her hair with Tommy's shampoo, she smothered herself in Tommy's lily of the valley body lotion. It was much sweeter, appropriately, than the sophisticated, s.e.xy Madame that Amber normally wore. She examined herself in the mirror, waxed, highlighted, toned, scented, toe nails painted, raring for Rogue. She looked b.l.o.o.d.y gorgeous. If she hadn't blown him out, she'd be in Leeds drinking Dom Perignon in a four-poster.

Finding a bottle of white in the little fridge, she took a slug and pulled a face. Too sweet again. Pity to waste herself and him, she thought, catching sight of a rare smiling photo of Rafiq. Everyone knew of his police record, his dangerous past, how only terror of losing his job contained his terrible temper, which he'd lost when he'd stuck up for her today.

In the drawer, she found neatly folded clothes. Tommy's scarlet pyjama bottoms fell to the ground when she tried them on, so she put on a white cotton nightdress.

Taking Tommy's kettle she could always pretend she was going to fill it for a hot-water bottle she opened the door, slap into Rafiq. Both jumped out of their gooseflesh.

His newly washed hair was shiny as a raven's wing, his midnight-blue pyjamas, b.u.t.toned up to a high collar, looked wet or was it sweat?

'I wash them and put them in dryer, but they didn't dry enough. I wanted to ...' confessed Rafiq.

'Look gorgeous for me?' murmured Amber. 'And you do, but you better get out of them. You'll find me much more fun than an Equicizer.'

Taking his hand, she led him back into Tommy's room. They gazed at each other.

'What about Rogue?'

'Only interested in f.u.c.king. All Irish jockeys are the same, they go to Ma.s.s on Sunday, confess who they've been s.h.a.gging, say their Hail Marys and carry on regardless. Hail Mary, Hail Amber, Hail f.u.c.king Tara.'

'Shut up,' interrupted Rafiq. 'Why you talk so ugly? It doesn't suit you. If you were my girl, I'd lock you away, so no one feast on your beauty.'

'Beauty?' taunted Amber. 'I didn't know you noticed.'

Rafiq ran his hand over her face. 'Lovely eyelash and eyes, proud nose, beautiful mouth, which shouldn't say ugly things.'

Very slowly he ran a finger along her lower lip, then slid his hand round to the back of her head, running fingers through her hair, gazing deep into her eyes, so close that she could smell his clean, sweet breath, his big mouth widening into a nervous smile as he gazed longingly at her lips then back to her eyes for rea.s.surance.

'I know you kiss me to annoy Rogue.'

'Not entirely,' drawled Amber, edging a little nearer. 'Shouldn't you go and pray?'

'For what?'

'For deliverance from the she-devil, who takes love where she finds it. The infidel incapable of fidelity.'

'Once you find love with me,' said Rafiq haughtily, 'you will seek no further.' He stroked her bare arms, his touch so sure yet gentle. 'I am in no hurry, unlike your jockey lovers, to reach winning post.'

Amber unb.u.t.toned his pyjama top, sliding her hands inside and catching her breath. His body was wonderful, silken, sleek, and as hard with muscle as Furious. Pulling him down on the jaunty Jack Russells, she undid more b.u.t.tons, kissing his chest, running her tongue through the dark down of hair, feeling him shudder. Tentatively his tongue slid into her mouth, feather-light.

He was clearly not going to make the running so she undid the b.u.t.tons of her nightdress, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him, hearing him gasp in wonder and she gasped too a second later, as he began to stroke them. The magic touch of his fingers was soothing away the hurt of the day. Dropping his head, he licked one hardening nipple then the other. His tongue was unhurried, roving.

'Oh G.o.d, Rafiq, was the Kama Sutra your set book?'

'Wrong country,' murmured Rafiq. 'To us, s.e.x comes naturally. Feel this.' Pushing her back on the Jack Russells, his hand crept up her thigh, millimetre by millimetre, smiling as she gasped and moaned. 'My little infidel.'

'That is so lovely.'

As he pushed two fingers in and out, deeper and deeper, she was reduced to begging until the fingers strayed upwards, as delicate as the fluttering of a b.u.t.terfly's wings, caressing on and on. It was only when she was shaken by earthquake tremors that she realized she'd come.

'Wow, that was something else.' Then, seeing how moved and delighted Rafiq was: 'Now it's your turn.

'Wow, quadrupled,' she gasped as she pulled down his pyjamas and his c.o.c.k sprang out. 'That is truly awesome, Childe Roland to the dark tower came, or came because of the dark tower.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Nonsense, wanting you so badly makes me silly. You were so brave to stick up for me earlier, and now you're sticking up for me again.'

'Stop taking p.i.s.s,' Rafiq cuffed her gently, 'and welcome me home.'

But when Amber crouched down, seizing his c.o.c.k, tongue happy to pleasure him with an art in which she knew she was expert, he wriggled away. Instead he laid her on the bed, gliding into her with the joy of a speedboat plunging into a warm ocean. Controlled at first, in and out, in and out, changing positions they thrust and arched together. Rafiq could smell Tommy's familiar lily of the valley on Amber's golden b.r.e.a.s.t.s and Tommy's shampoo on her hair, which cascaded over the pillow. He could smell Tommy's Polos on her breath.

The jaunty Jack Russells got squashed, as Amber and Rafiq rode finish after finish. They were both so fit, sleep escaped them for at least fifty minutes until Rafiq suddenly shouted a few words in Punjabi and erupted inside her.

He rested his head for an age on her shoulder and she realized he was sobbing. Rolling off her, he turned her face to his, saying with sudden terrifying intensity, 'I love you, Amber, thank you, thank you, you welcome me home.'

He was so vulnerable, she mustn't hurt him. She'd never been good at commitment. Tommy said he was often racked by night-mares and sure enough, he woke sobbing again half an hour later.

As she snuggled against him he confessed he had nothing to offer her. Because of his prison record, Marius had employed him for a pathetic wage and had never bothered to raise it.

'I can give you nothing.'