Jump. Part 73

Phoebe, who had muscled her way in with Debbie, was boasting, 'I run the Willowwood syndicate. You should see Wilkie's fan mail. Yes, she's only five hands.'

Everyone was provided with notebooks to record pearls dropped by the panel.

Then Amber sauntered in from an interview with RTE, and the room went quiet. Television make-up had lengthened her yellow eyes and emphasized her big mouth. Piled-up gold hair showed off her lovely bone structure and long, slender neck. She was wearing high-heeled brown boots and a short, flesh-coloured shift with a big butch leather belt. She'd already had several gla.s.ses of champagne. Suddenly, every man in the room wanted to know how this ravishing young jockey rated Mrs Wilkinson's chances.

During dinner, after a first course of smoked salmon, the microphone was brought over to her and Marius's table.

'Tell us about Mrs Wilkinson.'

'Every time she stands up, she wins,' replied Amber proudly. 'Everything I ask her, she gives. She's a street fighter. At Cheltenham, there'll be enough horses breathing down her neck to gee her or rather gee-gee her up. She's absolutely gorgeous.'

'That's enough,' snapped Marius.

'There's a cloud over Mrs Wilkinson,' volunteered one of the panel. 'She's never won over three miles.'

'She won the King George that's three miles,' protested Amber.

'Do you want to tell us about Furious?' the interviewer asked Marius, who shook his head.

'Furious is like an Alsatian,' chipped in Amber. 'One doesn't take liberties. He's like Liam Gallagher. He may not come out of his dressing room, but if he does wow!'

The audience were captivated. A great Irish racing journalist got up and dismissed both Furious's and Mrs Wilkinson's chances.

'Furious is too edgy: never take an edgy horse to Cheltenham. Mrs Wilkinson has a wonderful jockey,' he raised his gla.s.s to Amber, who could now be seen on the big screen coaxing Wilkie over the vast Kempton fences, 'but she's too small and carrying too much weight. It's too big an ask.'

'Boo,' yelled Amber.

'Eat up your dinner,' chided the Major.

Another panellist announced that he wouldn't look beyond Ilkley Hall. Shade smirked.

'Which of your horses will win?' the interviewer asked Dermie O'Driscoll.

'Squiffey Liffey is not slow,' said Dermie carefully. 'He'll go out and run a big race. Hopefully he'll be thereabouts.'

There was also a wonderful drunk on the panel who kept interrupting and getting lost: 'That happened where we were last week, somewhere up north, the winner was called it's slipped my memory.'

Amber, who had gone off table-hopping, was having a heavenly time.

'I've met Willie Mullins, Tom and Elaine Taaffe, and Michael Hourigan, who's going to send me a picture of Beef or Salmon, and JP, who's got such merry eyes. I've always slagged off handicappers but I met a sweet one who showed me the way to the Ladies but wouldn't follow me in in case he got arrested,' she babbled to Marius, as she collapsed giggling on the chair beside him. 'And I met Ted Walsh who's so nice but he said such a spooky thing about Wilkie, that she was like Kicking King, who was so brave and compet.i.tive he raced his heart out, literally. I'd hate that to happen to Wilkie.'

Amber had table-hopped in an attempt to avoid Shade, who with an evil, knowing smile on his big lips, seldom took his heavylidded eyes off her. She felt like a baby bird being eyed up by a big greedy tomcat while its mother was off searching for worms. Marius was hardly a mother bird but she stayed close to him, knowing Shade wouldn't try while he was around.

The panel was winding up. Amber was ashamed she'd written so little about the Gold Cup in her notebook. Marius had written nothing.

'Have you rung Valent?' she asked him.

'I lost my mobile at the races. It's got Valent's number; it's got everyone's number. I can't even ring Painswick.' He was ashamed what a relief it was.

'I've probably got it,' said Amber. 'I found one in my bag when I got back to the hotel. You must have dropped it when Bully, when Bully, oh Christ-' Her voice broke. 'He was such a sweet horse so sort of humble. My father had a horse he adored like that called The Bull.'

'Let's go,' said Marius. 'They're about to start the auction, and I don't want to bid five thousand for a visit to Dermie O'Driscoll's yard. I've spent quite enough this weekend. Don't say goodbye to anyone, just go.'

Amber caught a glimpse of Shade's outraged face, the tomcat deprived of its baby bird, as Marius whisked her out of a side door.

'Come and pick up your mobile,' she said idly, 'and see my amazing suite.'

121.

'Christ,' said Marius, as he followed Amber into the Parnell Suite.

There were flowers everywhere, champagne on ice, a sitting room with sofas and chairs, a desk, two minibars to mock him when he wasn't drinking, and a television set which welcomed Miss Amber Lloyd-Foxe to the Shelbourne.

On the wall, beside watercolours of rolling hay bales and distant mountains, was a picture of Parnell: dark, balding, one slanting eye bigger than the other.

'The only thing it says on his grave is "Parnell born 1846"; isn't that cool?' said Amber. 'That's fame for you. Nice name for a horse, Parnell, bound to be taken. Here's your mobile. I must ring and check up on Dad,' she added, going towards the telephone.

Marius knew he ought to ring Valent, but instead he prowled round the huge room. Amber was a star like Parnell. He was proud and grateful to her for talking up his horses this evening. She had mellowed and was so much less arrogant than she used to be.

'Dad's sleeping,' she said, putting down the telephone. Immediately it rang.

'Go to bed, Awesome,' she said, hanging up. 'He's having a sauna with Mich.e.l.le and Tresa,' she told Marius.

Marius laughed when she told him about the v.i.a.g.r.a.

'Help yourself to the minibar,' she said, 'and can you open that bottle of champagne?'

'You've had enough.'

Amber escaped to the loo and found herself cleaning her teeth, then spraying on buckets of Madame to hide the smell of toothpaste, then powdering her nose. Returning, she found herself a gla.s.s and flipped through her messages. Two newspapers and a radio station were confirming interviews for tomorrow. She mustn't be late or get too hammered.

Suddenly she wanted Marius to kiss her, but turning she saw he'd opened his briefcase and was studying Monday's schooling lists to check which lad would be schooling which horse over fences or hurdles, and flipping through the DVDs of horses he might buy. He was flying straight to Leeds tomorrow, then on to Wetherby where he'd meet Josh and Tommy, Oh My Goodness and Romeo.

'Don't you ever let up?' she said sulkily.

She had kicked off her boots, losing five inches. Wandering towards the window, she opened the curtains a fraction. Below her, bare trees tossed like a silver sea. A horse clopped past, taking someone home in a cart. On the corner of the square, a floodlit statue of a soldier cast an ebony shadow over the pale steps behind. Amber shivered, reminded of poor Rafiq, transfixed with horror by the sight of Bullydozer's fall on the big screen.

'Weren't you pleased everyone was taking Wilkie and Furious so seriously?'

She looked at Marius who looked at her, both their resolves weakening. It seemed such a waste of a splendid bed.

Marry-us, marry-us.

'Must have a pee.' Marius took his briefcase with him, which contained a toothbrush. He used it as well as Amber's toothpaste.

But then, just as she heard the lavatory flush, there was a hammering on the door. 'b.u.g.g.e.r!' she groaned.

a.s.suming it was Rafiq, who she'd told to call her if he got too miserable, she opened the door a crack and was asphyxiated by horribly familiar rich, sweet aftershave as Shade forced his way in.

Amber tried patter. 'Why didn't you ring first? You know I'm allergic to droppers-in. What do you want?'

'Another ride.'

Oh Christ, they were in the pa.s.sageway leading to the sitting room. She prayed Marius couldn't hear; he'd never forgive her.

Shade had taken off his tie and his dinner jacket, his white silk shirt was predictably undone to the waist. He looked so devilish she expected flames to burst from his waxed nostrils and his black eyebrows to shoot up at the corners like Mephistopheles.

'I'm tired, Shade. Very tired. I've got interviews first thing. Please go.'

'Not like you. You used to be much more friendly.' Barging into the sitting room, Shade whistled.

'Nice place, get it gratis? Who did you sleep with to get this?'

As she chucked Marius's c.o.ke tin in the bin and put the champagne bottle back in the ice, he slid his hand under her dress, fingering her bottom, exploring it intimately. 'Lovely a.r.s.e.'

'Don't,' said Amber furiously.

'Don't be silly. You could be a very lucky lady and have some really exciting rides. I'd use you in all ways.'

Oh G.o.d, if Marius knew she'd s.h.a.gged Shade, such was his pathological hatred, and Valent's too, they'd never forgive her. She'd be jocked off Wilkie.

'Please go,' she screamed.

'Silly girlie, this time I'll make it really worthwhile. In the sack and out,' purred Shade. 'I'll make you come until you scream.'

'What about Olivia?' gasped Amber.

'Olivia's skiing. You and I are special. A ride for a ride, remember? You loved it last time, even if you're pretending you didn't.'

He thrust his huge, ringed hand into the neck of her dress, backs of his fingers digging into her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, before tearing the silk, sending b.u.t.tons flying, as he tore it off her. Jack the bodice ripper.

'b.l.o.o.d.y don't,' howled Amber. 'That's my favourite dress. Mariska Kay made it specially for me.'

'Relax, I'll buy you half a dozen more. Let me loosen your girths.' Undoing her leather belt, Shade slapped her with it before dropping it on the floor.

'Beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s,' he gloated. Hot breath scorched her forehead as he greedily grabbed, squeezed and tweaked, then, sliding his hands round her back, pulled her against him.

'Let me go, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' spat Amber, but as her knee came up, it encountered his towering c.o.c.k.

'Don't try that silly little game.' As Shade plunged a great sluglike tongue into her mouth, she was tempted to bite it off.

'Let me go,' she mumbled, tugging her head free. 'It's not fair to Olivia.'

'Olivia won't know a thing about it.'

'Yes she will,' said a chilling voice, 'because I'll tell her, and these horrid little things,' Marius was clicking away with Amber's oblong silver camera, 'have their uses.'

'What the f.u.c.k?' Rigid with shock and fury for a second, Shade hurled Amber across the room so she hit the table, and crashed to the floor sending the champagne flying.

'Gimme that camera.'

'Not content with stealing my wife and wasting champagne at two hundred and seventy-five euros a bottle,' drawled Marius, cool as the fallen ice bucket despite Shade giving him three stone, 'you're now trying to steal my stable jockey, you fat b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

Next moment, Shade had grabbed the champagne bottle, smashed it and was brandishing the jagged edge in Marius's face.

'Fancy some surgery?' he hissed.

In reply Marius gathered up a large pale blue lamp. 'Drop that bottle or I'll brain you.'

'You wouldn't dare.'

'Oh yes I would, and call the police and have you up on a rape charge, you f.u.c.king letch.'

Marius was so unafraid that, to Amber's amazement, Shade suddenly dropped the bottle and, growling like a huge grizzly, lumbered out of the suite.

'I'll tell Olivia her ex is back f.u.c.king the stable staff and I'll bury you,' he shouted as he slammed the door behind him.

Struggling up off the carpet, Amber tiptoed over the broken gla.s.s, collapsing on the sofa, trembling uncontrollably, burning face in her hands.

'Horrible, horrible man.'

'It's all right, darling.' Marius dropped a hand on her piled-up hair, which was also collapsing.

'I'm so sorry,' sobbed Amber. 'It was all my fault. I slept with him in exchange for a ride because I was so cross with you for not putting me up on History after Stratford.'

'Was he good in bed?'

'No, vile, crude, brutal, totally lacking in finesse. "Pleased hisself," as Joey would say.' Amber gave a choked half-laugh.

Glancing up, she was amazed to find Marius smiling in delight.

'He's right.' He pulled her up into his arms, caressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a flattened palm as if he were gentling a terrified horse. 'They are lovely and so are you. I've been an absolute s.h.i.t to you, particularly over History.' Looking down at her face, he ran a bitten-nailed finger along her quivering lower lip. 'Don't cry, let's go to bed.'

'It's no good,' sobbed Amber, jumping away from him. 'I want clean sheets, not a fling to anaesthetize the pain. You're still crazy about Olivia. If we go to bed, you'll still be crazy about her in the morning. I've got too many other things to be sad about.'

'Hush,' whispered Marius, and kissed her until she stopped struggling. 'Well?'

'Oh f.u.c.k, let's have a f.u.c.k, you are so G.o.ddamed s.e.xy and an excellent kisser, but only just this once.' Then she paused. 'Did you say "stable jockey"?'

'Yes,' said Marius, pushing her into the bedroom.

When her early call woke her, Marius had gone. Staggering replete, bow-legged into the bathroom, she found he had broken her lipstick scrawling, 'Definitely ride of the century,' on the mirror.

Rafiq had been so gutted he had retired to his bedroom and refused to go out with the other jockeys. He sat on his bed staring at the white telephone with its white pad and sharpened pencil, desperate to ring Tommy and tell her how much he loved her and why he had been so cruelly pushing her away. But he was frightened to do so in case, even here, calls were being tapped.