Jump. Part 80

'You need five people for each covering,' continued Bianca.

'One man to hold the mare with a twitch, one to hold the stallion, one to hold the tail out of the way, one to see if the stallion has e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed and one to guide the p.e.n.i.s in.'

'Poor mares, just like a levee after a royal wedding,' said Dora indignantly.

'Whatever. Talking of weddings,' said Bianca, 'should I marry Feral?'

'Bit young, he's lovely but only twenty.'

It was a beautiful evening, robins and blackbirds singing their heads off, tree shadows striping the frost-bleached fields. A little foal in a paddock below, his beige coat darkened by rain, was attempting to s.h.a.g his mother.

'That's one of Love Rat's,' said Bianca, 'starting early.'

'G.o.d, I love foals,' sighed Dora. 'Where is Love Rat?'

'Here,' said Bianca, turning right.

Unlike Rupert's other stallions who were confined to barracks, Pens...o...b.. Love Rat, father of l.u.s.ty, had a low boredom threshold and was allowed to roam free for part of the day in an electrically fenced field.

With his huge hindquarters, barrel chest and n.o.ble head he was a splendid sight, particularly as, like a teenager, he tossed his long blond mane, through which the setting sun was streaming. From the branch of a huge sycamore, already putting out acidgreen buds, hung rubber tyres, even a rubber horse to keep him amused.

Love Rat's stud fee was 100,000 but the mares frequently presented to him did not flutter his pulses. He was a free spirit who disliked formalized cover.

'Are you sure your father's in Dubai?' asked Dora, as Love Rat wandered up to them.

'Quite,' said Bianca, but she turned paler than Lysander when Dora suggested a bit of nooky, known in the trade as 'stolen service'.

'Daddy'd kill you.'

'He won't know,' said Dora airily.

'One of the screens in Daddy's office looks straight into this field,' protested Bianca.

'Go and switch it off,' said Dora. 'It's the ideal time, March or earlier. The gestation period is eleven months so she'd foal in February.'

'What about the National?' quavered Bianca.

'They can run up to five months,' said Dora, scribbling excitedly in her notebook.

Dora and Bianca put covering boots like great fluffy Uggs on both Mrs Wilkinson and Love Rat so they didn't hurt each other, then fed Mrs Wilkinson into Love Rat's field.

Instantly she became very skittish, whinnying, bucking and flashing her f.a.n.n.y at Love Rat. They then had a heavenly time consummating the marriage.

'At least nine minutes,' said Dora proudly. 'Much better than jockeys. And they didn't need five humans to guide anything.'

Afterwards Love Rat nuzzled Mrs Wilkinson and licked her very fondly.

'He doesn't do that normally,' said Bianca.

'Just rolls over and goes to sleep,' grinned Dora, and rewarded Love Rat with the rest of Mrs Wilkinson's Polos.

As a result Mrs Wilkinson cheered up no end and ate a large tea when she returned to her box.

'Eating for two already,' said Dora happily. 'Love matches are best.'

'Then I should marry Feral,' declared Bianca, 'and Daddy won't bully me to get a job.'

'What are you two laughing about?' asked an ashen Lysander, limping back after being bucked off and attacked by Furious.

Dora couldn't resist telling him. Lysander nearly fainted: 'Christ, Dora! Rupert'll fire me, and send you a bill for a hundred thousand.'

'You'll have to sell a lot of stories for that,' said Bianca. 'Better not put it in the Racing Post Racing Post. The marriage has been arranged between Love Rat Campbell-Black, and Mrs Usurper Wilkinson.'

'Don't call her Usurper,' shuddered Dora. 'That's what hideous Harvey-Holden called her.'

Mrs Wilkinson sank back into gloom. Young Eddie, who'd been ordered on to Furious by an absent Rupert, didn't want to get savaged so instead he put the horse on the horse walker for the first time. Instantly Furious went berserk, and nearly wrecked himself and the horse walker, kicking the sides out.

Over at Throstledown, Marius, despite Amber moving in, was absolutely devastated by the departure of his two star horses. He'd picked himself up from the floor once too often. Chisolm was on hunger strike and bleated incessantly for her friend. Mrs Wilkinson's box was left empty. All the horses, particularly Sir Cuthbert and Count Romeo, peered in hopefully. The lads, in despair, even missed being bitten by Furious.

Rafiq had cried and cried when Furious was taken away. Even though trainers were offering him rides, the media were avid to interview him and agents desperate to handle him, he could hardly force himself up in the morning, he was missing Furious so much.

Tommy soldiered on but bled inside, missing Wilkie, desperately sorry for Marius, spurned by Rafiq. Trixie was devastated. Her difficult but endearing charge had been whipped away. None of Marius's other horses had the same appeal. Eddie promised he would put in a word when Rupert came back from Dubai.

The papers, however, which had led on Glorious Furious's spectacular victory on Sat.u.r.day and spent endless column inches working out why Mrs Wilkinson fell at three out, were by Tuesday slagging off Valent and Rupert for taking the horses away from Marius. Both men were getting hate mail.

Marius, however, was a gentleman. He had already given Rupert details of the fads and feeding habits of Furious and Wilkie, although he forgot to mention the tricks she did for a Polo. When he heard from Dora that both horses were going into a decline, he offered to lend Tommy, Rafiq and Chisolm to Rupert until after the National. The move wasn't entirely altruistic. He was fed up with Rafiq's tantrums, and he wanted his horses, particularly Sir Cuthbert who was entered for the National, to get some sleep.

It was a measure of Tommy and Rafiq, and particularly their love for Wilkie and Furious, that they were prepared to go and work for the hated enemy. But despite young Eddie's pleas, there was no way Rupert was going to allow a schoolgirl like Trixie loose in his yard.

133.

Rupert tolerated Tommy and Chisolm moving in, but he didn't want the moody, darkly resentful Rafiq, who looked at him with such loathing, muttering what sounded like curses under his breath. Rupert's sweet wife Taggie had made matters worse by insisting 'poor Tommy and Rafiq' stay in the house. 'It's only for a few days, and they must be so devastated losing both Mrs Wilkinson and Furious.'

On the first morning, a silent, sullen Rafiq sat in Rupert's Land-Rover watching Mrs Wilkinson and Furious being taken over National-size fences in a tiny forty-by-twenty-metre school to teach them to jump more carefully. Neither of them performed well with Eddie Alderton. Rafiq expressed disapproval of Mrs Wilkinson being restricted by a cross noseband and a ring bit.

'A great jockey called Terry Biddlecombe,' Rupert felt he was being extremely decent to explain, 'travelled five miles in a four and a half Grand National because his horse wandered. Mrs Wilkinson hangs left; she's got to learn to run straight.'

Mrs Wilkinson looked listless, then terrified as they moved on to Rupert's uphill gallop, and Eddie, his feet practically touching the ground on either side, got out his bat to make her go faster.

A horrified Rafiq dropped his guard: 'You are crazy. If you knock her about she stop trying, and Furious, I know he seem vicious but he is insecure and if he's threatened he get more angry. Both horses need treating gentle.'

'Both horses need experienced riders on their backs,' snapped Rupert.

'That's why he win Gold Cup with me,' spat Rafiq. 'And you should put Amber back on Mrs Wilkinson. They are twin soul.'

'Amber is beautifully balanced and controlled going over fences. But she lacks the power to hold up and to force a finish.'

Why, wondered Rupert, was he bothering to justify himself to this arrogant little s.h.i.t?

Reaching the top of the gallops, they were greeted by a wonderful view of fields and donkey-brown woodland in a geometric pattern of stone walls stretching to the horizon. Spring seemed to have gone into retreat as a bitter east wind flattened the gra.s.s and Rupert's long lake had gone grey, mirroring the lowering skies above.

Leaping out of the Land-Rover to escape Rupert's antagonism, Rafiq gasped at the cold, then gasped in horror as Eddie Alderton suddenly swung Mrs Wilkinson off the gallops, straight down the rollercoaster ride. Now Eddie whooped and yelled, and it was Mrs Wilkinson's turn to be terrified so witless she closed her eye until she reached the bottom. If it had not been for the pain caused by the ring bit, she would have sc.r.a.ped Eddie off by running under the branches of the nearby beech. Next moment Tommy came panting up.

'How dare you!' she shouted at Eddie. 'How could you be so cruel! You'll set her back years. Don't you know what a terrible past she had, her eye gouged out, look at the scars on her body. Someone was obscenely cruel to her, and now you're being obscenely cruel all over again. There, there, my pet,' Tommy caught Mrs Wilkinson's reins. 'That b.l.o.o.d.y bridle's made her mouth bleed, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Oh, put a sock in it.' Eddie pretended to play a violin.

Rafiq's mood was not improved later in the day when Eddie brought Tommy a bunch of daffodils picked from Rupert's garden, apologized for upsetting her, and took her off to see the stud and the stallions in her break.

'They're so beautiful,' sighed Tommy as Peppy Koala was led past. 'Jump horses like l.u.s.ty and Sir Cuthbert go on for ages, awful to think flat horses end their glorious careers so early.'

'I don't know,' drawled Eddie, 'I'd much rather f.u.c.k all day than be thrashed within an inch of my life for not running round a racetrack fast enough.'

Rafiq, who was hovering, could see a blush creeping up Tommy's cheek.

'Is it easier racing in England?' she asked.

Eddie grinned. 'Sure, the horses are slower.'

Meanwhile, every time Dora drove in and out the press accosted her.

'Which story are you doing? Marius and Amber, Bonny back with Valent, Wilkie and Furious going to Rupert, or Rogue Rogers wrecking his career for love?'

'All four,' replied Dora happily.

Chisolm was having a lovely time, her column in the Mirror getting more and more unbridled: 'Here I am at Pens...o...b... Never a dull moment. Excellent primroses and violets. Love Rat, Rupert's top stallion, whinnies to Mrs Wilkinson every time she pa.s.ses. Furious kicked Rupert's black Labrador Banquo yesterday. Rupert very cross. Why can't he talk to the rest of us in the loving, "Come to Daddy" way he talks to his dogs?'

'Watch it,' snapped Rupert.

Great reservoirs of rage kept bubbling up over Rogue losing him the Gold Cup and forcing him to sack him. If only he could get him back. Agents were never off the telephone offering him lousy replacements for his three National horses.

Valent and Hengist Brett-Taylor, who was still making his film about Beau Regard, Mrs Wilkinson and the Willowwood legend, kept trying to persuade Rupert to put Rafiq up on Furious. Rupert, however, had been poring over the videos of Rafiq's races, noting the ones when his horses should have won, and concluded Rafiq was bent. That horse Bullydozer had certainly been n.o.bbled at Leopardstown.

The police had already warned him to watch out.

'Rafiq's OK,' insisted Hengist. 'He learnt his lesson inside.'

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks,' said Rupert. 'Bang up heavy-duty villains together, they just learn more skills to continue their villainy.'

Nor was Amber finding it easy at Throstledown. None of the stable staff liked the new hierarchy. Would Miss Toffeenose end up as the boss's wife?

Her allies, Tommy and Rafiq, had gone to Pens...o...b... Painswick, who'd been devastated by the departure of Wilkie and Furious, didn't approve of Amber in Marius's bed. Wandering down to the yard one morning, Amber found Tresa reading OK! and gossiping to Josh.

'Amber's always got to the top on her back,' she was saying.

'Rubbish,' shouted Amber, making them both jump, 'I got to the top on Wilkie's back,' and stormed off upstairs.

Amber found it such a bleak house. Marius, however kind he was to her, was above all a trainer, one-track and focused, who worked a seventeen-hour day, rising at five and not going to bed until after the ten o'clock news. No time really for love. Mistletoe the lurcher, who now shadowed Amber, was her only friend.

Poor Amber was in such a muddle. She was finding the relationship with Marius too frenzied. He was too needing of comfort and he still talked in his sleep about Olivia, whose presence was stamped all over the house.

Then she read, in Katie Nicholl's column in the Mail on Sunday Mail on Sunday, that Olivia had been seen this week having a discreet drink with Rogue, and Amber felt the same searing red-hot-poker jab of jealousy. Rogue's colours were superimposed on her heart rather than the racecourse.

She must get back on a horse. She longed to ride Sir Cuthbert in the National but Lady Crowe had a soft spot for goofy Awesome and insisted he was given the ride on her old horse. Amber had been gutted to be jocked off Wilkie. She couldn't bear the thought of Eddie Alderton beating her and yanking her around.

Finally, she was sick with worry about her father, who'd told the BBC he couldn't cover the three days at Aintree but hoped to fly up to interview Amber if she got a ride in the National. He didn't realize he simply hadn't the strength.

Feeling horribly disloyal to Marius, knowing the press would have a field day, Amber rang her G.o.dmother Taggie to discover when Rupert had ten minutes free and drove over to Pens...o...b... She had spent a lot of time there as a child, but always been aware that Rupert was the rich man in his castle, the Lloyd-Foxes the comparatively poor men at his gate. Rupert's daughter Tabitha had won Olympic Gold for eventing and another daughter, Eddie's mother Perdita, was an international polo player. Suddenly Amber had a desperate urge to be up with them.

Taggie hugged her, loving as ever, but she looked hara.s.sed. 'I'm afraid Rupert's very uptight.'

Amber found Rupert in his office, which had two doors so he could escape from people he didn't want to see; probably her as well, when she begged him to let her ride Mrs Wilkinson.

'Dad's only got a few weeks to live. He'll never see another Grand National.'

'You don't have the experience,' said Rupert flatly, horrified how thin and pale she looked. 'It's too tough for a slight girl on a very small horse. Aintree has made heroic efforts to make the entire course, and particularly the fences, more forgiving, but there are still thirty of them. Thirty fences, four and a half miles, loose horses careering everywhere, like no other race. Statistically half the field don't come home. No mare's won for years. No woman rider's ever won. No grey's won since Nicolaus Silver. The odds are against you. Like girls playing rugger against Martin Johnson.' Rupert took a deep breath. 'I don't want to risk you or Mrs Wilkinson's lives, angel.'

'Mrs Wilkinson will be much safer if I'm riding her. Her whiskers have grown, we'll slide through the gaps. Please, Rupert, for Dad's sake.'

Bitterly regretting there would now be no chance of Eddie riding his grandfather's three-thousandth winner on the People's Pony, Rupert agreed to let Amber ride her instead.

'But you're going to have to build up some muscle. Tomorrow you're taking Wilkie drag hunting, four runs over really fast, high black fences to give her some practice.'

Feeling sick with guilt, Amber drove back to Throstledown. Marius was so proud, would he regard her riding Wilkie as the final betrayal and chuck her out? Mistletoe ran out to welcome her, but Painswick had fortunately gone shopping. Amber was about to break the news to Marius when a car drew up and a lot of terriers and India Oakridge fell out.

'Daddy, Daddy,' screamed India, rushing into the office, 'look what Mummy's just bought me.'

They were the first cuddly Wilkinsons and Chisolms.

'They're absolutely awesome. Wilkie neighs, sticks her tongue out and shakes hands and Chisolm bleats and b.u.t.ts people. Look, she's got a flower in her mouth. Aren't they lovely?'

'That is neat,' said Amber, picking up Wilkie, 'and just like her. Where did you get it?'

'Cavendish House, they're galloping out of the shops,' said India's mother, walking in wearing dark gla.s.ses.

'Look at Chisolm,' cried India. Having wound up the goat, she put her on the table, where she promptly b.u.t.ted Marius's whisky on to the floor.

'Well done, Chisolm,' said Olivia coolly. 'Daddy shouldn't be drinking whisky in the middle of the afternoon anyway.' Then, turning to Amber, 'And you can get out. This is where I belong.'

If it hadn't been for the split-second lighthouse beam of hope and happiness on Marius's face, Amber might have put up a ght.

'OK, I'll pack my things.'

'Amber, wait,' called out Marius, but he didn't follow her upstairs.

There wasn't much to pack, she'd lived in Marius's shirts since she'd been there.