‘I wouldn’t have missed it. I know how important this horse is to you all. Any excuse for a jolly, you know me!’ Dolly, noticing the lines of strain around Sage’s face, produced a little hip flask out of her handbag and offered it to Sage, hoping to provide some light relief.
‘What’s in it?’ Sage wrinkled her nose curiously.
‘Port and cherry brandy, of course,’ Dolly said, laughing. They had filled their flasks with the lethal concoction back in their Pony Club days, pretending it was just Ribena. Sage took a small sip.
‘Mmm, just like blackcurrant!’ she said, giggling and handing it back to Dolly, who took a larger, encouraging sip.
‘What mischief are you two girls hatching?’ Dennis asked, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Betsy,come on, we must leave,’ he bellowed over his shoulder towards the house.
Betsy appeared looking immaculate in a navy blue woollen trouser suit and a chic Herbert Johnson velvet beret.
‘Dennis, I have been waiting for you for at least twenty minutes. I was in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, while you were still in your bath. Don’t shout at me, please.’ It wasn’t often that Sage saw her grandmother nervous. She was desperate for the filly to be a success; Skylark’s connection to Iris made it really matter that she should succeed. ‘Hello, Dolly, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said sincerely, sliding into her seat. She had always liked the girl – she seemed to really care for bothSage and Casper. Betsy anxiously played with the string of pearls around her neck. ‘Is Casper coming today? He said he would try but I haven’t heard anything from him for a couple of days.’
‘Yes, he’s going to try, Gammy – he’s racing at Huntingdon but thinks he’ll make it to Chelmsford in time for Skylark’s race. I spoke to him last night.’ Sage felt Dolly stiffen beside her and added in an undertone, ‘Are you OK, Doll? Did you manage to work things out the other night?’
Dolly pulled a face as if to saysort of, and squeezed Sage’s hand at the same time to reassure her that she was fine.
‘Sage!’ Maggie appeared at the door, holding the portable telephone.It’s Santiago!she was mouthing frantically, holding out the device towards the car like an unexploded bomb. Sage vehemently shook her head and made apologetic expressions.
Maggie said in her soft Irish voice, ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir, but you’ve just missed her. They’re after leaving already.’ She made shooing motions with her hands so that she could not be caught in an untruth and Dennis, obediently, pulled out of the drive.
‘What the devil does Deverill want?’ said Dennis. He looked at his watch. ‘It can’t even be six a.m. in Panama – is he drunk or something?’ He sounded dismissive, but he was looking at Sage in his rear-view mirror from beneath bushy brows, concern etching new creases into his already lined forehead.
‘God only knows,’ Sage said darkly. She had wondered the same thing.
It would be mad to further complicate her life by wading deeper into a muddle of emotions, but since Tuesday night she had been finding it impossible to stop thinking about Rafe. When he dropped Sage off at North Place, he had declined her tentative offer to come in for a drink. Sage had watched him drive away, holding her boots in one hand and her hat and whip in the other, her feet numb on the cold stone doorstep, feeling like a prize fool.
‘Did Skylark load all right?’ She changed the subjectdeterminedly, trying to concentrate on the filly and not wanting to mar the day with her confusing thoughts. Shafts of sunlight were winking through dark blue, black and grey clouds. The car flew past bare hedgerows and barren trees, the buds of forthcoming leaves and flowers still tightly furled against the harsh elements waiting patiently for the more temperate climate of spring.
Dennis produced Owner and Trainer badges for them all when they arrived at the racecourse and they excitedly made their way up to the bar where Betsy and Dolly were bought stiff drinks by Dennis. The anxious trainer, after making sure his party were all settled, then made his way down to the stables with Sage. She had been registered so she would be allowed through security to check on Skylark and another three-year-old from the yard that was also running. Sage let herself into Skylark’s stable and was relieved to find the horse calm; she stood looking out over her half door taking everything in, with pricked ears and bright eyes. Katie, the groom who mostly looked after Skylark, leant against the door watching them.
‘Isn’t she beautiful, Sage – look at her, and haven’t I got a shine on her coat? She isclass. Are you nervous?’ She wondered why Sage looked so on edge. She felt only admiration for Mr Seymour’s granddaughter, as she had been a jibbering wreck when having to handle the filly herself. Katie felt no bitterness that the ride had been taken from her, only daily relief that she no longer was burdened with the torment of riding the temperamental chestnut.
‘No, not for this girl today. She’s in a league of her own, I reckon she’ll trot up. I’m just a bit worried about something else, nothing to do with Skylark.’ Sage smiled at Katie, wanting to reassure her, and straightened the filly’s rugs. She leant against the stable wall, letting the filly rest her head lovingly on her shoulder. It felt as though they’d become closer since their tempestuoustussle earlier in the week, each forgiving the other. Skylark sought out her rider now; she stood, blowing into Sage’s face affectionately with ticklish whiskers. Sage stroked Skylark’s fiery head, marvelling at the spun gold that shimmered in her forelock. She could feel her heart settling as she drew strength from the horse. They had managed to connect on a visceral level, both recognizing that they were each other’s support system – something neither had recognized that they’d needed until they had found one another.
She gave Skylark a final hug and pulled her ears tenderly. Then, dropping a kiss on the filly’s velvety muzzle, she whispered, ‘Good luck, my special girl. Fly like the wind today.’
They had an hour until Skylark would be saddled and led out into the parade ring. Katie opened the door for her and Sage, putting a thankful hand on the girl’s arm, stepped out into the yard. Dennis was coming towards them, having checked on his other runner.
‘All right?’ Sage asked her grandfather.
‘Yes, but it looks like rain which won’t suit the filly at all. Even a smatter of light drizzle will be a disaster. It’ll upset her. She is sobloodysensitive.’ Dennis looked anxiously up at the clouds.
‘It’s not going to rain, Bumpa. Don’t fret.’ Sage too looked up at the swirling slate sky and sent up an unspoken prayer to the weather gods; an easterly breeze seemed to answer it, sending a violent gust of air swirling about the racecourse which caught up dead leaves and sent them rattling about through the railings and skimming over the pristine mown grass. Sage did not know what the breeze was telling her, but she hoped it was good news.
Katie called out.
‘Sir, am I putting overreach boots on Chess Piece for the race?’
Dennis went to assist Katie with getting him ready. Sage decided to find the others and turned to walk back towardsthe yard entrance that was manned by racecourse security. She went out through the gate, smiling at the officials in thanks, and found herself standing before Rafe. He was looking particularly desirable against the grey day, dressed in green corduroys and a tweed coat over a shirt, tie and jersey with a brown trilby. He was not alone. Louis, by contrast, was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a baseball cap pulled low over his handsome, straight nose, and accompanying them was a very elegant older woman dressed in a beautiful double-breasted tweed peplum coat with a matching calf-length skirt. They looked as though they had just walked out of the pages ofTatler, all so stylish and confident in such very different ways. Sage was overcome with shyness and was all for making a dash for it when Louis called out to her.
‘Oh,hello. You look terribly familiar.’
‘Don’t be such an ass, Louis. You know exactly who she is,’ Rafe sighed in frustration, beckoning a reluctant Sage over. ‘Sage, may I introduce my mother, Lady Constance Dunbarton,’ Rafe indicated the delicate woman. She was tall and thin with dark hair cut short, and she smiled politely.
‘It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sage Beaumont.’
Immediately, a gleam of interest appeared in the woman’s bright eyes and she leant forward to bestow a kiss on both of Sage’s cheeks.
