Sage took a cup of tea from Maggie’s outstretched hand but shook her head at the proffered sandwich.
‘Ahh, sure you need feeding up, Miss Sage. Eat the sandwich. You need some looking after, and that starts with Madam Betsy’s hugs and Old Maggie’s comfort food.’
Seeing that she had been outmanoeuvred, Sage took a small bite. The familiar flavour of Maggie’s delicious cooking immediately took her back to her teenage years. Taking another, largerbite, she laughed as butter spilt down her chin and, knowing that she was at last back among her own people, she finally began to relax.
‘Maggie, you are torturing me!’ Casper complained, half-joking. ‘I’ve got to make weight tomorrow – ten stone. No bacon butties forme. Gammy, please may I take my coffee out to the yard? I need to speak to Bumpa.’
‘Yes, of course, darling. There’s a fresh pot on the Aga if you’d like a top-up – help yourself. You had a great week, what was it, ten wins?’ Betsy smiled indulgently at her grandson; she was very proud of his thriving career and she always followed his every race. ‘You look thin too though, my love … I hope you’re not starving yourself?’
Casper hugged his grandmother briefly; he was always starving himself but he would not let a small thing like food get in the way of winning the championship title for the sixth consecutive year, not after everything he’d worked for.
‘Not too much, I promise. I am as healthy as a horse.’
‘That is a particularly inept saying – just go out to the yard and you’ll see all the patients being lovingly tended to by our team of extortionately expensive vets!’ said Betsy through pursed lips, the age-old anxiety of enormous veterinary bills still taking their toll despite there now being money in the bank to cover the costs. Vets came hand in hand with horses, especially in racing. Horses were always getting injured. She watched Casper filling a big mug with coffee. ‘Tell your grandfather to come in for breakfast when he’s finished with Duncan, will you?’
‘Yes, Gammy. I will.’
Betsy saw Sage looking longingly after Casper.
‘Darling, you can go too. Your grandfather would love to see you. Hal will look after Maggie and me – won’t you, treasure?’ Hal nodded solemnly, gazing up adoringly at Betsy.
‘Thank you, Gammy,’ Sage mumbled gratefully, the reliefof knowing that they were safe almost taking her breath away. To finally be home with Hal was like a dream. She had longed for this moment so desperately over the past two years, had pictured this scene over and over. It was everything she had pined for. Sitting in the comfort of the warm, familiar kitchen, cradling the mug with her name painted on that she had used as a child, Beetle’s loving whippet head resting on her leg while Betsy and Maggie provided stolid reassurance. It was finally real. The only missing part of the puzzle was her grandfather. Swallowing the rest of her sandwich and washing it down with a huge gulp of hot tea, she hurried after her brother in a flurry of long legs and wild, dark hair.
‘Mumma and Uncle Casper look the same, Gammy,’ Hal said in surprise.
Betsy laughed. ‘Yes, they do, my darling heart … yes, they do.’
Dennis Seymour was in his office, puffing on his old pipe and talking to Duncan Morant, the senior vet. It was a large room in the centre of the main yard and was known by his stable lads as ‘the lair’. Dennis had trained on the flat for forty-five years, having taken over from his father when he was only twenty; his office had never been redecorated and thus it looked like a relic of a past century. Worn, polished floorboards were covered with an ancient Persian rug. A fire crackled merrily from the open fireplace and an ornate Georgian desk sat in the centre of the room with a dark green velvet wingback chair behind it. This was Dennis’s chair; no one else ever sat in it. There were three hard seats on the other side of the desk for visitors, whom he preferred not to linger. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with hardbacked classics, leather-bound volumes of poetry and the works of playwrights from Shakespeare to Bernard Shaw, sales catalogues and books on racing, fishing and naturalhistory. Various trophies and sculptures nestled between the books along with whisky decanters, crystal glasses and silver-framed photographs, while pouches of tobacco and pipe paraphernalia jostled for space amidst worm drenches and broken spurs. An old vintage rifle was displayed on the wall, and in the corner stood numerous lengths of salmon rods. Two large bay windows looked out into the yard, meaning Dennis could always see what was happening from his desk.
Sage opened the carved wooden gate that led from the walled garden of North Place into the stable yard and saw Casper halfway along the gravel path that led up to their grandfather’s office. He was being watched by several sets of well-bred, curious thoroughbred eyes, which now turned their attention to her over freshly painted dark blue half doors.
‘Wait for me!’ she called, skirting around the mown circle of grass in the centre of the yard, but then she stopped and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw that upon it now stood a huge bronze statue of the stallion Polaris, whom Dennis had trained to win two British Classics. She put her hand out to touch an intricately veined and flared nostril. ‘Wow … this is incredible, Cas. Who made it?’
‘Bumpa wanted to have it commissioned when Polaris won the Guineas and Derby that year but didn’t have the lolly to do it back then, if you remember. He’s had such a good few seasons though, that he got Milo Laurenzo to make it for Gammy for Christmas. Just what she wanted – not an Hermès handbag or a cashmere coat but a bloody great life-sized metal horse in the yard!’ Casper laughed sardonically. ‘Poor Gammy, I think she’ll be relieved to have you home … she could do with a bit of TLC.’
‘Casper? Is that you?’ Dennis’s deep, authoritative, clipped voice called out from inside the office. ‘Come in.’
Casper inclined his head to one side, indicating for his sister to go in first, and opened the blue door for her.
‘Sage!’ Dennis put his pipe down on a clay ashtray with horses galloping around its edge, which Sage had made for him one Christmas when she was still at school. ‘You got here safely. I didn’t think you would be here until this afternoon, darling.’ He got up stiffly from his chair, apologizing to the vet who was sitting opposite him, and doing up his tweed coat with one hand he reached for her with the other. Sage flew into his arms, breathing in the familiar scent of tobacco smoke and extract of limes mingled with hay. She hugged him tightly, happily pressing her face into the rough cloth.
‘Let me have a look at you, child.’ Dennis gently pushed her back so that he could see her properly. Taking in the bruised eye, he swallowed hard and drew her back into another hug. The thought of his precious granddaughter being hurt was like a physical punch to his stomach. He felt winded with shock. He raged, silently, at himself for not stepping in sooner. He had known that all was not well with Sage. He cursed himself for not intervening. Gruffly, he said, ‘You’ll be all right now you’re home. You’ll be all right now, Sage … Has your grandmother got Hal in the kitchen?’ Sage nodded. ‘Good, good. She needs something other than the blasted dogs to love and care for in the house – might stop her buying more damned horses, the woman is out of control.’ He kept his arms around Sage, but turned to his grandson. ‘Casper, how are you? You’re not racing today?’ Dennis reached out to shake his grandson’s hand, reluctantly letting go of Sage, and invited them both to sit down on wooden chairs next to Duncan. The vet stood up.
‘I think we’re all done here, sir. I’ll see you in the morning.’ With a respectful nod of his head to Dennis, he smiled at the others and left to gather his crew together before returning to the laboratory, where they would analyse samples taken from the horses that were due to run.
‘No, I’m not riding today, Bumpa, Sandown was abandonedthis morning but I am hoping to be at Plumpton tomorrow,’ said Casper, sitting down. He looked suddenly wary. His brown eyes hopeful despite himself, he asked, ‘Have you heard from Dickie? I had a strange message from him yesterday.’
Dennis looked at him sharply.
‘No.’ He shifted in his chair and busied himself with his pipe. ‘I haven’t spoken to your father for a long time.’ He did not meet Casper’s eye.
‘What did he say, Cas? I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly when you told me about it earlier.’
Casper leant back in his chair, lighting a cigarette as he answered abruptly.
‘He just said he was wanting to get hold of me. It was weird. Why is he suddenly trying to get in touch? How does he even have my number? Bumpa, do you know?’
Dennis had had enough of this line of questioning though. He changed the subject dexterously.
