‘How many rides have you got tomorrow, Casper?’
Casper laughed, knowing what his grandfather was doing but happy to take the bait. His racing was always topmost in his mind.
‘I’m up for all five tomorrow,’ Casper said with a steely edge. Riding for the championship was a grind but one he fully committed to.
‘I don’t think you should waste your time riding over sticks any more. You have nothing to prove to anyone. You’ve won everything. Come and ride for me – I need a stable jockey who can actually stay on. Three of my damned lads fell off this morning. It’s a bloody travesty. And I am not getting any younger.’
‘Bumpa, I’m struggling to do the weight for tomorrow as it is … I need to make ten stone, and I’d be miserable making anything lighter. I am just too tall for your flat horses. Sage canwork-ride for you though. She can stick to a racing saddle just as well as me.’
Sage bit her lip, keen but not wanting to humiliate herself. ‘Oh crumbs, I’m not so sure, Cas … I will beveryrusty. I haven’t ridden for ages, not since Sir Crowley’s death.’
‘I was sorry to hear the old boy died, knew it must have been a blow for you too, darling.’ Dennis had known Sir Crowley who had been a neighbour to Sage in Panama and had also kept a few horses in training in England over the years. Riding would be a very smart idea for Sage, he knew that she would not have forgotten how to ride in under a year. ‘Anyway, what rubbish. You’ve been riding my racehorses since you were seven. The most natural seat that I’ve ever seen. Horses have always liked you. You can ride out tomorrow morning, my girl. It’ll do you the world of good. It’s a great idea.’
The matter now closed, Dennis happily picked up his pipe and lit it again, puffing contentedly as he chalked up Sage’s name on the board behind him.
Sage’s alarm clock went off at a quarter to six the next morning. She pushed the snooze button groggily. Jet lag and exhaustion had hit her like a train and as she lay there trying to clear the fog from her mind, she found herself questioning her inability to deny her grandfather anything. She had never felt nervous about riding before but now, as a mother, she felt uneasy about getting back on. Her own mother had died falling from a horse. She could not bear the thought of doing that to Hal; her stomach plunged at the idea. How she was going to get on a flighty racehorse in this state, she had no idea.
Heaving herself upright with a monumental effort, she leant over to turn on her bedside light. The warm light calmed her. She reminded herself that her grandfather was right, she had always had a special affinity with horses, often finding them fareasier to understand than people. Looking around fondly, she found it comforting to be back in the sturdy oak bed in her old room, with the framed posters of Tintin, photographs of her on various ponies and an assortment of rosettes she had won at Pony Club still hanging from the picture rail. Not one thing had been touched since she had moved out to go to university seven years ago. She, however, had changed inside and out.
She got up slowly and wrapped herself in a thick dressing gown that was laid out on her trunk – which Casper had heaved upstairs and left at the foot of the bed – along with a pair of sheepskin slippers, into which she gratefully slid her cold feet.It will be all right, she told herself,Bumpa will put me on something safe to start with. Padding down the hall, she opened the door to Casper’s old room, which still had a little blackboard hanging on the handle decreeing KEEP OUT – CASPER’S ROOM in wobbly chalk handwriting. Hal was sprawled out asleep, his arms flung up above his head with one hand clutching his muslin, his eyelashes spread out like starfish. His white bed linen looked brand new and was adorned with scenes from the Wild West, with cowboys dotted amidst cacti and lasso ropes.Gammy has been busy, Sage thought lovingly.
She dropped a featherlight kiss on Hal’s head and walked quickly back to her bedroom in order to get dressed. She needed to get a move on now, or she would be late and Bumpa would be cross; he did not wait for anyone. Her wardrobe was full of comfortingly familiar items and reminded her of a version of herself she hadn’t felt connected to for a long time. Pulling on a pair of jeans over tights and two pairs of socks, with a thermal vest beneath one of her old polo necks, a thick jersey and a waistcoat, she rushed downstairs to find her riding boots, hat and gloves and an old Puffa coat, which were all still in a cupboard in the boot room.
She sped along the dark corridors and towards the kitchen,starting to overheat under all her layers in the warm room. Maggie was already standing sentinel at her post by the stove, pressing freshly kneaded bread dough into baking tins before sliding them into the oven.
‘Morning, Miss Sage, love – I’ll have breakfast ready for you after second lot. I’ll feed the little lad when he wakes up though. You go and enjoy yourself.’ Maggie turned around, pink-cheeked and wiping beads of perspiration off her forehead with a blue spotted handkerchief.
‘Thanks, Maggie, you’re an angel.’ Sage smiled nervously at her.If I make it back in one piece, she thought. ‘Do you know where Gammy is?’
‘Madam Betsy will be walking the dogs just now but she will be in soon. I am to keep an ear out for your Hal until she gets back. Don’t worry, we have it all covered.’ Maggie was reassuring and full of sincere kindness. Sage warmly thanked her again and hurried out to the yard, anxious not to keep her grandfather waiting, praying he had given her an easy ride for first lot.
She was relieved to find the lads still milling about in the tack room. She looked up at the list on the wall to see which horse she was riding and found that it was an older horse, a seven-year-old called Strawberry Fields. She found she could breathe more easily now; she had not been put up on a wild two-year-old, at least. Not yet.
A short man wearing jeans and a shirt and tie under aDennis Seymour Racingcoat approached her; she recognized him and tried to remember his name but embarrassingly, could not.
‘Morning, Sage. I’m Peter Lauder. You may not remember me – I am Mr Seymour’s assistant.’
‘Peter!’ she said with relief. ‘Yes, I remember you. You’ve been here a while now, haven’t you?’
‘Almost five years, yes. The boss hasn’t managed to get rid of me yet!’ He studied her face closely. ‘You’re up on Strawberryfirst – he’s a great big horse, very kind. We use him as our lead horse mostly, he’ll look after you. Mr Seymour says you haven’t ridden for a while and that we’re to ease you back into racing life gently. Enjoy Strawberry – I think your filly for second lot is a bit more exciting. I suppose, coming from your grandfather, that’s as gentle as can be expected!’
Peter passed Sage her tack; a bridle, neck strap, towel, exercise rug, numnah and a light racing saddle and girth. Sage found that her teeth were chattering. Oh God, would she manage the filly?
‘If you need a hand tacking up, just ask one of the lads. Good luck!’ Seeing her face had lost its colour, he gave her a reassuring smile as he hurried out into the yard, looking at a list that he had pulled from his pocket.
There were now seventy horses in training at North Place. Sage had no idea where her horse’s stable was so she approached a ferret-faced little man of about forty-five who was carrying tack into a nearby stable.
‘Excuse me, do you know where Strawberry Fields’s stable is?’
‘Yep,’ the man said shortly, looking at her with small, angry eyes.
‘Could you possibly tell me where to go?’ Sage asked politely, feeling rather exasperated. She was trying not to flap, but her nerves were rising.
‘If I come with you to show you where the sodding stable is, then I’ll be late getting this poxy horse ready and I won’t be shown no favour by the boss, becauseI’mnot related to ’im.’ He began to put on his horse’s bridle, a sour look on his lined face.
‘Right,’ Sage replied weakly, feeling it was a bit early for this. She tried another lad, a pretty blonde girl who looked about seventeen and who, like Sage, was also weighed down with tack.
‘Morning … do you by any chance know where Strawberry’s stable is?’
