Authors: Hannah Hooton
Sitting on her stool, classical music curling around her like a masseur’s kneading, she touched the image on the glossy card, tracing her finger along the strong jaw, across his hairline where a wisp of dark hair fell out of place, as if to move it aside. Jack’s eyes, focused beyond the camera, sparkled like an island shore postcard.
Pippa picked up a finer brush and began to paint. She dabbed a vague outline of his profile before turning to his eyes. She cleaned her brush and dipped it into a blob of cornflower blue. She frowned after a few small strokes on the page and selected another, darker blue. No, now that made him look angry.
Swilling her brush in the water, she tried a mixture of blues. Navy, azure, baby and powder.
She tutted. None of them were quite right. She opened a tube of sky blue and tried again.
With a sigh of frustration, she looked down at the photograph again.
Her hand stilled as an icy feeling shimmied up her spine. What was she doing? She was painting her
boss
. There was something distinctly unhealthy about that. She slapped the photograph faced down on the table, revealing another of Skylark.
In strokes bordering on panic, she painted over Jack’s face, the broad sweeps of sky blue removing all evidence as she painted the background for the horse. When no hint of curving cheekbone or straight brow remained, she relaxed.
‘There,’ she whispered. ‘No one needs to know about that. It never happened.’
Picking up the ochre-stained brush, she began on the horse’s chestnut head.
S
hivering in her coat, as much from nerves as from the cold, Pippa stood on the grandstand step huddled between Jack and Tash. The weak February sunshine of the week before had given way to a cold wet spell and looking out over Chepstow Racecourse, she could see evidence of the early week’s snow still built up against the hillside hedges like fluff escaping its cushion cover. With the constant rain, the ground was saturated with slush, making the going as thick as the visibility.
Chewing off her lipstick, she squinted through the murk at the horses cantering down to the three-and-a-half mile start, barely able to identify her green and red racing silks worn by Finn.
‘Sweets, I thought you said going racing would be fun,’ Tash said, giving her a nudge. ‘The two of you look like you’re at a funeral.’
‘There’s a lot at stake today,’ Pippa replied, not taking her eyes off the twelve horses now circling at the Start.
‘Care to expand on that?’ Tash prompted when she didn’t elaborate.
‘If Peace Offering doesn’t pull it out the bag then he probably won’t make the cut for the National,’ Jack explained. ‘And he’s going to have it all to do against Solar Flare.’
‘Which one’s he?’
Pippa opened her racecard and with a trembling finger pointed out the favourite’s name and racing colours in the form guide. Staring at her finger quivering over the list of wins beside Solar Flare’s name, her stomach clenched at the prospect of her high hopes being dashed in under five minutes.
Jack placed his hand, warmed from his pocket, over hers to still her shaking and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She gave him a grateful smile, but recognised her own fears in his eyes.
The cheer of the crowds wrenched her focus back to the horses just in time to see them bound forward into the drizzle. She offered up a silent prayer on behalf of Peace Offering and Finn, held up in mid-field, awaiting the threat of the first daunting fence. She held her breath as the horses, already strung out, sailed over.
A whimper of fear escaped her throat as the horses tackled the next open ditch, claiming its first victim, and she inadvertently leaned into Jack for support.
‘He’s going good,’ he murmured, his eyes trained on the field of runners surging over the next. ‘Finn’s got a handy position on the rail.’
Even with the cheering of the crowd reverberating in her ears, Pippa could still hear the dull rumble of hooves on the sodden ground as they passed the winning post for the first time and headed uphill for the final circuit. Peace Offering, his white face mud-splattered, galloped on a loose rein with a relaxed-looking Finn rocking in the saddle.
They jumped the next on an awkward stride and Pippa groaned, seeing the margin between Solar Flare and her horse widen. The naked trees bordering the back straight seemed to claw at Peace Offering’s progress whilst ushering the favourite further ahead amongst the leading group.
The pacemaker of the field blundered over the next, interfering with his rivals, but giving Solar Flare the opportunity to take the lead.
Pippa darted her attention between him and the twelve-length gap back to her horse. Peace Offering soared over the water, as graceful as a stag, gaining impetus from his leap and narrowed the margin. Pippa bounced discreetly on her knees and clutched Jack’s arm.
‘Oh, God!’ she cried as the next downhill fence had her horse twisting his body in an attempt to stay upright. Finn threw out an arm to keep his balance before gathering up his reins and pushing for more impulsion.
With the undulations of the course taking its toll on its travellers, Peace Offering moved up into fourth. His strides ate up the ground and Pippa leaned sideways as horse and jockey followed the leading trio round the turn into the home straight.
‘Please, Finn!’ she said, a spark of hope stirring in her chest as she realised the gap was closing. As if hearing her pleas, the jockey used his whip for the first time, inciting another spurt from his mount.
Solar Flare led them over the fourth last, his stride uncompromising. Peace Offering joined the third horse in mid-flight, forging clear as his neighbour floundered.
Pippa grasped Jack’s hand, her hope strengthening with every step her horse took.
‘Come on, Finn,’ Jack growled, returning Pippa’s grip.
Solar Flare brushed through the second last. Five lengths back, Peace Offering drew alongside the second horse, his head bobbing as he battled the uphill climb. The incomprehensible roar of the crowd urged the horses home.
‘Go on, Peace Offering! Keep going!’ Pippa cried, unable to stop herself.
Solar Flare cleared the last fence. His weary legs plugged into the thick turf. Peace Offering gathered himself for the leap just behind, his long ears flicking towards the cheering grandstand.
‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’ Pippa exclaimed, her eyes widening as the spark of hope burst into a ball of fire. Peace Offering was gaining ground on the tiring favourite, his muddied nose now bobbing beside his rival’s flank. ‘Come on, Peace Offering! Come on, Finn!’ she yelled, jumping up and down.
The winning post slowly reeled in Solar Flare. Beneath Finn’s desperate urges, Peace Offering lowered his head and stretched out his neck. Solar Flare’s stride wobbled. Peace Offering drew up to his shoulder. Pippa clasped her fingers between Jack’s. The winning post beckoned. Peace Offering drew level. The favourite faltered, his last energy reserves sapped, and forfeited the lead. Pippa’s knees gave way as her green and red silks passed by the post half a length clear. Jack grasped her around the waist to stop her falling and Pippa clung to him for support.
She looked at him shell-shocked.
‘Did he – did he…’
Jack flashed her a grin and nodded.
‘Oh!’ She collapsed into his arms, a ball of tears swelling in her throat. She hid her face in Jack’s coat, overwhelmed with joy and relief.
‘I think you’ve just booked your ticket to the Grand National, Miss Taylor,’ Jack murmured in her ear.
Pippa met Finn and Peace Offering as they entered the winner’s enclosure. Speechless, her ear-splitting grin said it all to Finn. He kicked his feet out of the stirrups and gave her a wink. Emmie wrestled Peace Offering to a standstill, trying to curb the adrenalin still pumping through his body.
Pippa reached out and patted his sweat and rain-slicked neck, feeling the burning heat in the wormy veins bulging beneath his skin. His ears flicked to and fro, catching the sounds of the crowd surrounding the enclosure. His eyes flashed and he side-stepped in nervous excitement.
‘It’s okay, boy,’ Pippa whispered, stroking his cheek. ‘They’re cheering for you. You’re a winner.’ She exhaled a ragged breath, her emotions a whirlwind of excitement, pride and the sudden thought of her uncle smiling down on them standing in the rain in the winner’s circle almost overwhelming her.
Finn dismounted after giving Peace Offering a last pat and pulled Pippa towards him. Holding her face in his gloved hands, he kissed her, his lips lingering over hers.
Pippa closed her eyes, her senses consumed by the smell of fresh earth and horses and the press of the jockey’s cold nose beside her own.
‘Okay, Finn,’ Jack’s gruff voice interrupted them. ‘You’ve given the press plenty of time to get their cameras out. Tone it down, will you?’
Finn came up for air and gave Pippa a charming smile.
‘I don’t mind getting mud kicked in my face for three and a half miles when this is the reward,’ he said.
‘Finn!’ Jack snapped. ‘Unsaddle your horse so Emmie can get a rug on him. Pippa, come stand on this side of Peace Offering so the press can take their pictures.’ His frown softened as she skipped around her horse to stand beside him. ‘You’ve got mud on your cheek now.’ He raised his hand to wipe it clean, but withdrew it before he touched her, glancing at the squatting photographers poised in front of them.
Pippa giggled and raised her sleeve to wipe her cheek clean.
‘Thank you.’
‘Pleasure,’ he nodded. He paused, sensing Pippa wasn’t just thanking him for pointing out the mud. He gave her a warm smile. ‘
Pleasure
. And if you think you can behave yourself, I’ll take you and Tash out for a drink after this. It’s not every day you get a horse breaking his duck after nearly three years.’
Pippa leaned back against the spongy bench cushion, the comforting crackle of an earthen log fire somewhere in the wood-panelled Welsh pub thawing her bones. She watched Jack disappear in the direction of the Gents, leaving her alone at the table with Tash. A yawn shuddered through her.
‘You look done in,’ Tash said. ‘Has something or some
one
been giving you sleepless nights?’
Pippa smiled lazily.
‘No. Work’s crazy busy at the minute. Cheltenham Festival is just round the corner and it seems the entire world wants something with Aspen Valley.’ She pondered her friend for a moment. ‘What about you? I have to admit I was a little surprised you could make it this weekend at such short notice. Didn’t think you could drag yourself away from Aladdin.’
Tash flopped her hands down on the armrests of her chair in dramatic fashion.
‘I think I’ve finally realised that I’m twenty-seven and not nineteen anymore,’ she said. ‘All the partying and stuff was fun for a while, but whereas he can get away with coming to work with a hangover five times a week, I can’t.’
‘Oh, dear. Is old age creeping up on you?’
‘I don’t know about creeping, sweets. It gives me a wake-up call every morning when I look in the mirror. It would send me screaming if I had the energy.’
Pippa laughed, but her concern remained.
‘Things not going so well then?’
Tash pulled a face.
‘He’s a lovely guy, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t see the point in getting shit-faced on vodka shots every time we want to go out. I know I sound like a prude and you know me, I enjoy going out and having a few drinks. I just don’t like alcohol being the sole intention of enjoyment. You know what I mean?’
‘Tash, that’s not being a prude. That’s called maturity.’
Tash nodded, reluctant agreement twisting her mouth.
‘I guess. Maybe age
does
count for something. In all honesty, I’m becoming quite jealous of you.’
‘Of me?’
‘Yeah. Out here in the country, living the rural life like something out of a Katie Fforde novel. With eye candy galore to top it off.’
‘Jack, you mean?’
‘And that Irish jockey who’s so fond of you. You didn’t give me much of a chance to gawk last time we saw him. I thought he looked rather buff in his boots and body armour today.’
Pippa snorted as an image of Finn clanking around in a suit of armour sprang to mind.
‘Body
protector
. Although he probably is rather fit beneath that.’
‘You see?’ Tash said. ‘Who needs the millions packed into London when you’ve got it all here in one small town?’
Pippa smiled.
‘It’s not as easy as all that. And I do miss London sometimes.’
‘You seem so much more content though out here.’
‘For now I am,’ she shrugged. ‘I’m getting there slowly with the cottage and I’ve got a few art commissions, but when the cottage gets sold I’m probably going to come back to London.’ A familiar figure standing at the bar waiting to order their drinks caught her eye. A smile warmed her face. ‘Then Jack can get a proper secretary.’
A smile danced across Tash’s lips.
‘Care to tell me what’s going on between you two?’
Pippa looked down at the table, unable to meet her eyes. It was wonderful having a friend who knew you so well they could tell when something was wrong, but it had its drawbacks too when you didn’t want to divulge other feelings.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ she said, keeping her tone light. She looked up and beamed at Tash. She received a sceptical look in reply.
‘Okay, I’ll grant you that,’ Tash conceded. ‘By the little things you do to each other, it doesn’t look like you’ve slept with him yet –’
‘Tash!’ Pippa hissed. ‘He’s standing just over there!’
‘He can’t hear us. So, come on, maybe you haven’t slept with him, but you admit now that you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for dropping biscuit crumbs, would you?’
Pippa gave her an anguished scowl.
‘Tash, don’t make me say it.’
‘You fancy each other, don’t you?’
She sighed.
‘I guess you could say my opinion of Jack has somewhat changed over the past few months,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know about Jack. You’d have to ask him –
don’t
even think it, Natasha Bradley!’ she added quickly, seeing Tash’s eyes light up.