Authors: Hannah Hooton
‘Tash! Really, you’re incorrigible.’
‘When do you start the new job?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Pippa said with a grimace.
‘Looking forward to it?’
‘Like a bullet in the head. I don’t even know how to type, Tash. How am I going to cope with being a secretary.’
‘You learn. Just like everyone else did. Nobody was born knowing exactly how to do their job. If you’re worried about typing just remember “Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs”.’
‘What?’
‘Keep practising that sentence. It uses all the letters of the alphabet. Keep your forefingers on F and J, hit the spacebar with your thumb and you’re away. You just need to practise.’
‘And wages and accounts? I’m bound to have to do all that.’
‘Well, that might take a bit more practise. I flunked GCSE Maths with flying colours so I won’t give you any advice on how to do accounts. You’re good at numbers though. What are you worrying about?’
‘Messing up,’ Pippa admitted. ‘He’s doing me a favour giving me this job. He knows I’m not qualified enough.’
‘You’re also doing him a favour, remember. If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have a secretary at all.’
Pippa exhaled a long plume of smoke, abstractly watching it escape through the window slit.
‘He might wish he didn’t have one when I make a hash of everything.’
‘Pippa! Snap out of it! Stop being a defeatist; it doesn’t suit you. You walk in tomorrow and you sit down at your desk and you do what needs to be done. I’m sure he’s not just going to dump everything on you and expect you to know how to do it. In every job you have to learn new things. Everything will be fine. Understood?’
Pippa swelled with renewed bravado.
‘You’re right, Tash. How bad can it be?’
‘Good girl! And remember why you’re doing all this.’
‘Peace Offering?’
‘Yes. To Peace Offering and his glorious future.’
‘Are you toasting him, Tash?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s half six. Haven’t you opened a bottle yet?’
‘No, I’m sitting at the bottom of the driveway in my car.’
‘Why?’
‘Because this is the only place I can get signal.’
‘Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll drink for both of us. How does that sound?’
Pippa smiled and hugged her knees to her chest.
‘Sounds good, Tash. Thanks.’
A
low-lying mist cloaked the countryside the next morning. Pippa shivered as she got out of her car in the Aspen Valley car park. The tangy aroma of newly tossed hay and straw wafted up her nose and she blinked as the brisk breeze stung her eyes. She wrapped her coat firmly around her and hurried towards the yard. A hive of activity greeted her as she turned the corner. Grooms were busy mucking out, tossing soiled straw into rickety wheelbarrows parked in the entrance of the stables. Others strode along the concourse, hefting saddles and bridles in their arms. The hollow clip-clop of shod hooves rang round the buildings as horses were led to and from their work.
Pippa gazed, wide-eyed, at this vibrant work place. She hadn’t realised so many people worked here. No one had noticed her presence yet and she took a moment more just to enjoy watching them. Eagerly, she tried to identify Peace Offering from the horses being led around, but couldn’t see him. Her attention was captured by one familiar face though. Jack was bending down next to a steaming horse, feeling its foreleg whilst its rider stood to the side holding the reins. Rising to his full height, he gave the horse a distracted pat on the neck and spoke to its rider.
Pippa couldn’t hear what was being said, but she saw the girl nod and smile at him before leading the horse to an adjoining stable. He caught sight of Pippa as he turned around. A small smile touched his mouth. He walked over, his long strides eating up the ground.
‘Morning, Pippa. I was wondering if you would be joining us.’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’
‘And you always do what you say?’
‘Most of the time,’ Pippa replied loosely.
Jack gave a humourless chuckle and motioned her towards the office.
‘Let me show you to your cell.’
‘You’d suit being a prison guard, you know,’ she said as they walked.
Jack gave her a sidelong glance, but said nothing.
‘This is where you sit.’ He gave her a patronising smile, making Pippa feel about five as she settled herself on the chair behind the reception unit.
He’s just waiting for me to fail, she thought. I’ll show him. He ain’t seen nothing yet.
‘First things first. Entries and declarations.’
Hmm, I ain’t seen nothing yet either, Pippa thought again.
‘Okay,’ she replied uncertainly.
Jack sighed.
‘Before a horse can race he will initially need to be entered in one, usually five or six days before it takes place. This is like letting them know that you intend to run. And you must make sure this is done by twelve o’clock. One minute past twelve and they won’t accept it. Next stage is declarations, which is like a confirmation that you’re running. This is done twenty-four hours before race day and must be in by ten o’clock. Again, they cannot be late. I’ll give you a list every morning of what horses need to be entered in which races and you can then go onto the Weatherbys website and fill in all the details.’
Pippa nodded fervently. It didn’t sound that bad after all.
‘Wages day is every second Wednesday. This must be done without fail once entries and declarations are completed. We’ve got fifty staff here, most of them seasonal and they cannot miss a payday.’
‘Of course.’
Jack looked at his watch.
‘I’ve got to get back for the next lot, but I’ll be back later this morning. I’ve left a list of horses that need entering and declaring. The website is fairly straight forward; I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Any complicated phone calls just take messages for now and we’ll sort them out later. I need to call the vet out to take a look at Try That’s leg, but I’ll do that from my mobile. Have a look at the emails, but don’t do anything until I get back. Most of them will be from people wanting photos and shoes and tail hairs from Virtuoso.’
‘Who’s Virtuoso?’
Jack shook his head helplessly.
‘We won the Cheltenham Gold Cup with him earlier this year. Won eight Grade Ones on the bounce. He’s a bit of a celebrity.’
‘I know Cheltenham!’ Pippa cried, excited that she knew something to do with horseracing.
‘Good, that’s reassuring. Think you can cope?’
‘Piece of cake,’ Pippa grinned.
Jack almost smiled, but ended up just looking grim. He seemed loathe to leave her on her own, but after a moment he kicked into action.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ He paused by the door. ‘If you get chilly, there’s an electric heater in my office. The heating in here works, but it isn’t up to scratch.’
She smiled her thanks and watched him walk out into the cold.
Taking a deep breath, Pippa turned to the computer on her desk and switched it on. It whirred into life and an icy dread clutched her throat as a box popped up.
Username
Password
Oh, God. He hadn’t mentioned that bit. Thankfully the username was already filled in, but the password field gaped white. The cursor flashed, almost like it was daring Pippa to try. She darted a look towards the door. She was damned if she was going to fall at the first hurdle by running to Jack before he’d hardly walked out of the office.
‘Right. Let’s think.’ She flexed her fingers over the keyboard then, taking a deep breath, tapped out
Aspenvalley
. She hit Return.
Incorrect password. Please ensure CAPS lock is switched off before trying again.
‘Okay, so it’s not that. How about...
password
?’
It was the oldest trick in the book. It was like the banks who advise you not to use 1234 as your PIN number, but it’s the last thing any thief will think of since nobody is so stupid to use it.
Incorrect password...
‘Oh, shit. Okay, maybe not so clever.’ Pippa bit her lower lip. How many attempts would it give her before locking her out completely? Her laptop at home only ever gave her three tries before telling her to contact the system administrator. Who would the system administrator be here? She had an uneasy feeling it was meant to be her.
She flipped through a notebook on the desk, but it was just full of horses and race meetings, written in an almost illegible scrawl. The drawers under the desk didn’t give her any clues either. Pippa frowned at the flashing cursor. It reminded her of someone tapping their fingers on a counter, waiting for you to make your decision. She looked around for more inspiration. The white walls were stark and bare apart from a couple of small framed photographs of horses winning races.
‘Of course!’ she cried. Eagerly, she punched in the letters.
Virtuoso
Pippa whooped as the box disappeared and Windows began to load.
With a triumphal jab to the Return key, Pippa leaned back and smiled at the screen then gave a curt nod at the door and towards Jack’s general direction. It was five to ten and all the entries and declarations had been completed. She’d had three phone calls – one from the farrier who said that he was running about half an hour late, another from someone wanting a photograph of Virtuoso (and if at all possible, Jack Carmichael as well, the caller had asked shyly), and another from an owner who wouldn’t leave a message, but would call back later.
This secretarial lark was easier than waitressing. What she been worrying about?
It didn’t cross her mind that this was but the calm of an eight-month National Hunt storm season and only the tip of the iceberg.
‘How’s it gone this morning?’ Jack said, making his reappearance a couple of hours later.
Pippa looked up and smiled, half an automatic gesture, half a genuine appreciation that she now had some company. With her limited tasks and the phone being unnervingly quiet, the only interaction she’d had was with some miserable man called Simon who had come in with a list of supplies to get for the yard.
‘You still have a business. Can I get you some coffee?’
Jack hesitated on his way to his office.
‘That’d be nice. Thank you.’
A couple of minutes later Pippa joined him in his office with a mug of steaming coffee. Jack lowered his
Racing Post
at her knock on the door. He still had his coat on and she noticed the tip of his nose was pink from the cold.
‘Would you like your heater back? It’s really quite toasty in Reception now.’
‘No. Keep it. I’ll warm up in a minute.’
After a moment she relaxed, reassured that he wasn’t going to bite her head off for anything. He seemed in a much more agreeable mood today than on any of the other occasions they had met.
‘Who’s Simon?’
Jack paused from blowing on his drink.
‘My head lad. You met?’
‘He came in earlier. He didn’t seem terribly keen.’
‘Did you want him to be keen? I can’t have you seducing all the male staff here, Pippa.’
Pippa felt oddly complimented that he thought her capable of this and was reminded of her conversation with Tash the night before.
‘I’m not about to seduce anyone, don’t worry. I’ve got a boyfriend in London still.’
‘Do you? I didn’t know that. How has he taken to you coming down here?’
‘Ollie has his own way of dealing with things.’
‘Not happy then?’
‘Not really. But the good thing is his work is distracting him now.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s an actor.’
‘An actor? How very glamorous,’ Jack drawled. ‘What has he been in?’
‘Well, he’s just been given a small role in
Holby
City
and he’s had a few cameo parts in some other soaps, but –’ Pippa hesitated. Her conscience battled with remaining loyal to Ollie and admitting his hopelessness. ‘He prefers the theatre really,’ she said finally.
‘Can’t say I blame him. Soaps are ridiculous.’
‘No, they’re not. They’re entertaining.’
‘All they ever do is argue, are closet gays or else sleep with people they shouldn’t.’
‘It wouldn’t be entertaining if they didn’t.’
Jack scoffed in derision then looked at his watch.
‘Gemma usually took her lunch between one and two. Does that suit you?’
‘Sounds fine. I might pop into the village and have a look around. How far away is it from here?’
‘Helensvale? About ten minutes’ drive. And it’s a town by the way, not a village. I see you’ve got a different car.’
‘The other ones were hired. This one’s mine,’ Pippa said proudly.
‘Buy it yourself?’
‘No, I stole it.’
Her solemn reply made Jack look at her sharply. Pippa couldn’t contain her amusement when confronted by his expression.
‘Oh, you’re joking. Did you get it from a dealer?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why they’ve got such a reputation. The dealer who sold me mine was charming; a lovely old guy. He was very honest about it all, saying it isn’t perfect – it has a rip in one of the backseats – and he let me have it really cheap.’
‘Oh, God.’ Jack closed his eyes. ‘If that car lasts you ’til Christmas I’ll be amazed.’
‘That’s only a few weeks away. Of course it’ll last. It’s a bit noisy, but it’s a Beetle. They’re supposed to be noisy.’
Jack looked at her under heavy eyelids.
Pippa licked her lips.
‘Aren’t they?’ she ventured.
‘I just hope you’ve got breakdown cover.’
Pippa was about to reply when the phone rang next door and she hurried out.
‘PIPPA!’
Jack’s bark from the adjoining office made her leap out of her seat. Frantically, she tried to think what she might have done wrong. That phone call five minutes earlier had been from an owner and she had put them through to Jack’s extension. Was that so wrong?
‘Yes?’ Pippa popped her head round the door.
‘We need to have a chat.’
Oh, God, was he firing her already? She gulped before straightening her shoulders and walking in.