CHAPTER SEVEN
Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
John Milton, Paradise Lost
Sage softly closed the door to Hal’s room.
Bedtime had stretched on this evening, with Hal over-excited and increasingly tired.
She had finally persuaded him to get out of the bath and into his pyjamas by promising to collect Custard tomorrow, after she finished riding.
His eyes had closed the moment his head touched the pillow and she now tiptoed to her own room in order to dress for dinner.
It was already a quarter to eight; she had fifteen minutes to get ready.
Pulling open the steamer trunk that contained all her worldly possessions, she cast her eyes over the insubstantial linen dresses, shorts, T-shirts and jeans within.
She ran lightly down the hall to her grandparents’ bedroom and tapped on the open door.
‘Come in,’ Betsy called from her dressing table. ‘Oh, Sage. You can’t wear your riding jeans for dinner, darling!’ she said, looking at her granddaughter’s clothes in horror.
‘I know, Gammy – that’s why I’m here. I haven’t got anything to wear!
Can I borrow something, please?’ Sage pleaded.
Time was running out, a fact compounded by the sight of her grandmother, who looked immaculate in a long black skirt and cream, long-sleeved top; Betsy had also put on a little make-up and was wearing her pearls. ‘You look lovely, Gammy.’
‘I look like an old woman, darling – but thank you. Of course you can borrow something, help yourself to anything.’ She waved airily in the direction of her dressing room.
Betsy’s wardrobe was a veritable treasure trove, full of Chanel and Dior.
She was a firm believer in the saying ‘buy cheap, buy twice’.
She rarely went shopping but when she did, she shopped properly.
Everything was then stored pristinely and after more than forty years, Betsy now had quite the collection.
Sage dived into her grandmother’s clothes and pulled out a long-sleeved navy blue woollen dress with a fairly short skirt and a discreet CC embroidered above the hem.
She found a pair of cashmere tights in a drawer and some navy-and-cream ballet pumps, thanking her lucky stars that they shared the same dress and shoe size.
There was no time to have a shower, so she ruefully dragged a brush through her hair and applied some cover-up to her eye and a coat of mascara to her long lashes, her hand shaking slightly as she did so.
She dabbed some lip balm on her chapped mouth, which was protesting about the dramatic change in weather, and looked in on Hal one last time.
It was now ten past eight and she hurried towards the stairs.
She had forgotten to check her reflection – she was so used to dressing down and making herself as plain as possible in order to avoid Santiago’s attentions – and she paused, her breathing fast, in front of the mirror on the landing.
She looked better than she had expected; the dress was cut beautifully and lent her a more elegant silhouette than her usual jumper and jeans.
She had managed to cover the bruise on her face, and her cheeks were flushed and pink, defining her high cheekbones and small, aquiline nose.
Relieved that her hair was not noticeably in need of a wash, she ran a hand through her thick mane to fluff it up and then bounced down the stairs, feeling almost like herself again.
Voices could be heard from the drawing room, and Sage hurried towards them, hoping that she had not missed Dolly’s arrival.
Entering the room, she found only her grandparents and Rafe Dunbarton.
Rafe was talking intently to Betsy about that week’s racing, a glass of whisky in his hand.
He was taller on his feet than she’d expected, and had wide muscular shoulders although he was as slim as a blade.
He was dressed in blue corduroy trousers, a sky blue shirt, silk tie and dark green cashmere jersey.
His deep blue-green eyes shone in the firelight.
She had not noticed their piercing colour from under his flat cap and she blushed as their eyes made contact.
She might not have remembered him to be handsome, but she could instantly recall the aggressive way he had treated his stable lad.
She plastered a smile on her face and went over to them.
‘Good evening, Bumpa.’ She kissed her grandfather on the cheek, then held her hand out, formally, to Rafe. ‘Hello, I’m Sage. How d’you do?’
Ignoring her proffered hand, Rafe leant forward and kissed her on both cheeks. Sage felt a rush of burning hot blood instantly surge to her face. The feel of his soft mouth on her skin was like an electric shock. She stepped back, unnerved.
‘I know who you are, Sage,’ he said, turning his body slightly away from hers but still looking straight at her with deep, restless eyes.
His voice was naturally quiet – he was clearly a man used to being listened to, Sage thought.
His dark hair was unruly in contrast with his delicate bone structure, and he spoke in a self-assured, clipped English accent.
‘Your grandparents have been telling me that you’ve been the only rider in weeks to stick on that Polaris filly. I’m impressed.’
Dennis laughed. ‘Poor Rafe had to retrieve Skylark from Waitrose a few weeks ago after one of my blasted lads came off her outside Sir Mark’s – and as a result, he’s now taking far too much of an interest in the filly’s welfare!’
‘She’s smart. Old Fred Wentworth has been telling everyone that you’ve got a Guineas filly on your hands.’ Rafe looked at Dennis closely.
‘Fred is a bore. I told him she was nothing special as I’m trying to keep this under my hat.
Anything could go wrong before the Guineas, as you well know, Rafe.
But you’re right,’ Dennis added, with a smile.
‘She is looking to be quite exciting. Now, I actually need to talk to you about your girl apprentice.’
‘Well, sir, she’s hardly “my” apprentice,’ Rafe laughed, ‘but she is a good pilot, and may very well suit your filly. I don’t have enough horses yet to keep her busy all the time. I’m sure that Josie would be happy to come and ride for you too. I’ll give you her number.’
The doorbell rang and Sage seized the chance to slip away and answer it.
She opened the front door to find Dolly rushing back to her car.
With a cry of, ‘Oh no, you don’t, Doll!’ she ran towards her friend and, having caught up with her, put a hand on Dolly’s green woollen coat.
‘Come back, please,’ she enticed gently.
She blew on her hands, her breath like smoke in the bitter January night.
‘This was a mistake, Sage – I can’t face him.’ Dolly bit her bottom lip in distress.
‘Casper isn’t even here yet, it’s just my lovely grandparents and another trainer.
We can go in and knock back a whisky before supper, on our own in the kitchen.
OK? It’s bloody freezing out here – come on, the house is lovely and warm.
’ Sage was calm and cajoling; not waiting for an answer, she led a pliant Dolly up the steps and back into the house.
Bypassing the drawing room, she beckoned her down the hall and into the kitchen.
‘Maggie, darling – I’m just fixing Dolly a stiff drink in here.
She’s a flight risk,’ Sage muttered in an undertone, then as Dolly came in, she said, louder, ‘Doll, do you remember Maggie Richardson? Be quiet!’ This was directed at Bramble the terrier, who had started to yap lazily.
The pregnant whippet, Beetle, thumped her tail but could not find the energy to even open an eye.
‘Yes, of course. Hello, Maggie.’ Dolly gave her a hug. ‘Something smells delicious. Hello, you two,’ she added, bending down to make a fuss of the dogs, who had not been bothered to get out of their beds.
‘Ah well, Madam Betsy wanted boeuf bourguignon and dauphinoise potatoes but I didn’t like the look of the recipe so I made a nice, safe shepherd’s pie with carrots and peas.
You know where you are with a shepherd’s pie, you do so.
Miss Sage, you’ll find a bottle of your grandfather’s Scotch in the cupboard next to the larder.
You look a picture, Miss Dolly, you haven’t changed a bit.
’ Maggie busied herself at the Aga, pulling a tray out of the oven.
‘Can I do something to help?’ Dolly asked.
‘There are some quails’ eggs and celery salt on the side there, girls – will you take them through and give me back the kitchen, please.’ She winked conspiratorially at Sage as Dolly, less nervous now, picked up the bowl and held it in front of her like a shield.
‘Great, I’ll bring the drinks. Thanks, Doll.
’ Sage beamed at Maggie, then followed Dolly out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Hearing the back door slam, she hastily ushered Dolly into the drawing room and as soon as her friend was safely talking to Betsy, she gently removed the quails’ eggs and swapped them for her drink with a reassuring smile.
She then doubled back towards the boot room to quietly head her brother off at the pass, without an audience.
Casper was already coming down the hall.
He was dressed in the suit he always wore after racing and looked worn out, fed up, cold and very hungry.
Scamp skittered past Sage after a cursory ‘hello’ wag of his stumpy tail, intent on his final destination: the kitchen, where he knew he would receive love and sustenance from Maggie.