CHAPTER ELEVEN
It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.
Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
Saturday, the day of Skylark’s scheduled maiden race, loomed grey and overcast in classic February fashion.
Through the drawing-room window, Sage watched black rooks circling the bare beech trees, cackling and shrieking at something below.
Just let the rain hold off, she prayed. She longed for the filly to do well; she felt partly responsible for her now that she was her main rider at home.
Sage had managed to stay on the flighty filly for the rest of the week and they had worked beautifully on Thursday, galloping easily, several lengths clear of Dear Morris.
Dennis was trying his best to keep it all under wraps so that he could get a good bet on.
The phone rang on the desk beside Sage, making her jump. She picked it up without thinking.
‘North Place, hello?’
‘Hi, Sage,’ said Santiago, his words dripping with complacent satisfaction that he had reached her.
It was only two words but the hairs on her neck stood up in dread.
She felt a tremor in her hands and balled them into fists.
The sound of her husband’s voice propelled her straight back to the horrors of Panama.
Listening to his breathing, she tried to speak but no words came out.
Her throat tightened and her mind went into overdrive, her thoughts racing.
Could she just replace the receiver? she wondered.
She held onto the idea like a beacon as rage and terror flashed inside her, making her body weak from internal turbulence.
She sat down heavily on her grandmother’s chair, her knees giving way beneath her.
She thought of her mobile, switched off, in her handbag.
Of course he’d tracked down the landline number.
She would never be able to get away from him.
Sage had been dealing with lawyers all week, and the financial and emotional burdens were quickly becoming oppressive.
Santiago was already being excessively difficult and claiming he wanted joint custody of Hal, despite her agreement with Lucilla.
It was laughable. Santiago had rarely spent any time with Hal, preferring to kiss his son’s clean head just before bedtime, and once Hal had been fed and bathed; only the chaos of the day washed away by Sage.
Bitter thoughts of what she would like to say swirled around her mind, but her lawyers had advised against any direct communication.
He asked, in a low soft voice, ‘How is my son?’
‘I think it’s best we only communicate through our lawyers,’ Sage said defiantly, before replacing the receiver on its cradle with a satisfying click.
She stood, her knees stronger and her head clearer, and headed outside to start her grandfather’s car, warming it up before jumping into the back.
They would be leaving for the race soon, and Dolly should be arriving any moment to join them.
Hal was safely ensconced in the kitchen with Maggie, drawing at the kitchen table.
He had started at the nursery around the corner that week, merrily skipping in without hesitation.
It was just three days a week and was eating further into her overdraft, but worth every penny.
Sage had never known him so settled and confident.
The thought that anything might threaten to destabilize the happy balance made Sage even more fiercely devoted to protecting him.
In September, Hal would be starting school properly and there was no way shared custody between two countries would ever work.
The last written correspondence from his lawyers had suggested that instead of proceeding with their divorce, they should try counselling to help them repair the marriage and enable them to reconcile as a family.
Sage could not think of anything she would less like to do, and she shuddered involuntarily.
She would just have to figure out the finances on her own, with no contribution from Santiago, and she hoped never to have anything to do with him again.
He was not the role model she wanted for her son; his skewed moral compass had definitely lost its true north.
Her neck still prickled with goosebumps from the most recent encounter, his voice echoing in her ears.
‘Have you got the picnic basket, darling?’ Betsy was calling from the back door.
Sage opened the door to reply, wrapping her scarf tighter around her to keep the chill off.
‘Yes, Gammy, Maggie gave it to me.’ She felt all the aches and pains of her body much worse in the cold and her muscles were fairly sore.
She had ridden more in the last six weeks than she had in about five whole years and her body was still acclimatizing.
She felt stronger than she had since leaving school.
Her limbs were leaner and harder and her core was becoming solid again; she felt fit and healthy, if a little tender after Skylark’s antics, and she enjoyed the sensation of her body readjusting.
Her psychological bruises, however, made the physical ones pale into insignificance. Those would take more time to heal.
She consciously pulled herself together as Dolly’s little car appeared around the corner.
‘Morning! Sorry I’m late!’ Dolly leapt out in a smart, full-length, red fitted coat that flared out prettily above long black boots. Her blonde hair was loose but kept back off her face with a red headband.
‘You look beautiful, Doll,’ Sage said, beckoning her inside the Range Rover and kissing her friend on the cheek. ‘My grandparents are still in the house, you’re not late at all. I am so glad you could come!’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it. I know how important this horse is to you all. Any excuse for a jolly, you know me!’ Dolly, noticing the lines of strain around Sage’s face, produced a little hip flask out of her handbag and offered it to Sage, hoping to provide some light relief.
‘What’s in it?’ Sage wrinkled her nose curiously.
‘Port and cherry brandy, of course,’ Dolly said, laughing. They had filled their flasks with the lethal concoction back in their Pony Club days, pretending it was just Ribena. Sage took a small sip.
‘Mmm, just like blackcurrant!’ she said, giggling and handing it back to Dolly, who took a larger, encouraging sip.
‘What mischief are you two girls hatching?’ Dennis asked, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘Betsy, come on, we must leave,’ he bellowed over his shoulder towards the house.
Betsy appeared looking immaculate in a navy blue woollen trouser suit and a chic Herbert Johnson velvet beret.
‘Dennis, I have been waiting for you for at least twenty minutes. I was in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, while you were still in your bath. Don’t shout at me, please.
’ It wasn’t often that Sage saw her grandmother nervous.
She was desperate for the filly to be a success; Skylark’s connection to Iris made it really matter that she should succeed.
‘Hello, Dolly, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said sincerely, sliding into her seat.
She had always liked the girl – she seemed to really care for both Sage and Casper.
Betsy anxiously played with the string of pearls around her neck.
‘Is Casper coming today? He said he would try but I haven’t heard anything from him for a couple of days. ’
‘Yes, he’s going to try, Gammy – he’s racing at Huntingdon but thinks he’ll make it to Chelmsford in time for Skylark’s race. I spoke to him last night.’ Sage felt Dolly stiffen beside her and added in an undertone, ‘Are you OK, Doll? Did you manage to work things out the other night?’
Dolly pulled a face as if to say sort of, and squeezed Sage’s hand at the same time to reassure her that she was fine.
‘Sage!’ Maggie appeared at the door, holding the portable telephone. It’s Santiago! she was mouthing frantically, holding out the device towards the car like an unexploded bomb. Sage vehemently shook her head and made apologetic expressions.
Maggie said in her soft Irish voice, ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir, but you’ve just missed her. They’re after leaving already.’ She made shooing motions with her hands so that she could not be caught in an untruth and Dennis, obediently, pulled out of the drive.
‘What the devil does Deverill want?’ said Dennis.
He looked at his watch. ‘It can’t even be six a.m. in Panama – is he drunk or something?
’ He sounded dismissive, but he was looking at Sage in his rear-view mirror from beneath bushy brows, concern etching new creases into his already lined forehead.
‘God only knows,’ Sage said darkly. She had wondered the same thing.
It would be mad to further complicate her life by wading deeper into a muddle of emotions, but since Tuesday night she had been finding it impossible to stop thinking about Rafe.
When he dropped Sage off at North Place, he had declined her tentative offer to come in for a drink.
Sage had watched him drive away, holding her boots in one hand and her hat and whip in the other, her feet numb on the cold stone doorstep, feeling like a prize fool.
‘Did Skylark load all right?’ She changed the subject determinedly, trying to concentrate on the filly and not wanting to mar the day with her confusing thoughts.
Shafts of sunlight were winking through dark blue, black and grey clouds.
The car flew past bare hedgerows and barren trees, the buds of forthcoming leaves and flowers still tightly furled against the harsh elements waiting patiently for the more temperate climate of spring.