CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
Dennis produced Owner and Trainer badges for them all when they arrived at the racecourse and they excitedly made their way up to the bar where Betsy and Dolly were bought stiff drinks by Dennis.
The anxious trainer, after making sure his party were all settled, then made his way down to the stables with Sage.
She had been registered so she would be allowed through security to check on Skylark and another three-year-old from the yard that was also running.
Sage let herself into Skylark’s stable and was relieved to find the horse calm; she stood looking out over her half door taking everything in, with pricked ears and bright eyes.
Katie, the groom who mostly looked after Skylark, leant against the door watching them.
‘Isn’t she beautiful, Sage – look at her, and haven’t I got a shine on her coat?
She is class. Are you nervous?’ She wondered why Sage looked so on edge.
She felt only admiration for Mr Seymour’s granddaughter, as she had been a jibbering wreck when having to handle the filly herself.
Katie felt no bitterness that the ride had been taken from her, only daily relief that she no longer was burdened with the torment of riding the temperamental chestnut.
‘No, not for this girl today. She’s in a league of her own, I reckon she’ll trot up.
I’m just a bit worried about something else, nothing to do with Skylark.
’ Sage smiled at Katie, wanting to reassure her, and straightened the filly’s rugs.
She leant against the stable wall, letting the filly rest her head lovingly on her shoulder.
It felt as though they’d become closer since their tempestuous tussle earlier in the week, each forgiving the other.
Skylark sought out her rider now; she stood, blowing into Sage’s face affectionately with ticklish whiskers.
Sage stroked Skylark’s fiery head, marvelling at the spun gold that shimmered in her forelock.
She could feel her heart settling as she drew strength from the horse.
They had managed to connect on a visceral level, both recognizing that they were each other’s support system – something neither had recognized that they’d needed until they had found one another.
She gave Skylark a final hug and pulled her ears tenderly. Then, dropping a kiss on the filly’s velvety muzzle, she whispered, ‘Good luck, my special girl. Fly like the wind today.’
They had an hour until Skylark would be saddled and led out into the parade ring. Katie opened the door for her and Sage, putting a thankful hand on the girl’s arm, stepped out into the yard. Dennis was coming towards them, having checked on his other runner.
‘All right?’ Sage asked her grandfather.
‘Yes, but it looks like rain which won’t suit the filly at all. Even a smatter of light drizzle will be a disaster. It’ll upset her. She is so bloody sensitive.’ Dennis looked anxiously up at the clouds.
‘It’s not going to rain, Bumpa. Don’t fret.
’ Sage too looked up at the swirling slate sky and sent up an unspoken prayer to the weather gods; an easterly breeze seemed to answer it, sending a violent gust of air swirling about the racecourse which caught up dead leaves and sent them rattling about through the railings and skimming over the pristine mown grass.
Sage did not know what the breeze was telling her, but she hoped it was good news.
Katie called out.
‘Sir, am I putting overreach boots on Chess Piece for the race?’
Dennis went to assist Katie with getting him ready.
Sage decided to find the others and turned to walk back towards the yard entrance that was manned by racecourse security.
She went out through the gate, smiling at the officials in thanks, and found herself standing before Rafe.
He was looking particularly desirable against the grey day, dressed in green corduroys and a tweed coat over a shirt, tie and jersey with a brown trilby.
He was not alone. Louis, by contrast, was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a baseball cap pulled low over his handsome, straight nose, and accompanying them was a very elegant older woman dressed in a beautiful double-breasted tweed peplum coat with a matching calf-length skirt.
They looked as though they had just walked out of the pages of Tatler, all so stylish and confident in such very different ways.
Sage was overcome with shyness and was all for making a dash for it when Louis called out to her.
‘Oh, hello. You look terribly familiar.’
‘Don’t be such an ass, Louis. You know exactly who she is,’ Rafe sighed in frustration, beckoning a reluctant Sage over. ‘Sage, may I introduce my mother, Lady Constance Dunbarton,’ Rafe indicated the delicate woman. She was tall and thin with dark hair cut short, and she smiled politely.
‘It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sage Beaumont.’
Immediately, a gleam of interest appeared in the woman’s bright eyes and she leant forward to bestow a kiss on both of Sage’s cheeks.
‘Sage. I have been hoping to meet you. We are great friends with your grandparents. Are they here?’ In an undertone, she added conspiratorially, ‘I really have been dying to meet you.’ Then louder again, she asked, ‘Are they up in the trainers’ gallery?’
‘It’s very lovely to meet you. Yes, they are – I was just going up to find them.
’ Sage answered Constance respectfully, but her eyes strayed involuntarily to Rafe.
He had told his mother about her. What did this mean?
He was looking right at her, his dark eyes boring into hers.
She felt a rush of heat as she recognized the desire in them.
Sage knew her misgivings would melt away if he carried on gazing at her with those burning eyes.
She felt dizzy with a punch of longing; her body ached for him.
She dragged her eyes away, her pulse racing, blood rushing in her ears.
None of the practical reasons for staying away from him seemed to matter when she was this close to him.
I don’t want to fight this, she realized with surprise, her defences beginning to crumble.
She understood, properly and for the first time, that Rafe really wanted her, and she really wanted him.
‘I need to borrow Sage for a moment, Mother. Louis can take you to find the Seymours. We’ll be up in a bit.’
Louis began to protest but Rafe swiftly took Sage by the hand and led her away, back through security into the stable yard.
‘Where are we going?’ Sage’s voice was ragged.
Rafe’s hand was warm and rough and where they touched it felt like a firework of synapse explosions.
She had never had this chemical reaction to another person before; it was fire and ice, and her body screamed for more.
He looked back at her, fierce with intensity, and then he smiled that rare, devastating flash of unveiled affection and she was completely disorientated by the surge of need she felt for him.
Rafe opened up a stable, pulling her inside.
‘My runner in the five-fifteen p.m.,’ was all he said about the black horse in the blue rug who was unconcernedly munching at his haynet.
‘He won’t mind us.’ Rafe gently pressed Sage back against the brick wall, pushing a lock of hair that had escaped from her hair tie behind her ear.
Softly running his thumb down her face, he looked at her, seeking permission in her eyes.
Sage, literally quivering at the knees, clasped her hands around his neck, overcome with desire, and pulled him closer until their mouths were touching and then they were lost in each other, their kisses getting deeper and deeper; their bodies moulding into each other, touching eagerly and without restraint until Sage let out a soft moan.
‘What are we doing? Someone could come in.’ She placed another helpless kiss on the corner of his mouth, reluctant to stop.
Rafe took her face in his large hands and rested his forehead against hers. His uneven breath smelt of mint, his body of soap and something earthier, honeysuckle maybe. Sage found it inebriating.
‘I can’t help myself, Sage. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You’ve bewitched me. I do not normally behave like this!’ Rafe was apologetic, steeling himself to step back from her but wanting to sweep her up in his arms and run for the hills.
‘I should think not!’ Sage pointedly looked at his dishevelled clothes; his shirt was rucked up beneath his jersey and coat where she had untucked it to run her hands over his hard midriff, the knot of his blue tie had been pulled loose and his trilby lay forgotten on the banked-up straw.
‘You are normally much better turned out,’ she said, attempting to unhook his trousers in order to tuck in his shirt. With firm hands he moved hers away.
‘No, I think you’d better let me do that or you will be in real trouble.
’ He placed a more deliberately chaste kiss on her trembling mouth.
Trying to catch his breath and regain his composure he asked, ‘Can you come to my house tonight after the races? I think we’d better have a proper conversation. ’
‘Yes. I’ll need to put Hal to bed, and then I’ll come.’
There was the clatter of a wheelbarrow outside and they furtively sprang apart, not a moment too soon, as Chris, Rafe’s travelling senior lad, put his head over the door.
‘I wondered why the kickbolt wasn’t done up, sir.
It’s a bit early to be getting him ready though, isn’t it?
’ The man looked from one to the other and seemed to take in the situation; retracting his head again with a chuckle, he took himself and the wheelbarrow off down the line of stables and towards the muck heap.
As Sage went to open the top bolt to let herself out of the loose box, Rafe caught her hand in his, pulling her back. She went into his arms again without any struggle, relishing the comforting warmth of his body, and looked up at him questioningly.