CHAPTER THREE #2
‘I think we had better get rid of these, for a start.’ She pulled the dirty shoes off Hal’s small feet, relieved that his new, warm socks were still clean and dry.
She washed his grubby hands and, too worried to use the pristine white towel, used her own hand to wipe off the hot chocolate that was still smeared around his mouth.
Valiantly, she tried to tame his mop of hair with her fingers and, planting a kiss on his head, she quickly glanced at the looking glass.
She was relieved to see that, amazingly, she did not look too much of a fright, except for her purple, and now yellowing, bruised eye.
Her brown skin looked healthy, her hair was almost restrained in a French plait and her new coat, which was flatteringly cut, covered her crumpled travelling clothes.
‘Mumma, did I do something bad?’ Hal asked in a small voice, his doe eyes shining with unshed tears as he gazed up at his mother for reassurance. ‘She said I was a “nasty little brat” – Mumma, what is a brat?’
‘A brat? I don’t know. Maybe she said, a bat? A fruitbat?’ Sage, wanting to make him smile, picked him up and held him out as though he were flying. Hal laughed and her heart lifted but she still inwardly seethed.
Sage left through the front door, carrying Hal under one arm and his dirty shoes in the opposite hand. Having reached the sanctuary of the car, she heaved a sigh of relief. What did Casper think he was doing? What an uptight cow.
It was not long until Casper appeared. He opened Hal’s door and placed Scamp, who was still wriggling, on his lap before wearily getting into the driver’s seat.
‘That went well!’ he said brightly, and catching each other’s eye, they both lapsed into guilty peals of laughter.
‘Casper—’
‘I know what you’re going to say, Sage, but don’t, please.
Issy has a softer side, she’s just rather, erm …
’ He searched for the words. ‘High maintenance.’ He looked at his sister, beseeching her not to say the cold, uncomfortable truth.
Out of filial love, she bit her tongue. He went on, ‘Bumpa was only bemoaning both of our choices in partners last night. I haven’t the energy to do it all again with you now. ’
‘You spare me, and I’ll spare you.’ She smiled at him. ‘I just hope you don’t get your heart broken too.’
Sage’s swollen, purple eye was lit up by a shaft of light. Casper felt another stab of fury towards Santiago Deverill. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel.
Sage, not wanting to upset her brother, quickly changed the subject. ‘Do let’s get moving now, Cas. Where are we, anyway? How far to North Place?’
Sage had butterflies in her stomach; it was time to go home.
As they drove into Newmarket, Sage’s heart soared, nostalgia pounding through her veins.
Strings of horses were streaming along the pavements and over the zebra crossings, making their way from their yards to the gallops on the Heath.
As children, Sage and Casper had ridden out from their grandfather’s yard, North Place, with first lot early every morning before school.
Their mother, Iris, had done so too, and even their grandmother, Betsy, had joined them most mornings until Iris had died.
Betsy no longer rode the flat racehorses very often, but still exercised her home-bred point-to-pointers and was often seen beguiling unsuspecting friends and family to join her on the – frequently, highly silly – animals.
Heading up the hill past the Heath, on which Sage could see the scores of working thoroughbreds in their gold-red-and-black woollen exercise rugs, it felt as though time had stood still; nothing seemed to have changed.
As they approached home, she eagerly looked up ahead towards the familiar old gateposts, each surmounted by a noble, stone greyhound, and saw the handsome copper plaque engraved with NORTH PLACE that shone beside the wrought-iron entrance gates.
On arrival, Casper pressed a button on his key ring and the heavy gates began to open slowly, powered by discreet electric motors.
‘That’s new!’ Sage said, leaning forward in excitement. ‘They didn’t do that when I was here two years ago. Is Bumpa finally bending to technology?’
‘Oh, this is nothing,’ said Casper with a derisive snort, as he edged the vehicle through the gates.
‘Just wait until you see his new car – he’s really spent some lolly this year.
He also paid a fortune for an automatic watering system …
you know, where the horses’ buckets get refilled like a trough.
Then the old bugger realized he couldn’t monitor the amount of water the horses were drinking, so he turned it off and went back to buckets.
The stable lads weren’t overly thrilled, as you can imagine!
He’s had some really good results these past few years – and his owners have been paying their bills, which helps.
He and Gammy are now spending it, you’ll see. ’
They wound their way up the beech-lined drive and arrived at their grandparents’ imposing Georgian manor house.
Just the sight of it made Sage’s heart lighten.
Gravel swept in an elegant arc up to the house and continued to curve around the large garden to the back of it.
There the drive then opened up into a beautiful old stable yard and three modern stable blocks, beyond which lay a round, all-weather gallop.
‘Goodness, it all looks so smart. I mean, look at all this gravel!’ Sage said in amazement. ‘The old place looks positively distinguished.’
‘Isn’t it good? Forty-five years of hard work and the old boy is finally making some money!
It’s pretty terrifying watching him spending it though, after all the years of innate frugality.
Even Mr Green has been allowed a free rein, having been the gardener here for what, thirty years?
He’s put out pots and hanging baskets everywhere in the stables – hanging baskets, full of flowers, in January!
’ Casper shook his head in amusement. ‘Come and look. Everything is immaculate these days.’
He drove around to the back of the house and parked next to a brand-new Range Rover. Looking at it and then at Sage, he rolled his eyes and rubbed his finger and thumb together like a despairing mafia lord.
‘Where’s the old Volvo gone? That cannot be Bumpa’s!’ Sage’s eyes were wide in disbelief.
‘It’s hilarious, Sage, he calls it “keeping up with the Joneses”.
For years, he’s had these young upstart trainers snapping at his heels, throwing money at any problem and overtaking him in the championship contest solely due to finances.
I reckon they all looked down at him in his clapped-out car and holey trousers.
Well, the other day, the Volvo finally died and Bumpa marched off to the Land Rover dealership and asked what car Gerald Wolsely had.
He and Gerry had come to blows on the Heath that morning when Gerry said something rude about the state of his clothes. ’
Sage tipped her head back and let out a laugh, turning it into a mock gasp. ‘Surely not!’