CHAPTER FIVE #2
Sage rode up to them and jumped off, landing lightly on her feet beside Dennis.
‘She’s on her toes this morning!’ she said, in cheerful greeting.
‘Well, at least you managed to stay on her, Sage. It’s more than the last lad did,’ Dennis nodded approvingly.
‘I tried to sell the damned filly at last year’s Autumn Horses in Training Sale as I didn’t have a single lad in the place that could sit on her.
I was extremely pleased – she sold very well – until I found out that it was your bloody grandmother who’d bought the blasted animal back.
It turns out she is fairly rapid though,’ he added in an undertone, ‘so Betsy will be the one laughing when she trots up in the Thousand Guineas, which could well happen.’ Turning to Fred, he said, ‘Just give her an easy ride, please, Fred. You’re going over eight furlongs on the Al Bahathri.
Dillon will set the pace for you, then let her travel past from the six marker in her own time. ’
Fred nodded, saying nothing, and completely ignoring Sage, held up his thin left leg expectantly.
Inwardly rolling her eyes at his arrogance, Sage performed the necessary action to throw him up onto Skylark and off they went.
A small part of her hoped that the filly would, true to form, turn inside out and deck the rude little man.
‘Was that my baptism of fire then, Bumpa?’ she asked, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
She felt both elated from her spin on Strawberry and proud that she had not disappointed her grandfather, whom she had always looked up to and craved approval from.
Dennis grunted at her, pulling on his pipe, but his eyes were twinkling.
She climbed into the car with him and, puffing thoughtfully, he drove around to the platform where they would be able to watch the horses gallop.
Jumping out again, Sage breathed in a huge lungful of clean, fresh air.
She had never felt she could fully open a car window in protest at her grandfather’s tobacco smoke for fear of offending him, but it had prevented her from ever seriously smoking herself.
Climbing up onto the platform, she thought of the trips she had made there as a child, hardly able to see over the rail; her height had since put paid to any dreams she might have had of being a jockey.
‘First lot on Strawberry was just to get your stabilizers off. You’ll be riding all of the sensitive ones now, darling.
I can sleep better at night knowing my good horses won’t be galloping riderless up the High Street.
’ Dennis laughed into his pipe and turned his attention to the two-furlong marker on the track, where the string was shortly to emerge into their line of sight before starting its proper work.
It was a fait accompli as far as he was concerned.
His horses would respond well to Sage’s light hands and natural seat.
Furthermore, riding three lots every morning would be cathartic for his granddaughter, who clearly needed to work through some considerable personal trauma.
Exercise and fresh air would be the best therapy.
He held up his binoculars and spoke quietly.
‘Dillon is on Dear Morris, who is no slouch – he’s a talented yardstick, rated at a hundred and runs to his mark every time. He’s also a proven lead horse and if the filly can stay with him, we’ll know we’ve got something half-decent on our hands.’
Sage waited for the first of the string to appear, excited to see if Skylark was as good as Dennis thought she was. She knew that her grandfather rarely got excited and that consequently, Skylark must be something special.
‘Here they are,’ Dennis said softly as he peered intently through his binoculars, his pipe hanging, temporarily forgotten, from the corner of his mouth.
Sage focused on Dear Morris, who was galloping hard, his dark brown form flying along with Dillon sitting quietly on top.
She then watched Skylark come up beside them, floating easily along before pulling away to skip ten lengths clear, the other three horses in the string trailing behind in her wake.
As they flashed past, it looked as though Fred was struggling to pull her up; the chestnut filly was evidently enjoying herself.
‘Bloody hell. What’s that infernal little man doing? I told him to give her an easy ride. She’s got some turn of foot though, darling, hasn’t she?’ Dennis’s eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed with exhilaration.
‘She sure has, Bumpa – she’s rapid!’ Sage agreed happily. The rush of emotion surprised her, and with a jolt she realized that she could not remember the last time she had felt joy.
They got back into the car and drove round to meet the horses.
Dennis parked and tried to get out but the door was locked.
He swore and pressed a button on the centre of the dashboard.
Stifling a laugh, Sage heard the locks give way and watched her grandfather nimbly jump down from the car like an excited child on Christmas morning.
‘Fred, I told you to go gently. That was not gentle. You can get off now.’ Dennis glowered at the jockey, who unemotionally unclipped his hat and dismounted, before handing the reins imperiously back to Sage.
‘Gaffer, that was gentle. She was hard-held the entire time, never even came off the bridle,’ he said in his nasal, northern accent. ‘What’s its breeding? She’s smart. And what’s the lead horse?’
‘Oh, the lead horse is just some selling plater, Fred – nothing special. The filly isn’t that smart,’ Dennis drawled, fobbing him off. ‘Right, Sage, I’ll leg you up and you can take her home.’
When Sage finally got back to North Place for breakfast, it was half past ten.
She groaned as she bent down to take off her boots; she was going to be sore tomorrow.
Leaving them in a pile in the boot room, she padded along the stone floors and into the warm kitchen in just her socks.
Hal was sitting at the table next to Betsy eating a piece of toast, while Maggie bustled about next to the Aga. Hal’s face lit up when Sage came in.
‘Mumma! Gammy says she is going to get me a pony!’ His huge, dark eyes were full of shining stars and excitement.
He had jam around his mouth and all over his sticky fingers, which now reached up towards his mother, demanding to be lifted.
Sage bent down beside him and buried her face in his sweet-smelling neck, holding him tight for a moment.
It was a relief to get home to him in one piece.
‘Well now, Hal, I said we would talk to Mummy about it.’ Betsy looked embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry, darling, it’s not a done deal – I just thought it would be nice for him, if you agreed.
’ She leant over to wipe his face with a napkin and passed it to Sage, who scooped the child up into her arms and moved over to sit at the table, wiping her son’s fingers carefully as she did so.
‘We have dreamt of a pony for so long. That sounds like a wonderful idea, Gammy. Oh, thank you so much, Maggie,’ Sage said, leaning back as Maggie set a cooked breakfast and a huge mug of coffee in front of her. She was ravenous.
‘You’re welcome, pet. Now you come to me, young man, and let your mother eat.
’ Maggie plucked Hal off Sage’s lap and took him over to sit next to her beside the Aga.
Hal went easily and Sage thought how at home he seemed already; he looked more at ease than she’d ever known him.
Lucilla had always been sniping at him about grubby hands but here, no one minded tiny jammy handprints on the walls; they just got fondly wiped away.
As Sage bent over her breakfast and started to eat her eggs, Betsy continued.
‘I happen to know of a sweet little palomino Welsh pony for sale nearby. It’s apparently utterly bombproof. It’s over near your and Casper’s friend Dolly from school, out towards Bury St Edmunds.’ Betsy reached for the surname from her memory and finally extracted it with a flourish: ‘Dolly Laing!’
Sage looked up in surprise. She had been thinking about Dolly just yesterday.
When Sage had told her she was going with Santiago to Panama, Dolly had been so shocked that she’d confessed all the worries she had about Santiago.
But Sage hadn’t listened, brushing Dolly’s mistrust of Santiago aside.
Although Sage tried to salvage their friendship by making Dolly Hal’s godmother it had never fully been repaired.
Not helped by Santiago always making it so difficult for her to speak to Dolly – he’d become brusque with her if she asked him to mind Hal so she could make a phone call of any decent length.
Sage knew that it was her own fault and wanted, desperately, to heal the breach.
They still spoke now and then but it was not the same as it used to be; for the past few years the distance had been more than purely geographical.
Sage looked at her grandmother suspiciously but Betsy did not seem to be working on any other agenda. She was looking at Sage expectantly, her kind, wise eyes not giving anything away.
‘I’ve actually been meaning to call Dolly to let her know that we’re home.
She’s Hal’s godmother – as you very well know, Gammy – and I’d really love to see her.
We used to be so close. She and Cas were good together but I don’t think they were ready for each other, to be honest. They were too young … Cas was too wild.’
Betsy looked at her granddaughter innocently. ‘Ah yes, darling, I do remember now. They were a great match. So … on another entirely unrelated matter, what did you think of Casper’s new “friend” Isabel?’