CHAPTER SIXTEEN #3
Sage learnt that he was still preparing youngsters for his old friends in racing; Iris’s accident hadn’t put him off horses for life.
Dickie had always been a genius at backing the trickiest of thoroughbreds.
He was sometimes even doing so for Dennis, when he had a particularly precious or difficult one on his hands.
Sage mentally stored this information away.
She would scold her grandfather severely when she saw him – so many secrets!
She was glad though that Dennis had been looking after Dickie, who had obviously been suffering so gravely.
Bumpa at work again, Sage thought wryly. There was no anger though, only a deep gratitude towards her grandfather for his unerring goodness.
There were a couple of times when Dickie had needed to excuse himself, leaving the room briskly when emotion threatened to overcome him.
He had mopped at his damp eyes with a clean, spotted handkerchief before returning to the room.
On one such occasion, Hal had stumped out in Remington’s wake to find him sitting on the bottom step of the wooden staircase.
He had climbed onto Dickie’s lap and gently stroked his cheek before resting his golden head against his grandfather’s chest. Dickie had clung onto the child, his body shaking slightly in his attempt to suppress the great ferocity of his guilt, his grief and his love.
They had left a reluctant Dickie later that afternoon, solemnly promising him that they would all be back, at his behest, for breakfast.
Hal woke first the next morning in his little room at the pub.
The sun was trying to fight its way through the dark storm clouds that hung low over the sea, while a steady patter of raindrops drummed irregular strains of a melody against the windowpanes.
He scrambled out of bed and rushed into the other bedroom.
Rafe was sitting up in bed, checking the racing results on his phone; he smiled affectionately at the sight of the child in his checked pyjamas, his tousled mane of hair sticking up in all directions.
He put a finger to his mouth and pointed at Sage, who was curled up next to him, still fast asleep.
‘Your mumma was very tired last night. She hasn’t moved for about twelve hours!’ Rafe whispered with a grin. Hal bounced from one foot to the other for a few moments in an attempt to be quiet, then – unable to contain himself, his face creased with distress – he cried out what was troubling him.
‘Can you fish in the rain? Grandpapa said he would show me his fishing sticks today – but it’s raining!’
By the time they returned to Penrose Park Farm, the rain clouds had drifted along the coast; the weather was indulging its mercurial and unruly tendencies, swaying from wild to serene on a sixpence.
Rays of glistening gold prevailed through the cover of cloud, bathing the house in warm, glowing beams of tentative morning sunshine.
They found Dickie sitting on the mounting block in the unevenly paved cobble yard, whistling softly through his teeth while cleaning a bridle.
Loyal Remington sat beside him, having arranged himself awkwardly on a sheepskin numnah.
The dog shook slightly in protest at the chill in the air, his thin, silken blue coat no match for even the most clement of early spring temperatures.
The hypnotic sound of the stable inmates contentedly munching on meadow hay and shifting about in their boxes was reassuringly familiar.
One of the fillies stuck her elegant head out over the top of her half door and snorted in agitation as Hal flew onto the tranquil scene, tripping over a metal bucket and into Dickie’s arms with a squeal of delight.
‘Steady on, old chap. Hasn’t your mother taught you to go gently around these silly creatures?
Sometimes even a sneezle upsets these sensitive, foolish beasts.
’ Dickie lifted Hal up onto his hip and moved over to the nervous filly, who had retreated back into the sanctuary of her dark stable.
‘Here, see – hold your hand out. Nice and low, like this.’ Dickie reached towards the stable door and waited patiently.
The inquisitive bay face slowly appeared, ears twitching backwards and forwards like a highly tuned radar.
Cautiously, she stretched out her serpentine neck, arching it tentatively over the door.
‘Give her one of these.’ Dickie pulled a carrot from his tweed coat pocket.
‘Hold it flat on your palm so that she doesn’t nip you.
Good.’ Hal beamed as the filly softly took the carrot from him.
She was still breathing warily from her flared nostrils but her initial look of fear had abated and she now regarded him haughtily from behind dark, shining eyes.
‘She’s much more snorty than Custard,’ Hal observed.
‘Who is Custard? Is she your pony?’ Dickie asked, interested.
‘Yes, but he’s a boy and he’s yellow.’
‘Yellow, ey? Your mother had a yellow pony when she was small. I remember going to tuck her in one night and –’ Dickie looked at Hal with his eyes wide – ‘she wasn’t in her bed.
Empty!’ Hal was listening intently. Dickie shifted the child’s weight onto his other hip.
‘I called her mother, your grandmother, and we searched the house. No sign of her. Casper was dead to the world, snoring, in his bed. At our wits’ end we went out to the yard and where do you think we found your mumma? ’
‘Where?’ Hal asked with round eyes.
‘Fast asleep, curled up in her yellow pony, Falla’s, stable.
’ Then he said, ‘Well done,’ as Hal held his hand quietly for the horse while she snuffled at him curiously.
Dickie turned to look at Sage who had come over and was now leaning against the half door.
‘Are you riding again?’ he asked. ‘I heard you’d stopped.
Such a shame – you and your brother were natural-born riders. ’
Sage nodded. ‘Yes, I’m riding again. Bumpa had me back on the first day I got home.’
‘He’s a wonderful man, your grandfather,’ Dickie said gruffly.
‘I know.’ Her words were sincere, with no trace of accusation. Hal wriggled to get down and when Dickie set him back on his feet, he turned to look up at his grandfather.
‘Can we go fishing now, Grandpapa?’ Turning to Sage, he asked earnestly, ‘Mumma, can I sleep in Custard’s room when we go home?’
After a quick breakfast, Hal mobilized the troops, cajoling them to assemble on the point to watch his first fishing lesson.
Rafe’s phone vibrated incessantly; he was starting to get a little twitchy about being away from the horses.
Dickie had put a couple of colourful flies on the end of his spinning rod along with a large weight, and flung it fifteen yards out to sea.
He was now bobbing it up and down with Hal standing in front of him, his little hands gripping the rod and reel beneath Dickie’s large ones and his childish eyes wide open with rapturous concentration as he focused on his grandfather’s murmured instructions.
Rafe’s mobile buzzed again in his pocket. He pulled it out impatiently and was about to kill the call when he saw that it was Casper Beaumont’s name flashing up on his screen. That’s odd, he thought.
‘Morning, Casper … Everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Hi, Rafe. Morning. Listen – sorry to cut to the chase but are you with my sister, by any chance? My grandparents said you might be. I’ve been desperately trying to get hold of her but her bloody phone keeps going straight to voicemail.’ Casper sounded fraught with worry.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m with Sage and Hal right now. I’ll pass you over, hold on.’ Rafe purposely did not mention Dickie; he would let Sage explain that particular saga to her brother.
‘No – don’t pass me over!’ Casper almost shouted down the line in his haste. ‘Look … I don’t want to frighten Sage, but are you still down in Cornwall with our father?’
‘Yes, we are.’ So Casper already knew. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Her fucking ex-husband, Santiago Deverill, is the matter. He turned up at William’s yard at five o’clock this morning, saying he was looking for Hal.
He kicked up a real stink – the bloody man even insisted on checking my digs above the stables.
He was insane, Rafe, shouting his head off in front of everyone.
William eventually kicked him out, but I heard him ranting about driving to Penrose.
I spoke to my grandparents and they confirmed that’s where Dad is – I have no clue how he knew that but he does, and he’s en route.
I’ve been trying to get through to you all morning!
I was about to get in the car and come down but I’m racing at Wincanton. ’
Rafe was racking his brains. Had he told anyone where they were? He cursed himself. ‘Christ, OK. Sorry, Casper, the reception is really patchy around here. What can I do?’
‘Can you get them out of there before Santiago arrives? I should have just cancelled my rides and driven down as soon as I heard from William.’
‘Of course I can do it – you mustn’t cancel anything. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them safe.’ Rafe’s mind whirred into gear as it formulated the start of a plan.
‘Wait, Rafe! Don’t bring them back to Newmarket. Seriously, Santiago is mental. He actually frightened me this morning. He was off his head – I really think he’s dangerous and I don’t want Sage to see him. He was properly unhinged. We can’t let him anywhere near her – he’s not safe.’
‘OK.’ Rafe looked at his watch, rapidly calculating travel times.
‘Cas. I’ve got it. Right – I’m going to go now, it’s half past nine.
Santiago could be here soon, so I need to get moving.
I’ll keep you updated. Have a good day at the races.
And try not to worry.’ Rafe hung up, raking a hand through his dark hair.
He needed to keep Sage and Hal safe, that was the priority.
He tried to stifle the rage he felt. Who was this man? He could kill him, he thought darkly.