Cut Throat (32 page)

Simone and Flo worked eagerly to provide their usual sprinkling of placings in the speed and agility classes, including a thrilling battle in the Top Score competition where they took second and third places behind Danielle Moreaux on her experienced little horse.

The show was well organised and well attended, with many of the top British names and a scattering of international riders competing. Stephen Douglas was there and so, unfortunately, was his father. Mick Colby had travelled King and several novices up, and Ross saw many other familiar faces, some of whom greeted him amiably, while some cut him dead.

Lindsay and James had travelled independently of the Oakley Manor team, bringing Gypsy to the show in a trailer. They seemed in high spirits and Gypsy obliged by winning a speed class for her delighted owner.

The big chestnut, Telamon, appeared in the collecting ring for the first class of the afternoon, ridden by a rather heavy-handed young man who was one of those who had earlier turned his back on Ross. His relationship with the stallion appeared to be one of perpetual opposition. The horse looked full of fight and Ross was entirely on the animal's side. He wondered idly if he himself could ride the giant chestnut, and half-wished he could try.

Telamon and his passenger, Jim Pullen, were drawn fairly early in the class and, as expected, the round was an unmitigated disaster, the chestnut taking three fences at hurdling pace before determinedly bucking his jockey off at the far end of the ring.

Lindsay rode alongside Ross.

‘You really should try to disguise such unholy glee,' she admonished severely, with a twinkle in her eye.

‘The guy's a moron,' Ross said. ‘But I didn't realise I was quite so easy to read. I guess I'll have to be more careful!'

‘Well, it was obvious to me, but then perhaps I know you better than most.'

‘Do you often read my mind?' he asked jokingly.

‘Oh, all the time,' Lindsay declared, laughing. ‘You'd be surprised the things I know about you!'

And you'd be surprised the things you don't, he thought, ruefully.

Aloud, he said, ‘I shall
definitely
have to be more careful!'

‘So, can you come on Saturday?' she asked, unaware of the track on which she had set his thoughts.

‘Saturday?'

‘Our party. James' and mine,' Lindsay reminded him.

Ross noticed she avoided calling it an engagement party. Was it possible that she was starting to get cold feet?

‘
This
Saturday?' he said, in the tone of one who had thought it at least a month away. ‘Oh, hell! I'm sorry, Princess, I can't. I'm – that is, I've arranged to go out with Danielle.'

‘Bring her along,' Lindsay said brightly. ‘The more the merrier.'

‘Well, I'll ask her, thank you,' Ross said, unable to think of a further excuse and making a mental note to advise Danielle of the plans he had inadvertently made on her behalf.

Bishop was in fine form, winning his first class and only missing a place in the next after slipping on a difficult turn in the jump-off. Ross put it down to his inexperience and was well satisfied.

As the afternoon wore on and the prize money became more and more enticing, the bigger names began to emerge.

The Colonel had appeared just before lunch, apparently having been chauffeured by Roland, and was soon joined in the grandstand by Robbie Fergusson. The Scotsman made no effort to come down and see his horses or their rider at close hand. Instead he sat in the members' stand with an auburn-haired beauty at his side and drank champagne while his horses performed for his pleasure below.

Ross had no particular desire to talk to the man but the situation made him feel a little like a gladiator doing battle to amuse his noble patron. He knew he was being over-sensitive, but then the man
was
only a chess player himself, albeit a stinking rich one.

Franklin had arrived in a brand-new Range Rover which he had parked at the ringside to give Peter the best view possible without having to leave the vehicle, and Ross made a point of taking each of the horses round for the boy to see between classes.

Both Ginger and Flo were entered for the penultimate class of the day and as Ross trudged round the ring beforehand, pacing out the combinations and rehearsing the turns in his mind's eye, he tried to keep his mind off the increasing discomfort in his knee.

Pain, in moderate proportions, he felt he could deal with but he prayed that pain would not give way to weakness. Time off now for more operations wasn't an option. The horses were just coming good. Woodsmoke, Bishop and Simone were well on their way to qualifying for the top international shows and if he lost the rides now, he would lose them for ever.

The fences in this class were as big as anything Flo had ever tackled at a show but she launched herself at them with enthusiasm and gave a very creditable performance. In fact, she only came to grief at the very last obstacle, a formidable wall which was jumped diagonally across the arena, heading for the corner where a group of disabled children brandished candyfloss and helium-filled balloons.

Whether it was these silver balloons which caught the mare's eye Ross didn't know, but she badly misjudged the wall and crashed through the top of it, scattering wooden blocks and pecking badly on landing. Somehow she found the mysterious ‘fifth leg' which some horses seem to keep for such emergencies, and stayed upright.

Disappointed, for the Colonel's sake as much as anything, Ross patted her shoulder and they left the ring to sympathetic applause.

Harry Douglas, who had so far that afternoon been quite restrained in his comments, could apparently find no fault of Ross' to account for her mistake and contented himself with observing that they would not take part in the jump-off. Ross wondered if perhaps the vendetta had run its course.

‘Bad luck, Ross.' Danielle smiled as she rode past him into the ring and Ross remembered guiltily that he hadn't told her of their supposed date the following Saturday. He made a mental note to do so when he returned to the collecting ring on Ginger.

Danny appeared out of the milling crowd leading the chestnut mare and Ross passed Flo's reins to him in exchange. He accepted a leg-up from the boy, wincing as his knee took the strain. Settling into the saddle, he tightened the girth and gathered up the reins. Danny made no move to leave.

‘Is anything the matter?' Ross asked, his mind on Ginger, who felt mulish. She had already worked up a sweat, just on her way from the horsebox.

‘She's acting a bit weird, Ross,' he said, frowning. ‘Back there, when I led her past the beer tent, some idiot opened a can of lager practically under her nose. She nearly blew her top! I thought I wouldn't hold her for a moment. I've never seen her like that before.'

I have, Ross thought grimly.

‘She's got a thing about bangs and popping noises. Something must have frightened her pretty badly at some time. I expect she'll be all right now,' he said

Danny's face reflected the doubt that Ross himself felt but he nodded and turned away with Flowergirl.

Ross rode the chestnut mare towards the main ring, wishing that the general public was not so trusting. Sun-bronzed women in skimpy skirts trundled toddlers in pushchairs within inches of Ginger's back legs and children reached out to pat her as she passed, unaware that the sudden, unseen contact made her flinch and jump.

She was being very good, really, and Ross thought, not for the first time, that whatever it was that made her react so unreasonably at times, it was not a basic fault of her nature. For the most part she was a fairly placid animal, until something sparked off one of her illogical panics.

He wondered if horses could suffer from schizophrenia.

They reached the collecting ring without mishap and joined the whirling mass of horses and riders warming up for the class. The practice area was far too small, a common fault at non-permanent showgrounds, and as other competitors rode past in all directions, occasionally brushing the mare with whips or swishing tails, Ross could feel the tension building within her again. He fought to stay relaxed himself, knowing that any anxiety he felt would be transmitted to the horse and could only make matters worse.

Mick Colby rode alongside on a novice Ross didn't recognise.

‘Hi, fella. How's it going?' He looked harder at the American. ‘Are you okay?'

Somebody had just cut in front of Ginger, their whip flicking her face, and Ross felt the sudden, jerky signs of panic shudder through the mare. In spite of himself, he froze inside. Her ears began to flick back and forth agitatedly and through the reins her mouth felt hard and unresponsive. She was on the verge of breaking but there was nowhere to go.

‘Ross?'

He had a sudden mental picture of those excited children with their silver balloons. In his mind's eye he saw them screaming, falling over each other in their efforts to flee.

Dear God, half of them were in wheelchairs. They couldn't get away! Ginger would run them down. She wouldn't turn; not in one of her hysterical flights.

‘Look, I've got to get her out of here,' he said urgently to Colby. ‘Could you tell the stewards? I can't jump her like this. Please?'

Colby was plainly bewildered. ‘But, what . . . ?'

‘Will you do it?'

‘Yes, of course. But what's the matter? Are you okay?'

‘Thanks.' Afraid to touch her with his heels, Ross jumped off Ginger. Gripping her nostrils tightly with his left hand so that her breath whistled, he led her tentatively forward. She went in a series of short, jerky steps, alternately towing Ross along and pulling back. In this fashion he left the collecting ring and headed for the lorry park.

Halfway there, she stopped shaking and started to walk more sensibly. Ross heaved a sigh of relief. He supposed if he took her back to the ring now she might be all right, but then again she might not and he could hardly scratch her a second time without some form of explanation. He dismissed the idea without much hesitation.

‘You're one crazy horse, aren't you, girl?' He looked at her wide, worried eyes and felt pity for her.

The upset caused by his unexpected withdrawal from the class caught up with him even sooner than he'd thought it would. Bill said little as he took the chestnut from him, apparently accepting Ross' terse excuse that she was a little off-colour. He called to Danny to have Woodsmoke ready for him in three-quarters of an hour or so, and wandered slowly back to the ringside to see Franklin and Peter.

‘The Colonel's looking for you,' the businessman said. ‘Or at least, he sent Roland to find you. I gather you've scratched Ginger. Is anything wrong?'

‘She's had enough,' Ross said, economically.

‘So how does Woody look for the last class?' Franklin enquired, thankfully accepting this at face value.

‘He's fine. Jumping out of his skin,' Ross assured him, wistfully wishing that Fergusson would be as easily satisfied. ‘Hiya, Peter. How's it going?'

‘Hi, Ross. This is great!' the boy declared, eyes shining. ‘Much better than hospital. I wish I didn't have to go back there.' He stopped, looking a little shamefaced. ‘The nurses are really nice but . . . Well, you know what I mean.' He looked at Ross almost pleadingly.

‘Sure I do,' he told the boy. ‘I spent nearly two months in one, myself. It's the pits.'

Peter looked cheered by this whole-hearted endorsement of his views and even Franklin had to smile. ‘Will Woodsmoke win, Ross?' Peter asked eagerly. ‘Will he beat Sandy Peterson?'

Peterson was one of the leading money-winners in England so far that year and Ross grinned. ‘Well, he might but I can't promise anything,' he told the excited boy. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me.'

‘Ah, Ross, my boy.' As Ross left the Richmonds' ringside position, Roland approached unseen and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘My esteemed papa sent me to find out if everything is all right. Our mutual friend Mr Fergusson is, to put it mildly, hopping mad. It seems he expected to be consulted before you . . . er . . . scratched his horse.'

‘Consulted? There wasn't time for that! What was I supposed to do – use semaphore?' Ross exclaimed indignantly. ‘Besides, what's the point? He doesn't know the first thing about the animal. He probably wouldn't even recognise her if she wasn't announced by name!'

Roland put his hands in the air, dramatically. ‘Don't shoot me, old boy, I'm only the messenger! I take it you had a good reason for not riding the beast?'

‘I did.'

‘But you're not going to burden me with it,' Roland observed mildly. ‘Okay, that's fine by me. I'll tell him the animal got its fetlocks in a tangle or something.'

Ross smiled in spite of himself. ‘Tell him the mare had done enough. That was a very big course, you know.'

They were passing within feet of one of the fences in the ring: huge parallel bars some four foot six in height with a similar spread.

Roland stood and looked at the jump, as on the other side of the rails a horse swung towards it and with a thudding, snorting, leather-creaking effort, cleared it and thundered on.

He shuddered. ‘You can see why some people lose their nerve,' he commented. ‘Nothing would induce me to approach one of those on the back of a horse.'

Ross looked at him sharply but it seemed his remark had been perfectly innocent.

‘The jumps,' he muttered, ‘are the least of my problems.'

Roland seemed disinclined to return to his father and Fergusson, and when the current class ended, with a victory for Mick Colby and his new ride, he waited while Ross walked the course for the last class, then accompanied him back to the horsebox to collect Woodsmoke.