Blind Beauty (23 page)

“Funny, with this littl'un… I remember…”

Tessa knew she was thinking: this is the girl that stabbed Mr Morrison-Pleydell. It always brought her goodwill.

They boxed the two animals and closed the ramp and the girl went away. Tessa went and talked to Buffoon, who was now pulling at his haynet, content.

He had always like travelling. The noisy interior of the lorry held no horrors for him. He turned his head towards the sound of her voice and his nostrils rippled with the familiar greeting.

“Next time you come out of here, you'll see where you're going,” Tessa said.

But her eyes pricked with fear. If he comes out of here, seeing, she thought… whatever happens afterwards is of no consequence. I shall have what I want most in the world. Now, after Tom.

Jimmy came back and climbed in the cab.

“Well, you've done it now, for better or for worse. He'll do the operation next month. I just hope you'll get the money OK.”

“Oh, yes, it's only an advance, after all. I'll pay Mum back.”

Jimmy grimaced at her confidence, but said no more. They drove home, not saying much, the windscreen wipers moving hypnotically across the view in front of them.

T
essa did not win her three booked rides, nor was she placed. She was paid her fee for riding, but there was no ten per cent for winning, and the fees looked small beside the cost of Buffoon's operation.

Jimmy said, each time, “You rode well. Money's not everything.”

“It is!”

“Those horses weren't expected to win. You won't be offered winners very often, Tessa, let's face it. There's too many guys out there after the winners.”

Owners and trainers had been pleased enough, treated her kindly, and she knew in each case she had ridden well. So much depended on it! And with each race her strength had increased. But her impatience, her ambition outstripped any feeling of satisfaction. Thank God her mother had promised the money!

Myra rang Sarah one night. Sarah called Tessa to take the call.

“I've got it out of the bank,” Myra said. “It's in an envelope behind the hot water tank in the bathroom.”

“Oh Mum, you are marvellous!”

“When the coast's clear, you must come and collect it.”

“I will. As soon as possible.”

What a relief! Another hurdle cleared. Tessa could not believe her luck. Sarah was more cautious.

“What if Mucky finds out? He'll come down and shoot you.”

“How can he find out?”

“It's what it's for – Buffoon. When you think what he did to stop Buffy winning the Grand National… unbelievable! He's a mad man. Dangerous. He's got San Lucar back in action, I see.”

“Shall I ask for the ride?” Tessa laughed.

Sarah grinned. “Tom won't be long, from what I hear. Have you seen him again?”

“No.”

“I thought he was a special friend of yours? He asked for you in hospital?”

Tessa did not reply for a while, then she said slowly, “It was different then.”

Sarah did not enquire farther. Her interest had touched Tessa on a sensitive point, for she did not know what her relationship with Tom was, and had put it out of her mind as something too difficult to cope with. They had had a need for each other once, but now things were straight again they had got on with their lives. Tom spent his days in physio, getting his strength back, determined to be fit by the start of the next season. Tessa knew this via the grapevine. She could not help thinking about him at times, but thinking about him seemed to make her miserable. She didn't know why. It was an area of confusion, and best forgotten. As if she didn't have enough!

The day for taking Buffoon back to Newmarket drew inexorably nearer. With a fair amount of collusion in the stable, Tessa found that she was booked to ride a new horse, Gamekeeper, at Worcester on the same date.

“I won't be able to go with Buffy!”

“Bad luck,” they all said.

Jimmy was taking Buffoon. Peter hitched a lift for Gamekeeper in Raleigh's horsebox and Tessa travelled to Worcester with Peter in his car. The morning was busy and Tessa had no time to take an emotional farewell of dear Buffy. As she led him into the horsebox Peter was already shouting at her to hurry. Her mind was in a turmoil.

“Just think of your ride,” Peter said crisply as she got into the car. “It's what you're paid for.”

Tessa knew that she depended a great deal on the Fellowes brothers' goodwill, and tried to do as she was told. Not think of Buffy. She sat thinking what a lot she took for granted these days, that she actually belonged somewhere, for a start. Once she had thought that would never happen. She rarely thought of her father any longer. In a way Peter was a father figure, she realized with surprise. She could sit by him in the car for miles without a word being exchanged, in a completely family sort of way, taking him for granted. She relied on him completely; his word was law. Technically he was her boss, but she knew he was more than that. It had never struck her before, what a big part of her life he was.

She glanced sideways at him, and saw a rough-hewn, preoccupied face, untidy hair, tired grey eyes. She saw that he wasn't one of the smart trainers like Raleigh who attracted the smart, rich owners, but a farmer sort of man, not all that articulate but completely honest and as much a master of his job as any of the smart ones. He wasn't married and lived a home life with little comfort, like they all did at Sparrows Wyck. Funny, Tessa thought, how well she seemed to know him, and yet didn't know him at all. They only ever talked work. A bit like Tom. Tessa felt disturbed, feeling suddenly that people had done quite a lot for her but she had never thought about anything except her own way ahead. Even with Buffoon. Although they all thought she was mad and had said so, they had still laid on the horsebox to take him to Newmarket, and Jimmy's whole working day was wasted doing it.

“You are good to me,” she said suddenly.

Peter, startled, threw her an amazed glance and the car swerved. Then he laughed.

“What have I done, to earn that?”

But Tessa could not explain. It was like the Tom thing, impossible to articulate. She felt herself going red, embarrassed.

Peter said, “Perhaps I think you're worth the trouble. We get our money's worth out of you, after all.”

It was a strange day. The season was nearly over, with spring cheering the sodden courses, all the trees in flower and the racegoers out of their winter woollies, smiling in the sunshine. Tessa tried not to think of Buffoon, but she felt she was carrying out her jockey role in a dream. Her mind could not take it seriously. She was in limbo. Yet the racing was what mattered.

Gamekeeper was a young horse she rode at home, and he was in the race to gain experience. Nobody expected him to win. But he went well and finished sixth out of twelve. The owners weren't there and Peter was pleased with both the horse and Tessa.

“You rode him well. He enjoyed it. Well done.”

At least it had kept her mind off Buffoon.

When they got home a strong evening sun was casting shadows across the yard. The horsebox was back, parked in its usual place, Walter lying snoozing with his nose on his paws. He jumped up and came to meet Tessa, who could not resist going to Buffoon's empty box and staring in. It was all set fair for his return, clean and neat.

“You must come back, Buffy,” Tessa said to it. Tears came into her eyes. If he came home all right, she would never wish for anything more in her life.

She said to Peter, “Can I go and talk to Jimmy?”

She never went to the house ordinarily.

Peter nodded and Tessa walked up through the yards and knocked on the open door. Walter came with her. Someone shouted, “Come in.”

Jimmy was sitting at the table in the old-fashioned, very used-looking kitchen, reading a newspaper. He put it down, smiled.

“Well done on Gamekeeper. I bet Peter was pleased.”

“Yes. What about Buffy?”

“Nothing to report. They have things to do before the operation, to get him ready. Two or three days.”

What on earth had she expected?

“You can't wait? Tough,” said Jimmy. “Just keep your fingers crossed. It's unlikely anything will go wrong, after all. We had to say all that to warn you – it
can
. But he's in the best hands possible. We'll ring later in the week. Patience, Tessa.”

She smiled. She had to.

“Thank you for taking him.”

A strange day. She ate something, talked to Sarah, went out to Buffoon's box again. It was still light, the sun sinking over the dark silhouette of the down. She called Walter from the kitchen doorstep and walked up the track towards Goldlands, not to call, but just to be somewhere quiet. The spring dusk was full of promise. If Buffy were to die… she had no other love in her life. What would she do? She had eschewed love for humans long ago, and given it first to Shiner and then to Shiner's son. But now, disturbingly, humans were impinging on her armoured isolation, and she was discovering that she could not free herself of feelings she was unused to. The image of Tom Bryant would not go away. And today she had felt that strange compunction to tell Peter that she appreciated his kindness. And towards Jimmy there was always a… what? A soft feeling? What would one call this betrayal of indifference? It was impossible to put a name to. All manifestations of what might be considered, by some people, as love. And Sarah too… but Tessa thought she didn't love people. It was confusing.

She talked to Walter when he was at her side, which wasn't very often, and told him her thoughts about Buffy. Now she was on the paths that she had ridden with the horse, his dear ways choked her to think of. She knew she was a stupid sentimental fool but she also knew that really tough hard-boiled men cried over their horses and she was in good company. What did it matter when there was no one to see? She went down to the river and, passing the log that the silly old fool had stumbled over because he never saw it, remembered Tom saying something about his sight then, so long ago. Remembered the feel of him slowly getting under way into his great galloping stride and lifting her over the ridge of the down like thistledown flying in the wind, the first time he carted her. But so kindly. She had never been afraid of Buffy. He was the kindest horse in the world.

The river flowed strongly in the bottom of the valley, trailing its green weeds, smelling of nature untouched, rank and ambrosial, secret, elemental. Tessa stayed there for some time, listening to it, unceasing, stroking her difficult thoughts. Whoever, whatever, died, nothing stopped the stream's coming, the spring rising. It just went on. One was of no consequence in the universe. Did anything matter at all?

A blind horse… rubbish. One for the knacker's.

“Oh Buffy!” she cried out loud.

Walter came back, soaking wet and muddy, and laid his long nose on her knee. Tessa laughed at him then, and got up and started back for home, feeling comforted. What by, she didn't know.

 

Buffoon had Lucky by him, which was the only good thing. He was frightened now of going to a strange place, frightened of being abandoned. This wasn't a racecourse stable, but it was a yard with other horses which he could smell and hear, which comforted him. But there was also an atmosphere of tension and unease, of pain and distress, and strange smells which made him nervous. He kept his nose close to Lucky, and was pleased that the grooms were kind.

“This is the horse that ran in the National. That lost the pony – do you remember?”

They were mucking out, pushing him out of the way with gentle hands.

“Yes. The ugly one. Poor old beggar.”

“The man that brought him in said his dam was blind. Had no eyes at all. Born like it. Weird, isn't it?”

“It doesn't follow, does it? Must be a freak coincidence, that he's blind too but with something quite different.”

“I saw a foal here once, born blind. But it was put down.”

Buffoon sensed sympathy, felt less nervous. But what was he here for? Was he going back to his proper place, like after racing? He remembered his abandonment all too clearly. He wanted Tessa. Her voice meant everything to him. But he got strange-smelling men, and needles, and sedatives, and his brain started to fail just like his eyes, so that nothing had meaning any more. Only his nose rested on Lucky's withers, and Lucky stood unmoving, looking after him, his friend.

 

They wouldn't let her ring up the morning after the operation.

“If he'd died they would have rung us. You know what we think of interfering owners. It's just the same. Leave it,” they said.

They gave her lots of work to do. Ride out first lot, ride out second lot, spring-clean the tack-room, disinfect two empty boxes, take a convalescent horse out for a quiet walk, let it graze, cut the grass round the caravans. After this, she thought, I can take anything. None of the jobs took much brain work. Her brain was free to picture Buffoon lying inert on a great operating table with green-garbed figures bending over him, the dreaded anaesthetic – so much for so big a horse – hissing into his lungs. Sometimes it killed them, she knew that. But he was only a horse, she kept telling herself. Unlike Tom. A useless horse, what's more. They all said that. It wasn't as if he was a National winner. Not even a San Lucar.

“San Lucar won yesterday,” they told her.

He had been at a classier course than Worcester, won a classy race. Maurice was back in the money. Lucky Maurice. He might win the Grand National yet. Not like useless Buffoon.

The clock crawled through the afternoon.

“Can we ring now?”

Tessa pictured them, the job done, having cups of tea, filling in forms.

“Got to ring about that horse.” But sitting there, all the same. It was four o'clock. Half-past.

The secretary rang.

“So sorry, we didn't get round to doing the operation today. An emergency came in. Tomorrow probably. We'll be in touch.”

Jimmy laughed. Tessa hated him, and wept some more, and Sarah took her in hand, took her into her caravan and made strong tea and gave her a good talking to.