Jumping to Conclusions (27 page)

'We'll bring Dragon Slayer gently up through the hurdles until the Hennessey,' Kath was saying. 'Then give him a bit of a breather up to Christmas. Maybe take him to Windsor or Ascot. Then, depending on his early showing, I think a possible King George on Boxing Day, definitely Cheltenham, and then on to Aintree. We'll pop him over whatever else comes to hand in between. Sound okay?'

Tina nodded. 'Perfect. And with Matt in the saddle – and despite my Somerset affiliations, I honestly can't see Mr Garside allowing himself to come unstuck: he's far too used to doing exactly what he's told – maybe we'll get somewhere this time.'

Matt said nothing. He never rose to her sarcasm, although her tone always raised a faint frisson – of what? Excitement? Danger? Dragon Slayer deserved the accolade – and so did he. He wouldn't blow the National like Charlie had – but it had nothing to do with what Tina wanted. It had very little to do with his alliance with Kath or Lancing Grange. It had everything to do with his self-esteem.

'Too right.' Kath rearranged the panama and pushed back her chair. 'Much as I hate to slag off your playmate, Tina dear, Charlie Somerset is no fucking use to anyone.'

'Oh, he has his uses.' Tina stood up too. Her dress was short and dead plain. Matt realised it had probably cost a fortune. 'But he won't stand a chance against us. Drew Fitzgerald is going shit-shaped according to the gossip – not Charlie's, let me add – the boy is revoltingly loyal. Apparently he's on the edge of a breakdown because that woman he lives with won't marry him. Silly sod.'

Matt clenched his fists and managed to stay silent. Like everyone else in the village, he had been stunned by the deterioration of Drew and Maddy's relationship.

Tina raked lilac nails through her blonde hair. 'And I'll make sure that Charlie is so knackered that he can't even pull his boots on. This Bonnie animal they've got has come from nowhere – probably a cheapo-buy from the horse-rescue centre – you know how soft they are at Peapods. No, I think we're holding all the aces this year. Especially if Mandy or Maggie or whatever her name is, shows sense and dumps Fitzgerald at the optimum moment.'

Unable to stay in the same room any longer, Matt nodded at both women and stomped out of the office. He practically belted across the yard.

Dragon Slayer rocked his head over his door, drawing back his lips in what Matt always reckoned was a welcoming smile. Matt fed him the routine handful of carrots, pulling his ears. Dragon Slayer responded as he always did by smacking his head lovingly into Matt's shoulder.

'I'm going to win the big one,' he spoke against the hard cheekbone. 'And if I manage to pick up the Hennessey and the King George and the Gold Cup on the way, then fantastic. But whatever it takes, I'm going to do it.'

Dragon Slayer blew down his nostrils in calm acceptance.

'You'd better,' Tina said.

Matt sighed and lifted his head away from Dragon Slayer. He hadn't heard her cross the yard. He didn't want her there.

'I will.'

'Make sure you do.' Tina traced a pattern on the flagstones with the toe of her very expensive shoe. 'Because, if you don't, I can fix it so that you'll never ride anywhere again. Ever. Not even a local point-to-point in your little hick Devon village – which, I understand, is even more archaic than this dump. Foul up on this one, and I'll take the greatest pleasure in organising a smear campaign that will ensure you never ride professionally again. Do I make myself clear?'

'Crystal.'

Matt felt the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Everything about her scared and enticed him. How the hell could straightforward Charlie have got close to a woman like this? She was wasted on him. For a split second he toyed with the idea of enlightening her about Lucinda. But only for a second. Charlie was his mate – and years ago they'd made a blood-brothers pact never to split on one another, whatever the circumstances. Anyway, Lucinda was a nice kid. Let Tina discover it for herself. He just hoped he was around when she did.

Kath, who with the panama and the baggy cream jacket looked exactly like Somerset Maugham, was moving along the boxes towards them, having a few words with each horse in turn. Tina watched her and then narrowed the already slitty eyes. 'We're going to win, Matt, sweetie. It's down to you.'

He knew it was. But he'd win for himself. It was possibly the only chance he'd ever have to prove that he was superior to Charlie. Christ – should he be thinking like that? Weren't they supposed to be all-for-one and one-for-all mates? Rivals, yes – but close friends underneath it all. This was one occasion, Matt knew, when friendship would have to take a back seat. For the rest of the forthcoming National Hunt season it would be him and Dragon Slayer daggers drawn against Charlie and Bonne Nuit.

As if reading his thoughts, Dragon Slayer clamped huge yellow teeth gently into Matt's shoulder and dribbled in encouragement.

'Good God.' Tina backed away. 'How can you let him do that?'

'Easily.' Matt shoved Dragon Slayer aside and unbolted the door of the box. 'It's called mutual admiration. You should try it some time.'

'That's the idea.' Kath reached them. 'Nice to see you getting to know each other. At least you two can relate on a professional basis, without having to reduce it to baser levels like fucking Somerset.'

Tina smiled. 'Matt is just going to demonstrate his equestrian skills. Shall we take my car on to the gallops?'

The gallops were practically deserted. Matt knew this was why Kath had arranged the session for early Saturday afternoon. All the other stables were either taking their breaks or away at race meetings, so there would be no interruptions; and, probably more importantly, no Peapods representatives to watch their progress. Despite her hauteur, he knew that Kath was still stinging from this year's Aintree failure. She wanted to win the Grand National with a fervour which almost matched his own.

Far below him, he could see them, the two women who controlled his destiny. Strange really, he thought, easing Dragon Slayer into the gentlest of canters, that he didn't think of it as three. Jemima didn't figure in this part of his life. No, Kath and Tina dominated his future in a way that Jemima never would.

Leaning against Tina's car, field-glasses glued to their eyes, they were waiting for him to prove that their faith and investment had been justified.

'Come on, then.' He shifted forward in the saddle. 'Let's show them what you can do.'

Dragon Slayer, impatient for freedom, pawed the ground like a bull, quivered for a second, then rocketed forward. They thundered up the chalky inclines, alone except for the massiveness of the sky.

Like all the downland riders, Matt was well aware that the natural undulations provided the training. Nothing man-made could ever test a horse's stamina more thoroughly than those upward climbs. Dragon Slayer ate up the ground without effort, the bunched muscles making light work of the hills, the hooves simply skimming from the cushioned surface. It was like riding the wind. There was nothing in the world like it.

Exhilarated and excited, Matt displayed the partnership's prowess for a further fifteen minutes, and was drenched in sweat and pleasure when he trotted back down the track.

'Nice.' Kath nodded the panama and patted Dragon Slayer's glistening neck. 'Very nice.'

'It'll do.' Tina seemed almost bored. She ignored Dragon Slayer and looked at Matt. 'The horse looks a lot fitter than you do, sweetie. And I've heard that you're wining and dining that girl from the bookshop. Maybe you should give it a miss. After all, you can see what excesses of the flesh have done for Charlie.'

'Oh, come on,' Kath interrupted. 'You can hardly compare Matt here with Charlie, can you?'

'No.' Tina narrowed her eyes. 'I don't suppose you can.'

An hour later, showered and still kite-high, Matt walked into the bookshop. The fan on the counter was working overtime, and the door was wide open. Even so it was stiflingly hot. Jemima was busy. The bookshop always did good business on a Saturday afternoon, especially when most of the yards were involved with meetings. A lot of wives and girlfriends – and many of the people from the new estate – took advantage of a couple of free hours to come in and browse, buy the evening's supper from Bronwyn's shop, and then round off the afternoon with a cup of coffee at the Munchy Bar.

'Won't be a sec,' she mouthed at him. 'I've got a rush on.'

He sank down on a corner of one of the sofas. It still galled him that Jemima hadn't asked how the session had gone. She never did, of course. He just wished she would.

She'd done well, he had to admit. The shop was rarely without customers, and Jemima's shy smile and gentle voice, and the time she'd spend just talking to people in that way she had that made it seem like you were the only person on earth who mattered, had helped a great deal. She had been accepted very quickly.

And the shop was happy; there was always something going on. As well as the library system – Matt had laughed at the ludicrous notion when she'd told him, and laughed even more when she'd said it had been Charlie's idea – which was a firm favourite, she'd introduced a bring-and-buy book stall in one corner, and pensioners' discounts, and story readings for the kids, and a sort of parish notice-board where events and items were advertised. Jemima's bookshop was fast becoming a Milton St John focal point.

She had changed dramatically from the gauche, almost angry girl he'd met at Windsor racecourse. Matt really wished he could claim the credit. He shifted on the sofa as three women, all clutching bright pink books, tried to squeeze in with him. Was he jealous of Jemima's success? Yes, probably. He exhaled. He'd spent his whole bloody life being jealous of someone. It seemed ingrained in him to be discontented with his lot and yearn for the bit of life that was just out of reach. At home in Devon, his older brother had excelled at agricultural college and was going to inherit the farm; here in the village, Charlie stole a march on him in every area; and now even Jemima was making more of her career, in a much shorter space of time, than he had.

Still, he stretched his legs out in front of him. Not for much longer. They'd all be eating their words next April when he was led into the winner's enclosure at Aintree. Even Jemima would have to acknowledge that not only was he a jockey, but that he was simply the best, when his triumphant face was seen by millions as he accepted horse-racing's most prestigious award.

The women on the sofa were flicking through their books, nudging each other, pointing out bits and giggling. He glared at them with dislike. They'd burst his bubble.

Jemima, her hair falling across her face, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, was still busy at the counter. He watched her. She was bloody attractive, even in that long, funny dress. And she was probably wearing boots despite the heat. What else she was wearing was a mystery. She may well be stark naked beneath the flowing folds, but Matt was pretty damn sure he'd never find out.

'Oh, I've got to buy this!' One of the women eased herself to her feet. The others sort of melted into the vacant space like liquid mercury. 'This'll spice up the Saturday-night routine!'

Her friends gave her rather raucous and salacious encouragement. Matt frowned. What the hell were they reading? He squinted sideways at the stack of bright pink book jackets. Who on earth was Bella-Donna Stockings? And the title –
Spanky Panky?
Christ! How long had they been on the shelves? Jemima would be laying herself open to all sorts of trouble if the Parish Biddies got wind of it.

He pushed his way to the counter. 'Those books – the pink ones with the black fishnet on them – they're pretty near the knuckle.'

'That they ain't.' His sofa companion was just tucking her Jemima Carlisle bag away. 'You keep your nose out, Matthew. You're like all men – haven't got a bloody clue what we women wants.'

'And that told you.' Jemima grinned at him. 'They're very popular – especially Bella-Donna Stockings. I have to keep reordering her entire backlist. The most surprising customers seem to love them. I feel very much like Glen must do in the confessional. You wouldn't believe who's bought them.'

'Not Bathsheba Cox or Bronwyn Pugh, I'll bet.'

'Well, no. Fortunately they don't even seem to know that they're on the shelves. Lucinda always spreads herself in front of them every time her ma or Bronwyn come in. I don't suppose it will be long before someone tells them, though.'

Not in Milton St John it wouldn't, Matt thought. He shrugged. 'What do you fancy doing tonight? I wondered if you'd like to come round to mine? We could get some wine and I'll make some pasta, and maybe eat in the garden.'

'It sounds lovely,' Jemima said, 'but I was going to start stocktaking tonight ready for the autumn lists. I probably won't be finished before midnight. Can we do it some other time? Would you mind?'

He shook his head. Did he have a choice?

'Matt!' The imperious voice from the doorway sliced right through the bookshop buzz. 'Matt!'

'Who the hell is that?' Jemima blinked.

Shit. Matt sighed. 'Tina Maloret. Haven't you met?'

'No.' Jemima looked intrigued. 'I've heard all about her, of course. And I've seen her picture everywhere. God, isn't she glamorous?'

Women had some funny ideas about glamour, he thought. He reckoned Jemima, with her shaggy hair and her lovely face, was far prettier than Tina with her skeletal body and hawkish cheekbones. Even though the entire village knew about Tina's relationship with Charlie, and were used to seeing her on her rare visits to Milton St John, everyone in the shop turned and stared as she stalked towards the counter.

Ignoring Jemima and the riveted eyes, Tina put her hand on Matt's shoulder. 'Can I have a word?'

'If we have to. Jemima, I know you and Tina haven't met. Tina, this is – er – my girlfriend, Jemima Carlisle.'

They looked at each other. Matt was aware of some undercurrent. He couldn't quite fathom it. Their smile of greeting reached neither pair of eyes. 'You wanted to talk to me?'

'Not in here.'

'Oh, if it's horsy talk he's all yours.' Jemima returned to her customers. The other two sofa browsers had decided to buy their pink-and-black books too. 'I'll see you later, Matt. Maybe in the morning?'