Keeping the Peace (11 page)

P
ippa stood up straight, one hand holding a black bin bag, the other massaging the small of her back. She grimaced as her muscles took exception. With a weary sigh, she looked from the four bulging bin bags already lined up against the lounge wall to the detritus of old magazines and chipped bric-a-brac still littering the Welsh dresser. With a shake of her head, she picked one item up off the unit – what appeared to be a dirty rock about the size of her fist, and wondered what exactly it was that had made Dave want to keep it. She dropped it in the bag and picked up a crumpled piece of paper which had been flattened out again, a coffee stain ringing the upper right.

Chepstow 1.15 – trifecta – Deuteronomy, Venetian Prize, White Fawn

Haydock
3.00 – Papago Prince e/w

Haydock
3.35 – Mister MacGuire

The next was a bright yellow flyer announcing the 2001 Helensvale summer fete.

‘God, Uncle Dave,’ she moaned. ‘You’re worse than Mum when it comes to hoarding things.’

Dismissing the idea of going through each individual paper, she scooped the mass into one pile and pushed it all into the bag. The bag split and the papers slid onto the carpet. Pippa groaned. She closed her eyes and wondered if she should allow herself a break and make some dinner. At least the oven was clean now.

Her eyes shot open as the tinkling ringtone of her mobile sounded from the kitchen. Anything for a respite.

She hefted herself up onto the cracked kitchen counter then onto the windowsill, avoiding the row of chipped terracotta pots and brushed her hair behind her ear before answering the phone.

‘Hi Tash,’ she said, her tone cheerier now that she had an excuse not to clean.

‘Yo, Pip. You all right?’

‘Cleaning again, but much better than yesterday, thanks. How are you?’

‘I need your advice. What would you do if you discovered one of the boys working in the Print Centre was mighty cute – think a young Orlando Bloom-cute – and you were tempted to ask him out for a drink?’

Pippa laughed.

‘How young are we talking?’

‘Maybe nineteen,’ Tash said non-commitally.

‘Christ, Tash. You cougar!’

‘I’m only twenty-six! That’s only…’

Pippa snorted as she imagined Tash counting out on her fingers.

‘…only seven years difference.’

‘Well, is that what’s stopping you – the fact that he’s younger than you?’ she asked, trying to stop herself from laughing. ‘If it is then you know age shouldn’t make any difference.

‘Yes and no,’ Tash said in anguish. ‘I’m also manager of his manager if you know what I mean.’

‘Ah, hierarchy,’ Pippa nodded. ‘Going slumming, are you?’

‘For want of a better word, yes.’

‘Tash, you want my advice? Stop being a snob. If you like Orlando, ask him out. No one else has to know.’

‘His name’s Adam.’

‘Okay. Ask Adam out then. Go for it, girl!’

Tash exhaled noisily into the phone.

‘You’re right. I will. Thanks. That’s settled then. Now, more importantly, how are you and why has today been better than yesterday?’

Pippa grinned as she thought of the fun she had had that morning.

‘Jack took me onto the Gallops to watch Peace Offering. It was so exciting. Peace Offering was fabulous, to the extent that even Jack was impressed. And Emmie – that’s his work rider – said that when they’d ridden past us Peace Offering found another gear and took off with her.’

‘Found another gear? What is he, a car?’ Tash drawled.

‘Apparently that’s what they say when the horse starts going faster. Emmie told me she thought it might have been me jumping up and down in my red coat, but Jack’s sceptical. Nevertheless, he said he’s going to look at races for him next Saturday. Do you think you could come?’

‘Depends on where it is, sweets. But I’ll try.’

‘Great. Anyway, that means Jack is back in my good books, you’ll be pleased to hear,’ Pippa continued, leaning her head back against the wall and thinking of the moody trainer. ‘You can ignore that email I sent you yesterday.’

‘What email?’

‘You know. The one I sent you complaining what a prat Jack was being. I take it all back now.’

‘Don’t think I got that one. Maybe it disappeared into that big black e-hole. The same thing happened last week to me. Had a client supposedly send us confirmation on some proofs for a dinner menu, but did I get it?
Nooooo
.’

‘Oh.’ Pippa frowned and broke off a twig from one of the dead plants in the terracotta pots. She held it between her two fingers then looked around idly for her cigarettes. ‘I did swear in it. Maybe your company’s got a filter for rude emails. Never mind. I’ve forgiven him now –’ She was interrupted by her phone beeping. She looked at the lit up screen and sighed. She had another call waiting. ‘I’ve got to, Tash. Ollie’s trying to get hold of me. I’ll speak to you soon.’

‘No worries. Bye, Pip. Keep smiling.’

‘You too. And good luck with Orlando.’

‘Adam,’ Tash corrected.

‘Orladam.’

‘Hey, Ollie. How are you, angel?’ Pippa enthused a moment later. She had spoken to Ollie on a few occasions since she had left, but this was the first time he had actually called her.

‘All right. Thought I might give you a ring now since I’m going out later. Didn’t want you to call and interrupt dinner.’

Pippa pulled a face. She hadn’t been planning on ringing Ollie at all.

‘That’s great. Who are you going out with?’

‘Some people from the set. Rich Holden is coming along.’

Pippa scoured her memory for the name. By the tone of Ollie’s voice, Rich Holden was someone she was supposed to know – or know of, she thought, remembering Ollie’s tendency to name drop.

‘An actor from
Holby
City
?’ she guessed.

‘Yeah, you know him. He plays Doctor Feldman and is sleeping with his med student.’

‘Of course. That sounds fun. Dinner, I mean. Where are you going?’

‘Regan’s and maybe The Watershed afterwards.’

Pippa felt a stab of longing for the buzz of London’s bright lights and crowds.

‘I miss you,’ she said, tracing the twig still in her fingers down the window, keeping pace with a raindrop on the other side.

‘I miss you too. It’s not the same here without you. When do they collect the recycling here, can you remember? I put the rubbish out on Monday, but they only took the black bag.’

‘Every second Monday. Make sure you put the tops off the plastic milk bottles in the black bag though. They won’t take it otherwise.’

‘Anal prats,’ Ollie muttered.

Pippa snorted at his hypocrisy, but managed to turn it into a cough.

‘Pippa, when are you going to give up smoking?’

‘Soon. Listen, Jack’s decided Peace Offering can have his first race next Saturday,’ she said, changing the subject before Ollie could give her a lecture on the dangers of smoking. ‘Will you come?’

She heard Ollie give an impatient sigh at the mention of Jack and Peace Offering’s names. It was only because they both featured high on her current agenda of Life In The Country, she thought, trying to justify her reasons for always bringing them up in conversation with Ollie.

‘I’ll see. Depends on filming. My first episode is being shown around Valentine’s Day. Gruesome love triangle, but I can’t say much more. I’ll let you know the exact date so you can record it.’

‘I’m sure I won’t miss it,’ she reassured him.

‘I know, but I want you to record it as well.’

The pride in his voice made Pippa smile and her heart softened.

‘Okay. I’m proud of you, Ollie. I know things haven’t been easy lately so I’m really pleased for you.’

‘Me too. Anyway, I’ve got to dash if I’m going to make dinner. Rich hates people who are late. You should have seen him the other day when Jess, the make-up girl was late. She said her car had broken down, but she could easily have taken the Tube. Rich was furious –’

‘Ollie,’ Pippa interrupted, ‘You’d better go. Tell me another time.’

‘Shit. Look at the time. You’re right. I’ll speak to you soon.’

‘Okay. Take care. Love you.’

‘Me too. Bye.’

Pippa let the phone hang limply in her hand when the line was cut short then, with a sigh, she edged off the windowsill and counter. One of her buttock cheeks was numb. Rubbing some life into it, she wandered over to the fridge to fix herself some dinner.

T
he following Monday, Pippa was barely able to acknowledge Jack’s entrance into the office as the phone trilled for about the twentieth time in as many minutes.

‘Okay, if I can have your name and address I’ll see what I can sort out for you,’ she said to the caller. She saw Jack pause before going into his office as he stopped to listen to her conversation. ‘Thank you, we’re very proud of him too... Okay, Gerry. I’ll make sure the farrier doesn’t throw his shoes away. I’m sure there’ll be a spare one for you... No problem. Bye.’

Jack raised an eyebrow and gave a mirthless chuckle.

‘Souvenir collectors?’ he said.

‘Yeah. I’ve never known men get so excited about shoes before, and horseshoes at that. It’s a pity Virtuoso’s only got four feet.’ She paused and grinned at Jack. ‘Well done. Big race was it that he won yesterday?’

‘Yes. A grade one chase.’ The frown lines on Jack’s brow disappeared and Pippa was tempted to think that he might perhaps look
happy
for once. ‘Did you watch it?’

‘I did,’ she replied, feeling smug. ‘I might not know much about racing, but he certainly
looked
impressive. And by the sounds of it, the public think so too.’

‘Won easily. Could have been more than twelve lengths if Rhys had asked for it.’ His smile widened as he replayed the finish in his head. ‘He did the right thing though, easing up like he did. We’ve got the King George next month and then another prep race before the Gold Cup at Cheltenham. We don’t want to beat him up too much if we’re to keep him fresh –’

The telephone interrupted him and Pippa reached for it.

‘Wait!’ Jack said, raising his hand. ‘Before you answer that, if you have any calls from the press, just say Virtuoso has come out of his race fine and they can find my full statement in the
Racing Post
. I’ve got a telephone interview with them later this morning. Don’t try answer any other questions. They’re bound to ask for more.’

‘Will do,’ Pippa said, picking up the phone. ‘Good morning, Aspen Valley Stables.’

Just before Jack turned away into his office, she saw him glance around him, a puzzled frown once more creasing his forehead. With a shake of his head, he left the reception.

Pippa smiled. She wondered how long it would take him to notice.

Five minutes later, Pippa knocked on Jack’s door with his tea.

‘That was the entertainment people just confirming they’ll be round this afternoon to set up the marquee for the Open Day tomorrow.’ She set his mug on a coaster. ‘I hope the weather holds out.’

Jack peered at the chamomile tea then up at Pippa.

She held her breath.

Jack picked up the mug without comment and took a tentative sip.

She exhaled.

‘Me too. Catering all sorted?’

‘Yup,’ Pippa said, pleased that for once she had completed a task without making a hash of it.

‘That reminds me. Can I have a look at one of the owners’ booklets? I just want to make sure the horses will be paraded in the right order for them all.’

Pippa hesitated.

‘Owners’ booklets?’ she said, an icy tendril of fear contracting around her stomach.

Jack paused, his mug halfway to his lips. His eyes darkened.

‘Yes, the
owners’ booklets
, which everyone gets given tomorrow when they arrive so they know who they’re looking at.’

Pippa gulped and moved her weight from one foot to the other.

‘Um, was that something I was meant to know about, Jack? You never said anything about any booklets.’

Jack exhaled with dragon-force and put his mug down with a thud, slopping hot tea all over the desk.

‘Jesus Christ! Haven’t you had any deliveries?’

She shook her head.

Jack groaned.

‘Gemma was meant to have organised it all before she left. Bloody hell. I should’ve checked before now, should’ve asked about them,’ he muttered. He dragged his fingers through his hair and looked up at the ceiling, revealing tense muscles in his throat and neck. ‘We’ve got a hundred and fifty people coming tomorrow to look at the horses and they’re not going to know Virtuoso from fucking Peace Offering!’ Jack’s voice rose until he was shouting. ‘Media! Owners!
Potential
owners!’

‘Okay, okay, it might not be as bad as you think,’ Pippa tried to placate him. The chamomile wasn’t working its magic this time. ‘Maybe Gemma has ordered the booklets. Which company is doing them for you? I can ring them and check.’

‘Weatherbys did them last year for us. Jesus Christ. The Open Day is tomorrow.’

‘Okay. Don’t panic.’ she said, backing out of the office. ‘For all we know, Weatherbys have got them all ready and are just waiting for us to call. I’ll just go do that...’ Closing the door behind her, she dashed back to her desk.

Pippa’s reappearance in Jack’s office a minute later had him look up with hope. A wave of compassion swept through her when she saw his eyes, such a vivid blue, but now two shades darker with worry. Reluctantly, she shook her head.

Jack groaned and banged his head on his folded arms.

‘What a fuck-up,’ came his muffled response.

‘There must be something we can do.’

‘Like what?’ he exclaimed, looking up. ‘Scribble a hundred horses’ names on a piece of paper and have you draw a picture next to each?’

Pippa bristled. Setting her jaw, she marched across the room until she was standing above her boss.

‘Stop it,’ she commanded. ‘Right now –’

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’