Keeping the Peace (30 page)

She glanced at the entrance door in Jack’s general direction, wondering how on earth she might be able to coerce him to sing. She gave a start as it was wrenched open. Jack strode in, talking on his mobile phone.

‘Melissa, can we discuss this later? I don’t want to –’ His nostrils flared as he was interrupted.

Pippa saw her chance.

‘Just bear with me for a moment, Mr Rutherford,’ she said quietly then folded her palm over the mouthpiece.

‘Jack,’ she said in a stage whisper.

He stopped outside his office and pointed to the phone at his ear.

‘I know. Just a quick question. Can you do a bit for a racing charity?’

Jack frowned at her, distracted as his ear received a pummelling from Melissa.

‘Doing what? No, I wasn’t talking to you, Mel. I’m at the office… Yes, I’m listening to you.’

‘Just have to lend your voice one evening. It’s no big deal.’

‘What? Fine, whatever. Yes, I’m still here, Melissa! I can hear you loud and clear!’ Jack exclaimed, slamming the door behind him.

Pippa grinned.

‘He’d be happy to, Mr Rutherford.’

‘Really?’ Seth Rutherford sounded aghast.

‘Yes, really. Just tell me where and when and I’ll stick it in his diary.’

She opened the calendar on her computer and typed in the details.

‘My pleasure,’ she responded to his thanks. ‘Bye now.’

She put the phone down and looked at her computer screen. Wow! Abbey Road Studios in London to do a recording session. Jack was so lucky. An appointment box popped up with a beep making Pippa’s smile disappear.

‘Oh, shit,’ she gasped, her gaze darting to the clock.

In one swift movement, she hurtled out of her chair and into her coat, swiping up her handbag as she went. She was due to meet the builders at Hazyvale to discuss the broken staircase in ten minutes. Skirting the desk, she tripped over a pile of jockeys’ silks, the colourful shirts baked in dried Chepstow mud from the day before.

‘Fucking hell,’ muttered Pippa through gritted teeth.

She bundled the clothes into her arms and hurried through to the kitchenette and shoved them into the washing machine, chucking in a washing tablet and swivelling the dial. Without a second glance, she tore back through the office.

‘Just shooting out for lunch, Jack! Won’t be long!’

An hour and a quarter later, Pippa swung her car back into Aspen Valley’s driveway, narrowly missing the gatepost. What she had imagined would be a five minute conversation and an immediate quote for fixing the broken stair had turned into a forty-five minute examination of the rest of the staircase, which was now deemed ‘unsafe’. Pippa wasn’t surprised. If there’d been any indecision over it before, it was certainly a hazard now. The guy had pulled up every other stair, pointing out the rotten wood, and the whole structure was now about as stable as a see-saw factory.

She winced when she saw Jack’s Land Rover still in residence, although she knew he wouldn’t have left the office unmanned.

Jack burst out of his office as soon as Pippa made her arrival known.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded.

‘Sorry. I got delayed,’ Pippa said, sitting back down at her desk. She stood up again when she heard the beeping of the finished wash cycle in the kitchenette. ‘I had to show the builder the staircase and he took forever. He couldn’t even give me a quote at the end of it.’

‘I’ve got to get down to Newton Abbot for the three-forty!’

‘Sorry, Jack. I tried to be as quick as I could. You shouldn’t have waited for me. You knew I’d be back.’

Jack followed her into the kitchenette.

‘I’ve just been told Finn’s appeal on the three-day ban he picked up the other day has been turned down. The bans falls over next weekend.’

Pippa paused before opening the washing machine door and looked at him blankly.

‘Next weekend is the Denman Chase!’ Jack raked his hands through his hair. ‘It’s Virtuoso’s last prep before the Gold Cup and now he’s going to have another different jockey on board. It’ll be the third change in three races!’

Pippa pulled an anguished face, half in sympathy for Finn missing out on a big ride and half for Jack’s obvious distress.

‘That’s a bugger. Why did they turn it down?’

‘Because it’s meant to be a punishment,’ Jack said in a mocking tone, obviously quoting the authorities. ‘Jockeys’ convenience isn’t high on their list. They don’t bloody think of other people’s convenience either though!’

Pippa attempted a consolatory smile.

‘At least the ban didn’t fall over Cheltenham week.’

‘I need you to get Mick Farrelly on the line. ASAP. See if he can take the ride.’

‘Will do,’ Pippa replied, turning back to the washing machine. ‘Just as soon as I’ve taken these…’ The words died on her lips as she extracted the wet tangle of clothes from the washer. The delicate white silks with green stars on the sleeves were now a washed out pink decorated with excrement-coloured blobs.

‘Whose the hell are those?’ Jack said, looking at them in distaste.

‘Er –’ Pippa unwound a couple of red Aspen Valley jackets from the mass. ‘I think they’re Leopard Rock’s colours. Or they were at any rate. The colour seems to have run from these jackets.’

Jack groaned and stalked out into Reception.

‘Can anything else go wrong today?’ he roared.

He reappeared a moment later, his eyes so dark there was almost no distinction between iris and pupil. ‘Sort that out before next weekend. We’ve got another runner in those colours on Sunday.’

Pippa didn’t have the faintest idea how, but she nodded anyway and dumped the sodden clothes on top of the washing machine.

‘Of course I will.’

‘But after you’ve rung Mick Farrelly. Getting that sorted is more important.’ He looked at his watch. ‘For fuck’s sake. I should have left half an hour ago.’

Pippa followed him back into Reception, indignation rising in her chest.

‘I do know how to prioritise,’ she flung at him.

Jack stared at her as if she’d just sworn at him.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Jack. You’re walking around like a bear with a sore head yelling orders and blaming everyone else for making you late –’

‘Bear with a sore head?’ Jack ridiculed. ‘If you say so, but with bloody good reason! This is the third day in a row Emmie has called in sick. Melissa has been giving me an earful about some stupid fashion show she wants me to go to. I don’t know what her problem has been this past fortnight; she hasn’t retracted her claws once! Then I hear we have to change Virtuoso’s jockey and you’re nowhere to be seen,’ he exclaimed, counting each point on his fingers. ‘And now you’ve ruined some of the silks!’

‘You are not the only one with problems!’ Pippa cried, stamping her foot. ‘For your information, I
am
entitled to a lunch break. As for problems, this staircase looks like it’s going to cost me a fortune. I’ve yet to hear from Ollie about what he’s going to do with the last of my stuff in London – burn it probably! But you don’t hear me ranting and raging about it!’

They glared at each other, the silence only broken by their shallow breathing. Jack raised a finger.

‘You
are
entitled to a lunch break,’ he said in the quiet even tone which Pippa dreaded. ‘A one hour lunch break. Anything more, tell me because I need to know.’

For a moment she quailed. In his present mood, he was more than capable of firing her for bad time-keeping and damaging work property – if that’s what silks were. What would she do without a job with what looked like more unforeseen expense looming on the horizon? Suddenly, she felt close to tears. Why did he get her so worked up?

‘You’d better get going if you want to make Newton Abbot in time,’ she said stiffly and walked past him to her desk. She was aware of him watching her, motionless for a long moment before he turned and strode out the door, letting it slam behind him.

She picked up the telephone to ring Mick Farrelly’s agent, but replaced it again. She covered her face with her hands, fighting back the tears which pricked her eyes. She leapt in her seat when the office door opened once more.

Jack faced her, looking harassed.

‘Pippa, please can you move your car? I can’t get out.’

‘Oh!’ Pippa jumped up, the urgency of his request stemming her tears.

She trotted after Jack into the car park, aware by the stiff set of his shoulders that his patience was hanging by a thread. Without her coat on the wind funnelling from the yard’s walkways gnawed through her top, making her shiver. She fumbled with her keys in the lock, scraping against the paintwork in her haste. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack look at his watch before he got into the Land Rover in front of her.

Her car gave a half-hearted wheeze like an old man clearing his throat when she switched on the ignition. Pippa’s fingers trembled.

‘No, don’t do this now,’ she muttered. ‘Come on. You’ve just had a good warm up.’ She turned the key again and pumped her foot on the accelerator like a demented rhino putting out a campfire. The Beetle roared into life, the high revs rattling through every loose fitting, including Pippa. Slugging it into gear, she turned in her seat to see behind her and put her foot down. Her ear thudded painfully against the headrest as the car shot forward instead. A crunch sounded before it stalled.

A sickening dread diluted Pippa’s blood. Groaning, she leaned her forehead on the cold steering wheel and wrapped her arms limply around it for comfort. A car door slammed and Jack’s footsteps crunched on the gravel. She lifted her face to peep over the steering wheel to see him standing by the bonnet, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. She didn’t know whether to feel cheered or not that he wasn’t roaring his head off, such was the look of disconsolateness on his face.

She pushed open her door and stepped out into the bitter weather. A light drizzle was beginning to fall. Jack didn’t look up, even when she went to stand beside him to inspect the damage.

Wincing, Pippa saw one of his rear brake lights lay in a jigsaw of red glass amongst the gravel. The Beetle looked surprisingly unscathed, the new bumper doing a proud job. She ventured a sidelong look at her boss.

Only the muscle in his jaw moved.

‘Sorry,’ she tried. ‘Volkswagen really should redesign the gearbox so First and Reverse aren’t so close together.’

Jack looked at her with as much humour in his face as a disgruntled silverback.

‘Shall we try that again?’ he said. ‘I’m late.’

Pippa nodded and scampered back to the driver’s seat. She carefully selected the correct gear and eased the car backwards, cringing when she heard another tinkle of glass as the two vehicles detached.

Once she had found another parking spot (beside the drainage ditch she had been trying to avoid in the first place), she got out, shifting from foot to foot and fingering her car keys and watched Jack turn his Land Rover around.

He pulled up level with her and leant out the window.

‘We’ll discuss this later.’

‘Sorry, Jack.’ Pippa couldn’t help herself, but her words were drowned out by the spewing of gravel as the vehicle roared off down the driveway. Pippa stood in the rain, her shoulders heavy beneath the damp clinging of her shirt and watched him disappear behind the scraggy roadside hedges. ‘Way to go, Pippa,’ she muttered. ‘You sure know how to keep the boss sweet.’

B
y “we’ll discuss this later”, what Jack meant in fact was that he was going to ignore Pippa for the next week. When she’d broached the subject and said her insurance would cover the costs, he’d merely nodded and carried on reading the
Racing Post
. And apart from the bare communication necessary in their jobs, he hardly said another word. Not that she wanted any great heart-to-hearts, Pippa thought as she sat at her desk after completing that day’s declarations, but a little interaction would be nice. Just to reassure her that he didn’t really despise her.

‘Pippa,’ Jack broke into her thoughts from his office doorway, ‘what is this thing I’ve got in my diary about going to Abbey Road Studios next week?’

Oh, fuck, said courage and promptly deserted Pippa.

She put on a bright smile.

‘It’s the recording of the Cheltenham charity single that you’re doing.’

Jack looked at her as if she’d just informed him he was going to front the opening gig at Glastonbury.

‘
What
? I never agreed to that!’ he spluttered.

‘Um, well, yes, you did.’

‘When? I would never agree to do this! I can’t sing, Pippa!’

She looked at him, feeling the first twinge of guilt.

‘You might have been a bit distracted when I asked you. You were receiving an earful from Melissa at the time.’

Jack ran both hands through his hair, making it stand on end.

‘Story of my bloody life at the moment. I can’t do this. Ring them up and cancel. Say there was a misunderstanding or something.’

‘But we can’t cancel,’ cried Pippa. ‘It’s for charity. And it’s not like you’re the only person who’s doing it. Seth Rutherford, the guy who’s organising the whole thing, said there was about twenty or thirty of you all singing together.’

‘Like a choir?’ Jack looked horrified.

‘More like a really big backing group. You’re singing
Ticket to Ride
.’

‘Oh, no,’ Jack said, backing away. ‘No way. I am not singing a Beatles song.’

‘Why not? It’ll be fun. Come on, Jack! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll get to go round one of the biggest recording studios in the world. They’ll give you a set of those great big earphones and you can sing while holding just the one piece to your ear like all the big artists do.’

Jack leaned up against the doorframe in surrender.

‘Pippa, why are you doing this to me?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Turning everything upside down.’

‘Everything?’ She frowned dubiously. ‘Am I?’

‘I’m a horse trainer, not a singer.’

‘It’s for charity,’ she urged.

Jack exhaled and Pippa beamed. He might not be hugely enthusiastic, but it looked like he was going to do it.