Mount! (68 page)

Team Penscombe, meanwhile, was in tatters.

Everyone had noticed Gala’s anguished face and Marketa kept bursting into tears every time anyone asked after Safety Car, so Gav gave them all a pep talk.

‘Rupert’s had to go back to London. Taggie’s not well evidently, but I for one am not going to waste all the time we’ve spent working on our horses. Let’s bloody well prove to Rupert we can win without him.’

Valent, not knowing the reason for Rupert’s defection, was absolutely furious. After the World Cup, he and Rupert had intended to fly to China where Dubai were staging a similar meeting. He was only just realizing how in bed with China, Dubai was, and suspected that Wang, who couldn’t resist an opportunity to make billions, was involved. Etta was sad for Valent. She knew he felt socially safer on occasions like this, when Rupert was around.

Cosmo was enchanted when it was confirmed Rupert had pushed off. ‘Couldn’t bear to witness any more defeats,’ he told the press. Then, bumping into Gala and Gav outside the weighing room: ‘So sorry your boyfriend’s dumped you, Gala,’ he said, before bursting into song. ‘How could he treat a poor maiden in Meydan so.’

‘Shut up,’ snarled Gav.

‘Don’t get ideas above your station, Floppy Dick.’

‘And you can shut up too,’ yelled Gala.

Team Penscombe were further devastated by news of Love Rat’s death. Gav, however, who had loved him from his days working in the stud, remained strong.

‘He should have died hereafter; unfortunately, we’ve got work to do.’

All was not doom, however. Just before the first race, Louise raced into the barn.

‘Glorious news,’ she whispered to Lark. ‘Sauvignon’s not pregnant.’

Lark’s hand stopped polishing Quickly. Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t speak.

‘You know how Ruth Walton detests Sauvignon,’ crowed Louise. ‘They both came into the Ladies. Sauvignon was upstaging Mrs Walton with this phenomenally expensive bag Wang had just given her with her initials printed on it, and couldn’t resist opening it to show off the beautiful rose silk lining. And quick as a flash, Mrs W squawks: “You’ve got Tampax in there. I thought you were pregnant”.’

‘Omigoodness,’ gasped Lark.

‘And,’ giggled Louise, ‘that phenomenally expensive old bag, Sauvignon, blustered a bit, saying, “Actually, I miscarried in January, but I was so traumatized I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t cope with the fuss if the press found out.”

‘“Having created all the publicity in the first place,” says Mrs Walton, all disdainful. “And have you put poor Eddie out of his misery?” I left them shouting at each other and I’ve just texted Eddie the good news. Lark, Lark!’

But Lark had fallen to her knees in the straw, her hands together, her eyes closed.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Louise.

‘I’m thanking God,’ sobbed Lark.

As if determined to cheer them up, Chekov ran a blinder in the first race, the Dubai Gold Cup. This was on turf which stretched out in pale-green and dark-green stripes like a Harvie and Hudson shirt. Chekov was so laidback he even had a pick of grass at the start before trouncing the horses of Ash, Manu de la Tour and Hammond Johnson, and earning a massive £384,615.

Tarqui was in heaven and even more so when little Delectable, not distracted by anything, bounded up in the Al Quoz Sprint and was only just beaten by a Japanese horse. Almost as
pleasing, Red Trousers came last. All the time the crowds were building up, then in the fading light, Dick the Second joined the runners in the Golden Shaheen.

‘He’s very much on his toes,’ said Tarqui.

‘Makes a change from standing on mine,’ said Lou-easy.

Dick leapt out of the emerald-green starting stalls from a very wide draw. Hurtling across to grab a place on the inner, he collided – or was pushed – by Roman Lovell, and crashed into the rails, hurling Tarqui over his head. Staggering to his feet, Tarqui insisted he was perfectly all right. The doctors thought differently and bore a disconsolate Tarqui off in an ambulance to hospital, where it was confirmed he’d broken his shoulder.

‘At least you won’t be able to change nappies for a bit,’ consoled Meerkat.

One blow after another. Safety Car stolen, Love Rat’s death, Rupert walking out, Tarqui’s shoulder.

‘We’re star-crossed,’ wailed Gala.

‘No, we’re not,’ snapped Gavin, not letting anyone disintegrate into self-pity.

Lark was desperate to see Young Eddie again. By now he must’ve got Louise’s text about Sauvignon not being pregnant. But still not finding his name on the list of competing jockeys, she sidled up to Harmony and asked what was going on.

‘Cosmo,’ whispered Harmony, ‘is playing games. When he thought Rupert would be out here, he wanted to irritate him by putting up Young Eddie to beat him on Valhalla horses. But the moment he learnt Rupert had gone home, he jocked Eddie off and gave his rides back to Ash and Roman Lovell. Even worse, Dave’s been scratched from the World Cup, because if Dave won it, it would push Love Rat’s earnings, even posthumously, above those of Roberto’s Revenge. Cosmo’s so obsessed with Roberto’s Revenge winning Global Leading Sire outright. So Ash is riding Repay, who belongs to loathsome Wang.’

‘Oh poor Eddie, and poor Dave,’ cried Lark, seeing Isa and scuttling back to Quickly.

Overhead, a wistful jockey moon with a halo of gold looked down on the fireworks.

So, without Tarqui, who was going to ride Quickly in the World Cup – which was only two races and about an hour and a half away? Meerkat couldn’t abandon Geoffrey at this late hour. The light had faded beneath a sooty black sky. The vast footprint-shaped course was lit up now like a Cecil B. de Mille film of the New Testament, as great waves of Arabs in flowing robes and keffiyehs swept after Sheikh Mohammed or his sons or other Eastern potentates. Many of them were on their mobiles discreetly ringing bookmakers in Hong Kong, because betting was forbidden in Dubai – which slightly took the edge off the occasion. In the parade ring, set aside on a table, vast gold cups and plates awaited the World Cup winner.

Meanwhile, a depressed Eddie had flown all the way to Dubai only to find himself jocked off. The one single blaze of sunshine was Louise’s text that Sauvignon wasn’t pregnant. A wildly relieved, no longer father-to-be Eddie had joined Etta and Valent in the ex-pat bar.

‘Where’s Grandpa, for God’s sake? Is it true he’s flown home because Taggie’s unwell? She must be very ill.’

With no rides he might as well get plastered. He’d seen Lark leading up Delectable earlier and thought how adorable they both looked. Across the bar, he could now see Wang, his brutal granite face marginally softened as he smiled lustfully down at Sauvignon, who smiled lustfully back. Clad in a clinging
cyclamen-pink dress and a fascinator as though pink rose petals had fallen on her glossy dark-brown hair, Sauvignon had just been awarded the Best Dressed Lady’s Jaguar.

One carnivore deserves another carnivore, thought Eddie. Then, as though a great harpoon had been tugged out of his side, he realized he didn’t give a damn about her any more. It was an ecstatic moment. He was about to down a quadruple gin and tonic when he became aware of the joyous notes of a hunting horn – the sound of his mobile ringing. It was Gav.

‘Get your kit on,’ he said. ‘You’re going to ride Quickly.’

‘You sure?’

‘Quite. I’ve been to the stewards and registered a jockey change.’

‘What’ll Grandpa say?’

‘I’m calling the shots now. Go and get changed.’

Eddie had no time to be nervous or even daunted by the weighing room, which boasted four televisions, a vast restroom, a whirlpool, a huge Jacuzzi, two steam rooms, each big enough for a dozen jockeys, a twenty-foot sauna, fifteen washing machines, a dining room, lounge and gym. A Brobdingnag for Lilliputians. Here the greatest jockeys, fit from riding round the world all winter, wandered around naked except for their tattoos.

Rupert’s blue and emerald silks, cut off Tarqui and hastily stitched together by a valet, were still drenched in sweat.

‘That’ll put on five pounds,’ grumbled Eddie.

As he left the weighing room he was grabbed by Cosmo, who said it was beyond the pale for him to boost one of Rupert’s horses in a stallion market, in which Valhalla was a direct rival.

‘If you ride Quickly, you’re fired,’ said Cosmo.

‘Good, I’ve resigned,’ said Eddie.

About an hour before each race, the racing tack, which was kept in the barn, went over with the relevant groom and horse to the saddling boxes in the pre-parade ring.

As Gala and Lark left with Quickly, Harmony was setting out with I Will Repay.

‘I know we’re not allowed to talk, but you’ve lost so much weight,’ whispered Gala.

‘Cosmo’s allowing me to ride out,’ confided Harmony, ‘and I’ve got a gorgeous boyfriend.’

‘Not surprised – you look great.’

Meanwhile the nerves of horses, trainers, owners and jockeys were frazzled as more and more fireworks went off and more tales from
The Arabian Nights
were re-enacted by huge gold eyeless jockeys, galloping white ghost horses, whirling dervishes and dancing searchlights, whilst orange, red, green and yellow rockets exploded into the dark, symbolizing the speed with which buildings were shooting up in Dubai.

Even in the underground pre-parade ring, where the bangs were muted, for Gala, with Mr Wang around, they were too reminiscent of a Zimbabwe shoot-out. As she helped him saddle up Quickly, Gav put a hand on her quivering shoulders, saying, ‘It’s OK, they’ll stop soon.’

Noticing he was wearing a pale-grey suit, white shirt and dark-grey tie, Gala said, ‘I’ve never seen you in a tie before. You look lovely, just like a trainer.’

‘Don’t take the piss.’ Gav punched her gently on the nose. ‘To get beat, or not get beat, that is the question.’

Eddie was unbelievably touched when Quickly dragged Lark out of the pink and yellow saddling box, and with a thunder of whickering, rushed up and held his face against Eddie’s.

‘That’s what Love Rat used to do,’ said Lark in a choked voice.

‘Hi, babe,’ said Eddie, ruffling her hair. ‘So good to see you again.’

‘Great to see you,’ gasped Lark. ‘We’re all knocked out that you’re riding Quickly.’

‘Don’t know if I’m up to it. I was about to get hammered when Gav called me.’

‘You’ll be great.’

‘Well, don’t plait him up so I’ve got something to cling on to.’

The night was dark indigo now, the course surrounded by
huge square floodlights as though the stars themselves had come down to admire the beautiful gleaming horses.

Quickly, as a famous runner, led up by two such pretty stable girls, Gala and Lark, caused huge interest.

‘Come on, Quickers,’ cajoled Gala. ‘You’ve lost your cat, your comfort blanket, your dad and one of your owners – now’s your chance to show the world you can do it on your own.’

Quickly flapped his ears and listened, pretending to spook at all the white robes. With a change of jockey, he’d drifted to 25–1. Valent rang Ladbrokes in England, to put on another £10,000.

The owners and trainers stood in little groups as the horses circled. Gala had great difficulty hiding her loathing and terror as they passed Sauvignon and Wang.

‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ sighed Lark. How could Eddie get over someone as gorgeous as that? ‘But isn’t
he
scary?’

‘Terrifying,’ shuddered Gala. But as she moved in to shield Quickly, for a second Wang turned and stared at her – giving her almost an eye-meet. He doesn’t recognize me, she thought.

Standing beside his father Mr Tong, who’d made an offer for Geoffrey, Bao, in an off-white suit, was very aware of being blanked by the entire Campbell-Black team; they clearly suspected him of kidnapping Safety Car. Even kind Etta turned her back on him, as she and Valent waited with Gav for Eddie to come out with the other jockeys. It was 20 degrees in Dubai but Eddie was shaking violently and had gone as white as the Arabs’ robes, all his cockiness gone.

‘Sheikh Mo just asked me if I’d had any news of Taggie,’ were his first words as he joined them. ‘She will be OK, won’t she?’

He looked so young and vulnerable that Etta hugged him, saying, ‘Of course she will.’

‘I can’t do it. Grandpa will never forgive me. Why hasn’t he rung already, jocking me off?’

‘Because I’ve switched off my mobile,’ said Gavin with the ghost of a smile. ‘You’ll be fine. Think Breeders’ Cup, King George, Guineas.’

There were fifteen horses in the race, from all over the world.
Noonday Silence, the Japanese hope, had travelled over badly and lost a lot of weight. Geoffrey shuffled along, ignoring the ridicule, I Will Repay looked magnificent, ridden by Ash, as did Ivan the Terrorist, ridden by Roman Lovell, and Simone de Beauvoir, ridden by Manu. To Die For, whose career earnings were over $5.6 million, carried Hammond Johnson and American hopes, as local hopes were pinned on Sheikh Mohammed’s great horse Dubawi Divine, and Irish hopes on a big chestnut called George Bernard Offshore.

The crowd had been delighted by a huge home win in the penultimate race: the Sheema Classic, triggering off the Dubai national anthem, tantivies from a vast local band, and lots of Arabs kissing each other and rubbing noses. Sheikh Mo did a little dance of delight.

It was time for the jockeys to mount. As Gala and Lark led Quickly over, Gav put two hands on either side of his face.

‘Godspeed, little horse,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve travelled thousands and thousands of miles across the world to get here today, but the next mile and two furlongs are the ones that matter.’ And he kissed Quickly on his pink nose.

God, Gav’s sweet, thought Gala, fighting back the tears. Gav had written his notes on one side of an A4 page.

‘Draw’s awful,’ he told Eddie. ‘You won’t be able to belt across and sit on the rail. Hammond and To Die For are going to grab that position anyway, so keep him wide. But you need to be prominent; don’t linger and try to come from behind. Keep up with the pace, so he won’t get kickback in his face. Relax him as much as you can, then use his turn of foot like a knock-out punch at the end.’ As he legged Eddie up, he smiled. ‘In a word, ride him as you’ve always ridden him – as if you’d stolen him.’