At Long Odds (A Racing Romance) (22 page)

‘Chant Royal,’ he provided. ‘My first Group One winner.’

Ginny struggled to imagine Julien before he became successful. A small trainer with nothing more than ambition and a family reputation to uphold. The pride he must have felt when Chant Royal had crossed the finish line in front. A milestone achievement, before Group winners had become the norm for him.

‘It doesn’t lose its magic,’ he added, answering her unspoken question.

‘The first must top them all though.’

‘It did feel pretty good. Better than se- no, on second thoughts, maybe not.’

Ginny stifled a laugh.

‘You’ll be raking them in with Silver Sabre.’

‘I’ll have to. Clinton Cole doesn’t take prisoners.’

‘He doesn’t seem a very nice man to train for,’ Ginny agreed.

‘No, he makes Forrester look like the Pope.’

Laughing again, she realised, much to her surprise, that sitting here, speaking with Julien, she wasn’t feeling nearly as melancholy now that she knew he was on her side.

‘Not planning on making him your father-in-law just yet then?’

Julien flashed a mischievous grin.

‘You are referring to Marianne?’

Ginny swirled her wine around its glass, embarrassed that she had probed so deeply into his personal life.

‘Sorry, it’s none of my business,’ she mumbled.

‘No, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘I was never dating Marianne. I was a convenience to her while she studied a semester away from her university in America.’

‘Oh,’ Ginny said in surprise. ‘I thought that –’

Julien shook his head.

‘She is tempting. She is a pretty girl, after all. But I gave Cole my word I would take care of her while she was here. There were occasions when her rebellious side might have rubbed off on me. But
non
.’

‘Are you not a rebel already without having to be influenced by attractive American students?’ Ginny teased.

Julien chuckled.

‘I am nothing compared to my younger sister. She inherited the Larocque rebelliousness.’

‘You have a sister?’ She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice. For some reason, she’d never imagined Julien to have siblings. He had such presence that she wondered how they might have got a look in in the family. Maybe rebelling was the only way.

‘Her name is Dominique. She is a journalist in Paris.’

‘Does she like racing?’

Julien made an undecided face.

‘So-so. She enjoys the parties. The horses? Well, they put on a good show. And Dominique likes to be entertained.’

‘I’ve a brother. Ray,’ Ginny professed.

‘I know,’ Julien said with a wry smile. ‘He gave me his card, remember?’

Ginny recalled her first morning back in UK when they had ‘bumped’ into Julien on the roundabout.

‘Yeah, sorry about that.’

Had that really only been seven months ago, she asked herself? It seemed enough drama to fill an entire lifetime had happened since then.

‘He did not inherit your father’s passion for horses like you?’

‘He likes them. I should think he’d have to to be a vet. But he wasn’t bitten by the racing bug quite as bad as me, no. You were though, weren’t you?’

‘Right from the start,’ Julien agreed. He ran a hand over a small bronze sculpture of a racehorse on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s an addictive sport.’

‘It is, isn’t it? There’s a thin line between it being a passion and an obsession.’

He nodded, and Ginny felt for a moment that they understood one another. She was glad she had come. She hated to dislike anyone, and although she had made a new enemy out of Mark Rushin, she felt happy that she had now, hopefully, gained a friend. With a rueful swallow, she finished the last of her wine, and stood up to make her departure.

‘I’d best be going, it’s late.’

‘Of course. How are you getting home? Do you have your car?’ he asked, walking her to the door.

‘No, I’m walking.’

Julien’s hand stilled on the door handle. He frowned.

‘But it’s not far,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s only down the road, and it’s reasonably well-lit.’ It hadn’t crossed her mind until he’d looked disapproving that she might be in any danger on her way home.

‘I’ll walk with you. It is dark now.’

‘No, really, I’ve disturbed your evening enough as it is.’

‘I either walk you home or you stay here until it is light,’ Julien said, fixing her with a stern eye.

Ginny hesitated, unable to resist thinking what the rest of their evening would entail if she was to stay.

‘Okay,’ she nodded meekly. ‘You can walk me home.’

Julien gave her a derisive smile and shook his head.

*

Whether it was because of the delicious wine or because in the darkness she didn’t have to make eye contact, Ginny felt her courage return as they walked down the road.

‘I wanted to pass on my congratulations a while back,’ she blurted. ‘To your father on White Eagle’s Derby win. That was a pretty big achievement.’ She sensed rather than saw Julien’s smile.

‘I will tell him you said so,’ he replied.

‘Why did you come to England? Why not stay in France?’ she said, curiosity getting the better of her.

Julien chuckled.

‘French racing only has room for one Larocque. I had worked over here before, and liked it. I was happy to set up my own yard here.’

‘Seems to have paid off.’

‘I’ve been lucky so far. Some very talented horses have come my way, and have given me a good reputation, even though your grandmother could have trained some of them to be winners.’

‘Like Silver Sabre.’

‘He is a very a talented horse, that much is clear. But he is not always an easy horse to train. He can be – how do you say –
stroppy
at times?’

Ginny laughed.

‘A typical teenage boy, then?’

‘As my mother would tell you, similar to how I used to be, yes.’

‘I’m lucky with Caspian. He always tries his best.’

‘You love him very much.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

Ginny sighed. She stopped by the fence which bordered the Heath and nodded in admission. The Gallops glittered beneath the moon like a bed of beaded emeralds as she gazed out over them.

‘Probably too much. My father adores him.’

Julien joined her by the fence, resting his folded arms on the top railing.

‘Your father adores all of his horses.’

‘His life revolves around them,’ she agreed. ‘When he had his heart attack, there was talk of shutting up shop, but we realised that would be more likely to kill him.’

‘So you left your boyfriend in South Africa and came home,’ Julien concluded for her.

Ginny shook her head.

‘Charlie and I had already broken up by that time. We broke up after last year’s J&B Met –’

He looked at her with solemn dark eyes, charged with just the right amount of interest not to appear pressing. Ginny decided to continue.

‘I dropped him in favour of another jockey and he got his own back at me at the after-party.’

With just the darkened Heath in front of her, her mind’s eye brought that night back to her with an added clarity.

*

The party, attended by all the usual suspects on the racing circuit plus groupies, was going strong by the time the sun had dipped behind the mountain, bathing Cape Town in cool shadow. With emotions in turmoil and the heat not helping, she knew she had probably drunk more wine than was sensible. Looking up at the mountain, black against the purple sky, she shivered on the veranda. That night it didn’t convey its usual protective demeanour, which she usually associated with it. Instead it felt menacing. She walked through into the townhouse, searching each party-filled room.

‘Well done today, Ginny!’ someone called.

She smiled in recognition and moved on. She didn’t want to think about the J&B Met held earlier that day. While Rijk Swanepoel celebrated the victory with the winning owners, she was left to piece together her and Charlie’s relationship. He’d ignored her since the race, deliberately turning his back on her whenever she approached. Ginny’s step quickened as she felt an urgency to repair the damage as soon as possible. She paused when she got to the last entertainment room. Charlie wasn’t in there either. Had he left without her noticing?

‘Dan, have you seen Charlie around?’ she asked a fellow guest.

‘Not for a while.’

Ginny noticed him dart an uneasy look towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She hesitated, turning to follow his gaze. She frowned and looked at Dan curiously. He wouldn’t meet her eye. She stalked towards the doorway.

‘Maybe he’s already split,’ Dan called after her.

Ginny ignored him. She opened the first door and snapped on the light. The room was quiet and empty. She carried on to the next, her heart pounding. She threw it open. The light was already on. The couple lying on top of the sheets didn’t even notice her entrance. Ginny stared, unable to take her eyes off them – off Charlie, kneeling behind the shapely bottom of a girl, his back and buttock muscles flexing as he thrust into her. The harsh electric light flashed off their shining bodies. The pungent smell of sex assaulted her nostrils and Ginny gagged. She fell back against the wall. The picture mounted on it fell to the floor with a crash. Charlie and the girl both looked round in surprise. Ginny stopped breathing. She lifted a hand to her throat to ease the tightness.

‘Charlie?’ she whispered.

Charlie’s look of surprise faded and his mouth curved into a sly smile. He ran his hand over the porcelain bottom in front of him as gently as if he was soothing a nervy horse.

‘Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here,’ he said.

The trembling of her hands spread to the rest of her body until her teeth were chattering. With a cry, she fled the room.

*

She hadn’t stopped running until now.

‘After that, he broke his retainer at Rijk’s stable and went freelance,’ Ginny concluded. She exhaled. It was such a relief to have said it out loud.

‘Bastard,’ Julien muttered. He shook his head. ‘When does professional become personal and when does personal become professional?’ he mused.

‘It was a mistake which I thought I’d learnt from.’ Ginny gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Mark proved me wrong.’

They began walking again. Was she imagining it or was he walking closer to her? Ginny looked down. Oh, the path had narrowed. Okay, best get a grip, she told herself.

‘It was a good thing you came back,’ Julien said. ‘Your father was once a very good trainer, but the stable needed a new kick. You were the answer.’

‘A new kick, maybe. A good shot at goal, possibly not.’

‘You will improve with experience.
I
am still learning.’

Ginny grinned.

‘You make it sound like you’re about a hundred.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to patronise.’

‘No, I know you didn’t. I hope things will improve. Ravenhill is still –’She hesitated, wondering why she was sharing her deepest worries and secrets with the one man she had considered an enemy up until a couple of hours ago. ‘Ravenhill’s still struggling. It’s got some good horses, but like Mark pointed out, they can be counted on one hand. I hate to say it but so much for me flying in ready to save the yard. Now it might not even survive next season.’ She shrugged and lifted a hand in defeat. ‘It’s harder than I thought. I never used to have much to do with owners before. They’re
definitely
something to learn through experience.’

‘Very much so. Clinton Cole is not a text book owner, that’s for sure.’ The headlights of a passing car illuminated his sardonic smile.

Ginny managed a small laugh. It felt good to be able to tell someone her fears without then worrying about stressing them out, like for instance, Jim. She knew that she always had a sympathetic ear from Ray or Sally G, but somehow she felt Julien understood more of what she was going through, being a trainer himself.

They reached Sally G’s garden gate and Ginny turned and smiled.

‘Thank you for walking me home. And, again, I’m sorry for being so horrible.’

‘That is okay. You have apologised, and that’s the thing which counts,
oui?’
He opened the gate for her and she stepped through.

‘Thank you, Julien,’ she said, turning back. He smiled at her genuine gratitude, almost made to move towards her, but turned it into a hand gesture, threading his fingers through his hair.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘You neither,’ she grinned.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ginny stood under the archway to the stables, her arms folded across her chest. She watched as Kenya was led through the gaping mouth of the horse-van. She gritted her teeth, determined not to show any emotion.

The two men from the equine transport company heaved the ramp shut and clanged the bolts into place.

Kenya was just a horse, after all, she told herself.

‘Right,’ one of the men said, approaching Ginny. ‘We’ll be on our way then.’

Ginny looked at Kenya’s copper-coloured rump shifting above the closed ramp. She was a horse trainer. Horses would come, horses would go.

‘Okay.’ She longed to ask where Kenya was headed for. What treachery did Mark intend to inflict with her and on whom? The van growled into life.

‘She a good traveller?’ the man asked.

Ginny nodded. A lump swelled in her throat. They were her business, not her pets.

‘Good, good. Cheery-bye,’ he waved and jogged back to the van. He hopped into the passenger side and the van swayed out of Ravenhill’s car park.

Ginny swallowed and turned away. Kenya was gone. Hopefully that meant Mark was too. His threats lingered but she boldly ignored them. If she acted like Mark didn’t exist, then there was no chance of her revealing his misdeeds. And if she didn’t reveal his misdeeds, he would have no reason to harm her stable. Easy-peasy, she tried to convince herself. The crunch of tyres on gravel made her spin round in alarm. Her first thought was that Mark was paying her one last visit. She sighed audibly when she recognised Ray’s old Ford.

‘All right, Ginny?’ he said, getting out and walking over to her.