‘Well … funny you should say that, Doll,’ Sage rallied. ‘What are you doing this evening?’
‘Nothing, I don’t think. Why?’
Sage climbed into the driver’s seat as her grandmother had refused to drive the ‘spaceship’, as she called the new car, and was already getting in on the passenger’s side. Hal was caterwauling from the back. Sage found his muslin and passed it to him; as if by magic, he instantly fell quiet. Turning the engine on so she could crank up the heater, she leant on the open window.
‘There won’t be time for any painting – but can you come for dinner? My grandfather has invited another trainer, Rafe Dunbarton, and I could do with an ally. Maggie will be cooking something yummy full of stodge and carbohydrates … And my brother is coming. What do you say?’ She realized that she would very much appreciate Dolly’s reassuring presence.
‘Casper will be there? Erm … I don’t think I can. Can we do something another day?’ Dolly’s doe eyes were full of anguish under her blonde fringe.
‘Please?’
‘Erm …’ Dolly cast about desperately. Part of her was petrified, but another part of her also desperately longed to see Casper again.
‘Just what I thought. Please come. It’s been years now since you two broke up. I still don’t know what happened, but can bygones be bygones … please, for me?’ Sage’s voice was gently coaxing. She was certain this would be the ideal opportunity they needed to properly consolidate their friendship again.
Betsy leant over. ‘Oh, do come, Dolly darling. Sage could really do with having her best friend in her life again, especially at the moment. She’s had a dreadful time of it. And we’ve all missed seeing you terribly, you’d be making us all very happy indeed.’ Betsy laid it on thick: Dolly was outmanoeuvred.
‘Yes, all right. I’d love to come to dinner, thank you,’ she said, laughing in defeat.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.
John Milton,Paradise Lost
Sage softly closed the door to Hal’s room. Bedtime had stretched on this evening, with Hal over-excited and increasingly tired. She had finally persuaded him to get out of the bath and into his pyjamas by promising to collect Custard tomorrow, after she finished riding. His eyes had closed the moment his head touched the pillow and she now tiptoed to her own room in order to dress for dinner. It was already a quarter to eight; she had fifteen minutes to get ready. Pulling open the steamer trunk that contained all her worldly possessions, she cast her eyes over the insubstantial linen dresses, shorts, T-shirts and jeans within. She ran lightly down the hall to her grandparents’ bedroom and tapped on the open door.
‘Come in,’ Betsy called from her dressing table. ‘Oh,Sage. You can’t wear your riding jeans for dinner, darling!’ she said, looking at her granddaughter’s clothes in horror.
‘I know, Gammy – that’s why I’m here. I haven’t got anything to wear! Can I borrow something, please?’ Sage pleaded. Time was running out, a fact compounded by the sight of her grandmother, who looked immaculate in a long black skirt and cream, long-sleeved top; Betsy had also put on a little make-up and was wearing her pearls. ‘You look lovely, Gammy.’
‘I look like an old woman, darling – but thank you. Of course you can borrow something, help yourself to anything.’ She waved airily in the direction of her dressing room. Betsy’s wardrobe was a veritable treasure trove, full of Chanel and Dior. She was a firm believer in the saying ‘buy cheap, buy twice’. She rarely went shopping but when she did, she shopped properly. Everything was then stored pristinely and after more than forty years, Betsy now had quite the collection.
Sage dived into her grandmother’s clothes and pulled out a long-sleeved navy blue woollen dress with a fairly short skirt and a discreetCCembroidered above the hem. She found a pair of cashmere tights in a drawer and some navy-and-cream ballet pumps, thanking her lucky stars that they shared the same dress and shoe size.
There was no time to have a shower, so she ruefully dragged a brush through her hair and applied some cover-up to her eye and a coat of mascara to her long lashes, her hand shaking slightly as she did so. She dabbed some lip balm on her chapped mouth, which was protesting about the dramatic change in weather, and looked in on Hal one last time. It was now ten past eight and she hurried towards the stairs. She had forgotten to check her reflection – she was so used to dressing down and making herself as plain as possible in order to avoid Santiago’s attentions – and she paused, her breathing fast, in front of the mirror on the landing. She looked better than she had expected; the dress was cut beautifully and lent her a more elegant silhouette than her usual jumper and jeans. She had managed to cover the bruise on her face, and her cheeks were flushed and pink, defining her high cheekbones and small, aquiline nose. Relieved that her hair was not noticeably in need of a wash, she ran a hand through her thick mane to fluff it up and then bounced down the stairs, feeling almost like herself again.
Voices could be heard from the drawing room, and Sagehurried towards them, hoping that she had not missed Dolly’s arrival. Entering the room, she found only her grandparents and Rafe Dunbarton. Rafe was talking intently to Betsy about that week’s racing, a glass of whisky in his hand. He was taller on his feet than she’d expected, and had wide muscular shoulders although he was as slim as a blade. He was dressed in blue corduroy trousers, a sky blue shirt, silk tie and dark green cashmere jersey. His deep blue-green eyes shone in the firelight. She had not noticed their piercing colour from under his flat cap and she blushed as their eyes made contact. She might not have remembered him to be handsome, but she could instantly recall the aggressive way he had treated his stable lad. She plastered a smile on her face and went over to them.
‘Good evening, Bumpa.’ She kissed her grandfather on the cheek, then held her hand out, formally, to Rafe. ‘Hello, I’m Sage. How d’you do?’
Ignoring her proffered hand, Rafe leant forward and kissed her on both cheeks. Sage felt a rush of burning hot blood instantly surge to her face. The feel of his soft mouth on her skin was like an electric shock. She stepped back, unnerved.
‘I know who you are, Sage,’ he said, turning his body slightly away from hers but still looking straight at her with deep, restless eyes. His voice was naturally quiet – he was clearly a man used to being listened to, Sage thought. His dark hair was unruly in contrast with his delicate bone structure, and he spoke in a self-assured, clipped English accent. ‘Your grandparents have been telling me that you’ve been the only rider in weeks to stick on that Polaris filly. I’m impressed.’
Dennis laughed. ‘Poor Rafe had to retrieve Skylark from Waitrose a few weeks ago after one of my blasted lads came off her outside Sir Mark’s – and as a result, he’s now taking far too much of an interest in the filly’s welfare!’
‘She’s smart. Old Fred Wentworth has been telling everyonethat you’ve got a Guineas filly on your hands.’ Rafe looked at Dennis closely.
‘Fred is a bore. I told him she was nothing special as I’m trying to keep this under my hat. Anything could go wrong before the Guineas, as you well know, Rafe. But you’re right,’ Dennis added, with a smile. ‘She is looking to be quite exciting. Now, I actually need to talk to you about your girl apprentice.’
‘Well, sir, she’s hardly “my” apprentice,’ Rafe laughed, ‘but she is a good pilot, and may very well suit your filly. I don’t have enough horses yet to keep her busy all the time. I’m sure that Josie would be happy to come and ride for you too. I’ll give you her number.’
The doorbell rang and Sage seized the chance to slip away and answer it. She opened the front door to find Dolly rushing back to her car. With a cry of, ‘Oh no, you don’t, Doll!’ she ran towards her friend and, having caught up with her, put a hand on Dolly’s green woollen coat. ‘Come back, please,’ she enticed gently. She blew on her hands, her breath like smoke in the bitter January night.
‘This was a mistake, Sage – I can’t face him.’ Dolly bit her bottom lip in distress.
‘Casper isn’t even here yet, it’s just my lovely grandparents and another trainer. We can go in and knock back a whisky before supper, on our own in the kitchen. OK? It’s bloody freezing out here – come on, the house is lovely and warm.’ Sage was calm and cajoling; not waiting for an answer, she led a pliant Dolly up the steps and back into the house. Bypassing the drawing room, she beckoned her down the hall and into the kitchen.