She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and swallowed, and he moved off after the rapid filly on a bemused and quietly protesting Dear Morris. They had been on their way for a gentle gallop to prepare Skylark for her racecourse debut and he knew this turn of events was going to seriously upset the guv’nor and his carefully laid plans for the horse. Sage, ignoring her bloodied hands and screaming muscles, gave chase as the filly skidded in and out of the traffic which was steadily flowing both waysalong the Bury Road. Ahead of her, a bewildered Dear Morris suddenly planted stock-still on the road, refusing to run the gauntlet of rush-hour traffic. Dillon held up his hands in surrender and grimaced apologetically. There was no other choice. Sage ran on, terror clutching at her throat.
Rafe had finished watching his horses work up the Warren Hill gallop and was following the string back past the Severals. He was whistling softly, happy with what he had seen, when Warhorse pricked up his enormous ears and turned his head. Rafe swivelled in his saddle to catch sight of a chestnut filly with a distinctive flaxen mane and tail flying down the middle of the busy road.
‘Oh,damn.’ Rafe’s heart sank as he recognized Skylark in Dennis’s initialled rug. His apprentice was down to ride her at Chelmsford on Saturday and apart from the obvious – and considerable – danger to her life, the situation could be catastrophic for her racing prospects. Looking up and down the road for any sign of mounted help and not finding any, he set after her himself. Clicking to his clever horse, he swung Warhorse about and, heading in the opposite direction to his string, nudged him softly into a canter.
Horse and rider cautiously wove their way through the cars, whose startled drivers were shocked to find not one, but two horses now amongst them. A Volkswagen Polo pulled out at the roundabout; its driver slammed on her brakes when she saw Skylark galloping down the middle of the road, her fragile legs sliding about on the painted white lines. The horse was headed on a collision course with the car. The brakes locked up and it swung broadside across the road; if it had not been for Skylark’s athleticism, she would surely have been hit. Instead, she somehow managed to slither out of the way and ended up standing, petrified, in the middle of the roundabout.
Rafe was left with no option. Warhorse was cantering purposefully and with full momentum in the filly’s wake, and he knew that asking the large horse to stop on the slippery road would be more dangerous than encouraging him to go forward. The traffic had ground to a halt all around them and they had space to take the car on. He squeezed his long legs tightly around Warhorse and, leaning forward slightly, spoke urgently into a big, white ear: ‘Up, boy!’ The brave gelding soared over the little car with ease and landed light as a feather, a few strides away from the terrified, shaking filly. Rafe slid off, patted him gratefully, and slowly approached Skylark. Telling Warhorse to wait for him, he let go of the reins and motioned for the standstill traffic to give him a moment to get closer to the filly. He edged nearer, softly talking reassuring nonsense to her all the while.
‘Hold hard now, you silly girl. There’s a good filly. Well done, little one. What in heaven’s name have you done with your mistress? I hope you haven’t left her tangled up somewhere. Well done. Take it easy, filly.’
Skylark’s sides were heaving in and out. She was blowing hard, her nostrils dilated and their red membrane iridescent where the veins stood up in a network of lines like a braille roadmap. Her neck was dark with sweat, and white foam had lathered up where the tack met her orange velvet coat. Her eyes rolled in distress as she watched Rafe creep ever closer. But her ears flicked backwards and forwards – she was listening to him. At last, very gently, he managed to slip a finger through the hanging reins, still gabbling away soothingly.
‘Clever girl … Well done, pet. I am going to lead you now, my beauty. Warhorse, old chap – you can follow on behind, quietly please.’
He led the exhausted, shivering filly through the traffic and back up towards Dennis’s yard, thanking the slack-jawed drivers for their patience with a respectful nod of his head and touch ofhis cap, while the huge grey horse followed behind like a well-behaved elephantine Labrador.
Sage caught them up halfway along the Bury Road, by which time she was hardly able to breathe. She could find no words as she jogged the last few yards to finally close the distance between her and Skylark. Humiliation surged up inside her.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Rafe, full of concern.
Sage nodded, still panting.
‘Leg up?’ he asked, curious to see if she would want to get back on the temperamental filly.
She nodded again and Rafe gently lifted her up onto the saddle.
‘Thank you.’ It was all Sage could manage. Terrified that she was going to break down and cry – not from fear but from overwhelming relief mixed with mortification – she hastily turned Skylark away from him and rode slowly back to join Dillon and Dear Morris, who were waiting by the Bedford Lodge Hotel, just before the entrance to North Place.
She rode sheepishly back into the main yard behind Dillon, keeping her head down and hoping, however futile it was to do so, that her grandfather would not come out of his office to see how they had got on. She dismounted Skylark, who was standing quietly now, completely worn out, and ran up her stirrups before slipping the light saddle off. The filly was covered in dry sweat which had turned her normally copper coat almost black.
‘What happened?’ came Dennis’s loud and somehow all-knowing voice from his lair. He stepped over the threshold, a stern expression on his face.
Oh shit, thought Sage, her toes curling.
‘Erm … this morning did not exactly go to plan.’ She inhaled a deep breath and soldiered on. ‘I fell off. Skylark galloped down the Bury Road and Rafe Dunbarton caught her. I think she’s allright – she felt fine …’ she added beseechingly, ‘I mean, she was sound in walk, at any rate. I made sure I only walked her home. I’msosorry, Bumpa. I just came straight back and untacked her. What do you want me to do?’
Dennis was silent for a moment. Sage watched him fretfully, waiting for him to explode.
Instead he said quietly, ‘Trot her up for me, please, Sage.’
Sage duly led the tired horse over to the straight bit of tarmac that was used specifically for the purpose and asked her to trot up and back down the path.
Dennis watched Skylark’s movements closely, his eagle eyes missing nothing.
‘You were lucky. Sheisfine,’ he said gruffly. ‘Put her away – she’s done more than enough today. You can go and have a bath.’ He put his pipe to his mouth and then lowered it again. As ever, seemingly all knowing, he chided, ‘Next time, don’t take your bad temper out on my horses.’ He put a large, calloused, gentle hand on Sage’s shoulder; that was the end of the matter.
Sage trudged towards the house, tired but faintly amused at her grandfather’s uncanny ability to read a situation perfectly.
Half an hour later, Sage was lying in the bath, floating in arnica and Epsom salts to ease her sore and aching bones. She could hear Hal cantering up and down the hall outside the closed door, making clicking noises to sound like pony hooves on grass and whinnying like a wild mustang. He was anxious to take Custard for a ride which Sage had promised they could do as soon as she was dressed. Spending some time with Hal would rejuvenate her. He had such a propensity for joy and she could do with soaking up a little of his sunshine today. Wearily, she pulled herself to an upright position and reared clumsily out of the bath, pain searing her limbs, and as she stumbled onto the bathmat, she slopped water all over the thick cream carpet that lay on the floor.
‘Oh bugger!’ she cried in frustration.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ a gleeful Hal parroted through the keyhole. Despite her mood, Sage found herself laughing.
She got dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of Casper’s old Levi’s that had been left in his room and a dark green jersey that clung to her slim figure. Through the large bay window of her bedroom, she gazed at the bare trees dully glowing in the gloom of the grey day. Water lay on the ground like a glistening mantle but the rain had stopped, at least. She set down her mobile which was still switched off. She found Hal in her grandmother’s room. Hanging her head upside down to dry her hair, she watched Hal jump on the enormous four-poster bed, already dressed in his riding clothes.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ he chanted happily. He had not once asked after his father or other grandmother, Sage thought wryly; he seemed to have no lingering emotions whatsoever about leaving Islas Del Penta or Panama. She felt a rush of gratitude to the evident resilience of her child. Perhaps he would not suffer any trauma at all. She could sense a change in his temperament already, he was more outgoing and confident. He seemed lighter of heart, and that made her dare to hope that she was doing the right thing.