Dead Weight Read online

  When boys had started to pay her attention - she’d been barely into her teens - the ones who caught her eye were those who liked horses. All her fledgling romances were played out against a horsy background. Hanging around stables, riding out, watching point-to-points with her admirer of the moment, she’d talked and breathed horses. But the boys who kept her on the floor longest at the hunt knees-ups were the jockeys. Lads with keen eyes, quick wits and wandering hands. She’d been in love with a rider, it seemed, since she was twelve.

  The last of them - the one before Phil - had almost killed her, first with his kindness and then with his treachery. She’d been unhappy working at Jimmy Craig’s stables in the Scottish borders, where the conditions were bad for the horses and worse for the stable staff. Though shell got her own flat and was working closely with Eileen, the local horse physio, she couldn’t ignore the way the grooms were treated. Then Jimmy’s young brother Rob took an interest in her - he was the stable jockey, naturally. He listened to her when she complained that a horse was not being given time between races for a swollen hip to mend, and that another had been taken off the diet the vet had recommended - and he even promised to talk to Jimmy about the rats in the girls’ hostel. He’d bedded her beautifully, too, and shed fallen for him hard. His soulful brown eyes, his hot touch between the sheets, his sweet voice serenading her at midnight as he picked at his guitar - for a few weeks Rob was the love of her life. Then Jimmy told her Rob was engaged to his most important owner’s only daughter and sacked her in the same breath. The job at the cafe lasted just ten days, time enough for her to hear - finally - from Rob himself that she’d just been a minor diversion from his chosen path in life.

  A few weeks later, after she’d got some work at Deanscroft on Eileen’s recommendation, she’d seen a photo of Rob’s wedding in a newspaper cutting a friend had sent and cried as she mucked out Russell Dean’s horses. She’d cursed the friend as she did so, thinking her cruel, but it turned out she had done her a favour. Phil had found Julia in tears and whisked her out on to the gallops on a broad-framed novice jumper who required all her attention.

  After that, Julia had become aware of Phil keeping an eye on her, asking her opinion on horses, getting her to help him out, being a presence she couldn’t ignore. She didn’t fancy him at first, though she guessed he was keen on her - why else would the yard’s top jockey bother with her? But after their first proper conversation, over mugs of tea in the tack-room when he listened patiently to her life story, she knew she’d end up in bed with him.

  That event lay some four weeks in the future, by which time she’d formed the opinion that Phil was worth half a dozen feckless men like Rob. For one thing, he was the best rider she’d ever seen. He got the best out of horses without appearing to do much, as if they responded to him in a different way to other jockeys. And when there was a panic on at the yard, after a horse was found cast in his box and a lad lost it in a screaming match with the assistant trainer, Phil’s sudden appearance calmed everyone down. She was impressed that he mucked in to sort matters out with the minimum of fuss.

  The other girls were mad about him and jealous of the attention Julia was receiving. Through them she discovered his reputation with women. The press, it seemed, were always eager to feature him in the gossip columns with a new model on his arm. All of this changed him in her eyes from just a friendly shoulder to cry on into someone dangerous, mysterious - seductive. By the time he made his move on her, her feelings had come full circle and she was convinced he’d never fancied her at all. She fell into his lap like a ripe plum.

  `You didn’t rate me at first,’ he told her once they’d become lovers, `then you couldn’t wait. You were gagging for it.’

  `And I suppose you weren’t,’ she’d said, affronted.

  `Of course I was.’ He’d looked at her strangely, as if he were embarrassed. `I’ve been in love with you from the start. Is that OK?’ It was indeed, and it had turned out better than OK. Much better. They were half an hour late arriving at the restaurant but no one seemed to care. The group assembled to celebrate Snowflake’s unexpected triumph were too busy downing champagne.

  Jack Mitton, Snowflake’s owner, pounced on them as they entered the private bar on the first floor, Russell Dean at his elbow.

  `The guest of honour,’ Jack exclaimed, seizing Phil’s hand. `Without you there’d be no party.’

  Phil tried to deflect the compliment, as Julia knew he would. `Very kind of you, Mr Milton, but your horse did all the work.’ The owner’s expansive grin vanished. `Really? He’s never done any before.’

  He looked as if he might continue to argue the point but Russell cut in. `This is Julia.’

  Jack took her hand in a fleshy grip and studied her closely. `I’ve heard about you,’ he said, `but Russell never told me you were a beauty.’ Julia blushed and took a glass of champagne from a waitress. What on earth had Russell been saying?

  Around them milled familiar faces from the yard. Others, older and more smartly dressed, she assumed to be Jack’s friends. The owner grabbed one of them by the arm, a man in his early fifties with thin grey hair and rimless spectacles.

  `Here’s Arnold, my personal orthopaedic surgeon. Fixed up my hip last year. I always drag him along when I’m going to get drunk in case I break any more bones.’

  Julia laughed on cue and smiled her way through the pleasantries. This was one aspect of being a famous jockey’s wife that she didn’t welcome. She had little confidence in her social skills though, luckily, Phil could be counted on to keep their end up. Secretly she was longing to break away and have a giggle with Gary, Snowflake’s lad. She knew he’d be thrilled about the afternoon’s victory, and they hadn’t had a chance to discuss it.

  An elegant, dark-haired woman had joined them and Jack introduced her as Simone Brown, Arnold’s wife.

  Out of the corner of her eye Julia saw Phil’s grin broaden as he took a step towards the woman.

  `Nice to meet you,’ Simone said, deflecting his greeting and turning to Julia. Her smile was mere politeness but her eyes probed, bristling with curiosity.

  Then she’d whisked her husband off and Julia was aware that Phil was staring at her retreating figure in shock. For once, he looked genuinely put out.

  Julia’s mind raced. All her intuition told her that something significant had just taken place between Phil and that woman. Obviously he knew her, but she’d barely acknowledged him. Why?

  There could only be one answer to that. Julia’s sole reservation about throwing in her lot with Phil had been his reputation as a womaniser. However, he’d been transparently honest about his past affairs. He’d given her chapter and verse on the women who’d mattered to him and answered every question she’d put to him. He’d been out with dozens of females, from barmaids to Sloanes, attached and fancy free, young and not so young - but none shed heard of had been called Simone.

  Julia finished her drink in one gulp, aware the wine was going straight to her head. It did nothing to ease the nervous fluttering in her stomach. She knew the feeling well. After being put through the wringer with Rob, she was no stranger to the pangs of jealousy.

  To Julia’s dismay she was separated from Phil when they sat down to

  eat at two large round tables. As host, Jack decreed the seating plan, and she found herself next to him with Russell on her other side. Phil had been placed on the other table between Peggy, Russell’s wife, and - predictably-Simone. Julia tried not to stare but the woman was directly in her eyeline. Shed removed her jacket to reveal smooth olive-skinned shoulders on to which tumbled a torrent of lustrous black hair. Her face was lean, with deep-set mysterious eyes and a long thin nose - a strong face, Julia decided. What was more, she filled her low-cut cocktail dress in a way that no man, let alone Phil, could ignore. All in all, the woman was thoroughly intimidating.

  So far Phil and Simone hadn’t spoken to each other. They were working hard - suspiciously hard? - at being neighbourly in opposite direc
tions. Julia knew they couldn’t keep that up. When they finally turned to each other she’d be watching.

  `Russell tells me you’re the young woman I have to thank for Snowflake’s transformation.’

  Jack Mitton’s voice commanded Julia’s attention as she toyed with the smoked salmon on her plate, her mind on events at the next table. `I wouldn’t say that, Mr Mitton. He just needed time to recover from his injury.’

  `Rubbish,’ said the owner, tearing a bread roll with purpose. `You know what gets me about the horse business, my dear, you’re all so bloody modest. That horse had been swinging the lead for years until you came along. It was off for pet food if it hadn’t performed today, I promise you.’

  `Did you say that to Snowflake? It probably made all the difference.’ Jack squinted at her in surprise and Julia added, `I think horses understand more than we give them credit for. Snowflake’s a very bright animal.’

  Jack glanced at Russell on her other side, who was listening to the exchange. The owner’s expression clearly said, `This girl’s a fruitcake.’ `Julia’s winding you up, Jack. She put in a lot of work on the horse and it paid off.’

  Jack chewed his roll for a moment. It seemed he was coming to a decision.

  `Russell says you sometimes take on special projects. Outside of Deanscroft.’

  `I sometimes stable horses with my father-in-law just a mile away, if that’s what you mean. I can keep a close eye on them that way.’

  Julia realised it was no accident she was sitting between the two of them. She was being set up. Not that she minded; she was curious to hear what was on offer.

  `My wife’s the keen horse owner in our house, not me, but she’s not too well these days. Couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately. Anyhow, Yvonne’s got a jumper who had a bad accident a couple of years ago. She nursed him back to health and she’s always said that he could race again. I’m wondering whether to give it a try. Maybe you could take him for a bit, see if he’s up to it.’

  `How old is he?’

  `Ten, but I reckon he’s got a few years left in him yet.’ `And what kind of accident did he have?’

  `He was six lengths clear in the Murphy’s at Cheltenham two years ago and tried to fly the last. Tore all the ligaments in his hip.’

  `Oh.’ Julia reached for her glass, her mind racing. `Surely you don’t mean-?’

  `Callisto,’ Jack said quickly. `The best horse we’ve ever had. A oncein-a-lifetime horse,’ he added wistfully.

  Russell chipped in. `He was second in the King George at Kempton and he won the Murphy’s the year before. He was the favourite the year he fell.’

  `He’d have been put down at the course if Yvonne hadn’t begged the vets to wait a little longer,’ said Jack. `She saved him and she’d love to see him race again. I don’t care if it’s at the meanest little gaff track in the country.’

  `Gosh,’ said Julia, overwhelmed by the thought.

  `So what do you say?’ Jack stared at her intently. `Will you take a look at him?’

  Julia downed the rest of her wine in a gulp. `I’d love to.’ `Enjoying your evening, Mr Nicholas?’

  Phil shot Simone a sideways glance. `So you’re talking to me now, are you?’

  She smiled and inclined her head in the way that he was coming to know well. `I didn’t mean to appear rude earlier but I thought you wanted to keep our relationship between ourselves.’

  `You know I do.’

  `Then you mustn’t greet me with open arms. We’re not supposed to have met.’

  He sighed. `Sorry. It’s just that you’re the last person I expected to see here.’

  `It’s not a problem, is it?’ `No. Of course not.’

  She chuckled, a low musical sound. `Your wife is even lovelier than I’d imagined. She can’t stop staring at you.’

  `I’m a lucky guy, aren’t 1?’

  Simone turned to him, her expression now devoid of humour. `Why don’t you tell her about us, Phil?’

  He held her gaze but didn’t reply.

  She shrugged her shoulders. `Let’s talk about this another time.’ Then she turned abruptly to join the conversation on her other side. Julia was too far off to hear what Phil and Simone had been saying but it was obvious from their faces that they had not just been swapping the niceties of first acquaintance. They appeared to know each other well enough to be in serious disagreement. The woman had something on Phil, Julia could tell that. She’d rarely seen him look so put out.

  Her imagination went to work along predictable lines. Phil was obviously having an affair with her - or had been involved with her in the past. That would make more sense. He’d been such an ardent lover she couldn’t see how he could have been carrying on with Simone recently. And now the pair of them had been thrown together again unexpectedly and she’d covered it up better than him. But it was plain the woman still had power over him and Julia could see why. Simone was intelligent, articulate, sophisticated-all the things Julia feared she was not. And the cow was showing too much chest.

  Julia tried to focus on other matters. On Russell’s conversation about all-weather tracks. On Jack Mitton’s hunting yarns. On Yvonne Mitton and Callisto. But she wasn’t having much luck. Her eyes were drawn magnetically to Simone’s superior smile and gleaming cleavage. Her fingers itched to seize a cigarette from Russell’s pack lying just inches from her left hand.

  Instead she filled her glass and drank.

  The letter took shape in Keith’s mind as he loaded the soiled shavings of the hounds’ dirty bedding into the incinerator. There were four pens and a dozen couples - twenty-four hounds - in each pen. He cleaned out one pen a day, and bloody tedious it was too. It was good to have something to think about while he performed his drudgery.

  He returned to the cottage and drafted the letter in longhand to be sure he got it right. Then he turned on the computer.

  He wasn’t what you’d call a computer buff. He resented the way people went on about them - `the new technology’, `e-mail’, `the information super highway’ and all that bollocks. He’d only bought the darn thing to keep Denise quiet when she was going on about getting herself trained up on computers so she could go out and get a job. He’d got it off a bloke who owed him a few favours. The fellow had bought his son a smart new one so he’d been happy to pass the old machine on to Keith. Predictably, Denise had sneered at it, said it wasn’t up to date, but he’d known that was just an excuse. The lazy cow had no intention of making herself `computer literate’, as she called it. As for getting a job, that was a joke. She thought marriage was a meal ticket. It was the best thing he’d ever done, kicking her out of the house.

  So Keith had kept the computer for himself and gradually come to terms with it. He wasn’t too clever on the keyboard but he could knock out a letter if he had to. Sometimes his self-taught skills came in handy - like now.

  He sat down before the screen and, slowly, began to type.

  The meal was drawing to a close and some people had already left for the bar, preferring more alcohol to coffee. Julia made her excuses and got up to join them.

  She took the stool next to Mark Shaw, who was sitting on his own. `So you’ve deserted the top table,’ he said, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

  `I’ve quit while I’m ahead.’ She took a gulp from the wineglass the barman placed in front of her. `Mr Mitton’s just asked me to look after one of his horses.’

  `Really?’Mark leaned closer. `Does he know you have conversations with animals? Shall I tell him the truth about you, Mrs Dolittle?’ Julia punched him softly on the arm. `Just you dare.’

  He laughed, his sea-green eyes flashing, and she laughed too. Once,

  in her early days at Deanscroft, Mark had caught her in earnest conversation with a horse and she’d assumed he’d make fun of her like everyone else. Instead he’d quizzed her about her methods and she’d told him more than she’d ever told anyone.

  `Sometimes,’ she’d said, `the horses tell me where they hurt, s
o I know how to treat them.’

  He’d not said anything to that but, after riding an animal in her care who’d made an unexpected return to form, he’d sought her out.

  `I could do with a gift like yours,’ he’d said. `The horses could tell me how they’d like to be ridden.’

  Julia felt relaxed in Mark’s company - she didn’t have to watch what she said. Even Phil wasn’t so understanding about her rapport with horses.

  She pushed the thought of Phil from her mind. He was still sitting at the table, next to that Simone creature.

  She studied his pale face. `You’re looking a bit glum for a man who rode a winner today. You were brilliant on May Queen.’

  He turned his eyes on her full bore. `We’re here to toast Snowflake, remember? Anyhow, that’s all history. I need more winners and I don’t get enough rides.’

  `But Russell’s got plenty of horses.’

  `And all the good ones go to Phil, don’t they?’

  Julia was taken aback. `Surely there are enough to go around.’ `No, there aren’t. When Phil was injured I got the pick of the bunch. Now I’m back in the queue. Making do with dodgy buggers like May Queen.’

  `Oh.’ Julia didn’t know what to say.

  Mark looked embarrassed, as if it had suddenly dawned on him who he was talking to.

  `I’m sorry, Julia. I’m not having a go at Phil - he’s the number-one man, I know that. It’s just that you can’t hang around in this business. If you’re not getting on you’re going nowhere.’

  Julia had never considered how Phil’s recovery might affect anyone else. She admired Mark’s honesty in admitting to her how he felt. He looked so miserable her heart went out to him.

  They were standing by the stairwell which led to the main diningroom on the ground floor. A handful of couples were moving around a small circular dance-floor and music floated upwards.