Score!

charms in puddings, the conversation moved on to superstitions.

‘One mustn’t get married after sunset,’ said a pretty redhead, making eyes at Isa.

‘And never eat your own wedding cake,’ said her plump friend.

‘Why not?’ asked Tab quickly.

‘Anyone want any more Christmas pudding?’ cried Tory desperately. ‘Jake, do shove round the white.’

‘Why not?’ insisted Tab.

Even more of a chill than there was already fell over the room.

‘A marriage is supposed to be doomed if you marry after sunset,’ said the pretty redhead with a shrug, ‘and the gypsies say if you taste your own wedding cake your child will die.’

‘But I did both those things,’ Tab clutched her tummy in horror.

‘It’s only a silly old gypsy’s tale,’ said Tory, in distress. ‘Think of the times you see a single magpie and nothing awful happens.’

A ringing telephone made everyone jump.

‘It’s your father, Tabitha,’ said the head lad returning from answering the call.

Tab streaked out of the room. ‘Daddy, oh, Daddy!’

‘My darling leetle girl,’ said Rannaldini, ‘your mother sends love. I just wanted to know how you are getting on.’

As Tab returned to the dining room, hollow with desolation, Jake was making some dismissive crack about Penscombe Pride not winning the George VI tomorrow.

‘My father’s a far better horseman than either you or Isa ever were,’ screamed Tab, and fled upstairs where, mistaking Jake and Tory’s room for the loo, she regurgitated turkey and vodka all over their bed and passed out.

The next day, Isa and Jake went off to Kempton, and Tab, who had no intention of getting to know her mother-in-law better, made the excuse that she couldn’t leave The Engineer any longer and drove back to Paradise.

It was lovely to come home to such a pretty place. Magpie Cottage, which was faded russet, rather than black and white, lay just across the valley from Rannaldini’s watch-tower, with a beech copse behind and a stream running down one side. On the lawns, back and front, it was hard to tell where snow ended and snowdrops began.

Tab loved Magpie Cottage but she grew nervous on her own; Sharon picked up the vibes and kept barking at the wind or imagined bangs, which made Tab more scared than ever. Taking a slug from the bottle of vodka she’d bought in a pub on the way home she started brooding on the superstitions they’d discussed last night and then about one magpie for sorrow.

Finding a paintbrush and some black paint in a kitchen cupboard, she went out into the fading afternoon. The sky was a pale, silvery grey, dotted with darker grey clouds and patches of gold on the horizon. The snow was too powdery to make snowballs, but had drifted beautifully, sharp as a shark’s fin against the garden wall. Sharon charged round the lawn raising spray like a skier, as Tab added an S to the board outside. Now it was Magpies Cottage — two for joy.

‘I’m going to make my marriage work,’ she told Sharon, ‘and you can show everyone how good Labradors are with babies.’

18

The cold spell continued. There was no racing, which made Isa very twitchy and cross because neither he nor Jake were making any money. The horses grew bored and restless. Pipes froze, so Tab, who’d forgotten to stop the milk, bathed in it instead.

Rupert beat the chill factor by taking Taggie, Xav and Bianca skiing. Tab ground her teeth over their photographs in the paper.

Fighting hangovers, and sickness, she still staggered up to do The Engineer every morning because she couldn’t bear him to get closer to one of Rannaldini’s grooms than herself. Then she returned to the vodka, which she found increasingly difficult to buy because she had no money. Several of her Christmas cheques bounced, before she discovered Rannaldini had stopped her allowance as well.

Isa doled her out pocket money for housekeeping, but grudgingly. It would be much more sensible, he said, for her to wheedle some serious dosh out of Rannaldini, which was why she had accepted the invitation to Riverdance on Isa’s birthday in January. At the last moment, Isa had cried off in a rage. Tab had a maddening habit of always borrowing his jackets. Grabbing his Puffa from the back of the bedroom door, he had found all the Christmas cards to his owners unstamped and unposted in the pocket.

Which was why Tab had a lone evening with an amused but utterly unyielding Rannaldini.

‘Isa is a successful jockey. You have a charming, free cottage, and if you bothered to check, you ungrateful child, you’d discover the Sevres vase I gave you for Christmas was worth a few bob. Young people should make their own way.’

He wouldn’t even lend her a grand or two to appease Isa and the bank manager.

The coupling of an alcoholic and a workaholic is not a happy one. As Isa worked endlessly to keep the show on the road and compensate for lack of support from Tab, he had less and less time to spend with her, which lowered her confidence and made her drink more out of loneliness.

Isa was so cool he fell asleep in the middle of a row, and she could never tell, behind that expressionless face, what he was thinking. In fact, throughout that long, hard, cruel winter, Peppy Koala, the chestnut colt, so charming, so idle, so uncompetitive, had never been far from his thoughts.

He was just making plans in late February to fly out to Australia when Mr Brown, Peppy Koala’s owner, suddenly called him. He was in England, taking over some Bristol electronics firm. Was Isa free tomorrow evening?

Mr Brown also wanted to see Jake’s yard, and having read about Isa’s wedding in Hello! , said he’d sure like to shake hands with the new Mrs Lovell, who looked a beaut, so perhaps they could have dinner at Isa’s place.

Switching off his mobile, Isa looked round at Magpie Cottage. God, it was a tip! The ravishing little chest of drawers Taggie had given them for a wedding present was already covered in drink rings, like a pond in a rainstorm.

Knowing there was no way he could bring Mr Brown back here in its present state, Isa swallowed his pride and a large whisky and rang Helen. Could he borrow Mrs Brimscombe, Betty and Sally tomorrow morning to blitz the place? Then all Tab had to do was collect some precooked food from Waitrose and make herself look beautiful.

As luck would have it, in lieu of payment, one of Isa’s owners had given him a brand-new Jaguar XK8, which was being delivered to the cottage that afternoon. If money ran out he could flog it. For the meantime it would impress Mr Brown.

The three-month ban on sex was now up, but the cold war seemed to have set in too hard for Isa to placate Tab by making a move on her that night. Tab had stopped being sick, but instead when she opened her mouth a stream of resentment came out.

On the morning of Mr Brown’s visit, however, she was full of good intentions: no booze, and wifely behaviour. By midday a tight-lipped Mrs Brimscombe and a giggling Betty and Sally had made the cottage look wonderful and set the table.

‘Why don’t you buy some daffies for that lovely blue vase?’ suggested Betty.

Tab had been just off to Waitrose when she went to Isa’s chest of drawers to borrow a pair of socks. Rooting round under the lining paper she found a lovely laughing picture of Martie, his Australian girlfriend. He’s still in love with her, she thought in terror, he’s going to leave me.

When the telephone woke her, it was dark. Isa wanted to know if everything was on course. Mr Brown had been impressed with Jake’s yard. They’d be back around six thirty.