you'd already left.'
'What's his name?' I asked, for all this preamble of Pete's was, I knew, his way of cajoling me into something I might not be too delighted to do.
'Heavens Above.'
'Never heard of him. What's he done?' I asked.
'Well, not much. He's young, of course-'
I interrupted. 'What exactly has he done?'
Pete sighed and gave in. 'He's only had two runs, both down in Devon last autumn. He didn't fall, but – er – he got rid of his jockey both times. But he jumped well enough over my schooling fences this morning. I don't think you'd have any difficulty getting him round safely, and that's the main thing at this stage.'
'Pete, I don't like to say no, but-' I began.
'His owner is so hoping you'll ride him. It's her first horse, and it's running for the first time in her brand new colours. I brought her to the races with me. She's very excited. I said I'd ask you-'
'I don't think-' I tried again.
'Well, at least meet her,' said Pete.
'If I meet her, you know it'll be far more difficult for me to refuse to ride her horse.'
Pete didn't deny it.
I went on, 'I suppose she's another of your dear old ladies about to go into a nursing home from which she is unlikely to return, and wants a final thrill before she meets her fate?'
This was the sad tale which Peter had used not long before to inveigle me on to a bad horse against my better judgement. And I often saw the old lady at the races afterwards. The nursing home and her fate were still presumably awaiting her.
'This one is not,' said Pete, 'a dear old lady.'
We came to a stop in the paddock, and Pete looked around him and beckoned to someone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman begin to walk towards us. It was already, without unforgivable rudeness, too late to escape. I had time for one heart-felt oath in Pete's ear before I turned to be introduced to the new owner of the jockey- depositing Heavens Above.
'Miss Ellery-Penn, Alan York,' said Pete.
I was lost before she spoke a word. The first thing I said was, 'I'll be glad to ride your horse.'
Pete was laughing openly at me.
She was beautiful. She had clear features, wonderful skin, smiling grey eyes, dark glossy hair falling almost to her shoulders. And she was used to the effect she had on men: but how could she help it?
Pete said, 'Right, then. I'll declare you for the amateurs' – it's the fourth race. I'll give your colours to Clem.' He went off towards the weighing room.
'I am so glad you agreed to ride my horse,' the girl said. Her voice was low-pitched and unhurried. 'He's a birthday present. Rather a problem one, don't you think? My Uncle George, who is a dear fellow but just the slightest bit off the beat, advertised in The Times for a racehorse. My aunt says he received fifty replies and bought this horse without seeing it because he liked the name. He said it would be more amusing for me to have a horse for my birthday than the conventional string of pearls.'
'Your Uncle George sounds fascinating,' I said.
'But just a little devastating to live with.' She had a trick of lifting the last two or three words in a sentence so that they sounded like a question. As if she had added, 'Don't you agree?' to her remark.
'Do you in fact live with him?' I asked.
'Oh, yes. Parents divorced in the murky past. Scattered to the four winds, and all that.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Waste no sympathy. I can't remember either of them. They abandoned me on Uncle George's doorstep, figuratively speaking, at the tender age of two.'
'Uncle George has done a good job,' I said, looking at her with the frankest admiration.
She accepted this without gaucherie, almost as a matter of course.
'Aunt Deb, actually. She is faintly more on the ball than Uncle George. Absolute pets, the pair of them.'
'Are they here today?' I asked.
'No, they aren't,' said Miss Ellery-Penn. 'Uncle George remarked that having given me a passport into a new world peopled entirely by brave and charming young men, it would defeat the object if my path were cluttered up with elderly relatives.'
'I am getting fonder of Uncle George every minute,' I said.
Miss Ellery-Penn gave me a heavenly smile which held no promises of any sort.
'Have you seen my horse? Isn't he a duck?' she said.
'I haven't seen him. I'm afraid I didn't know he existed until five minutes ago. How did Uncle George happen to send him to Pete Gregory? Did he pick the stable with a pin?'
She laughed. 'No, I don't think so. He had the stable all planned. He said I could get a Major Davidson to ride for me if the horse went to Mr Gregory's.' She reflected, wrinkling her brow. 'He was quite upset on Monday when he read in the paper that Major Davidson had been killed.'
'Did he know him?' I asked idly, watching the delicious curves at the corners of her red mouth.
'No, I'm sure he didn't know him personally. Probably he knew his father. He seems to know most people's fathers. He just said Good God, Davidson's dead in a shocked sort of way and went on eating his toast. But he didn't hear me or Aunt Deb until we had asked him four times for the marmalade!'
'And that was all?'
'Yes. Why do you ask?' said Miss Ellery-Penn, curiously.
'Oh, nothing special,' I said. 'Bill Davidson and I were good friends.'
She nodded. 'I see.' She dismissed the subject. 'Now what do I have to do in my new role as racehorse owner? I don't particularly want to make a frightful boob on my first day. Any comments and instructions from you will be welcome, Mr York.'
'My name is Alan,' I said.
She gave me an appraising look. It told me plainer than words that although she was young she was already experienced at fending off unwelcome attentions and not being rushed into relationships she was not prepared for.
But she finally smiled, and said, 'Mine is Kate.' She bestowed her name like a gift; I was pleased to receive it.
'How much do you know about racing?' I asked.
'Not a thing. Never set foot on the Turf before today.' She gave the capital letter its full value, ironically.
'Do you ride, yourself?'
'Positively not.'
'Perhaps your Uncle George is fond of horses? Perhaps he hunts?' I suggested.
'Uncle George is the most un-addicted man to horses I have ever met. He says one end kicks and the other bites, and as for hunting, he says that he has cosier things to do than chase bushy tailed vermin in the gravest discomfort over waterlogged countryside in the depths of winter.'
I laughed. 'Perhaps he bets. Off the course?' I asked.
'Uncle George has been known to ask, on Cup Final day, what has won the Derby.'
'Then why Heavens Above?'
'Wider horizons for me, Uncle George says. My education has been along the well-tramped lines of boarding school, finishing school, and an over-chaperoned tour of Europe. I needed to get the smell of museums out of my nose, Uncle George said.'
'So he gave you a racehorse for your twenty-first birthday,' I stated matter-of-factly.
'Yes,' she said: then she looked at me sharply. I grinned. I had jumped her defences, that time.
'There's nothing special for you to do as an owner,' I said, 'except to go along to those stalls over there,' I pointed, 'before the fourth race, to see your horse being saddled up. Then you'll go into the parade ring with Pete, and stand around making intelligent remarks about the weather until I arrive and mount and go out for the race.'
'What do I do if he wins?'
