of twelve was strung out, at least twenty lengths from first tail to last nose.
‘Now the best you would think the fella would do is just catch up, show the stewards he’s tryin,’ said Harry. ‘Trainer’s not goin to thank him for thrashin the horse from there. But no, not this turkey, he gets the blood rush. Watch.’
Just before the 2000-metre mark, Lost Legion’s jockey was galvanised, suddenly took to the stick, manic riding. The horse responded as if a brake had been released. By the time he ran out of legs, Lost Legion was in front, fifty metres from the post. He finished fifth, lathered.
‘Now when you put the clock on the last two thou,’ said Harry, ‘bloody thing could near enough’ve won the ’79 Australian Cup from Dulcify. Tell him what happened after, Cam.’
‘They give him a rest,’ said Cam. ‘Come back in the autumn, somethin in him’s gone. He runs fourths and fifths. Give him another rest. In the spring, first up, he runs seventh. Second was worse. Sack the jock. He runs tenth, big field. Try someone else on him: six of eight, hangin in all the way. They try blinkers, he beats one home. Off to the paddock again, comes back, two stone motherless lasts. Vets can’t find anythin. This’s the last outin of his career.’
On the big screen, horses going into the starting gate somewhere.
‘Bunbury,’ said Cam. ‘Where that little Hobby jumps off the horse, he’s so keen not to win.’
The light was flashing. The gates opened and the field went away in its bumping, jostling urgency.
Except for Lost Legion. He would not leave the gate, stood head down and still. His small rider urged him repeatedly, gave up, climbed off, climbed out of the cramped stall, walked away, his head down, whipping himself with his stick — not hard, reflectively.
‘After that, he starts to act up till they can’t come near him,’ said Cam. ‘Breaks a stablehand’s leg, kicks a float to bits, bites someone. They give up, get rid of him.’
Harry switched the lights on from the console on the arm of his chair. ‘Let’s bite somethin ourselves, have a drop of the dark fluid,’ he said.
We returned to the study. Harry sat behind the desk made for him by Charlie Taub. Cam and I sat in the green leather armchairs beneath the cliffs of racing books. Mrs Aldridge came in with coffee in a silver pot and a choice of small steaming raisin scones and chocolate-dipped meringues.
‘One each for you, Mr Strang,’ she said, brisk English voice, pouring coffee.
‘I keep tellin you, Mrs A., I’ve given away the ridin,’ said Harry. His powerful hands were on the desk, I thought I saw twitching.
When she was gone, he put four of each on his plate.
I took my coffee and a scone, yellow Normandy butter leaking from the line of division. Blue Mountain and homemade scones with Normandy butter, this was what the gods on Mount Olympus commanded their Mrs Aldridges to feed them at mid-morning.
Harry’s jaw was moving, eyes thin with taste appreciation. ‘Lorna, she reckons he’s nearly ready. Down for a barrier trial next week. After that, it’s when we want to go.’
‘Go?’ I said. ‘As in unknown horse found in Gippsland with sores and wearing rotten old rug wins comeback race? Or what?’
‘That is pretty much the question,’ said Harry. ‘Cam?’
‘Well,’ Cam said. He pointed at the last meringue.
‘Go for your life, son,’ said Harry. ‘Could save mine accordin to what passes for wisdom around here.’
I saw the dark object disappear into Cam, ingested. He was a neat eater, like a fish.
‘Have a try or two in the country,’ Cam said. ‘Stay away from the books and get a proper look, don’t push him. We could take a long-term view.’
Harry drank from the white china cup, looking over our heads, his eyes on his Charlie Taub bookshelves, on his books. He was in some of them, just a mention, the horses were what mattered, you didn’t try to breed jockeys.
‘Feel myself movin away from the long-term view these days,’ he said. ‘But I can hear sense. Jack?’
‘What about the other shareholders?’ I said. ‘Don’t they get a say?’
‘Got the proxies,’ said Harry. ‘More or less. Yes or no?’
I said, ‘What does saying yes entail?’
‘Go for a win first up. Bugger the long-term view.’
Rain smudges on the tall window behind Harry. We’d probably passed the day’s top temperature.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve had it with the long term. I’m a short-term man now.’
‘Go it is,’ said Harry. ‘Cam, tell Lorna we’re lookin for the right race. It’ll be soon.’
24
Breakfast at Enzio’s, just coffee and sourdough toast with Vegemite. When she brought the ingredients, Carmel said, ‘I should have mentioned before, the boy wonder’s gone.’
‘Better offer?’ I said.
‘Bruno decked him. The boy told the silent one to get away from the machine so that he could, I quote, make myself a fucking decent cup of coffee.’
‘An inflammatory speech.’
‘On the floor and out the door. Whingeing all the way. We had to ring Enzio. He’s doing the whole day now.’
When she brought the coffee, Carmel said, ‘He wants me to be the manager, sort of. He says he’s not having any more little pricks in his kitchen. What would your view be of that?’
‘I applaud the absence of little pricks everywhere.’
‘No, me and the manager thing.’
‘You’d be the public face of Enzio’s?’
She shrugged, the bird shoulders. ‘I’d be clean-shaven, that might be a plus. Perhaps my body language would be seen as less threatening. And no cigarette stub behind the ear.’
‘I like the smoking-ear look,’ I said, ‘but for what it’s worth I think you’d be an ornament to the position.’
‘Thank you. I’ll give it some thought.’
She was leaving when I said, ‘Ahem, we won’t be going down the skinny soy decaf latte and organic prunes poached in goat’s milk route, will we?’
Over her shoulder, Carmel said, ‘I’m too young to die violently.’
I had just started my coffee, when Sophie Longmore came in, a short camel jacket over jeans, carrying a bag like a slim briefcase. She looked around, I looked away but I could see her coming.
‘The man from across the road suggested you might be here,’ she said. ‘He came out while I was knocking at your door.’
That would be McCoy, ever eager to make the acquaintance of attractive women.
‘I’m just leaving,’ I said.
She sat down, bag on the other chair.
‘Why don’t you sit down,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry. Are you angry with us, Jack?’
I didn’t want to have this discussion. ‘I’m just finished with you,’ I said. ‘Also, I don’t like being asked whether I’m angry. It’s either unnecessary or it’s provocative.’
Head down. ‘I’m doing this badly.’
Carmel arrived.
Sophie said, ‘Could I have a short black?’
I drank half of my thimble. ‘Well, I have to be somewhere else. Goodbye.’
She put a hand on my elbow. ‘I came to say how sorry I am about everything. About what happened to you and about the other day. That’s all.’
I shrugged.
‘I wasn’t sure what you were saying and my father jumped to a conclusion,’ she said.
