from where he was stationed. Ward’s stable complex was shaped in a square with an internal courtyard. Each side of the square housed six stalls along with feed and tack rooms at the ends of the rows, with staff quarters on the floor above.
Whilst Jed could peer through the gap at the nearest corner into the courtyard beyond, he couldn’t possibly see inside the stalls, which was where Renée always ventured. It was never enough for her to stroke her horses’ heads over the stall doors. If the horse was docile enough, she would be right in there, up close and personal.
‘No worries, Jed,’ Rico replied as he walked on in. ‘I haven’t come to eat today. See you.’
The courtyard was deserted except for one stable-hand, who was hosing away the last of the horsy deposits from the pavings, legacies of their having been walked around on show for their owners.
‘Working hard there, Neil, I see,’ Rico said as he approached.
The young lad glanced up with surprise and pleasure on his face.
‘Why, hello there, Mr Mandretti,’ Neil replied, swiftly turning off the hose so that their esteemed visitor could pass by without getting anything splattered on his very smart and expensive-looking black clothes. If there was one owner Neil liked almost as much as he liked Mrs Selinsky, it was Mr Mandretti. For one thing, he always remembered his name, not like a lot of the hoi polloi. You’d never know he was a famous TV star by the way he acted. He was so nice and friendly. Of course, no one was as nice as Mrs Selinsky. Now there was one genuine lady. Generous, too. Every time one of her horses won any prize money, she gave all the grooms a bonus.
But it wasn’t just her handing out cash which made everyone here warm to her. It was the way she was with the horses. She really cared about them. Even the boss liked Mrs Selinsky. You could tell because he actually talked to her. And the boss was not one for idle chit-chat.
‘You’ll be here to see your colt, I suppose,’ Neil said. ‘Mrs Selinsky’s still in there with him. I think she’d sleep in that stall if the boss’d let her.’
Rico decided then and there that if there was such a thing as reincarnation he wanted to come back as one of Renée’s racehorses.
‘What stall is Blackie in?’ Rico asked. Blackie was Ebony Fire’s stable name.
‘Number eighteen. The last on that row over there. I know it’s not for me to say, but if he runs as good as he looks this time in, you’ll have a class-one winner there for sure.’
‘Let’s hope so, Neil. But there’s many a slip twixt the training track and the winner’s circle.’
‘Aye. That there is. But then that’s the way of the racin’ game, isn’t it? It’s all a gamble. A bit like life.’
Rico nodded. Neil was right. Life was a gamble. Sometimes you won and sometimes you lost. Knowledge, however, increased your odds of winning. Suddenly, he wished he knew a lot more about Mrs Renée Selinsky. But it was too late to worry about that now. The time had come to take his chances. To gamble on winning the Maiden Stakes. Trouble was, he was a long shot and long shots didn’t win too often.
Despite his growing inner tension, he waved a jaunty goodbye to Neil before making his way straight for stall number eighteen.
Several of the horses whose heads were hanging over the doors whinnied to him as he strode past. Ebony Fire, however, was not one of them. At first glance, stall number eighteen seemed empty. But, once Rico’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, he saw that the black colt was standing on a thick bed of straw in the far corner, having his flank stroked and being talked as if he were a much loved child.
‘You are such a beautiful boy,’ Renée crooned as her right hand continued its rhythmic petting. Her left arm was curled round the horse’s neck, with the side of her head resting against his glossy black mane. ‘Ward says there’s no sign of that shin soreness coming back and you’ll be ready for your first race soon. And he says you’ll win. I did tell him that you might be a little nervous to begin with and we shouldn’t expect too much too soon, but he said you didn’t have a nervous bone in your body. He said you were a born racehorse. A potential champion. Oh, I do so wish you were all mine, my darling. But I suppose one third of you is better than nothing.’
Rico didn’t know whether he felt jealous of the horse on the receiving end of Renée’s caresses. Or of Ward Jackman. It sounded as if the man said one hell of a lot more to Renée than he did to him, or anyone else for that matter. Could it be that Renée’s relationship with Jackman extended beyond trainer and owner?
Suddenly, Renée’s BMW being parked right outside Ward’s front gate took on a different and more ominous meaning. Maybe she hadn’t arrived first today. Maybe her car had been there all night…
Rico swallowed the bile which leap into his throat and tried to look at this appalling idea more rationally and without panic. There’d never been a hint of intimacy shown between them that he’d noticed. No telling glances, or untoward touching.
But their being lovers would certainly explain the uncharacteristic amount of chit-chat which obviously had been going on between them about Ebony Fire. Even the most taciturn men were prone to pillow talk.
The thought of Renée sleeping with the ruggedly handsome horse trainer stabbed deep into Rico’s heart. His fists curled over by his side, his nails digging into his palms. Theoretical lovers were a whole different ball game to an in-your-face, flesh-and-blood one. If what Rico suspected was true, then it was no wonder she never brought a boyfriend to the races. He was already there!
He stared at the way she was cuddling and petting the horse, but his brain didn’t see Ebony Fire as the recipient of her caresses any longer. His mind’s eye was picturing Ward Jackman, naked and aroused, beneath her hands.
A violent shudder ran down Rico’s spine.
The colt suddenly swung his head Rico’s way as he spotted him standing there at the stable door and neighed a welcome to his new visitor. Renée whirled, her eyes widening when she saw who that new visitor was.
For a few moments her usual composure seemed to desert her, her body language showing agitation as she hurried over to the stable door, the horse hot on her heels.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she snapped as she wrenched open the bottom half of the stable door and slipped out of the stall, quickly closing the door behind her before the colt could follow. ‘Don’t you usually go home to the family on the first Sunday of the month?’
The way she said the word, ‘family’, suggested he was a member of the Mafia, rather than the son of an honest, hard-working market gardener.
‘And hello to you too,’ Rico returned, impressed at how cool he sounded in the face of the jealousy and fury raging inside him. ‘The thing is, my dear Renée, I just couldn’t go another day without a dose of your charming company,’ he added in a mocking tone which masked the truth behind his words.
She totally ignored him as she concentrated on shoving the bolt home on the door before finally raising cool green eyes to his. ‘In that case, why weren’t you at the races yesterday?’
Rico smiled. ‘Aah, so you noticed I wasn’t there. I’m flattered.’
‘Don’t be. I had a very pleasant afternoon. I picked several winners as well.’
‘In
