The Pleasures of Spring (36 page)

‘Go on, go. Move your ass,’ she screamed as Nagsy passed her at the start of the final lap. The stopwatch in her hand was forgotten and she didn’t care who was watching. Nagsy was her horse and he was amazing. She yelled him on.

The hooves thundered, and clods of earth flew as the horses raced on. If Nagsy didn’t make his move soon, this could all be for nothing.

Then Willie, perched over the horse’s withers, signalled to him, and Nagsy stretched out his legs and raced forward. His choppy stride smoothed out and ate up the ground. He surged ahead, taking the lead and widening it with every stride.

Roz was barely aware of her own screams as he passed the finish line fifteen lengths ahead of the other horses. She swore he was slowing up before he crossed the line.

Suzanne hugged her tightly and Roz realized she had tears in her eyes. It was going to work.

The horses pulled up, snorting and sweating, and Nagsy turned a wide horsey grin on her, looking like a champion who knew how good he was.

She petted him and congratulated Willie on the winning ride. Then she shook hands with the other jockeys and slipped them the money they had agreed. ‘Great work, lads. It was amazing the way you managed to look as if you were trying to catch Nagsy while letting him win.’

The wizened English jockey who had ridden two Grand
National winners opened his mouth to say something, but the other one nudged him and he fell silent.

Beaming, Roz returned to the prince’s side. ‘Your highness, did you see the time?’

Everyone glanced at their stopwatches and blinked at the time displayed. Well, they should, it had taken Roz a week to organize stopwatches that shaved about ten seconds off the time. ‘I hope you’re happy that this horse is for you?’

Frankie bowed. ‘I am truly impressed. It could be his father running again. It is time he was returned to his rightful owners.’

Tim looked from the stopwatch to Nagsy and back as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Was he suspicious? Roz prayed he hadn’t used any other timer during the race or she was busted. She turned back to Frankie. ‘What price are you prepared to offer?’

The prince spread his hands, an elegant gesture that managed to look both foreign and exotic. ‘One million euro.’

There was a startled silence. Everyone turned to stare at him and Roz fought the urge to box his ears. What was he thinking? This was too high. They had to start lower, and allow the bidding to build.

‘A million euro, your highness,’ she said carefully. ‘Are you sure?’

Damn him, Frankie was going to ruin everything.

‘One million,’ Frankie said firmly.

Time ground to a halt. What could she do? She had to accept his offer. No one would believe it if she turned it down. But it was too much, too soon. Frankie was off his head.

She opened her mouth, not sure if she was going to accept or reject. Then a new voice cut across her.

‘Don’t be so hasty, I’m interested too,’ Frederick Von München spoke up. ‘That was an impressive time. I’ll offer 1.2 million.’ As the owner of Queen of Tarts, he had an interest in acquiring a good stallion.

‘One point five million,’ Frankie responded without a blink.

‘One point seven,’ Von München upped his offer.

What the fuck was Frankie playing at? There was no point raising the bidding. He didn’t have enough money to buy a lame donkey, and she couldn’t sell someone like Von München a ringer.

But Frankie wasn’t finished. ‘Two million. This horse belongs to the Aga Khan.’

Then Tim O’Sullivan broke in. ‘Hold on there. This is an O’Sullivan stallion. It should stay in the family. Two point five million.’

Frankie sneered at him. ‘Three. The rightful owner of the horse deserves him.’

Tim glared. ‘Three point five.’

Everyone fell silent, even the horses seemed to be listening.

‘Four.’ Frankie planted the end of his walking stick into the ground.

Roz turned to Tim. He took a breath. ‘Five. And that’s my final offer.’

A long pause stretched every nerve before Frankie shook his head. ‘I love my cousin, but that is too rich for me. You win, Mr O’Sullivan.’ He bowed deeply.

Tim’s face was a picture of uncertainty when he realized he had committed himself to paying five million euro for a horse. Suzanne O’Hara decided for him by throwing her arms around him. ‘Oh, Mr O’Sullivan, you won’t regret it. This is a fabulous horse. You’ll win next year’s Gold Cup for sure.’

‘So I will.’ Tim relaxed a little.

He pulled out his phone and dialled. ‘Hey, Summer, buy yourself a hat for the winner’s enclosure, I’ve just bought the next Gold Cup winner.’

Roz couldn’t hear what was said on the other end, but Tim’s grin widened. ‘Sure, tweet away if you want to. I don’t care who knows.’

There was another pause. ‘From your cousin, would you believe? No, not her, the other one, Roz Spring.’

He hung up and Roz took the opportunity to say, ‘This is a cash sale. I’ll give you the details of my Swiss bank account.’ She handed him a card with the numbers on it.

Tim narrowed his eyes at her, but said, ‘Fine. It’ll take an hour or so to go through.’

‘As soon as it does, you can take the horse.’

Suzanne clapped for attention. ‘Please, everyone, come inside for some champagne. This has been an amazing day.’

His mother’s speed as she crossed the stable yard alerted Andy. Poppy never ran. She was the most unflappable woman he knew, but here she was, sprinting across the mucky yard as if her life depended on it.

‘Andy, Andy,’ she called.

He tucked the hoof pick he’d been using into his pocket. He had been carrying it with him ever since he’d taken it from Roz. Every day he told himself to leave it back in the tack room, and every day he held onto it for a little longer. Somehow, he was convinced it held a faint trace of her perfume. He raced towards Poppy. Was his father ill? Was Dougal having another heart attack? He caught her arm.

‘What’s wrong? Is it Dad?’

‘No, your father is fine. You won’t believe this, but we’ve found Roz.’

‘What? Where?’ Andy didn’t realize his grip had tightened until Poppy winced. He released her immediately. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

He took a deep breath to calm down. They had found her. His elderly parents had achieved more than a team of skilled operatives.

‘Where is she?’

‘Your father has just gotten off the phone to that
dreadful Tim O’Sullivan. The man’s either demented or drunk. He told Dougal that he’d bought the next Gold Cup winner – from Roz.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Staying with the O’Haras near Moate. They run some kind of equestrian centre. Roz has been working there.’

None of this made sense. Andy was certain that Roz had never been near a horse until she came to Lough Darra and now she was working at an equestrian centre and selling thoroughbreds to the likes of O’Sullivan.

‘And you won’t believe the rest,’ Poppy continued. ‘Five million euros. Tim O’Sullivan has paid five million euros for the animal.’

‘Jesus wept,’ Andy said. The word ‘scam’ flashed inside his head in bright neon letters. He didn’t know what she was up to, or how she had persuaded a canny businessman like O’Sullivan to part with that kind of money, but he was certain of one thing. Roz might have the money to disappear for good, but there was no way in hell that he was would let that happen.

Ignoring Poppy’s shouts behind him, Andy raced for the garage.

He completed the three hour journey to Moate in less than two hours. It was a wonder he wasn’t arrested. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, but at least he had gotten here alive.

Andy slowed down at the crossroads and rolled down the window to ask an elderly man for directions to the stables. How long would it take Tim O’Sullivan to lay his hands on that kind of money? Please god, Roz was still there or he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of finding her.

He was well past the turn off for the stables before he realized he had missed it. ‘Never take directions from fucking culchies,’ he fumed.

Five miles out of town, my ass. He reversed and took the turn. The Jeep bounced on the rutted road and briars scraped along the side windows. This couldn’t be the main entrance. It must be the back way in. They couldn’t possibly run a business from here.

The lane widened and an overgrown sign announced O’Hara Stables. The rusty gate beneath the sign was tied shut. It was definitely the wrong road. He was about to drive away when he heard the distant whinny of horses. He climbed out of the Jeep and stepped into a muddy puddle. Great.

Andy climbed onto the third rung of the gate and scanned the horizon. In the distance was a cluster of stable buildings and a large barn with a corrugated iron roof. Across the field came the sound of laughter and music. They must be celebrating the deal. He might be in time but he would have to go cross country.

Andy untied the gate and shouldered it open. It swung back with a protesting squeal of rusting metal. He drove into the field and after he closed the gate behind him, he prayed that he wouldn’t meet a ditch on the way and headed straight for the stables.

The main room of the ranch was designed to be spacious, but it was stifling and too hot. All these people around her made her skin itch. The smells of perfume and cologne were so strong that she had to swallow down the urge to puke.

Patrick handed her a glass of champagne. She had paid for it, so she knew it was excellent quality. This was not a time to be cheap. He tapped his glass and when the room quietened, he called for a toast.

‘To the best horse ever to pass through O’Hara’s Ranch, and to his new owner. May they make a successful team.’

Roz raised the glass, but even though she barely touched her lips to the fizz, her stomach rebelled and a cold sweat bathed her back. She couldn’t take much more of this. She smiled at the couple beside her. ‘Please excuse me, I need a little fresh air.’

The woman – Roz couldn’t remember her name – frowned at her. ‘You look a bit pale, are you feeling all right?’

‘I’ll be fine once I get outside.’

She put down her glass and while Tim O’Sullivan was making a speech, she eased out through the French windows. The fresh air smelled sweet and she gulped deep lungfuls of it.

In a few minutes, someone would propose a toast to her, and she should be there, smiling, looking gracious and exulting in the knowledge that she had pulled off the scam of a lifetime. She had more money than she had ever dreamed, enough to keep her father safe and let her do whatever she wanted for the rest of her life.

And all she wanted to do was throw up.

Roz moved away from the house. How long would it take before the money was in her Swiss bank account? One hour? Two? She had heard Tim on the phone,
making arrangements to pick up Nagsy and take him back to his own stables.

How much longer?

A restless crawling sensation beneath her skin prevented her from standing still. Roz walked towards the yard and saw Willie O’Brien holding Nagsy while he grazed on the back lawn.

‘Go and celebrate, Willie,’ she said. ‘I’ll look after him.’

The jockey looked torn. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course. There’s some expensive champagne going a-begging and a couple of owners would like a word with you.’

He handed her Nagsy’s lead and rushed away without another protest.

Someone else for her to feel guilty about. What would happen if Willie was offered a job as a result of today’s race, and they found out it had been rigged? Willie knew nothing about it, but when Tim O’Sullivan discovered that Nagsy wasn’t a wonder horse, but a plain old nag with a passing resemblance to a famous racehorse, who would he blame?

She’d be gone. Tim would blame Willie, who had ridden the race of his life and had no idea it was all a con. And the O’Haras, who had been nothing but good to her.

Bile rose in her throat and she leaned against the horse. ‘Oh, god, Nagsy, what am I going to do?’

He looked around with mildly curious eyes, nudged at her with his nose, before putting his head down again to the sweet grass.

‘No words of wisdom, eh?’ She didn’t even know why
she was talking to a horse, but at least he didn’t answer back or make sounds of outrage or disgust.

‘Perhaps it’s as well you can’t talk. I’d hate to hear your opinion of what I’ve been doing.’ She put her arm across his back, feeling the solid muscle under her hand. ‘I should be thrilled. I’ve got five million euro. I can pay off the Ramos brothers and keep Dad safe. I can fix Frankie up so he can retire. Hell, maybe he can move to Hollywood and keep seeing Cheyenne if he wants to. I have enough money to disappear, get away from Hall forever and give a good life to my baby. Happy ever after, right?’

Nagsy raised his long tail and pooped on the grass.

‘Yep, that about sums it up. Horse shit.’

She’d clean that up later. She burrowed her hand under his mane, now trimmed and short. ‘It’s all crap. Dad will walk away from this and get into trouble again. Frankie and Cheyenne won’t have a happy ever after. He’s a crook and she’s a Hollywood film star. The O’Haras and Willie will be disgraced for being associated with this. Your life of luxury as a champion racehorse will disappear when Tim discovers you’re an ordinary horse.’

She froze. ‘He wouldn’t put you down or anything, would he? It’s not your fault you look like Shergar. None of this was your idea.’

But what good was a racehorse who couldn’t win races? Her mind spun, trying to think of some way to make sure Nagsy didn’t pay for her crimes. She couldn’t stop the sale now, she needed the money, but the temptation was so strong she shook with it.

One more life she had messed up.

She hated to think of the McTavishes, who had opened their home and their hearts to her. Dougal might be dour and taciturn, but he had all the patience in the world for anyone who tried and worked hard. And Poppy, the grief-stricken mother who desperately wanted grandchildren to fill the hole in her heart.