Chapter 38
A few days later saw Megan sipping champagne in the Royal Enclosure gardens at Ascot. The place was a hive of activity with gentlemen resplendent in morning dress and top hats, and brightly dressed ladies air-kissing each other, narrowly avoiding bumping their wide-brimmed hats. The tinkle of laughter and excitement filled the air. Open-topped motors chugged into the racecourse, strapped with wicker picnic hampers, their drivers sporting dark sunglasses and silk scarves that flowed behind them in the gentle breeze. Megan observed Tobias in his grey morning suit looking devastatingly handsome; her stomach had flipped when she had set eyes upon him earlier. He, too, seemed impressed with what he saw, judging by the wolf whistle he had given her. Megan had agonised over what to wear, especially when researching the dress code on the Royal Ascot website.
Strapless, off the shoulder, halter neck and spaghetti straps are not permitted… midriffs must be covered, fascinators are not permitted… must wear a hat… trouser suits welcome… all straps must be at least one inch or greater… dress length just above the knee or longer…
In the end she had bought a new outfit, a duck-egg-blue short-sleeved dress with intricate embroidery, which rested above the knee. It was accompanied by a matching bolero jacket and bow hat. Well, it wasn’t every day you attended a racing meeting with the Queen, was it?
At 2 p.m. the Royal Procession would commence, signalling the start of the Royal Meeting.
‘Here, have a top-up.’ Tatum poured more fizz into her champagne flute. She had been very easy to talk to and had made Megan feel comfortable since Tobias had introduced them. Clearly she wore the trousers, constantly ordering Seamus around, which he took in good spirit, the two playing off each other and making Megan smile. It was hard to believe the two men stood before her were once dubbed ‘the Heir and Fox’ hell-raisers.
Tobias caught her grinning to herself. He sidled up to her and whispered in her ear, ‘And what’s on your mind, Miss Taylor?’
‘You and Seamus make me laugh,’ she replied. Their easy-going banter was refreshing and adding Tatum to the mix injected an extra boost of fun. The three of them together made a good act, thoroughly entertaining Megan. Tobias grinned and put his arm round her waist, pulling her closer.
‘So you’re enjoying yourself?’ He sounded pleased.
‘Yes, of course,’ she kissed his cheek, ‘and thank you for inviting me.’
‘My pleasure.’ It certainly would be tonight, he thought with pure lust. Megan looked stunning, not too showy, but understated, classically beautiful, just like the girl herself. She was the one, of that he had no doubt. It was just a matter of convincing her that he was for keeps too. His instincts told him she did feel the same, but none the less, he needed cast-iron certainty that her emotions matched his. Tonight would give him that, one way or another, he quietly counselled himself. He was glad she had fit in seamlessly with Seamus and Tatum. So much so Tatum had soon taken him to one side and instructed him to propose to Megan as soon as possible. Tobias had spluttered on his champagne with mirth. ‘If you insist, Tatum,’ he replied.
‘I most certainly do,’ she hissed back.
The four of them made their way to the private box up in the stands to watch the Royal Procession. A buffet awaited them, along with staff ready to serve. It was an intimate setting with uninterrupted views across the racecourse. The whole venue exuded wealth and opulence, placing Megan out of her comfort zone. Tobias, watching her, sensed this and was constantly at pains to make her feel at ease.
‘Everything OK?’ He refilled her glass with more bubbles.
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Look! They’re here!’ called Tatum out on the balcony. Megan and Tobias joined her and Seamus. Megan watched the four Windsor Greys approach along the famous straight mile, followed by the royal carriages. She stood in awe as the royal party passed by, smiling and waving. This truly was another world. Tobias watched her again, those almond-shaped brown eyes taking everything in, her freckled button nose and those full rose lips he couldn’t resist. His heart melted. For the hundredth time he thanked the powers that be for bringing her to him.
*
After the procession the races commenced. Dylan was riding in the first race. His horse was called Gaelic Star. It wasn’t the favourite, being quite young and not having run at Royal Ascot before, but Dylan had every confidence in it. So did Sean Fox, who was busy hurling his orders about in the parade ring. Dylan studied Gaelic Star closely. Whilst looking in fine shape with a smooth stride, he noticed an involuntary twitch of his ears and the flick of his tail, which signalled to him that the tumult all around had got to him. His coat was covered with a film of sweat. Suddenly Gaelic Star kicked his back legs, and another handler quickly came to assist in calming him down.
‘The horse looks anxious,’ Dylan warned Sean Fox.
‘That horse is in peak condition. I’ve done my job, Delany, you do yours,’ Fox spat back, nerves getting the better of him. Dylan clenched his jaw and gripped his whip, longing to swipe it across Fox’s face. Concentrating, he calmly made his way to the starting line, filled with an inner peace. This was normally where the riders started to feel their nerves kicking in, but Dylan felt nothing, he was just focused. As the horses were finally loaded for the start of the race, Dylan, unlike everyone else, relaxed. It was a gift, the ability to switch off when all around were edged with nervous energy. Whatever happened next was out of his control, to a degree. The gates would open and the runners would thunder down the course. It would all be over in under a minute and a half. His last race at Royal Ascot.
The signal was given, and they were off. Gaelic Star missed the break at the start, leaving him trailing the field. Dylan urged the horse on to cover the ground, but soon found himself stuck behind a wall of horses. It was the worst possible start. Proceeding was difficult. Gaps opened ahead and closed too swiftly for him to make a move. Even so, Gaelic Star was travelling well. He was sharp and powerful and had the ability to win. Positioning him to take advantage of this was proving difficult for Dylan, though. The runners were bunched together round the bend and Dylan was still trapped in the middle. In front a group of three horses blocked his progress. He waited, hoping for a gap to appear. Eventually there was room to get out and go round them. He steered Gaelic Star to the left, giving him a chance to stretch out. The horse relished the challenge, notching up a gear despite his anxiety. He pulled away from the group of horses and set off in pursuit of the two runners ahead. The nearest was three lengths away entering the last furlong and Gaelic Star caught up with him comfortably. Now he was just a length down on the horse in first place, Rainbow’s End, and poised to swoop past him. But Dylan could hear his horse gasping for breath, so he lay off his whip, willing Gaelic Star to push just a little further. The horse tried his best, but so did Rainbow’s End. The two horses raced neck and neck over the finishing line, making it impossible to ascertain the winner.
‘A bloody photo finish!’ cursed Sean Fox, his face contorted with fury.
Dylan rode Gaelic Star slowly back down the track, waiting for the winner to be announced. A television commentator hastily approached.
‘Another win, Dylan?’ Dylan didn’t answer, he was still in his zone, waiting for the result. In the distance he could see Sean Fox, pacing up and down like a caged tiger. His body language spoke volumes. Again, Dylan felt his jaw tighten. Then it came.
‘The result of the photograph finish. First, number five, Gaelic Star. Second, number seven, Rainbow’s End. Third, number two, Midnight Express.’ The crowd went wild, yet Dylan felt cold.
Entering the winner’s enclosure to deafening applause, Dylan jumped off his horse. The TV presenter tried once more for a response from him.
‘Congratulations, Dylan, a close shave!’ He ignored her. Sean Fox came bounding over.
‘Only just, but a win’s a win.’ Is that all he could say? The horse was young, inexperienced and had given his all to win. Another jockey would have thrashed him to get past the winning post.
‘You’re a bastard, Fox. That’s the last time I ride for you.’ Sean Fox’s eyes bulged, his face flushed in anger. Dylan coolly walked away. Every television camera had recorded the post-race drama, and the place was buzzing.
Up in the stands Seamus gave a sly smile: about time someone told him. Good for Dylan. Tatum and Megan had jumped for joy when Gaelic Star had been announced the winner. Tobias, however, had been studying Dylan. Any doubts he may have had about him backing out of the new training yard were quashed. It was blatantly obvious to him that Dylan’s heart was no longer in the thrill of the race. Hearing his comments to Sean Fox further confirmed that. He was relieved. The training yard was going to be a real money-spinner. That and the much-needed grant English Heritage would be supplying to assist in opening Treweham Hall would meet the financial demands. If all went to plan, Tobias could just about turn it around, pulling the estate accounts out of the red.
‘More champagne!’ cheered Tatum.
‘I’ll second that,’ replied Tobias, filling everyone’s glass.
