They wound their way up the beech-lined drive and arrived at their grandparents’ imposing Georgian manor house. Just the sight of it made Sage’s heart lighten. Gravel swept in an elegant arc up to the house and continued to curve around the largegarden to the back of it. There the drive then opened up into a beautiful old stable yard and three modern stable blocks, beyond which lay a round, all-weather gallop.
‘Goodness, it all looks sosmart. I mean, look at all this gravel!’ Sage said in amazement. ‘The old place looks positively distinguished.’
‘Isn’t it good? Forty-five years of hard work and the old boy is finally making some money! It’s pretty terrifying watching him spending it though, after all the years of innate frugality. Even Mr Green has been allowed a free rein, having been the gardener here for what, thirty years? He’s put out pots and hanging baskets everywhere in the stables – hanging baskets, full of flowers, in January!’ Casper shook his head in amusement. ‘Come and look. Everything is immaculate these days.’
He drove around to the back of the house and parked next to a brand-new Range Rover. Looking at it and then at Sage, he rolled his eyes and rubbed his finger and thumb together like a despairing mafia lord.
‘Where’s the old Volvo gone? Thatcannotbe Bumpa’s!’ Sage’s eyes were wide in disbelief.
‘It’s hilarious, Sage, he calls it “keeping up with the Joneses”. For years, he’s had these young upstart trainers snapping at his heels, throwing money at any problem and overtaking him in the championship contest solely due to finances. I reckon they all looked down at him in his clapped-out car and holey trousers. Well, the other day, the Volvo finally died and Bumpa marched off to the Land Rover dealership and asked what car Gerald Wolsely had. He and Gerry had come to blows on the Heath that morning when Gerry said something rude about the state of his clothes.’
Sage tipped her head back and let out a laugh, turning it into a mock gasp. ‘Surely not!’
‘Anyway, “Mr Wolsely has the Range Rover 2020 Standard Model, sir,” says the salesman, so Bumpa, being the hero that heis, orders the latest model – I’m talking brand, spanking new – with a supercharged engine and Autobiography makeover. I mean, it’s ridiculous to drive, a complete monster. Bumpa struggles to even open it, and keeps locking himself in – he can’t work the electric key fob and simplycannotget his brain around not putting the key into the ignition any more. It’s good sport to watch, you wait!’
Casper opened his door and unfolded his slim frame from the scruffy vehicle which looked all the worse for wear parked alongside Bumpa’s sleek new purchase, then went to gather up Hal, who clung happily onto his uncle. Leaving all their luggage, Sage sprang out herself, desperate to go into the house and find her beloved grandparents. The pull of their familiar, comforting home was like a magnet dragging her in and she wondered how she could have stayed away for so long.
She went in through the door to the boot room. The smell of dog beds, muddy wellies, wet Barbour jackets, washing powder and beeswax all mingled in an intoxicating hit of nostalgia; it had always smelt the same, and she was glad of it. Another smell pervaded though, that of cooking bacon and fresh coffee, and she instinctively followed her nose through the winding corridors until she found herself in the enormous, warm kitchen. It was the room in which she had spent most of her childhood. The far side opened up into a beautiful orangery in which sat a long, scrubbed pine table that was probably older than Sage, while an assortment of plants growing in large pots positioned all over the place made it feel almost tropical. The roof was domed glass and the floor was made up of faded terracotta tiles. Light poured into the room, even on a dull and grey January day. At the other end of the kitchen was a duck-egg-blue Aga that filled almost the entire wall. Copper saucepans and pots with blackened bottoms lined the dark blue shelves above it and apregnant black whippet and a white-black-and-tan wire-haired terrier lay possessively next to the warming oven.
Betsy Seymour, Sage’s grandmother, was leaning against the Aga holding a large mug of coffee in one hand with, as always, a well-handled book in the other:A Motley to the View. She was talking to Maggie Richardson, their cook, who was getting on with breakfast. Sage paused for a moment, taking in the welcome scene before her.
Maggie had come to North Place when Sage and Casper had been about ten. She had originally been employed as Dennis’s secretary but had barely been able to type, so had not been a roaring success in her office position. Everyone had loved her though and as Betsy could not bear to lose her – and was not, herself, a particularly enthusiastic cook – she had asked for some help in the kitchen. Maggie had been delighted to stay and look after the family, especially since the twins, having been knocked sideways by the loss of their parents, needed all the help and support they could get. She was a maternal woman with no children of her own and had happily clucked over the twins and their grandparents all year round. The only problem was that all she seemed to know how to make was about three different variations on a shepherd’s pie. If Betsy came across some elaborate new recipe in a magazine and asked Maggie to follow it for a dinner party – trainers had to entertain their owners a lot – Maggie would nod and smile, saying, ‘Yes,absolutely, Madam Betsy,’ before cooking one of her own particular recipes, faithfully served up with carrots and peas. It was a well-rehearsed play that always ended with a peaceful debate, and had endured for almost sixteen years.
Sage felt a surge of affection for these two older women, both in their sixties, who had given her and Casper a never-ending supply of love, care and support. Betsy, or Gammy as she and Casper called her – her long slim legs encased in ancientcord breeks and tattered woollen socks, and the top of her body clad in layers of vests, cotton polo necks and a thick woollen jersey – was still the most effortlessly glamorous woman Sage had ever known. Her iron-grey hair fell in a sleek bob and would not have looked out of place in a top Parisian salon, yet Sage knew with certainty that Maggie would have cut it at the table with the kitchen scissors. Gammy’s svelte, loose-limbed and unconscious beauty was juxtaposed by the round and unfailingly jolly figure of Maggie, reassuringly still clad in her jaunty red apron that decreedNever Trust a Skinny Cookin swirly letters across her ample bust.
Casper and Hal tumbled into the kitchen behind Sage and the two women turned to look at them all, anticipation on their faces.
CHAPTER FOUR
… though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration.
Charles Dickens,The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit
‘Darling!’ cried Betsy, seeing Sage for the first time. ‘We were wondering where you’d all got to. Maggie has had breakfast on the go for hours!’ She rushed over, spilling coffee in her haste, and gathered her granddaughter up in a big hug that smelt of horses, dogs, bacon and Chanel No19. Sage, who had managed to keep it together until now, promptly burst into tears, letting go of all the stresses and strains of the last few days.
‘Oh, my love. It’s all right, you’re home now. You’re safe. We’ll look after you both. It’s all right. It’sall right,’ Betsy crooned softly, putting down her book and mug. She stroked Sage’s hair, soothing her as she would a frightened young thoroughbred, and guided her to the large oak kitchen table which was laid for breakfast. An abundance of silver cutlery, crystal glasses and Wedgwood china with distinctive dark green ivy twisting around its edges was set out across a crisp, light blue linen cloth in Sage and Hal’s honour. Betsy sat her down in a comfortable chair and called to Maggie, ‘Bacon butties all round, please, Maggie darling – and a big pot of tea would be wonderful. Now,’ she said, turning to a round-eyed Hal, who was looking anxiously at his mother but still clinging to Casper,‘let me have a good look at this beautiful angel child. My, how you’ve grown, Hal. You will be as tall as your Uncle Casper in no time! Are you going to be a jockey too?’
Betsy gently took Hal from Casper, tilting her head towards Sage in a silent gesture for her grandson to go and comfort his sister. She was extremely worried by the transformation in the normally vivacious, energetic Sage. It had been two long years since she had laid eyes on her granddaughter when she and Hal had come to visit for Christmas. She was considerably changed since then.
Sage was dreadfully thin, the bones in her shoulders and back pronounced even through layers of clothes, and the purple bruising on her taut face made Betsy wince. Turning away from Sage to hide her shock, she forced herself to smile as she focused on the exhausted child.
‘Would you like a big glass of milk, my love?’ she cooed at Hal, who had naturally nuzzled into her shoulder. He nodded contentedly at his great-grandmother and played with the string of pearls that lay against her old jersey with his sturdy brown fingers.
Did he meet Isabel this morning?she mouthed to Sage, her eyes wide in mock horror as she pulled her mouth into an exaggerated grimace. Sage could not help but laugh and nodded, rolling her own eyes at her grandmother in return but being sure to do so behind her brother’s back. She was starting to feel slightly better.
‘What a morning, my little one! It will all get easier from here, you’re safe now you’re home – don’t you worry, my pet,’ Betsy continued to Hal, holding the child close and stroking his back comfortingly. ‘Although youdohave to contend with your fierce great-grandfather, who is on the warpath this morning as his lads keep falling off his horses! We have had valuable thoroughbreds galloping about loose on the Heath all morning … Bumpa was very cross indeed.’
‘Where is Bumpa? Hasn’t third lot finished yet?’ Sage glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven.
‘Oh, I should think so … but I think he had the vet coming afterwards to scope some of this week’s runners. Racing goes on all year now, darling – no rest for the wicked.’ Betsy sighed deeply, and Sage thought that although her grandmother was as beautiful as ever, she looked tired; there were dark circles under her bright eyes that Sage had never seen before. ‘Your grandfather could do with a rest really,’ Betsy continued. ‘It’s absolutely relentless.’
You and he both, Sage thought to herself, putting a tanned hand on her grandmother’s arm and squeezing it affectionately. Life as a trainer’s wife never got any less exhausting, however successful the business was.
Maggie bustled over to the table with a pot of tea and a big plate piled high with bacon sandwiches, which were made with thick granary bread and had rivers of butter melting from their corners.
‘Eat up, my darlings,’ she coaxed in her soft Waterford lilt, stroking Hal’s sun-kissed mop of blonde hair.
Still tucked into Betsy’s shoulder, his small, light body enveloped in her arms, Hal turned his head towards Maggie. His huge sloe eyes watched as she put a sandwich on a plate next to him and he shyly smiled his thanks at her from underneath thick, long eyelashes.