I woke up with a start. Someone was shaking me hard by the shoulder.
‘You’re shouting in your sleep,’ Georgina said.
‘I was having a nightmare,’ I mumbled back to her.
‘And a bad one by the sound of it.’
Georgina rolled over onto her side of the bed, and I lay on my back, in the dark, sweating and breathing heavily, thankful that the ordeal was over.
It had indeed been a bad nightmare, but it had seemed so real.
Was that because my whole life, asleep or awake, was currently a nightmare?
Winning the Derby felt like it had been months ago, not just one solitary week.
Perhaps that had been a dream too.
Chapter 15
The week before Royal Ascot is a quiet one as far as British horseracing is concerned. Sure, there are plenty of meetings — thirty-three in total, with seven of them on the Saturday — but not a single Group race is run at any of them.
Contrast that with the nineteen group races over the five days of the Royal meeting, eight of them being Group 1, the races for the very best of the best, and the most valuable.
‘So what do we do?’ Owen asked when I called him on Monday morning at ten past nine.
‘About what?’ I asked, slightly concerned.
‘About Potassium?’ he said.
I breathed out. ‘What about him?’
‘I’ve entered him for the King George and Queen Elizabeth Stakes — entries close tomorrow — but are we going to supplement him for the St James’s Palace Stakes? If we do, it has to be done before the deadline of noon this coming Wednesday.’
‘Remind me how much is it to supplement him?’ I asked.
‘Forty-six grand.’
It was a huge amount of money, but there was enough in his Victrix winnings pot.
‘Have you looked at the other entries?’ I asked.
‘I certainly have,’ Owen replied. ‘There are fifteen still in, and all the usual suspects are amongst them. But are we frightened of any of them? I don’t think so. They will be more afraid of us. Once they know that Potassium has been supplemented, I reckon quite a few will decide not to declare at the two-day stage.’
‘Has he recovered enough from the Derby?’ I asked.
‘I think so. He had a full gallop this morning with not any signs of stiffness. He’s in great shape and raring to go, and there will be seventeen days between the two races. That’s more than enough. And it would then give him almost five weeks to prepare for the King George — that’s if we go for that rather than the International.’
‘So you think it’s worth supplementing him?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Owen said. ‘I do, but it’s not my money.’
Over the years, Victrix Racing had had four previous winners at Royal Ascot, but none of them had been at Group 1 level. Potassium might be the best chance I would ever have to change that.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it. Will Jimmy Ketch ride him?’
‘He certainly will. He’s been on about it to me for days. He’ll be delighted.’
We briefly discussed plans for the other Victrix horses in his yard, but he said nothing about Dream Filler’s run at Lingfield the previous Saturday. That was in the past, and Owen was always one to look only to the future.
‘So, this week, you have Moisturiser in the six-furlong maiden tomorrow at Brighton, and I’ll declare Hameed as a runner in the two-year-old novice stakes at Newbury on Thursday. Will you be at either?’
‘Not at Brighton,’ I said. ‘But I’ll definitely be at Newbury.’
‘I’m not going to go to Brighton either,’ he said. ‘My travelling head lad will sort Moisturiser out there. But I’ll definitely be at Newbury on Thursday to watch Hameed. He’s an exciting prospect. He’s come on really well at home since his first race at Goodwood last month, and I think he’ll have a very decent chance. Right, I must go now. I’ll see you later.’
‘Eh?’
‘At eleven o’clock, remember? You’re coming here with a journalist to have your photo taken with Potassium for the Racing Post.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Thanks for reminding me. See you later.’
He disconnected, and I sat at my desk, feeling like a fraud.
How could I simply go on as normal after what I had done? And also have a feature in the Racing Post?
The only thing I deserved to feature in was a list of upcoming criminal trials.
My fearful nightmare of Saturday night had reoccurred on Sunday, with Dream Filler also appearing, filling my own dream as he kicked his way through the front door of my house.
Perhaps I should send an email to the members of all my syndicates explaining that I couldn’t continue as their syndicate manager, giving them the reason.
But it would be professional suicide, and bad as I felt, I was not quite yet at the suicidal stage.
My phone rang: No Caller ID.
I stared at it.
Maybe it was Jerry Parker calling to tell me he’d be late arriving at East Ilsley.
It wasn’t.
‘Hameed will run, but he will lose on Thursday at Newbury,’ said the squeaky voice.
‘Bugger off,’ I replied, and hung up.
He called back immediately.
‘You will do as I say,’ he squeaked.
‘No, I won’t,’ I replied. ‘I did what you asked before, but not anymore.’
‘How much do you value your daughter’s life?’
How much did I value my own?
‘Just a couple more,’ the photographer said.
He took at least six.
‘Now just move slightly to the right.’
I did.
‘That’s fine. Now look at the horse.’
I did that too. Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap.
‘Now at me.’
I turned my head, and he snapped another string of six shots.
I wondered if he would ever stop unless I told him to.
‘I think that will have to do,’ I said finally, my face sore from all that forced smiling when I didn’t feel particularly happy.
The young photographer looked crestfallen. But he must have taken over a hundred photos in the past ten minutes. Surely one of them must be good enough. Probably the first one he took.
I handed Potassium back to his stable lad, who had been waiting patiently to one side, out of camera shot.
Jerry Parker had also simply stood by and watched.
‘He’s very keen,’ Jerry said quietly to me as the photographer went to pack away his equipment. ‘He’ll learn. Now, where can we talk?’
‘Owen said we could use his stable office.’
The interview lasted almost an hour, covering everything from the formation of Victrix Racing right up to the Derby win.
‘Why do you think you have been so successful?’ Jerry asked.
‘Luck,’ I replied. And he laughed.
‘There’s nothing lucky about choosing the right horses to buy. That’s surely the key.’
‘Indeed it is,’ I agreed. ‘And I do spend an age studying the new crop of yearlings each year at the sales. I seem to have a good eye for what I want, and at the right price. I’m obviously not in the market for the most expensive ones, but I like to think that I can see a moderately priced horse with real potential, and one that my trainers can get the best out of.’
‘That seems to have been the case with Potassium.’
I smiled at the memory of the Newmarket yearling sale when I’d bought him.
‘The horse that went through the sale ring immediately ahead of Potassium had gone for over two million, and I think I got lucky with that. He seemed to slip through next almost unnoticed. I’d been prepared to go a little higher and was pleasantly surprised when he was knocked down to me for just a hundred thousand.’