It took nearly a week of trying before Trafalgar allowed the saddle to be fitted without any fuss. This was despite Sir Oswald having been informed that their purchase had been broken in.
For Jack, mounting the animal proved equally difficult but Becky’s relationship with the horse proved most valuable, for, as she stroked Trafalgar’s muzzle, Jack was able to get himself into the saddle. It took several days of this before Trafalgar allowed him to mount at any time.
Occasionally, while she stroked the horse’s muzzle Becky would leer up at Jack and ask, “Are you sure there’s nothing you need stroking?”
To which Jack would reply, “I’ll tell you about that later.” And very often, he did, and invariably Becky obliged. One of the unexpected advantages of having Trafalgar was that relationship which allowed Becky to wander across to the stables quite casually.
Jack’s first careful rides on Trafalgar told him what a sturdy animal he had under him. Always, Jack was very aware of how his weight was more than his mount should be carrying, and he had in mind the instructions about gradual progress.
Sir Oswald had asked the groundsman to ensure that the flat stretch of turf that ran down the left-hand length of the lake was kept cut short almost as far as the village. A distance of almost a mile. Jack, with the help of Alf, set out to mark each furlong, up to the seventh with a tall wooden peg.
Jack discovered that there was a rod measure available in the manor and because he knew there were forty rods in a furlong, he decided that by using a piece of rope, which could be cut at twenty rods length would be quicker and easier than the laborious use of the single rod measure. The whole task took them less than half a day.
“Bye, you’re some kind of clever bugger, you, Jack,” Alf said in admiration.
Jack took Trafalgar on a good canter along the length, always aware of the suppressed power under him.
Already looking forward to attending his first race meeting, Jack had his eagerness further heightened when Sir Oswald, ostensibly wanting to see his investment, visited the stables to say that he and Alf would be required to drive the coach for that occasion.
It meant driving a distance, which Sir Oswald expected to take two hours at a steady trot. Jack knew that Alf’s experience would mean that he would only be back-up.
Sir Oswald also announced his intention of having a building erected large enough to take the family coach and phaeton which were presently housed elsewhere. Space would also be needed for the horsebox he intended to purchase.
“I’m doing this,” he said, with a touch of pride in his voice, “because, with Trafalgar, I believe we’ll be doing much more travelling in the near future.”
Considering adding the new building to the stables, he had been convinced by the builder that, for extra space, the rear of the manor would have more scope. “Lady Brandling wasn’t too keen on that idea,” Sir Oswald said, and chuckling added, “Hell, she hardly knows what the rear of the manor looks like.”
The day before their journey, Alf returned from his ride with Sir Oswald, and showed Jack two black, three quarter length jackets. “The major wants us looking as smart as possible tomorrow. One of these is mine. I’ve worn it before. But try on the other one.”
He handed over the jacket, and Jack looked at it dubiously. Smarter than anything he had worn before, it was clean, but the collar ends were slightly turned up. Jack shrugged into it.
“Not a bad fit,” Alf said with a grin, “if you were two stone heavier.”
Jack frowned, as he looked down. It was rather loose-fitting but not as bad as Alf’s joke had suggested. He had a pair of hardly worn breeches that would make a good contrast. And there were a pair of decent buckled shoes that he wore for best, which was rare.
The following day, Jack and Alf harnessed the two drays to the coach, side by side, in front of the house.
The front door opened and Vincent, the sour butler, bowed his head respectfully as Lady Brandling appeared, looking massive in a heavy pink shawl, over a powerfully blue gown.
Jack held the carriage door open and offered an arm to guide Lady Brandling up. She gave a nod of gratitude and he found plenty of weight applied as she heaved herself through the door. Sir Oswald had followed his wife out, and Jack could only afford a swift exchange glance with Becky as she moved behind her uncle.
“Looking very smart, Jack,” Sir Oswald commented, stepping inside.
“Thank you, sir,” Jack replied, as Becky, in a neatly fitting lemon gown, came alongside him, causing him the usual palpitations. But he caught her grin, as, almost under her breath, she commented. “It almost fits.”
As he was about to offer Becky his arm to help her up, she said, “You aren’t abandoning Trafalgar, I hope.”
From inside the coach Sir Oswald called, “Oh, she is besotted with that horse.”
Alf came up to the door, “And it’s mutual, major.” He turned to Becky and explained, “Two men from Farmer Briggs place are standing in for us for today, m’lady.”
Then, with a sly smirk in Jack’s direction, Becky deliberately took Alf’s proffered arm to step up inside the coach. Jack closed the coach door and then gave Alf a hand up onto the driver’s perch, before climbing up alongside him.
It took about fifteen minutes to negotiate the winding lanes away from the village, but once they hit the main well-ridden tracks they were able to make good time, with the two horses, appearing to enjoy this extended journey as they trotted at a steady pace under Alf’s directions.
Despite an occasional bump, their horses got them to Exhampton racecourse in just over the two hours Sir Oswald had predicted. Jack had been told it was only a minor course, but he found it a location of dazzle and colour. Bunting decorated the small stand, which had seats in the rear section for the upper echelon of punters.
Sir Oswald guided the two ladies into a hospitality tent for the gentry, as Jack and Alf drove on to park the carriage and give the horses some freedom. Jack caught a glimpse of the elegant colourful gowns of the ladies inside the tent.
Minor it might be, but Jack was quite overcome with the whole ambience, especially, as race time approached, and they stood on the outer rim of the colourful and sleekly clad upper classes to watch the runners for the first race parade. He thought none of the entrants compared with the majesty of Trafalgar.
When the jockeys appeared in their multicoloured silks to stand conversing with owners and trainers, Jack’s heart gave a lurch and his throat tightened. Oh, how he’d love to be part of this. To be involved in this kind of exciting preparation. Is this where training Trafalgar could lead him? It was sheer magic.
“Our Trafalgar makes this lot look like donkeys,” Alf commented beside him.
“I was thinking that,” Jack told him.
“Not exactly Ascot or Newmarket. They’re all high class.”
“You’ve been there?”
Alf nodded, “Long time ago. Hell of a journey, but well worth it.”
They made their way around to trackside to watch the first race. That took them past the hospitality tent, and before they’d got much further, Becky, aglow in her lemon gown hurried out to greet them, “I’ve been watching for you,” she said, her eyes holding Jack’s. “Just a minute.” And she disappeared back inside the tent briefly before returning holding a tall slender glass in each hand.
“Champagne to start the fun,” she giggled, handing them a glass each.
Jack looked from the bubbling glass up to the shining brown eyes in front of him.
“I’ve never tasted champagne before,” he said.
“Ale’s better,” Alf mumbled, but added, before taking a huge mouthful. “Thank you, m’lady.”
Jack took a delicate sip and found it a mite sweet for his taste buds, but in response to Becky’s anxious query he said, “Quite tasty, m’lady.”
Becky laughed out loud, just as Sir Oswald came out of the tent, along with the majority of the others wanting to watch the first race.
“What’s funny?”
Becky told him what Jack had said about the champagne, and Sir Oswald frowned and told her, “Don’t be impudent, my dear. It is an acquired taste, which I do believe, Jack will become accustomed to.” Then to Alf, he asked, “Have you wagered on this race, Alf?”
“No, major, I’ll save it for a later race, or if—” And he gave a little chortle, “you obtain some inside information.”
Becky was standing so close to Jack, he could have easily, and joyfully, wrapped an arm around her waist. It was with some effort that he tried to keep his eyes from her face, which seemed to reflect the sunlight.
Sir Oswald was responding to Alf’s quip about a wager, “Strangely, I’ve heard a whisper about a horse in the next race, a two-year-old maiden race. Jack, you should know that this is the type of race that we’ll be entering Trafalgar in when he’s ready.”
Becky was quick to interject, “But, uncle, how can Trafalgar be in a maiden race when he’s a stallion?”
Both Sir Oswald and Alf gave a brief laugh before her uncle told her, “No, my dear, ‘maiden’ in this sense does not refer to the sex of an animal, but simply to any horse that has never won a race.”
As they all laughed, Jack was realising that, although he knew much about horses, he knew little of the racing world. He had much to learn.
“What is the horse’s name in the next race?” Alf asked.
“Rapscallion. Might have a small wager myself. Come along, Rebecca, better see if your Aunt has talked her friends to death.”
Becky’s face gave a slight grimace, but, with an almost imperceptible shrug, and a sad glance in Jack’s direction she followed her uncle back into the tent. Jack knew she was doing the right thing, given the circumstances, but he sorely missed the nearness of her.
As the afternoon moved on, Jack continued to absorb the general excitement of the event, while having his spirits raised even further whenever Becky managed to make an excuse to be out and near him. This happened mostly with each race when Sir Oswald was also around.
The horse Rapscallion was only fourth, and Alf cursed quietly when Sir Oswald returned to the tent. For the third race, Becky came out to say that her uncle had given her three guineas to place on any horse of her choice, and she had been told to ask Alf to show her how to approach the row of bookmaker stands.
Alf asked her if there was a horse she fancied in this seven-furlong race. “I’ll just pick a name I like,” she said, and she turned to Jack. “Have you had a wager yet?”
“He’s too mean,” Alf chuckled, and he gave Jack a long stare before adding, “But I imagine you could talk him into taking a risk, m’lady.”
That was the moment that Jack would recall later when Alf sought his confession. The old ostler clearly had strong suspicions then.
Moving through the crowds with Alf acting as a limping plough ahead of them, Jack was glad he had removed his jacket, as the jostling on either side of them frequently had Becky’s bare arm rubbing warmly against his. At first, it was because of the crush, but before long, their touches became, accidental on purpose. And the accompanying glances were an added intimacy. But all too brief.
From a bookmaker’s board of ten runners, Becky quickly selected a horse noted as Red Spirit.
“Because I suggested a name with ‘red’ in it for Trafalgar,” she explained.
Alf urged them along the line of price boards until the found one that offered 8/1 against her choice. After Alf’s instruction, Becky stepped boldly up to the bookmaker, handed over her three guineas, indicated her choice and was handed a slip from the bookmaker’s clerk.
Sir Oswald came out to stand with them as the horses lined up. “Did you help her with the selection, Alf?” he asked.
“All her choice, major,” Alf told him.
“Quite an amazing coincidence,” Sir Oswald said mysteriously, as he was told the name of the horse, but he didn’t elaborate. At that point, Becky was jumping up and down with excitement, announcing her pleasure at seeing that, on her horse, the jockey was wearing bright red silks.
Those bright red silks stayed among the first three all the way to the final furlong when the horse charged ahead and won by two lengths. That sent Becky into paroxysms of delight. She hugged Alf, her uncle and finally, when she reached Jack, seemingly recalling the village fayre incident, she hesitated and glanced at her uncle.
Sir Oswald gave her a fond grin and said, “It would be cruel to leave Jack out of your celebrations.”
Instantly as her arms wrapped around his neck, Jack sensed that this hug was extra special, as her cheek rubbed against his, and her timing was extended, only by a few seconds, but to Jack, invaluably.
Her face flushed with excitement she stepped back, Sir Oswald was smiling at her exuberance, but Jack noticed a slight frown on Alf’s face. Something else he would remember later.
“My God, what are you going to be like if Trafalgar wins?” Sir Oswald commented, before guiding her back towards the tent, from which she emerged without delay, carrying two more glasses of champagne.
“My uncle says to help you acquire the taste,” she giggled, and as Jack took the glass her fingers trailed up his wrist.
By the end of the meeting, Jack was thinking that it had been one of the most heart-lifting days of his life, missing only close intimacy with Becky, but he knew the promise that her eyes signalled for their next coming-together was undoubted.
But the excitement of the day was not fully over, for, as Alf and Jack were about to go and prepare the coach for their return, Sir Oswald came from the hospitality tent accompanied by a short, slightly built man of indeterminate age. This was because his face was creased with a myriad of tiny wrinkles, yet his movement and smile suggested something less than middle age.
Behind them followed a beaming Becky, whose dark eyes quickly bathed Jack into a warmth that he wanted to live on.
“Alf, Jack, I want you to meet the coincidence I mentioned earlier,” Sir Oswald began.
“He was the jockey on Red Spirit,” Becky butted in with a wild show of enthusiasm, and immediately lowered her head under her uncle’s stern glance.
“Yes,” Sir Oswald went on his tone showing his aggravation, “I had already spoken with Mr Oliver here, even before the race he won, about riding Trafalgar for us.”
Jack and Alf exchanged positive looks as Nate Oliver was introduced, to them. As he talked Jack was quietly impressed with the modest way he talked. Over a period of time, he learned that the wrinkled features were a result of constant weight problems and having to practically starve himself to maintain an acceptable racing weight. He was only thirty-eight years old.
Standing beside him had Jack feeling like a giant, but he was delighted that Sir Oswald had found a jockey for Trafalgar, a man who was willing to come to the manor and ‘ride out’ on Trafalgar.
So, all things considered, Jack’s first experience of a racecourse had been successful, and so stimulating.
When Nate Oliver came for his first ride, Jack was immediately impressed by his horsemanship. Just seeing Trafalgar, drew awesome praise from the jockey.
“Yes, his musculature tells me that this is a prospective winner. It is only a matter of how good he is, and we’ll only find out in the running of him.” Nate Oliver was quick to declare.
Jack was amazed at how quickly Nate formed a good relationship with Trafalgar. Before he ever mounted him, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time stroking around his head, muzzle and ears, murmuring quiet words. After enjoying a gentle ride on Trafalgar, he said how he regretted that he wouldn’t be available for two or three weeks because of other riding commitments.
“Just keep him up to scratch, without too much strain. I can’t wait to try him seriously.”
Both Jack and Alf agreed that Sir Oswald had made a good choice to get the best out of the thoroughbred horse. Jack continued with the gentle schooling, with Alf, and occasionally, Sir Oswald, enjoying seeing the movement of the handsome chestnut.
And, as before, Becky continued her love of Trafalgar in order to signal her affection for Jack, from a distance. But then, it wasn’t always from a distance. Jack continued his early mornings in order to ensure their hot sessions while Alf rode with Sir Oswald.
On one of those occasions, laying her face down on her spread dress, Jack had entered her wet passage from the rear, enjoying, both the sensation his eager rod in the liquid sensation of her, along with the soft smoothness of her buttocks pressing back at him. Such was the pressure that she ended up sliding over the hay, as she climaxed squealing like a wounded puppy.
As they lay slowly recovering, she admitted, “God, trailing my breasts over the hay was so exciting.”
But then she told him that her aunt was insisting that she went with her and her friend to spend two days in the city, “Shopping and gossiping,” Becky moaned, “And I have to share a hotel room with my aunt, and she snores.”
Jack laughed, “Don’t you?”
Becky snuggled against him, “Wouldn’t you like to find out sometime?”
“I’d love to.”
But her absence gave rise to the situation with Alf. The first day she was away, almost out of habit, he was at the stable early. But on the second morning, he decided that it really wasn’t necessary, and he arrived at what had been his usual time, and Alf was busy the horses, one by one, into the grazing area. Trafalgar was being moved into his gated area.
The older man, after giving Trafalgar a friendly pat along the flank, wasted no time in asking Jack a straight question, “Well now, I wonder what happened to early starts? Isn’t it time you told me?”
Slightly puzzled by Alf’s way of phrasing the question about earliness, but having a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jack asked. “Tell you what?”
“About how close you and the major’s niece have become.”
Jack’s throat tightened. Here it was, the revelation that had to be faced one day, but would denying it be any use? “What makes you think that?”
Alf’s lips tightened, “You want a list?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on, Jack,” Alf said, snapping his fingers in the air. “From the day you took that first ride with her, I was worried for you, and have remained worried.”
Jack could not find any words, and just looked into the wrinkled questioning old eyes
“Those late afternoon runs with Rascal, on warm days, and you dipped in the lake.”
God, Jack was thinking, he’s putting two and two together and it looks like he’s going to get four, “Yes, but you knew I did that.”
Alf gave a half-smile, “But then the major expressed concern about how secretive and vague his niece was about late afternoons walks she took. Coincidence, Jack?”
Alf paused, and Jack knew there was no use in denying the charges that were coming, but Alf’s voice became less accusative as he said, “You know, I never saw the pair of you together until the village fayre, when she threw her arms around the conquering hero.”
He coughed before going on, “The major told me how furious he was about that, and how she’d gone off in a sulk, but came back all sweetness and light. And I remembered that would be about the time that I had lost track of you.”
Jack half-fearing the outcome now, but curious about the half-smile on Alf’s lips as he went on, “I noticed you being surprisingly fussy when piling up that hay in the corner. But you got careless. One lunchtime, I found it looking as though a horse had been rolling on it. But it wasn’t a horse, was it?”
Jack couldn’t help looking at his mentor in wonder, “What a spy you would make. But you said nothing.”
“I was mainly worried that you’d ignored my warnings, and how bloody stupid that was. Two events have changed my thinking.”
Jack was puzzled at how Alf’s demeanour seemed less challenging, “Changed? What events?”
Alf’s head shook slightly as he said, “The day Trafalgar arrived, the major brought his niece with him, and I saw her face whenever she looked your way. And yours was interesting too. Her look, that expression in the eyes, was even more obvious and frequent when we went to the Exhampton race meeting. That, and how often the pair of you stood close.”
“I’m sorry, Alf. Your warning has been in my mind—”
Alf now placed a friendly hand on Jack’s shoulder, “You are hooked like a salmon, aren’t you?”
Trying to avoid looking shamefaced, Jack could only nod his head.
“I’m no expert, Jack, but, despite my early fears, I believe that the young lady is equally hooked. Her eyes when she looked at you—Never the look of a lady who was likely to betray you. Well, only one woman has ever looked at me in that way, and that was my dear Maisie.”
Jack was shocked to see that Alf’s eyes had reddened, “Thank you for being so understanding, Alf.”
Alf sniffed, and held up a hand, “Oh, yes, I understand. I may have too many years behind me, Jack. Become long in the tooth. But I haven’t forgotten. Haven’t forgotten that sense of desperation to be with the one whose every glance is like a kiss. Times when all I wanted was the nearness, the touch, that glance. You should know that Maisie and I never stopped holding hands until the very end.”
Jack saw that the older man’s eyes were moist now, as he gave a long heavy sniff.
“Alf, I appreciate your honesty.”
“All you need now,” Alf began, and he put both hands on Jack’s shoulders, “is continued caution. And a ton of luck. But where I can help—I will.”
“Thanks, Alf.” Jack couldn’t recall when he’d ever seen Alf so emotional.
“Just take care. I’ll find you time.”
Then, just as quickly, he was back to his normal self, “Christ, so many changes going on around me and I’m making time for young love.”
Jack could have hugged his dear old mentor but wondered what effect this news would have on Becky. Would she be pleased, or worried?
The next morning when Becky arrived, and immediately removed her dress, they had a desperately quick coming together on the hay as though they had been apart for weeks
Then, after a short rest amid murmurs of satisfaction they moved into a touching phase in which his middle finger tickled on swollen nipples, before he reached lower and that one fingertip flickered around and over her not so tiny nub. “You’re teasing me,” she groaned, as she reached for his only semi-erect manhood.
Given the constant magic of her touch, Jack was immediately hard. So they played with each other for as long as they could stand it. Becky pulled on him in her desire and he went willingly to set his hardness on that wondrously familiar journey along her heaving passage. Their mutual gasps, growls and ultimate yells signalled a monster climax.
Jack, totally replete, lay back in the hay but opened his eyes as he felt Becky’s bare breast press against his chest. Her brown eyes still clouded with passion, she leaned over him and murmured, “It just gets better and better, doesn’t it, Jack?”
In his light-hearted, light-headed, mood of contentment, Jack sighed, “Yes, he really is getting fitter and faster by the day.” And he laughed and grunted as Becky’s elbow nudged at his ribs.
“I wasn’t talking about Trafalgar, you devil.”
Jack was relaxed enough to enjoy continuing his teasing, “Oh, you’re talking about the other thoroughbred I have, from time to time, in this stable, the filly. Yes, she’s getting faster too. And hotter.”
Becky’s face came down to his and her mouth closed on his briefly before she drew back and said, “It’s been such an exciting few weeks. So much has happened. We’ve deceived everybody despite mixing with so many people.”
Jack became more serious, “Not everybody.”
“What?” She sat up shock and dismay on her lovely face.
“Haven’t you noticed anything about this morning?”
Becky’s brow furrowed, “Well, you haven’t seemed so worried about the time. In fact, you’ve pleasured me twice this morning.”
“No, you pleasured me. I couldn’t shake you off.”
She picked up a handful of hay and scrubbed it over his chest, “Come on, stop joking about it.”
“We have more time because—” He paused deliberately, and before he could continue, he saw it dawn on Becky’s face.
“Alf knows,” she gasped. “You told him?”
“I didn’t have to. He worked it out.” And he told her about it.
Becky’s face showed her surprise as Jack ended his story, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“You were away, yesterday, gallivanting in the city with your aunt and her friend.”
“Gallivanting? Huh, dull trips with two old gossips. Just what I want.” She shrugged, “That explains something. When Alf brought Ebony for my ride, he smiled at me more pleasantly.”
Jack nodded, “And today he’ll be leading Charger around the outer edge of the field until he sees the stable doors are open.” He glanced towards the closed doors now, “Hell, we’re imposing on his good nature. Best get dressed.”
Outside, and up to the fence, to where Trafalgar came quickly to poke his handsome muzzle at Becky. It still amazed Jack to see the horse’s ready devotion to her. It had been like that since his arrival. No call, or whistle needed. Jack always smiled at his own frequent comment now, “A horse of impeccable taste.”
Shortly after Becky returned to the house, Alf rode in leading Sir Oswald’s mount, Charger. Jack told Alf that Becky had been informed of his acceptance of their situation.
Alf had chuckled, “Does she want to marry me?”
Jack joined in his jocularity, and said, “No, she has her hands full at the moment.”
“And not only her hands,” Alf slyly observed.
~~~
Nate Oliver, true to his word, became more available after two and a half weeks. After another two weeks of work with Trafalgar, as Alf and Jack watched, admiring his way with the horse, Nate respectfully asked for permission to give him a full speed work-out over six furlongs.
Alf suggested that it might be prudent to have Sir Oswald present to see the power of the animal he had paid a ransom for. Of course, with this being about Trafalgar, then Becky had to be there too. “It wasn’t only the horse I wanted to view,” she would tell Jack later.
As the tall, still noble, figure of Sir Oswald approached, Jack only had eyes for Becky, so lovely in a pale green dress that on any other woman would have looked quite staid. But to Jack, imagining the shapely figure stirring under the fabric, it gave her such allure that signals were flashed to his groin.
“I’m really looking forward to this.” Sir Oswald declared, “I have made certain enquiries that I hope I can put into action soon.”
Jack and Nate agreed that Trafalgar’s pace should be kept in check until they reached the first-furlong marker and then, from that point the horse should be given his head. Full pace. That meant the seven-furlong marker would be the point at which Trafalgar would have actually covered six furlongs flat out.
The watching group moved down to stand midway between the five and six-furlong markers so that they would get an appreciation of Trafalgar at his top speed.
Jack was very aware of Becky standing close to his left shoulder, even caught a whiff of her delicate perfume overlaying the aroma of new-mown grass. But he had to concentrate on Nate’s action on the horse.
He had come to know Nate much better over the past weeks and knew they had the right man for the job. Nate was genuine, and when he smiled, which was frequent, all the tiny wrinkles were stretched off his face.
Now the jockey had Trafalgar ready at the start, and when Jack raised and dropped his arm, they saw the horse urged into a ready gallop until they reached the first marker when Nate leaned forward close to the horse’s neck. Trafalgar seemed to gain wings as he charged towards them.
As they came nearer Jack was sure he could see Nate whispering into Trafalgar’s ear. Whatever he was doing, the glorious motion of the chestnut animal came hurtling with deliciously long and rapid strides, every muscle rippling like waves on the ocean.
As Trafalgar hurtled past them, Jack’s breath was caught in his throat. He heard Alf’s appreciative, “Jesus!” And Sir Oswald’s equally impressed, “My God!” While he was very aware of Becky’s hand surreptitiously gripping his arm above his elbow.
Then Nate was slowing Trafalgar and turning him to trot steadily back towards them. As soon as they were level, Nate slid from the saddle and panted, “Hell, I’ve ridden so many horses in my time, but I’ve never been on anything like this one.” His grey eyes wondered around the small group, “Honestly, it felt like he would have gone on all day.”
“You handled him so well, Nate,” Jack said, the elation of the moment gripping him.
“Would you say he’s ready for a race?” Sir Oswald asked.
Nate nodded his head assuredly, “Sir, I’d say that he is more than ready.”
Sir Oswald’s eyes were now on Jack as he said, “Well, I said I had been making enquiries, and there is a classy six-furlong maiden race for two-year-olds at York racecourse in three weeks’ time. As trainer, Jack, are you happy with that?”
“Definitely,” Jack said without hesitation and he saw Alf’s head nod in agreement.
“I’ll set the wheels in motion. Gives us something to look forward to.”
“I can hardly wait,” Jack sighed
“Neither can I,” Becky whispered, and her glance up at him told Jack that she might not be referring to the race.
