Riders by Jilly Cooper Read Free Book Online Page A

he led her forward a step. Africa hobbled, then stopped. Malise ran his hand down the foot; she winced, but let him touch it.
    “Nothing broken. Might have pulled a tendon. Better get the vet.”
    Another gun went off. Africa trembled violently but was finished.
    “Sorry about that,” said Malise. “She jumped very well in the first round. Look, sit down on the grass,” he added as Jake started to sway.
    But the next moment Mrs. Wilton rolled up, marching with a far more military stride than Colonel Carter.
    “So this is what you get up to when I’m away,” she shouted. “How dare you jump that horse, how dare you?”
    Jake looked at her. Through a haze of pain he saw her red angry face like a baron of beef receding and coming towards him.
    “Leave him alone,” snapped Malise. “Can’t you see he’s in a state of shock.”
    Mrs. Wilton turned on Malise furiously.
    Jake said nothing and, after another look at Africa’s foot, led her hobbling out of the ring. Mrs. Wilton followed him, shouting abuse. She wanted to sack him on the spot, but she couldn’t afford to, as there’d be no one except that halfwit, Alison, who only worked part time, to look after the horses. Grooms were so hard to get. She’d have to ask her copywriting brother to write a witty advertisement for Horse and Hound. She supposed it was her fault for being too lenient with Jake; she should never have offered him a drink in the evenings. As he came out of the ring, Fen rushed forward.
    “Oh, poor Jake; are you all right? Are you concussed? Can you remember what day of the week it is and what you had for lunch?”
    Next minute Mrs. Thomson came roaring up.
    “There was no one to help Sally Ann in the bending. She’s fallen off and hurt her arm. Oh, you’re back, Joyce,” she added in relief. “Things will go more smoothly from now on.” Tory felt so sorry for Jake, gray and shaking and the recipient of such a torrent of abuse from Mrs. Wilton and Mrs. Thomson.
    Christopher Crossley passed them going into the ring to collect first prize. He pulled up his chestnut horse for a minute.
    “That was bloody bad luck,” he said, “and that’s a very nice mare. If you ever want to sell her I’m in the North Hampshire telephone directory under Crossley. Those bloody soldiers should turn the guns on themselves.”
    Jake nodded.
    As they approached the horse lines, Fen gave a scream.
    “Dandelion—he’s not there!”
    Rushing forward, she found his head collar still tied to the fence.
    “He’s a valuable horse now that he’s a prize winner,” she wailed. “He’s probably been kidnapped.”
    After a nasty quarter of an hour, in which Mrs. Wilton trailed after Jake, calling him every name under the sun, Dandelion was discovered in the brave new world of Lady Dorothy’s vegetable garden. Having laid waste to the herbaceous border, dug holes in the newly sprinkled lawn, cut a swathe through the rose beds and deformalized the formal garden, Dandelion was now imitating an untamed bronco, galloping about, snorting, showing the whites of his eyes, with a large carrot sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.
    Every time Jake or Fen got close he whisked out of range, snatching bites to eat.
    “He looks like the Hamlet advertisement,” said Fen, quite hysterical with giggles.
    By the time Jake had caught him, abuse—from Lady Dorothy, Mrs. Wilton, and Mrs. Thomson—was cascading over his head like Niagara.
    At last it was time to go home. Africa had been checked by the vet, who said she was suffering a bad sprain, no more, and should be rested. Malise Gordon then hurried home himself because he was going to the theater. Fen had come second in the potato race and was in a state of ecstasy. Miss Bilborough had a date with one of Colonel Carter’s men. Dudley Diplock had been asked for his autograph three times, but had not been thanked for doing the commentary.
    Back at Brook Farm Riding School, a still dizzy Jake was sorting out the