Refuge chapter one

Kyle Black, as though subconsciously reflecting his name, stood in the parade ring garbed entirely in black. A striking, wide-brimmed black hat topped a calf-length black overcoat, below which black drain-pipe jeans were just discernible above the heeled black boots. Though his height could have been no more than six foot two inches, his dress and bearing leant him the appearance of a giant. A giant in the world of pop, entirely out of place in the parade ring of Kempton Park

In sharp contrast, Ginny Westbrook blended into her surroundings so well as to be almost invisible. Her feminine version of a trilby looked little different to the scores of male hats milling around her. The heavy plaid cape disguised any feminine curves that may have lurked beneath. A brown corduroy skirt, heavy brown tights and sensible brown shoes completed the ensemble.

Kyle had read of people ‘marching’ into a place, but had considered it to be an archaic, unidentifiable expression. He had no time for such embroidered language. The lyrics of his songs, which had paid for the horse now entering the parade ring, were unashamedly honest and to the point. Whether sexually explicit or politically rebellious, Black the lyricist left no holds barred.

He stared with interest at the formidable figure now marching towards him. As Ginny Westbrook descended upon him, he was aware of his mental description of her gait. Smiling inwardly, he realised that it was the only word that could be used. The trainer of his new horse was clearly going to live up to her name as the Dragon-Lady of Newmarket.

She came to an abrupt halt beside him and looked him up and down, with obvious disapproval.

‘Black, I take it?’

He gave a half smile and shook the hand held out to him

‘I’m surprised at how well the colt looks,’ he commented, watching the handsome chestnut bounce past, ‘considering the time of year and the fact that this is his first run, he really is remarkably fit.’

Ginny Westbrook, never at a loss for a harsh word, was stunned into a rare silence. She wasn’t quite certain which had caught her off guard - his public school accent or his unexpected knowledge, but in both instances Kyle Black was not the shallow pop star she had anticipated.

‘He’s a lovely little colt,’ she pointed out, ‘full of quality; and it shows. Who bought him for you?’

‘I did.

‘No, no. Who was your agent, at the sales?’

He smiled at her impatience at his apparent ignorance, then put her straight.

‘I had no agent. I bought him myself at the sales.’

Her attitude towards him changed discernibly.

‘You know horses, then?

‘I lived beside the Epsom trainer, Gavin Aimsley, as a child. My father had a couple of horses with him and I spent a fair amount of time in his yard. I rode out for him, whenever I was home from school. Yes, I know a fair amount about racehorses.’

‘So what are you doing in the music business, then?’

He suppressed a smile. ‘It was my other great passion. I knew that it would pay for the horses eventually.’

She was listening so intently that he felt obliged to continue.

‘I shredded my fingers rather unsuccessfully on the electric guitar and couldn’t control them at all when let loose on a keyboard, so I decided that I had more of a gift for the microphone. My talent lies in creating an image. I’m a front man, not a musician. But it’s as respectable career as any. And pays better than most.’

Ginny continued to stare at him, long after he had run out of words. There was something strangely attractive about his eyes and when she finally realized what it was, she reeled mentally with surprise.

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked with amused politeness. ‘You appear to be staring at me?’

‘No; nothing wrong,’ she admitted, without embarrassment.

His subtle brown eye shadow fascinated her. Barely distinguishable from his own skin tone, yet enough to enhance his eyes. God damn it, she’d been making up her face for a quarter of a century, how was it that a man could beat her at the art at the first time of asking? A talent for creating an image, so he said. No doubt he could cook, as well.

‘That eye shadow; would it work for me, do you think?’

A dragon-lady, perhaps; but a lady, nonetheless. He smiled. ‘The trick is to go for a brown that matches your own skin tone, then apply it just thickly enough to be visible. A blusher would work in the same way, too. Hopefully you haven’t even noticed I’m wearing any. You have well-defined cheekbones. Try it. You’d have any lad in Newmarket at your mercy.’

She laughed. ‘Me?! The Dragon-Lady? They’re already at my mercy!’ And besides, who’d want her? She looked at Kyle Black, pop star, fifteen years her junior. He wanted her. She shook off the silly schoolgirl notion as misinterpretation. What experience had she ever had with men to read such things into those eyes?

The jockeys entered and made their way to the various groups of owners and trainers. Andy Nuttall touched his cap respectfully and nodded to Kyle.

‘Just play it by ear,’ Ginny told him, ‘this horse could be special.’

‘A win would be nice, but don’t be hard on him,’ Kyle added.

Ginny shot him a glance. Her owners paid her to look after their horses and she preferred them to have no more involvement than signing the cheques.

The bell rang and she gave the jockey a leg up onto the colt and the lad led them off on another circuit of the parade ring.

‘Who’s the Grim Reaper, then?’ Nuttall enquired of the lad.

‘That singer, whatsisname. Bet the madam’s making mincemeat of him!’

Ginny followed their progress and knew well enough what they’d be thinking. Probably the same scathing thoughts that had crossed her mind at the first sight of the reticent teen-idol. Certainly not the eventual truth, a conversation between the Dragon-Lady and The Man In Black about the use of make-up. She grinned broadly.

‘May I watch the race with you?’

She stared at him, unhearing, for a moment.

‘Mmm? Sorry; daydreaming. Yes, of course; up in the trainers’ stand.’

‘Derby glory?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Your daydream?’

‘Oh; no, something much more mundane. It wouldn’t be inconceivable, though, if he wins nicely today.’

Kyle smiled knowingly, guessing at the mundane daydream.