“Amy,” he barked. “Go back and take care of your brothers. Milly and I aren’t finished yet. And you can apologize to Candy while you’re at it for running off like that.”
Amy took a deep breath.
“You know what, Dad?” she said. “Screw you.”
“Excuse me?” Jimmy was too surprised at first even to yell at her. “What did you just say?”
“I said, ‘screw you.’”
Milly felt her heart swelling with pride and grinned at Dylan, who was obviously feeling the same thing. It was about time Amy stood up to that fat, bullying bastard.
“I’m not your slave,” she said calmly. “If Candy doesn’t want to look after her own children, she shouldn’t have had them.”
“Don’t you dare speak disrespectfully of Candy!” said Jimmy, finding his voice at last. “She’s a wonderful mother.”
“She’s a terrible mother!” said Amy. “Honestly, Dad. I love you. But how can you be so blind?”
Getting to her feet, Milly pulled on a sweater and checked her reflection briefly in the mirror, blowing her nose and wiping away her remaining tearstreaks on her sleeve. Amy and Jimmy obviously had things to discuss. She may as well leave them to it and face the inevitable onslaught of reporters outside. She still had no idea what she was going to say or how she could explain what had happened. But the sooner she got out there and showed her face, the sooner it would all be over.
“Where do you think you’re going?” fumed Jimmy, seeing her trying to sneak out the door with Gillian. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Maybe it was the hectoring tone of his voice that riled her. Or perhaps the fact that she no longer had anything to lose. But something made her spin around and give it to him with both barrels.
“You just fired me, Jimmy, remember? In case you’re not familiar with that term, it means I don’t work for you anymore.”
“You get back here!” he shouted. “You owe me an apology, young lady, not to mention some goddamn respect.”
“I owe you nothing,” said Milly. “You made me money, I made you money, and now it’s over. End of story. Besides, with me out of the picture you’ll be free to finalize things with Rachel Delaney. Oh, sorry, my mistake.” She smiled sarcastically. “You already have, haven’t you?”
“Rachel has nothing to do with this. . . .” Jimmy stammered. It was the first time Milly had ever seen him on the back foot, even for a moment. She found it oddly gratifying.
“Even if I’d won today, you were still going to replace me, weren’t you?”
“Not necessarily,” he lied.
“Look, Jimmy. I’m grateful for the start you gave me,” she said. “But this whole English cowgirl thing—it’s not what I want anymore.” It was only once she’d said the words out loud that she realized she actually meant them. “So you and Rachel, you go right ahead. Don’t feel bad about replacing me.”
“I don’t,” said Jimmy nastily. “Not for a second.”
The door swung open to reveal a scowling Candy with a screaming child in each hand. Her beautiful cream Ralph Lauren jacket was covered with every sticky substance from chocolate cookie smearings to snot, her hair was so tangled it looked like she’d lost a fight with a wind propeller, and her usually immaculate makeup had been pawed and slobbered on by her children into a blotchy, hideous mask.
It would be fair to say she wasn’t looking her best.
“Shit,” whispered Dylan to Amy. “Who invited Cruella De Vil?”
“Jimmy!” Candy sounded furious, her baby-doll cadences replaced by a steely tone. “Ah’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere. And you!” She pointed a bony finger at Amy, shaking with rage.
“This is ridiculous,” said Gill, whose temper was finally starting to fray. “It’s like Times Square in here.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” said Jimmy, relieving Candy of both the boys when Amy made no move to do so. “I came to tell Milly I’m letting her go.”
“Good,” said Candy, her ill temper making her more than usually vindictive. “I should think so too after that race. Disgraceful.”
Milly had been on the point of leaving—if Jimmy wanted to rant and rave he could do it at someone else for a change. But Candy’s taunt pushed her over the edge. There were some things she simply couldn’t let go.
“You know, Jimmy,” she said casually, “if you want something you can feel bad about, try this for size: Your wife’s been screwing my boyfriend—sorry, my ex-boyfriend—behind your back.”
Jimmy’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked at Candy, searching her face for signs of denial. But Milly’s ambush was too sudden. Candy had no time to hide the guilty rush of blood to her cheeks.
Every ounce of color drained from Jimmy’s face. Amy looked pretty stunned too.
“That’s right,” said Milly. “It’s been going on for . . . hmmm, how long must it be now, Candy? Three months? Four?”
“You liar!” shrieked Candy. But it was too late. Nobody believed her.
“I caught the two of them in bed together.” Milly twisted the knife. “Back in June. That’s why Todd and I broke up, in case you ever wondered.”
And with that she walked out and slammed the door, leaving the atom bomb to explode behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“All rise.”
The judge hobbled back into the courtroom and everybody else got wearily to their feet. With his red ceremonial robes and white curly wig, Mr. Justice Carmichael reminded Milly of a slightly scrawny Father Christmas who’d had his beard shaved off and with it all his ho! ho! ho! jolliness. He looked even more somber and miserable than usual this afternoon, which she prayed was not a bad omen for Jasper.
“Oh, God,” whispered Linda, surreptitiously grabbing her hand. “This is it.”
“He’ll be fine,” said Milly, trying to sound more reassuring than she felt. “Whatever happens, Jasper will cope. We all will.”
It was touch and go this morning whether her mother would even make it to court for the verdict, her nerves were so fraught. Ever since Milly had gotten home (if you could call Linda’s ghastly town house with its ruffled curtains, shag carpeting, and heavy use of chandeliers “home”) Linda had been a nervous wreck, suffering every conceivable symptom of stress from nausea and tension headaches to fever, panic attacks, and even occasional fainting spells. Sitting rigid backed beside Milly now, she was so highly strung you felt she could snap at any moment, like an overtuned guitar string.
She uncrossed her legs again—it was a devil to try and get comfortable on these bloody wooden seats—her mind wandering back over all the changes of the last six weeks. Being back in England felt desperately strange after so long away. Everything seemed unaccountably smaller: from the roads and the cars right down to the blueberry muffins in Starbucks that must have been half the size of the ones in California. But the strangest thing of all was not being at Newells.
Apparently, the agents had accepted an offer for the place—but from whom and for how much Milly was unable to discover, despite repeated phone attempts using pseudonyms and dodgy accents, pretending to be a foreign buyer. For now, though, it remained unoccupied, and a week after she got back Milly made the ten-minute drive from Newmarket to take a look, and see what changes had been made since her dad’s funeral.
She knew it would look different, of course. But nothing had prepared her emotionally for the shock of seeing her beloved home empty and abandoned. The stables in particular made her want to cry. Cecil had always kept them gleaming and spotless, his pride and joy. But now doors hung loosely from their hinges, old pieces of bridles and stirrups lay rusting in the gutters, and giant drifts of dead leaves lay piled up against the walls of the stallion barn.
Fixing one of the stable doors back in place herself, Milly looked up to see a grimy wooden nameplate still nailed just beneath the roof. Wiping off the worst of the dirt with her sleeve, her eyes welled up with tears when she saw the name: Easy Victory.
&
nbsp; Standing there, seeing Easy’s name, brought back a flood of memories, both painful and happy. She remembered the day that Cecil first bought Easy. How gawky and unprepossessing a horse he was to look at, but how much she’d adored him even then. She remembered her last ride with him, before her accident ruined everything and kept her out of the saddle for two long years—years that at the time had felt like forever but now seemed like nothing more than a tiny blip. She remembered how poisonous Rachel was the day Easy covered her mare, when she’d first started flirting with Jasper. (Needless to say, his arrest had been the death knell for their sham of a relationship. Which was about the only good thing to have come out of the whole sorry affair, in Milly’s view. Apart from it bringing her back home, of course.)
But most of all she remembered the night of Easy’s death. She remembered the way Bobby had comforted her when she’d believed no comfort possible.
With all her heart, she wished he were here to comfort her now.
That night, she drove back to Newmarket with her resolve hardened. She still intended to get Newells back somehow—she had to—but in the meantime she would set about undoing every strand of damage Rachel had caused piece by piece.
“You’re terribly thin you know, darling,” Linda insisted, spooning the most enormous heap of shepherd’s pie onto her plate as Milly tried to outline her plan of action. She was about to protest, but the delicious medley of oniony, meaty smells assailing her nostrils got the better of her, and she realized she was, in fact, famished.
“Never mind that,” she said, reaching straight for the ketchup, and proceeding to drown out the flavor of the home-cooked beef with a sticky river of red sauce, gobbling down the resulting slop greedily while she spoke, to Linda’s silent horror. “I need you to look into livery stables for me. See if you can find us a decent rate from one of daddy’s old mates.”
Linda looked blank.
“I’d do it myself,” said Milly, swallowing so fast she succeeded in burning the roof of her mouth. “But I’m going to have my hands full, what with Jasper’s court case and tracking down Radar and Elijah and the others. Never mind transporting them all back here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Linda. “Transporting who? Back where?”
“Do listen, Mummy,” said Milly, exasperated. Sometimes it was like trying to keep the attention of a three-year-old. “I may not have enough money to buy Newells back. Not yet anyway,” she added defiantly. “But I do have some savings left out of my T-Mobile money. Enough to find out which knacker’s yard that cow sold Daddy’s stallions to and go and buy them back.”
“But, Milly,” Linda protested weakly. She’d never understood Milly’s obsession with horses, never mind how she could be worrying about Cecil’s old stallions, of all things, while her brother’s future hung in the balance and her family faced social ruin. “They could be anywhere by now. And what if their new owners don’t want to sell them?”
“Course they will,” said Milly confidently. “Everyone wants to sell if the price is right.”
In fact, finding the horses did prove to be a mission, and at times quite a harrowing one. Many of her dear old friends had been shipped abroad, to places where she knew she had next to no chance of tracking them down. She cried her eyes out the day she learned that Elijah had last been seen getting into a truck bound for Saudi Arabia—one of Jasper’s connections had bought him for a song, apparently. As if the Dhaktoubs hadn’t caused her family enough grief already.
But there were moments of joy too. Radar turned out to be less than twenty miles away. Old Anne Voss-Menzies, it seemed, had never lost her interest in him and had jumped at the chance to acquire him when Rachel started selling off Newells’s stock.
“I’m really not sure I want to part with him,” she said, sensing Milly’s desperation when she turned up at Cedarbrook, checkbook in hand. “He’s just coming into his own this season.”
The price the old witch ultimately wrangled out of her was nothing short of extortionate. But Milly didn’t care. Just seeing Radar prick up his ears and whinny in delighted recognition when she ran out across the field to greet him was worth all the money in the world, and then some.
She wished she could spend all her time with her beloved horses. But unfortunately, this wasn’t to be. Someone had to take charge of Jasper’s defense. Linda was far too much of a nervous ninny to deal with lawyers or make important decisions. And Jasper himself, despite having been transferred to a relatively cushy remand center outside Cambridge, remained so deeply mired in terror and self-pity about his upcoming trial that he was no use to anyone, least of all himself.
Which meant it was Milly who got to spend hour after hour holed up in solicitors’ offices choosing counsel and agreeing on a strategy for the defense. Although quite how J. intended to defend himself, other than by pleading guilty and looking remorseful, she had no idea. Even by his standards the Dhaktoub scam had been a mind-blowingly stupid, risky thing to do.
The fact that Milly was kept so busy did at least mean she had mercifully little time to dwell on the mess she’d left behind in California. The six weeks since she’d left already felt like six years. A single long letter from Amy was the only contact she’d had with her old life.
Dad’s filed for divorce, Amy wrote, and Candy’s moved into Todd’s place, with the boys, if you can imagine that.
Even Milly had to smile at the mental picture of Todd playing the doting stepdad to Chase and Chance. Not to mention Candy trying to cope without Amy. They wouldn’t last a day, surely?
Turns out she never signed a prenup, so Dad’s screwed basically, Amy continued, although money seems to be the last thing on his mind right now. Honestly, you should see him, Mill. He’s just so . . . sad. But he’s also like a different person. He’s been really sweet to me, and he even called Donny the other day. That’s the first time in six years.
What else can I tell you? You probably don’t want to hear about Rachel, but I thought you should know that she’s not riding for Daddy after all. Randy Kravitz offered her a bunch of money to stay, and all this Candy business has totally distracted Dad from racing anyway. On a happier note, I saw this photo of her in last week’s Enquirer, which I know you’ll appreciate.
Darling Amy, she’d ripped out a picture of Rachel at some charity do in Palm Beach looking distinctly triple chinned. It was probably a bad angle. But still, any shot of Rachel looking fat and ugly had to be worth keeping.
Dylan’s fine. He brought me out to Highwood for the first time last week. Oh my God, it is so beautiful! I don’t know how you could ever have wanted to leave.
Milly had had to stop reading at that point and take a couple of deep breaths. But after a few minutes she forced herself to go on.
And you’ll never guess what. Dad’s considering helping Bobby get the appeal going again. He’s so mad at Todd, I think he wants to get back at him any way he can, including stopping him getting that oil. We’ll see. At the moment Bobby’s refusing even to talk to Dad. Dyl’s been trying to talk him around.
Typical Bobby, thought Milly. Stubborn to a fault, even when he was being offered a lifeline. She could understand him not taking her money. But now that they had a common enemy in Todd, surely he could bury the hatchet with Jimmy?
We all miss you, especially me, Amy signed off, and Dylan says hi! Good luck with your brother’s trial—we’re thinking of you—and make sure you take care of yourself. Xxx. Amy.
The letter was bittersweet. Most of the news was good—but nowhere did Amy say that Bobby had had a change of heart toward Milly or that he no longer blamed her for everything.
Maybe she simply had to let it go? She might want Bobby’s forgiveness and his friendship. But she had no right to expect either if he wasn’t willing to give them.
In the meantime, she had her own fish to fry. Jasper and Linda might not be easy, but they were all the family she had. And right now they needed her more than ever.
Taking their lead from the jud
ge, everyone sat back down in their torturously uncomfortable seats and waited for him to begin his summing up.
Glancing to her left, Milly saw Ali Dhaktoub’s family and supporters. Sitting on the other side of the aisle, they were dressed to a man like urbane Westerners in Hugo Boss suits and silk ties from Liberty. As Cecil would have said, not a towel head in sight.
Ostensibly, they were here to “support” Jasper. But everyone knew that their real reason for being in court was to try to glean something from today’s proceedings that might be helpful in the appeal they planned for their own son. Ali had been tried separately last week and received a four-year sentence, which had rocked his wealthy, powerful family to the core and made the front pages of the papers in England and across the Middle East.
It had also, needless to say, scared the shit out of Jasper. Although Zac Spiro, his young but brilliant barrister, had assured him he was very unlikely to be treated so harshly himself, especially since he’d pled guilty.
Milly liked Zac from the beginning. He was handsome, albeit not in a classic Brad Pitt sort of way. There was a diffident, vaguely academic look about him that, combined with his striking six foot five frame, lent him the air of a bookish, Jewish Clark Kent. But his wicked, wry sense of humor had been a godsend in the days leading up to the trial, and he and Milly had spent many long evenings burning the midnight oil at various Newmarket pubs, running over strategy and tactics.
It rapidly became obvious that there was a spark between them, or at least a latent attraction. They’d even talked about it. But they both agreed that now was not the time to pursue it.
Unfortunately, however, desire, once acknowledged, is a tough thing to put back in its box. Ever since Zac had admitted how he felt, the two of them had been circling around each other like a pair of wary dogs, unsure whether to mate, play, or rip one another’s throats out.
“The seriousness of what you have done cannot be overestimated,” the judge began inauspiciously, his booming voice bringing Milly back to the present with a nasty jolt. Jasper, openly quaking in his seat at the front of the court, looked white as a sheet.