Mount! Read Online Free PDF Page B

parties, when you have to surreptitiously glance down at a person’s bosom to check who they are,’ observed Valent. ‘Here you can look your stallion in the eye.’
    Rupert, a gambler like his ancestor Rupert Black, had a few years ago had a successful bet that he could get a GCSE in English Literature as a very mature student. Acquiring a fondness for the subject, he had named his more recent horses after characters in Shakespeare.
    Valent proceeded to admire Thane of Fife, dark brown and workmanlike, who had no trouble covering three mares a day, with a strike rate of getting 90 per cent of them in foal.
    ‘Didn’t win that many big races,’ explained Rupert, ‘so his stud fee is a third of Love Rat’s.’
    Next Bassanio, who was very shy and could only perform if Dorothy the practice mare stood in the corner of the covering shed watching him.
    Then prowling Titus Andronicus, a black brute who descended on mares like the Heavy Brigade, and who so terrified the stable lads, he was sometimes dispatched down a tunnel of cages to the covering shed.
    ‘One day he’ll have you against the wall, another he’ll be sweet as pie. I hope his foals don’t inherit his temperament,’ said Rupert.
    They had reached the box of Hamlet’s Ghost, who only fancied greys.
    ‘The only way to get him to mount a mare of any other colour,’ Rupert told Valent, ‘is to put a white sheet over her.’
    Enobarbus’s box was empty. He was spending a season in France and not enjoying it, because he couldn’t get a grip on the quarters of those slim French mares.
    Valent shook his head. ‘They’re all different.’
    ‘And here’s Mrs Wilkinson’s sire, Peppy Koala,’ went on Rupert as a wild-eyed chestnut darted out his head and took a nip at Rupert’s sleeve. ‘Winner of the Derby and the St Leger, contender for Leading Sire. Stud fee even higher than Love Rat’s.
    ‘And talk of the angel, here is Mrs Wilkinson’s husband Love Rat,’ he added fondly, as they reached the last box. Valent admired the big grey with a long blond mane and tail, who nickered at Rupert and rubbed a whiskery soft pink nose against his face.
    ‘He’s the gentlest horse in the yard; any child would be safe in his box, always offering to babysit. His only problem,’ Rupert scratched Love Rat behind the ears, ‘is laziness. Unless he really fancies a mare, he’s a bit inclined to leave it in and let it soak. He’s got a waiting list of five hundred, but we limit him to ninety of the very best a season. If he’s going to make Leading Sire, we can’t have him wasting his somewhat selective libido on any riff-raff.’
    Rupert consulted his iPhone. ‘He’s not covering anything this evening,’ he said.
    ‘That’ll please Mrs Wilkinson,’ said Valent.
    ‘Look behind you.’ Rupert nudged Valent. Valent did and burst out laughing. Big, one-eared Safety Car had picked upthe handle of a large brush with his teeth and was attempting to sweep the yard.
    ‘He can’t bear attention on any other horse. He’ll play football for hours with Cuthbert and Gilchrist.’
    ‘I ought to get back,’ said Valent.
    ‘Come and watch a covering. Thane of Fife’s doing the honours.’
    In a huge barn, with padded walls and a carpet of shredded black rubber – laughingly known as ‘shagpile’ – a lovely chestnut mare was being led in with a tiny grey foal trotting beside her.
    ‘That’s Cindy Bolton’s mare, Wages of Cindy, known as Katie,’ murmured Rupert. ‘Amazingly, she’s won a lot of races.’ And there up in the viewing platform, giggling and waving, was Cindy Bolton herself, a very blonde, world-famous porn star, who lived in Valent’s village of Willowwood. Accompanied by her dreadful, self-important, billionaire porn-merchant husband, Lester, she was now shrieking at the prospect of Rupert and sexual activity.
    ‘Hello, Valent, hello, Rupert – come and join us up here. Surely Foalie oughtn’t to see Mummy making babies,’ she