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Jersey owned a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce, a Mercedes convertible, a Range Rover, two Aston Martins, three motorbikes, and four golf carts, all in the same dark navy as the stable colors. His personal favorite was his Mercedes, whose registration plate read CHAMPION.
    The stable lads in the yard shaded their eyes when they saw de Jersey’s helicopter. They waved their caps as he flew over the neat row of outbuildings that had been converted into their living quarters. Beyond was a complex of cottages for the jockeys, a sauna, swimming pool, and gymnasium. The estate and its occupants were valued at over a hundred million pounds. De Jersey employed head lads, yardmen, work riders, two assistant trainers, a head trainer, stable lads, and traveling head lads, and he contracted two top jockeys in addition to Mickey Rowland. There were three large stable yards, and Donald Fleming’s house was on the northern side of the old yard. The office, in the newest yard, was manned by a personal assistant, a racing secretary, and two managers.
    The stable lads were yelling as De Jersey landed, and when he jumped down from the helicopter there were cheers from his staff. “Champagne all round!” he shouted.
    De Jersey had naturally a rather off-putting, steely manner, but if you got to know him it was soon dissipated when he gave one of his shy smiles. The trust, admiration, and respect he demanded from his staff were returned threefold. He was, as his wife knew, a very reserved man. He had never raised his voice to anyone at the stables. He’d never needed to. With the adroit management, competent secretaries, and loyal employees, there was little to criticize. De Jersey actually detested losing his temper; to him doing so was a sign of weakness. He had tight control of his emotions, but his charm made his employees guard his privacy ferociously. There was not a single member of staff’s wife, husband, child, or grandchild whose name he couldn’t recall, and now, surrounded by them all as the champagne corks popped, he toasted his success and was blissfully happy.
    He raised his glass. “To Royal Flush and to next year—the Derby!”
    The cheers intensified with the arrival of the horse box. As Royal Flush was led down, they grouped around him, and de Jersey cupped some champagne into his hand and patted the horse’s head with it. Then he led the horse back to his stable and watched over him like a doting father. The traveling stable lads brought his feed, and de Jersey was pleased when Royal Flush couldn’t wait to get at it. It was always a good sign when a young horse was not put off his feed after a race.
    “You’ll wear it out,” Christina said, putting down a tray of sandwiches and tea as de Jersey rewound the tape of the race.
    The oak-paneled drawing room was comfortable, with polished pine floors and exquisite Persian rugs. Soft throws and cushions covered the sofa, and a fire blazed in the grate.
    De Jersey pressed play and prepared to glory once more in Royal Flush’s victory.
    “I’m going to keep him under wraps for the rest of the season,” he said. He ate the sandwiches hungrily. “Just some light training before he rests for the winter.”
    “Thank you for my beautiful earrings,” Christina drew back her hair to show him she was wearing them.
    He kissed her neck. “I’d give you the world if I could,” he said. His eyes strayed back to the TV screen and the moment Royal Flush passed the winning post.
    Christina switched off the television. “Can we go to bed so I can thank you properly?” she asked. Now she had his attention. As they kissed, he scooped her up into his arms, but they didn’t make it to the bedroom. Later, as she nestled beside him in front of the fire, wearing nothing but the earrings, de Jersey sighed. “I’m a lucky man,” he murmured.

CHAPTER
    2
    R oyal Flush enjoyed the rest he deserved in the months after the flat season, while de Jersey was still busy. He entered many horses