Helen’s in a frightful state. She wondered what he would have done if she’d tapped him on the shoulder and told him she was the owner of an 800 horse. His tail switched angrily; he was horribly hot, fed up and upset. Nanny insisted on putting Marcus in long white dresses and refused to have anything to do with disposable nappies.
“My God,” said Sarah. Twenty riders went through. She noticed the spoilt, slightly weak expression, the hair carefully combed forward to cover the lined forehead and crow’s feet round the eyes. He spent several minutes rubbing his ears, smoothing his sweating, lathered neck, talking to him softly and giving him pieces of sugar.
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