Blind Beauty by K M Peyton

start,” they said.
    But Peter said he would try for Tom Bryant, or someone more ambitious than his last jockey.

M aurice had asked “a few people to dinner”.
    â€œUgh!” said Tessa.
    â€œListen, darling, it’s racing people. You might be interested. Mr Raleigh’s coming, and two of his other owners, and I think his jockey.”
    â€œNot Tom Bryant?”
    â€œMmm, I think so. Greevy asked him.”
    Tessa was stunned. Usually she ate in the kitchen on dinner party days. It was bad enough in the dining-room when it was just family, but dinner parties were her idea of hell, listening to Maurice’s fat friends talking about money for hour after hour. She never said a word, save to correct anyone who thought she was Maurice’s daughter. “ Step daughter,” she would say icily. “My father is Declan Blackthorn.” She loved to say his name: Declan Blackthorn. Maurice hated that, she knew. She could feel his eyes on her, hating. She liked it. Nobody spoke to her after that, as a rule.
    But Tom Bryant… in her very dining-room!
    â€œYes,” she said. “Count me in.”
    â€œWear a decent dress and don’t rile Maurice, to please me.”
    Myra knew more about horses than Maurice and a lot about racing with her Irish past, but Tessa knew she wouldn’t say much. She was always nervous in company, waiting for the put-down which Maurice invariably delivered in front of his friends. He was pleased to introduce her as his wife, as she looked flashily attractive when she dressed herself up, but when she had had a few drinks and started to flirt and enjoy herself, he got angry with her. These days she remembered, and her nervousness was increasing. Her hands shook when she lifted her wine glass. Tessa noticed all this, and it fuelled her hatred of Maurice. Myra, who had once gone to great lengths to keep her figure, no longer had to watch what she ate. Without trying she was thin, almost haggard.
    â€œTom Bryant’s coming to dinner,” Tessa crowed in the tack-room.
    Sarah looked worried.
    â€œNot a word, Tessa – not a word about Buffoon! Don’t go spouting your gab to Tom Bryant, of all people.”
    â€œBut we want him to ride!”
    â€œYes, and he’ll be asked, when the time’s right – if that day should ever come – by Mr Fellowes, not a twelve-year-old child.”
    Tessa was scorched by Sarah’s laser-purple eyes. Everyone flinched when Sarah was annoyed.
    â€œNo gossip at all!” she snapped. Then, in a resigned voice, “Not that we’ve any secrets here. No great talent to keep under wraps.” Then, with more interest, “No reason why you shouldn’t listen to their gossip, mind you, and report back.”
    All the same, Tessa was excited by the thought of meeting Tom Bryant and studying him as to his suitability to ride Buffoon.
    She spent a long time in the bathroom washing her hair and making sure there was no stable smell left about her. Apart from her hands and her short, broken nails, she thought she looked very elegant in a dark velvet dress that Myra had bought for her in London. She did not lack smart clothes, but hardly ever wore them. The imported dinner-party cooks seemed to be doing a good job, judging by the smell coming from the kitchen, and Maurice seemed to be in one of his rare good moods. Tessa thought her mother looked stunning in a black, beaded dress – perhaps her new slimness was becoming, after all – and a good deal of make-up brightened the usual wan complexion. After a couple of whiskies her old sparkle came back, and Tessa could quite see why Maurice had wanted to marry her. She remembered clearly the woman her mother had once been, bursting with high spirits, provocative and with a furious temper. The shadow of her old self was back, as she got up to welcome the guests at the front door.
    Tessa held back, and for once did not