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striking figure, and it was easy to see, in the middle-aged man, the good-looking young lad-about-town who had swept a seventeen-year-old debutante off her feet at a summer ball some twenty-five years before. The intervening period had added to that charm an indefinable presence born of success, so that he seemed to inexorably draw the eye, dominating any gathering at which he was present.
    Reclining in a gold brocade wing chair, with a glass of red wine in his hand, Charlie Brewer looked up as his daughter and her fiancé entered, but it was his wife, Joy, who stood and came to meet them across the immaculate cream carpet.
    'Ah, here they are. Hello darling! Oh dear! How's that ankle of yours, Matt?' she asked in quick sympathy, her brows drawing down over a pair of fine brown eyes. Slim, with long blonde hair, she was often mistaken for an elder sister rather than the mother of her four grown-up children. Matt was extremely fond of her.
    'It'll be fine in a day or two,' he assured her, as they exchanged kisses.
    'Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't ridden Smythe's horse,' Brewer commented from across the room. 'Missed out on Secundo, didn't you?'
    'Yes. That'll teach me, won't it?' Matt observed, with a quizzical smile. 'Still, Jamie did a good job on him.'
    Brewer grunted. 'That horse would have won whoever was on his back, but that's not the point. You're the stable jockey.'
    'Yes, well let's not start the evening with an argument, darling,' Joy put in. 'Matt didn't hurt his foot on purpose, I imagine.'
    Matt was grateful to her. As stable jockey, he was technically employed by Leonard and answerable to him alone, but, because of the trainer's dependence on Brewer, the issue was a little confused. Brewer was strongly of the opinion that Matt should ride for Rockfield and no other yard, even to the point of offering to subsidise him for any loss of income, but Matt wasn't prepared to sign up for that. He liked to be busy; he liked variety; and he was also very wary of placing all his eggs in one basket. Besides which, as his reputation continued to grow, he was getting some really good rides from other yards. The Champion Hurdle win had been on a horse from Doogie McKenzie's yard and the Scottish trainer had a number of youngsters that he was looking forward to riding.
    Kendra left his side to go and give her father a kiss and, glancing round the room, Matt waved a hand and voiced an all-encompassing greeting. He did a swift head count. There would be eight sitting down to dinner on this occasion, as the whole family was present. He knew Kendra's two elder sisters, Grace and Frances, and her younger brother, Deacon, who was seated in one of the wing chairs with one of his two Persian cats on his lap. The only person he didn't recognise was a young man who was sitting on the settee next to Kendra's eldest sister, Grace.
    'Come and meet Rupert,' Joy said, taking Matt's arm and steering him towards the pair.
    As they approached, the young man rose to his feet and Matt found that he was of a similar height and age to himself, with receding blond hair and rather weak, pale blue eyes. His carefully casual clothes screamed money, from the Calvin Klein polo shirt down to the toes of his Timberland leather trainers.
    'Rupert Beaufort,' the young man announced, before Joy had a chance to introduce him. He stretched out a beautifully manicured hand. 'And you must be the jockey.'
    'That's right,' Matt agreed, shaking the soft-skinned hand and quelling an impulse to tighten his grip and wipe the slightly patronising smile off Beaufort's face. 'Matt Shepherd.'
    'Rupert's father is Jarvis Beaufort,' Grace announced, in the tone of one imparting a golden nugget of information. She stood up and came forward to put her hand on Beaufort's designer-jacketed arm. 'He owns Beaufort's the Jewellers.'
    And diamonds are a girl's best friend , Matt thought dryly, raising his eyebrows and inclining his head in a spurious show of interest.
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