and declaring. The website is fairly straight forward; I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Any complicated phone calls just take messages for now and we’ll sort them out later. I need to call the vet out to take a look at Try That’s leg, but I’ll do that from my mobile. Have a look at the emails, but don’t do anything until I get back. Most of them will be from people wanting photos and shoes and tail hairs from Virtuoso.’
‘Who’s Virtuoso?’
Jack shook his head helplessly.
‘We won the Cheltenham Gold Cup with him earlier this year. Won eight Grade Ones on the bounce. He’s a bit of a celebrity.’
‘I know Cheltenham!’ Pippa cried, excited that she knew something to do with horseracing.
‘Good, that’s reassuring. Think you can cope?’
‘Piece of cake,’ Pippa grinned.
Jack almost smiled, but ended up just looking grim. He seemed loathe to leave her on her own, but after a moment he kicked into action.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ He paused by the door. ‘If you get chilly, there’s an electric heater in my office. The heating in here works, but it isn’t up to scratch.’
She smiled her thanks and watched him walk out into the cold.
Taking a deep breath, Pippa turned to the computer on her desk and switched it on. It whirred into life and an icy dread clutched her throat as a box popped up.
Username
Password
Oh, God. He hadn’t mentioned that bit. Thankfully the username was already filled in, but the password field gaped white. The cursor flashed, almost like it was daring Pippa to try. She darted a look towards the door. She was damned if she was going to fall at the first hurdle by running to Jack before he’d hardly walked out of the office.
‘Right. Let’s think.’ She flexed her fingers over the keyboard then, taking a deep breath, tapped out Aspenvalley . She hit Return.
Incorrect password. Please ensure CAPS lock is switched off before trying again.
‘Okay, so it’s not that. How about... password ?’
It was the oldest trick in the book. It was like the banks who advise you not to use 1234 as your PIN number, but it’s the last thing any thief will think of since nobody is so stupid to use it.
Incorrect password...
‘Oh, shit. Okay, maybe not so clever.’ Pippa bit her lower lip. How many attempts would it give her before locking her out completely? Her laptop at home only ever gave her three tries before telling her to contact the system administrator. Who would the system administrator be here? She had an uneasy feeling it was meant to be her.
She flipped through a notebook on the desk, but it was just full of horses and race meetings, written in an almost illegible scrawl. The drawers under the desk didn’t give her any clues either. Pippa frowned at the flashing cursor. It reminded her of someone tapping their fingers on a counter, waiting for you to make your decision. She looked around for more inspiration. The white walls were stark and bare apart from a couple of small framed photographs of horses winning races.
‘Of course!’ she cried. Eagerly, she punched in the letters.
Virtuoso
Pippa whooped as the box disappeared and Windows began to load.
With a triumphal jab to the Return key, Pippa leaned back and smiled at the screen then gave a curt nod at the door and towards Jack’s general direction. It was five to ten and all the entries and declarations had been completed. She’d had three phone calls – one from the farrier who said that he was running about half an hour late, another from someone wanting a photograph of Virtuoso (and if at all possible, Jack Carmichael as well, the caller had asked shyly), and another from an owner who wouldn’t leave a message, but would call back later.
This secretarial lark was easier than waitressing. What she been worrying about?
It didn’t cross her mind that this was but the calm of an eight-month National Hunt storm season and only the tip of the iceberg.
‘How’s it gone this
‘Who’s Virtuoso?’
Jack shook his head helplessly.
‘We won the Cheltenham Gold Cup with him earlier this year. Won eight Grade Ones on the bounce. He’s a bit of a celebrity.’
‘I know Cheltenham!’ Pippa cried, excited that she knew something to do with horseracing.
‘Good, that’s reassuring. Think you can cope?’
‘Piece of cake,’ Pippa grinned.
Jack almost smiled, but ended up just looking grim. He seemed loathe to leave her on her own, but after a moment he kicked into action.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ He paused by the door. ‘If you get chilly, there’s an electric heater in my office. The heating in here works, but it isn’t up to scratch.’
She smiled her thanks and watched him walk out into the cold.
Taking a deep breath, Pippa turned to the computer on her desk and switched it on. It whirred into life and an icy dread clutched her throat as a box popped up.
Username
Password
Oh, God. He hadn’t mentioned that bit. Thankfully the username was already filled in, but the password field gaped white. The cursor flashed, almost like it was daring Pippa to try. She darted a look towards the door. She was damned if she was going to fall at the first hurdle by running to Jack before he’d hardly walked out of the office.
‘Right. Let’s think.’ She flexed her fingers over the keyboard then, taking a deep breath, tapped out Aspenvalley . She hit Return.
Incorrect password. Please ensure CAPS lock is switched off before trying again.
‘Okay, so it’s not that. How about... password ?’
It was the oldest trick in the book. It was like the banks who advise you not to use 1234 as your PIN number, but it’s the last thing any thief will think of since nobody is so stupid to use it.
Incorrect password...
‘Oh, shit. Okay, maybe not so clever.’ Pippa bit her lower lip. How many attempts would it give her before locking her out completely? Her laptop at home only ever gave her three tries before telling her to contact the system administrator. Who would the system administrator be here? She had an uneasy feeling it was meant to be her.
She flipped through a notebook on the desk, but it was just full of horses and race meetings, written in an almost illegible scrawl. The drawers under the desk didn’t give her any clues either. Pippa frowned at the flashing cursor. It reminded her of someone tapping their fingers on a counter, waiting for you to make your decision. She looked around for more inspiration. The white walls were stark and bare apart from a couple of small framed photographs of horses winning races.
‘Of course!’ she cried. Eagerly, she punched in the letters.
Virtuoso
Pippa whooped as the box disappeared and Windows began to load.
With a triumphal jab to the Return key, Pippa leaned back and smiled at the screen then gave a curt nod at the door and towards Jack’s general direction. It was five to ten and all the entries and declarations had been completed. She’d had three phone calls – one from the farrier who said that he was running about half an hour late, another from someone wanting a photograph of Virtuoso (and if at all possible, Jack Carmichael as well, the caller had asked shyly), and another from an owner who wouldn’t leave a message, but would call back later.
This secretarial lark was easier than waitressing. What she been worrying about?
It didn’t cross her mind that this was but the calm of an eight-month National Hunt storm season and only the tip of the iceberg.
‘How’s it gone this
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