“Nick! How nice..” She paused to listen then added, “Oh, I’m fine. Excited, of course and the morning is dragging like hell! As for how I slept… did you really need to ask? So, who needs it anyway?” She laughed, then paused as the voice at the other end temporarily took command of the conversation. A smile creased her face as she listened to Nick’s familiar banter, bred of their long-standing association.

Nicholas Bartholomew had been her doctor and her friend for more than twenty years. In that time, he had counselled, guided and sustained her through several episodes of physical and emotional crises. She had always relied on his good sense and sound judgement and he had never failed her. He was dispensing another dose of good sense now.

She leaned back in the chair and let her gaze wander around the room, appreciating its elegant decor. The ten feet high ceiling with its ornate centre-piece and deep, intricately patterned cornice; the crystal chandeliers; the expensively papered walls upon which hung many splendid original canvases by renowned artists; the many fine pieces of antique furniture, porcelain and silverware. She loved this room. She loved this house, but especially she loved this room.

Nick’s voice had finally fallen silent and she replied with mock severity.

“Oh, stop being such an old fuss-pot, Nick! I’m O.K! Really! Just a few butterflies in the tum, that’s all. You wouldn’t begrudge me those, surely? Apart from that, I’m fine. I had breakfast before seven… had my hair titivated at eight. Since then, I’ve studied the Form Guide and you know how I study!”

She gave a small laugh as he murmured his acknowledgment.

“I’ve picked my fancies for all the other races at Flemington today and I’ve read every word of what the punting pundits and the galloping gurus have to say about which horse will win the Cup and why. They’ll be eating their words for dinner tonight, mark my words! Am I biased? Or am I biased?”

She gave another little laugh at his response, then continued.

“I’ve even read all the boring bumf and ballyhoo about who’s going to be at Flemington today and with whom… and the usual inane gup and guff about the current love-lives of the glitterati. As if anybody cares! There! Now, doesn’t that all go to prove that I’m treating it as just another day? Just another day! Holy cow! Who’s kidding who?”

She laughed again, then listened for another long moment before replying.

PIMRC