by Dick Francis
She gave me a bright myopic smile from behind thick lensed glasses. ‘Could you just tell me what price they’re offering now in the ring?’
‘Of course.’
I raised my binoculars and scanned the boards of the bookmakers ranged in front of a sector of stands lying some way to our right. ‘It looks like evens Waterboy and five to four Grepitas, as far as I can see.’
‘So kind,’ said the green lady warmly.
I swung the binoculars round a little to search out Ganser Mays: and there he stood, halfway down the row of bookmakers lining the rails separating the Club Enclosure from Tattersall’s, a thin man of middle height with a large sharp nose, steel-rimmed spectacles and the manner of a high church clergyman. I had never liked him enough to do more than talk about the weather, but I had trusted him completely, and that had been foolish.
He was leaning over the rails, head bent, talking earnestly to someone in the Club Enclosure, someone hidden from me by a bunch of other people. Then the bunch shifted and moved away and the person behind them was Jody.
The anger in Jody’s body came over sharp and clear and his lower jaw moved vigorously in speech. Ganser Mays’ responses appeared more soothing than fierce and when Jody finally strode furiously away, Ganser Mays raised his head and looked after him with an expression more thoughtful than actively worried.
Ganser Mays had reached that point in a bookmaker’s career where outstanding personal success began to merge into the status of a large and respectable firm. In gamblers’ minds he was moving from an individual to an institution. A multiplying host of betting shops bore his name from Glasgow southwards, and recently he had announced that next Flat season he would sponsor a three-year-old sprint.
He still stood on the rails himself at big meetings to talk to his more affluent customers and keep them faithful. To open his big shark jaws and suck in all the new unwary little fish.
With a wince I swung my glasses away. I would never know exactly how much Jody and Ganser Mays had stolen from me in terms of cash, but in terms of dented self-respect they had stripped me of all but crumbs.
The race started, the super-hurdlers battled their hearts out, and Crepitas beat Waterboy by a length. The Tote would pay me a little because of him, and a great deal because of Energise, but two winning bets in one afternoon weren’t enough to dispel my depression. I dodged the tea-and-cakes, thanked Charlie for the lunch and said I’d see him later, and went down towards the weighing room again to see if inspiration would strike in the matter of a choice of trainers.
I heard hurrying footsteps behind me and a hand grabbed my arm.
‘Thank goodness I’ve found you.’
He was out of breath and looking worried. The young owner-driver I’d hired for Energise.
‘What is it? Box broken down?’
‘No… look, you did say your horse was black, didn’t you? I mean, I did get that right, didn’t I?’
Anxiety sharpened my voice. ‘Is there anything wrong with him?’
‘No… at least… not with him, no. But the horse which Mr Leeds has left for me to take is… well… a chestnut mare.’
I went with him to the stables. The gatekeeper still smiled with pleasure at things going wrong.
‘S’right,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Leeds went off a quarter of an hour ago in one of them hire boxes, one horse. Said his own box had had an accident and he was leaving Energise here, instructions of the owner.’
‘The horse he’s left is not Energise,’ I said.
‘Can’t help that, can I?’ he said virtuously.
I turned to the young man. ‘Chestnut mare with a big white blaze?’
He nodded.
‘That’s Asphodel. She ran in the first race today. Jody Leeds trains her. She isn’t mine.’
‘What will I do about her then?’
‘Leave her here,’ I said. ‘Sorry about this. Send me a bill for cancellation fees.’
He smiled and said he wouldn’t, which almost restored my faith in human nature. I thanked him for bothering to find me instead of keeping quiet, taking the wrong horse and then sending me a bill for work done. He looked shocked that anyone could be so cynical, and I reflected that until I learnt from Jody, I wouldn’t have been.
Jody had taken Energise after all.
I burnt with slow anger, partly because of my own lack of foresight. If he had been prepared to urge Andy-Fred to risk running me down I should have known that he wouldn’t give up at the first setback. He had been determined to get the better of me and whisk Energise back to his own stable and I’d under-estimated both his bloody-mindedness and his nerve.
I could hardly wait to be free of Jody. I went back to my car and drove away from the racecourse with no thoughts but of which trainer I would ask to take my horses and how soon I could get them transferred from one to the other.
Charlie smiled across the golden polished wood of the table in Parkes and pushed away his empty coffee cup. His cigar was half smoked, his port half drunk, and his stomach, if mine were anything to go by, contentedly full of some of the best food in London.
I wondered what he had looked like as a young man, before the comfortable paunch and the beginning of jowls. Big businessmen were all the better for a little weight, I thought. Lean-and-hungry was for the starters, the hotheads in a hurry. Charlie exuded maturity and wisdom with every excess pound.
He had smooth greying hair, thin on top and brushed back at the sides. Eyes deep set, nose large, mouth firmly straight. Not conventionally a good-looking face, but easy to remember. People who had once met Charlie tended to know him next time.
He had come alone, and the restaurant he had chosen consisted of several smallish rooms with three or four tables in each; a quiet place where privacy was easy. He had talked about racing, food, the Prime Minister and the state of the Stock Market, and still had not come to the point.
‘I get the impression,’ he said genially, ‘that you are waiting for something.’
‘You’ve never asked me to dine before.’
‘I like your company.’
‘And that’s all?’
He tapped ash off the cigar. ‘Of course not,’ he said.
‘I thought not,’ I smiled. ‘But I’ve probably eaten your dinner under false pretences.’
‘Knowingly?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know exactly what’s in your mind.’
‘Your vagueness,’ he said. ‘When someone like you goes into a sort of trance…’
‘I thought so,’ I sighed. ‘Well, that was no useful productive otherwhereness of mind, that was the aftermath of a practically mortal row I’d just had with Jody Leeds.’
He sat back in his chair. ‘What a pity.’
‘Pity about the row, or a pity about the absence of inspiration?’
‘Both, I dare say. What was the row about?’
‘I gave him the sack.’
He stared. ‘What on earth for?’
‘He said if I told anyone that, he’d sue me for slander.’
‘Oh, did he indeed!’ Charlie looked interested all over again, like a horse taking fresh hold of its bit. ‘And could he?’
‘I expect so.’
Charlie sucked a mouthful of smoke and trickled it out from one corner of his mouth.
‘Care to risk it?’ he said.
‘Your discretion’s better than most…’
‘Absolute,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
I believed him. I said, ‘He found a way of stealing huge sums from me so that I didn’t know I was being robbed.’
‘But you must have known that someone…’
I shook my head. ‘I dare say I’m not the first the trick’s been played on. It’s so deadly simple.’
‘Proceed,’ Charlie said. ‘You fascinate me.’
‘Right. Now suppose you are basically a good racehorse trainer but you’ve got a large and crooked thirst for unearned income.’
‘I’m supposing,’ Charlie said
.
‘First of all, then,’ I said, ‘you need a silly mug with a lot of money and enthusiasm and not much knowledge of racing.’
‘You?’ Charlie said.
‘Me.’ I nodded ruefully. ‘Someone recommends you to me as a good trainer and I’m impressed by your general air of competence and dedication, so I toddle up and ask you if you could find me a good horse, as I’d like to become an owner.’
‘And do I buy a good horse cheaply and charge you a fortune for it?’
‘No. You buy the very best horse you can. I am delighted, and you set about the training and very soon the horse is ready to run. At this point you tell me you know a very reliable bookmaker and you introduce me to him.’
‘Oh hum.’
‘As you say. The bookmaker however is eminently respectable and respected and as I am not used to betting in large amounts I am glad to be in the hands of so worthy a fellow. You, my trainer, tell me the horse shows great promise and I might think of a small each way bet on his first race. A hundred pounds each way, perhaps.’
‘A small bet!’ Charlie exclaimed.
‘You point out that that is scarcely more than three weeks’ training fees,’ I said.
‘I do?’
‘You do. So I gulp a little as I’ve always bet in tenners before and I stake a hundred each way. But sure enough the horse does run well and finishes third, and the bookmaker pays out a little instead of me paying him.’
I drank the rest of my glass of port. Charlie finished his and ordered more coffee.
‘Next time the horse runs,’ I went on, ‘you say it is really well and sure to win and if I ever want to have a big bet, now’s the time, before everyone else jumps on the bandwagon. The bookmaker offers me a good price and I feel euphoric and take the plunge.’
‘A thousand?’
I nodded. ‘A thousand.’
‘And?’
‘The word goes round and the horse starts favourite. It is not his day, though. He runs worse than the first time and finishes fifth. You are very upset. You can’t understand it. I find myself comforting you and telling you he is bound to run better next time.’
‘But he doesn’t run better next time?’
‘But he does. Next time he wins beautifully.’
‘But you haven’t backed it?’
‘Yes, I have. The price this time isn’t five to two as it was before, but six to one. I stake five hundred pounds and win three thousand. I am absolutely delighted. I have regained all the money I had lost and more besides, and I have also gained the prize money for the race. I pay the training bills out of the winnings and I have recouped part of the purchase price of the horse, and I am very happy with the whole business of being an owner. I ask you to buy me another horse. Buy two or three, if you can find them.’
‘And this time you get expensive duds?’
‘By no means. My second horse is a marvellous two-year-old. He wins his very first race. I have only a hundred on him, mind you, but as it is at ten to one, I am still very pleased. So next time out, as my horse is a hot favourite and tipped in all the papers, you encourage me to have a really big bet. Opportunities like this seldom arise, you tell me, as the opposition is hopeless. I am convinced, so I lay out three thousand pounds.’
‘My God,’ Charlie said.
‘Quite so. My horse sprints out of the stalls and takes the lead like the champion he is and everything is going splendidly. But then half way along the five furlongs a buckle breaks on the saddle and the girths come loose and the jockey has to pull up as best he can because by now he is falling off.’
‘Three thousand!’ Charlie said.
‘All gone,’ I nodded. ‘You are inconsolable. The strap was new, the buckle faulty. Never mind, I say kindly, gulping hard. Always another day.’
‘And there is?’
‘You’re learning. Next time out the horse is favourite again and I have five hundred on. He wins all right, and although I have not this time won back all I lost, well, it’s the second time the horse has brought home a decent prize, and taking all in all I am not out of pocket and I have had a great deal of pleasure and excitement. And I am well content.’
‘And so it goes on?’
‘And so, indeed, it goes on. I find I get more and more delight from watching horses. I get particular delight if the horses are my own, and although in time of course my hobby costs me a good deal of money, because owners on the whole don’t make a profit, I am totally happy and consider it well spent.’
‘And then what happens?’
‘Nothing really,’ I said. ‘I just begin to get these niggling suspicions and I thrust them out of my head and think how horribly disloyal I am being to you, after all the winners you have trained for me. But the suspicions won’t lie down. I’ve noticed, you see, that when I have my biggest bets, my horses don’t win.’
‘A lot of owners could say the same,’ Charlie said.
‘Oh sure. But I tot up all the big bets which didn’t come up, and they come to nearly forty thousand pounds.’
‘Good God.’
‘I am really ashamed of myself, but I begin to wonder. I say to myself, suppose… just suppose… that every time I stake anything over a thousand, my trainer and my bookmaker conspire together and simply keep the money and make sure my horse doesn’t win. Just suppose… that if I stake three thousand, they split it fifty fifty, and the horse runs badly, or is left, or the buckle on the girth breaks. Just suppose that next time out my horse is trained to the utmost and the race is carefully chosen and he duly wins, and I am delighted… just suppose that this time my bookmaker and my trainer are betting on the horse themselves… with the money they stole from me last time.’
Charlie looked riveted.
‘If my horse wins, they win. If my horse loses, they haven’t lost their own money, but only mine.’
‘Neat.’
‘Yes. So the weeks pass and now the Flat season is finished, and we are back again with the jumpers. And you, my trainer, have found and bought for me a beautiful young hurdler, a really top class horse. I back him a little in his first race and he wins it easily. I am thrilled. I am also worried, because you tell me there is a race absolutely made for him at Sandown Park which he is certain to win, and you encourage me to have a very big bet on him. I am by now filled with horrid doubts and fears, and as I particularly admire this horse I do not want his heart broken by trying to win when he isn’t allowed to… which I am sure happened to one or two of the others… so I say I will not back him.’
‘Unpopular?’
‘Very. You press me harder than ever before to lay out a large stake. I refuse. You are obviously annoyed and warn me that the horse will win and I will be sorry. I say I’ll wait till next time. You say I am making a big mistake.’
‘When do I say all this?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘And today?’ Charlie asked.
‘Today I am suffering from suspicion worse than ever. Today I think that maybe you will let the horse win if he can, just to prove I was wrong not to back him, so that next time you will have no difficulty at all in persuading me to have a bigger bet than ever.’
‘Tut tut.’
‘Yes. So today I don’t tell you that a little while ago… because of my awful doubts… I opened a credit account with the Tote, and today I also don’t tell you that I have backed my horse for a thousand pounds on my credit account.’
‘Deceitful of you.’
‘Certainly.’
‘And your horse wins,’ Charlie said, nodding.
‘He looked superb…’ I smiled wryly. ‘You tell me after the race that it is my own fault I didn’t back him. You say you did try to get me to. You say I’d do better to take your advice next time.’
‘And then?’
‘Then,’ I sighed, ‘all the weeks of suspicion just jelled into certainty. I knew he’d been cheating me in other ways too. Little ways. Little betrayals of friendship. Nothing enormous. I told him
there wasn’t going to be a next time. I said I would be taking the horses away.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘He didn’t ask why.’
‘Oh dear,’ Charlie said.
3
I told Charlie everything that had happened that day. All amusement died from his expression and by the end he was looking grim.
‘He’ll get away with it,’ he said finally.
‘Oh yes.’
‘You remember, I suppose, that his father’s a member of the Jockey Club?’
‘Yes.’
‘Above suspicion, is Jody Leeds.’
Jody’s father, Quintus Leeds, had achieved pillar-of-the-Turf status by virtue of being born the fifth son of a sporting peer, owning a few racehorses and knowing the right friends. He had a physically commanding presence, tall, large and handsome, and his voice and handshake radiated firm confidence. He was apt to give people straight piercing looks from fine grey eyes and to purse his mouth thoughtfully and shake his head as if pledged to secrecy when asked for an opinion. I privately thought his appearance and mannerisms were a lot of glossy window-dressing concealing a marked absence of goods, but there was no doubting that he was basically well-meaning and honest.
He was noticeably proud of Jody, puffing up his chest and beaming visibly in unsaddling enclosures from Epsom to York.
In his father’s eyes, Jody, energetic, capable and clever, could do no wrong. Quintus would believe in him implicitly, and for all his suspect shortness of intelligence he carried enough weight to sway official opinion.
As Jody had said, I couldn’t prove a thing. If I so much as hinted at theft he’d slap a lawsuit on me, and the bulk of the Jockey Club would be ranged on his side.
‘What will you do?’ Charlie said.
‘Don’t know.’ I half smiled. ‘Nothing, I suppose.’
‘It’s bloody unfair.’
“All crime is bloody unfair on the victim.’
Charlie made a face at the general wickedness of the world and called for the bill.
Outside we turned left and walked down Beauchamp Place together, having both, as it happened, parked our cars round the corner in Walton Street. The night was cold, cloudy, dry and still windy. Charlie pulled his coat collar up round his ears and put on thick black leather gloves.