by Dick Francis
‘He let you bet until you were very deeply in debt?’
‘Yes. Encouraged me. I mean, I suppose I should have known… but he was so friendly, you see. All the summer… Flat racing, every day… on the telephone.’
‘Until all this happened,’ I said, ‘did you bet much?’
‘I’ve always liked betting. Studying the form. Picking the good things, following hunches. Never any good, I suppose, but probably any money I ever had went on horses. I’d get someone to put it on for me, on the Tote, when I was ten, and so on. Always. I mean, I won often too, of course. Terrific wins, quite often.’
‘Mm.’
‘Everyone who goes racing bets,’ he said. ‘What else do they go for? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a gamble, everyone does it. It’s fun.’
‘Mm,’ I said again. ‘But you were betting every day, several bets a day, even though you didn’t go.’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘And then one day,’ I said, ‘it stopped being fun?’
‘The Hove Stakes at Brighton,’ he said. ‘In September.’
‘What about it?’
‘Three runners. Slateroof couldn’t be beaten. Maynard Allardeck told me. Help yourself, he said. Recoup your losses.’
‘When did he tell you?’
‘Few days before. At the races. Ascot. I went with my parents, and he happened to be there too.’
‘And did you go to Brighton?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Rang up the bookmaker. He said he couldn’t give me a good price, Slateroof was a certainty, everyone knew it. Five to one on, he said. If I bet twenty, I could win four.’
‘So you bet twenty pounds?’
‘No.’ Hugh looked surprised. ‘Twenty thousand.’
‘Twenty… thousand.’ I kept my voice steady, unemotional. ‘Was that, er, a big bet, for you, by that time?’
‘Biggish. I mean, you can’t win much in fivers, can you?’
You couldn’t lose much either, I thought. I said, ‘What was normal?’
‘Anything between one thousand and twenty. I mean, I got there gradually, I suppose. I got used to it. Maynard Allardeck said one had to think big. I never thought of how much they really were. They were just numbers.’ He paused, looking unhappy. ‘I know it sounds stupid to say it now, but none of it seemed real. I mean, I never had to pay anything out. It was all done on paper. When I won, I felt great. When I lost I didn’t really worry. I don’t suppose you’ll understand. Dad didn’t. He couldn’t understand how I could have been so stupid. But it just seemed like a game… and everyone smiled…’
‘So Slateroof got beaten?’
‘He didn’t even start. He got left flat-footed in the stalls.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I remember reading about it. There was an enquiry and the jockey got fined.’
‘Yes, but the bets stood, of course.’
‘So what happened next?’ I said.
‘I got this frightful account from the bookmaker. He’d totted up everything, he said, and it seemed to be getting out of hand, and he’d like to be paid. I mean, there were pages of it.’
‘Records of all the bets you’d made with him?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Winners and losers. Many more losers. I mean, there were some losers I couldn’t remember backing; though he swore I had, he said he would produce his office records to prove it, if I liked, but he said I was ungenerous to make such a suggestion when he’d been so accommodating and patient.’ Hugh swallowed. ‘I don’t know if he cheated me, I just don’t. I mean, I did bet on two horses in the same race quite often, I know that, but I didn’t realise I’d done it so much.’
‘And you’d kept no record, yourself, of how much you’d bet, and what on?’
‘I didn’t think of it. I mean, I could remember. I mean, I thought I could.’
‘Mm. Well, what next?’
‘Maynard Allardeck telephoned me at home and said he’d heard from our mutual bookmaker that I was in difficulties, and could he help, as he felt sort of responsible, having introduced me, so to speak. He said we could meet somewhere and perhaps he could suggest some solutions. So I met him for lunch in a restaurant in London, and talked it all over. He said I should confess to my father and get him to pay my debts but I said I couldn’t, he would be so angry, he’d no idea Id gambled so much, he was always lecturing me about taking care of money. And I didn’t want to disappoint him, if you can understand that? I didn’t want him to be upset. I mean, I expect it sounds silly, but it wasn’t really out of fear, it was, well, sort of love, really, only it’s difficult to explain.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘go on.’
‘Maynard Allardeck said not to worry, he could see why I couldn’t tell my father, it reflected well on me, he said, and he would lend me the money himself, and I could pay him back slowly, and he would just charge me a little over, if I thought that was fair. And I did think it was fair, of course. I was so extremely relieved. I thanked him a lot, over and over.’
‘So Maynard Allardeck paid your bookmaker?’
‘Yes.’ Hugh nodded. ‘I got a final account from him marked “Paid with thanks”, and a note saying it would be best if I laid off betting for a while, but if I needed him in the future, he would accommodate me again. I mean, I thought it very fair and kind, wouldn’t you?’
‘Mm,’ I said dryly. ‘And then after a while Maynard Allardeck told you he was short of money himself and would have to call in the debt?’
‘Yes,’ Hugh said in surprise. ‘How did you know? He was so apologetic and embarrassed I almost felt sorry for him, though he was putting me in a terrible hole. Terrible. And then he suggested a way round it, which was so easy… so simple… like the sun coming out. I couldn’t think why I hadn’t thought of it myself.’
‘Hugh,’ I asked slowly, ‘what did you have, that he wanted?’
‘My shares in the Towncrier,’ he said.
EIGHTEEN
He took my breath away. Oh my Christ, I thought. Bloody bingo.
Talk about the sun coming out. So simple, so easy. Why hadn’t I thought of it myself.
‘Your shares in the Towncrier…’
‘Yes,’ Hugh said. ‘They were left to me by my grandfather. I mean, I didn’t know I had them, until I was twenty-one.’
‘In August.’
‘Yes. That’s right. Anyway, it seemed to solve everything. I mean it did solve everything, didn’t it? Maynard Allardeck looked up the proper market value and everything, and gave me two or three forms to sign, which I did, and then he said that was fine, we were all square, I had no more debts. I mean, it was so easy. And it wasn’t all of my shares. Not even half.’
‘How much were the shares worth, that you gave Allardeck?’
He said as if such figures were commonplace, ‘Two hundred and fifty-four thousand pounds.’
After a pause I said, ‘Didn’t it upset you… so much money?’
‘Of course not. It was only on paper. And Maynard Allardeck laughed and said if I ever felt like gambling again, well, I had the collateral, and we could always come to the same arrangement again, if it was necessary. I begged him not to tell my father, and he said no, he wouldn’t.’
‘But your father found out?’
‘Yes, it was something to do with voting shares, or preference snares or debentures. I’m really not sure, I didn’t know what they were talking about, but they were busy fending off a takeover. They’re always fending off takeovers, but this one had them all dead worried, and somewhere in the Towncrier they discovered that half of my shares had gone, and Dad made me tell him what I’d done… and he was so angry… I’d never seen him angry… never like that…’
His voice faded away, his eyes stark with remembrance.
‘He sent me here to Saul Bradley and he said if I ever bet on anything ever again I could never go home… I want him… I do… to forgive me. I want to go home.’
He stopped. The intensity of his feelings stared
into the lens. I let the camera run for a few silent seconds, and then turned it off.
‘I’ll show him the film,’ I said.
‘Do you think…?’
‘In time he’ll forgive you? Yes, I’d say so.’
‘I could go back to just the odd bet in cash on the Tote.’ His eyes were speculative, his air much too hopeful. The infection too deep in his system.
‘Hugh,’ I said, ‘would you mind if I gave you some advice?’
‘No. Fire away.’
‘Take some practical lessons about money. Go away without any, find out it’s not just numbers on a page, learn it’s the difference between eating and hunger. Bet your dinner, and if you lose, see if it’s worth it.’
He said earnestly, ‘Yes, I do see what you mean. But I might win.’ And I wondered doubtfully whether one could ever reform an irresponsible gambler, be he rich, poor, or the heir to the Towncrier.
I drove back to London, added the Hugh Vaughnley tape to the others in the hotel’s care, and went upstairs for another session of staring blindly at the walls. Then I telephoned Holly, and got Bobby instead.
‘How’s things,’ I said.
‘Not much different. Holly’s lying down, do you want to talk to her?’
‘You’ll do fine.’
‘I’ve had some more cheques from the owners. Almost everyone’s paid.’
‘That’s great.’
‘They’re a drop in the ocean.’ His voice sounded tired. ‘Will your valet cash them again?’
‘Sure to.’
‘Even then,’ he said, ‘we’re right at the end.’
‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘you haven’t heard any more from the Flag? No letter? No money?’
‘Not a thing.’
I sighed internally and said, ‘Bobby, I want to talk to your father.’
‘It won’t do any good. You know what he was like the other day. He’s stubborn and mean, and he hates us.’
‘He hates me,’ I said, ‘and Holly. Not you.’
‘One wouldn’t guess it,’ he said bitterly.
‘I’ve no rides on Tuesday,’ I said. ‘Persuade him to come to your house on Tuesday afternoon. I’m schooling at Wykeham’s place in the morning.’
‘It’s impossible. He wouldn’t come here.’
‘He might,’ I said, ‘if you tell him he was right all along, every Fielding is your enemy, and you want his help in getting rid of me, out of your life.’
‘Kit!’ he was outraged. ‘I can’t do that. It’s the last thing I want.’
‘And if you can bring yourself to it, tell him you’re getting tired of Holly, as well.’
‘No. How can I? I love her so much… I couldn’t make it sound true.’
‘Bobby, nothing less will bring him. Can you think of anything else? I’ve been thinking for hours. If you can get him there some other way, we’ll do it your way.’
After a pause he said, ‘He would come out of hate. Isn’t that awful? He’s my father…’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘What do you want to talk to him about?’
‘A proposition. Help for you in return for something he’d want. But don’t tell him that. Don’t tell him I’m coming. Just get him there, if you can.’
He said doubtfully, ‘He’ll never help us. Never.’
‘Well, we’ll see. At least give it a try.’
‘Yes, all right, but for heaven’s sake, Kit…’
‘What?’
‘It’s dreadful to say it, but where you’re concerned… I think he’s dangerous.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘It goes back so far… When I was little he taught me to hit things… with my fists, with a stick, anything, and he told me to think I was hitting Kit Fielding.’
I took a breath. ‘Like in the garden?’
‘God, Kit… I’ve been so sorry.’
‘I told you. I mean it. It’s all right.’
‘I’ve been thinking about you, and remembering so much. Things I’d forgotten, like him telling me the Fieldings would eat me if I was naughty… I must have been three or four. I was scared stiff.’
‘When you were four, I was two.’
‘It was your father and your grandfather who would eat me. Then when you were growing up he told me to hit Kit Fielding, he taught me how, he said one day it would be you and I, we would have to fight. I’d forgotten all that… but I remember it now.’
‘My grandfather,’ I sighed, ‘gave me a punchbag and taught me how to hit it. That’s Bobby Allardeck, he said. Bash him.’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘Ask Holly. She knows.’
‘Bloody, weren’t they.’
‘it’s finished now,’ I said.
We disconnected and I got through to Danielle and said how about lunch and tea and dinner.
‘Are you planning to eat all those?’ she said.
‘All or any.’
‘All, then.’
‘I’ll come straight round.’
She opened the Eaton Square front door as I braked to a halt and came across the pavement with a spring in her step, an evocation of summer in a flower-patterned jacket over cream trousers, the chintz band holding back the fluffy hair.
She climbed into the car beside me and kissed me as if from old habit.
‘Aunt Casilia sends her regards and hopes we’ll have a nice day.’
‘And back by midnight?’
‘I would think so, wouldn’t you?’
‘Does she notice?’
‘She sure does. I go past their rooms to get to mine – she and Uncle Roland sleep separately – and the floors creak. She called me in last night to ask if I’d enjoyed myself. She was sitting in bed, reading, looking a knock-out as usual. I told her what we’d done and showed her the chest of drawers… we had quite a long talk.’
I studied her face. She looked seriously back.
‘What did she say?’ I asked.
‘It matters to you, doesn’t it, what she thinks?’
‘Yes.’
‘I guess she’d be glad.’
‘Tell me, then.’
‘Not yet.’ She smiled swiftly, almost secretly. ‘What about this lunch?’
We went to a restaurant up a tower and ate looking out over half of London. ‘Consommé and strawberries… you’ll be good for my figure,’ she said.
‘Have some sugar and cream.’
‘Not if you don’t.’
‘You’re thin enough,’ I said.
‘Don’t you get tired of it?’
‘Of not eating much? I sure do.’
‘But you never let up?’
‘A pound overweight in the saddle,’ I said wryly, ‘can mean a length’s difference at the winning post.’
‘End of discussion.’
Over coffee I asked if there was anywhere she’d like to go, though I apologised that most of London seemed to shut on Sundays, especially in November.
‘I’d like to see where you live,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see Lambourn.’
‘Right,’ I said, and drove her there, seventy miles westwards down the M4 motorway, heading back towards Devon, keeping this time law-abidingly within the speed limit, curling off into the large village, small town, where the church stood at the main crossroads and a thousand thoroughbreds lived in boxes.
it’s quiet,’ she said.
‘It’s Sunday.’
‘Where’s your cottage?’
‘We’ll drive past there,’ I said. ‘But we’re not going in.’
She was puzzled, and, it seemed, disappointed, looking across at me lengthily. ‘Why not?’
I explained about the break in, and the police saying the place had been searched. ‘The intruders found nothing they wanted, and they stole nothing. But I’d bet they left something behind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Creepy-crawlies.’
‘Bugs?’
‘Mm,’ I said. ‘That’s it over there.’
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We went past slowly. There was no sign of life. No sign of heavy men lying in the bushes with sharp knives, which they wouldn’t be by then, not after three days. Too boring, too cold. Listening somewhere, though, those two, or others.
The cottage was brick-built, rather plain, and would perhaps have looked better in June, with the roses.
‘It’s all right inside,’ I said.
‘Yuh.’ She sounded downcast. ‘OK. That’s that.’
I drove around and up a hill and took her to the new house instead.
‘Whose is this?’ she said. ‘This is great.’
‘This is mine.’ I got out of the car, fishing for keys. ‘It’s empty. Come and look.’
The bright day was fading but there was enough direct sunlight to shine horizontally through the windows and light the big empty rooms, and although the air inside was cold, the central heating, when I switched it on, went into smooth operation with barely a hiccup. There were a few light sockets with bulbs in, but no shades. No curtains. No carpets. Woodblock floor everywhere, swept but not polished. Signs of builders all over the place.
‘They’re just starting to paint,’ I said, opening the double doors from the hall to the sitting room. ‘I’ll move in alongside, if they don’t hurry up.’
There were trestles in the sitting room set up for reaching the ceiling, and an army of tubs of paint, and dustsheets all over the flooring to avoid spatters.
‘It’s huge,’ she said. ‘Incredible.’
‘It’s got a great kitchen. An office. Lots of things.’ I explained about the bankrupt builder. ‘He designed it for himself.’
We went around and through everywhere and ended in the big room which led directly off the sitting room, the room where I would sleep. It seemed that the decorators had started with that: it was clean, bare and finished, the bathroom painted and tiled, the wood-blocks faintly gleaming with the first layer of polish, the western sun splashing in patches on the white walls.
Danielle stood by the window looking out at the muddy expanse which by summer would be a terrace, with geraniums in pots. The right person… in the right place… at the right time.