Deadfall

by Lyndon Stacey

  The first fence, low as always and made up of oil barrels and a rail, rushed at them and was negotiated somewhere mid-stride, with no discernible interruption to their forward progress. The second and third fences went much the same way, but they met the fourth obstacle on entirely the wrong stride and Steamer clouted it hard, his momentum causing him to stumble and nearly pitch on his nose.

  Linc, realising some way out what was on the cards, sat back a little and managed to stay in the saddle, taking advantage of Steamer's momentary loss of impulsion to shorten his reins still further and clamp his legs on hard. It took all his strength and wrenched his damaged muscles unmercifully, but it worked. The big grey came up short, snorting with indignation, and by anchoring his thumbs in the neckstrap of Steamer's breast-girth Linc was able to keep him steady most of the way to the combination of jumps which formed fence five.

  Once Steamer realised that several rails were involved, he concentrated and accepted a certain amount of guidance, with the result of making the whole thing look easy. As they galloped away towards the sixth, Linc slapped the hot, dappled neck and heard the announcer say in unemotional tones, 'Lincoln Tremayne and Night Train are safely through the Valley Copse complex and heading for the Bullfinch.'

  This matter-of-fact report on his progress was so far removed from his frantic battle for control of the exuberant grey that it seemed almost surreal. As they thundered down a couple of hundred yards or so of clear turf, Linc wondered with amusement if the disembodied voice behind the public address system would still sound so flat if it had to say, 'Lincoln Tremayne and Night Train have missed fence six, left the course and are heading for Swindon.'

  As it turned out, they negotiated the next few fences without mishap, and it occurred to Linc that Steamer might actually have given himself a bit of a fright by hitting the fourth so hard. They were now just over halfway round the course; the lake fence with its problematical bounce-in loomed, and Linc's whole body ached with fatigue.

  They burst from the trees, travelling down the long slope towards the lake, and with each stride his control of the horse slipped a fraction more. It was exactly the situation that Linc had hoped to avoid. The sensible course of action was undoubtedly to pull the horse into a circle until he slowed up, but circling once inside the penalty zone meant twenty points added to their score, and now Steamer had seen the jump, Linc wasn't sure he had the strength to turn him anyway.

  By the time they reached the first of the two logs, Steamer was flying. At the last moment he seemed to see the second log, bunched his quarters, stretched his forelegs out and launched himself skywards. After what seemed like an age suspended in mid-air, horse and rider landed in the brownish water of the lake with a colossal splash that must have drenched the photographer who crouched nearby.

  How the horse kept his feet, Linc would never know, but somehow he did, and as the weight of the water dragged at his legs, Linc was able to recover from his position up by the grey ears and turn him in the direction of the exit fence and dry land. Seconds later they were out and powering up the bank on the far side to the accompaniment of a huge cheer from the ranks of spectators. The incline allowed Linc a little breathing space and by the time they had made it safely to the other side of a bank and rails near the top of the hill, Steamer had worked off his excessive energy and settled to a pace that was brisk but no longer potentially suicidal.

  It occurred to Linc, as they flew the end-to-end park benches that made up the last fence, that here was a horse tailor-made for the gruelling world of three-day eventing. Quite possibly, two sessions of roads and tracks, totalling an hour or more, with a couple of miles over steeplechase fences in between, might temper the air of wild excitement with which he approached the cross-country course. And in spite of the nerve-shredding round he'd just experienced, Linc found himself hoping that he'd be the one to find out.

  Once across the finishing line, Steamer relaxed his jaw and slowed his pace, dropping back to a walk in a very few strides and turning with obvious affection to meet Dee as she hurried forward with Josie a pace or two behind.

  'Bloody hell!' Josie exclaimed explosively. 'I can't believe you got round in one piece!'

  'That makes two of us,' Linc agreed with a slight smile.

  'Have you seen your time?'

  He shook his head. He'd deactivated his stopwatch out of habit on crossing the finish line but hadn't looked at it. If the truth were told he was having a little trouble focussing on anything just at that moment. There was a buzzing in his ears and his vision was a patchwork of dark and light.

  Kicking his feet free of the stirrups, he swung his right leg back over Steamer's rump and slid to the ground, keeping hold of the saddle to steady himself as his knees threatened to give way under his weight. For three or four seconds the dark blotches were in danger of eclipsing the light ones completely, then they slowly cleared.

  'You were nearly half a minute inside the optimum! Hey, are you all right?' Josie put a hand on his arm.

  'Yeah. Just give me a sec.'

  'Perhaps I should have given you the oats,' Dee suggested, smiling broadly. 'You look exhausted, but Steamer looks as though he could go round again.'

  'It would probably do him good!' Linc said with feeling. 'He's a complete maniac!'

  'But he got round. You're a clever boy,' she told the horse, apparently writing off Linc's part in the achievement.

  Once the formalities had been observed, Dee happily led her 'clever boy' off towards her lorry and the promise of a carrot, and Linc made his weary way back to find Ruth. Josie fell in beside him and slipped her arm through his.

  'Lean on me, if you like,' she offered. 'You look all in.'

  'I should have had more doughnuts,' he joked, trying, nevertheless, not to use her as a support. 'Wherever we go you seem to end up helping me home!'

  Back at the lorry, Noddy and Magic were already loaded and contentedly munching hay. Ruth, Nikki and Sandy were all sitting on the lowered ramp enjoying the sun and eating ice creams.

  'How'd it go?' Ruth called. 'We heard that you'd got round, but not much of the stuff before that. Was he good?'

  'In a manner of speaking,' Linc said. 'He went clear anyway.'

  'Oh, well done!'

  'You look cream-crackered,' Sandy remarked. 'Absolutely fished!'

  'Fished?' Ruth echoed, incredulously.

  'Fish pasted. Wasted,' Sandy supplied, adding proudly, 'I made that one up myself.'

  'Actually it's quite descriptive,' Linc said. 'Fished. I wouldn't mind but the horse looked as fresh as a daisy!'

  Ruth drove the lorry on the homeward trip. It was only a small two-horse box and therefore not subject to HGV restrictions, and Linc was quite happy to leave the driving to her. Josie had to return, as she had come, in the E-type, but the kiss she had given him on parting, albeit on the cheek, left him in a haze of pleasurable contentment.

  On the way home, the three of them chattered lazily about anything and everything. Nikki hadn't heard about the fire at South Lodge Farm and was interested to learn of Jim Pepper's possible involvement.

  'I thought he'd moved away,' she said. 'Until I saw him coming out of The Wheatsheaf the other day with that forester chap.'

  'Jack Reagan?' Linc asked sharply.

  'Is that his name? Big chap; dark curly hair? Yes, it is Reagan, isn't it? I remember now.'

  'And they were together?'

  'They seemed to be. Unless they just happened to come out at the same time. But, no – because Reagan kind of slapped him on the back as they parted. I didn't think much of it at the time, but I suppose it was a bit odd . . .'

  'When was this? Can you remember?'

  'Um . . . I'm not sure. I think I was on my way to the gym but I can't remember which day. It could have been Tuesday or Thursday. With Mum here my usual routine's gone to pot.'

  'So why the sudden interest in keeping fit?' Linc quizzed her. 'Cris says you've got a personal trainer.'

  'Yes, Terry
Fagan. He used to work as a bouncer for my father but he's a trained fitness instructor now.'

  Ruth was impressed. 'Wow! That's the in thing, isn't it? All the celebrities have them. A few years ago it was personal shrinks, now it's fitness coaches.' She put on a plummy voice. 'No trainer? But, dahling, you must! Everybody has one.'

  Nikki laughed. 'It's not like that. I've known Terry for years. He moved down here and wanted a reference for a job at the Silver Pine, and it just went from there.'

  That explained her show of affection for him outside the leisure centre, Linc thought, but he couldn't help wondering how far it had gone 'from there'.

  As Ruth parked the lorry in the Vicarage stableyard, the work began again. A one-day event, with its three separate components, is quite a strain on a horse and the tough nature of the cross-country course lays it open to all kinds of cuts, grazes and bruising. Noddy and Magic needed hosing down to remove the last traces of grease before having their legs meticulously inspected for signs of injury. Having satisfied themselves that none had been sustained, Linc and Ruth applied cooling poultices to Magic's slightly filled legs while Nikki made up a small, easily digestible bran mash for the horses.

  With three of them on the job, the lorry was soon emptied and cleaned, and the tack wiped over, and with Ruth promising to give both horses another, more nutritious feed later, Linc left Noddy rugged up and munching on a haynet, and drove Nikki back to Farthingscourt.

  'Pity you didn't win anything,' she remarked after a few moments. 'They all went so well. Even that mad thing you rode last!'

  'Steamer could be the best of the lot, if I could only get him settled. I'd like to try him in a different bit, but Dee says he's the same whatever you put in his mouth.'

  'Well, I wouldn't fancy riding him,' Nikki said. When Linc had first met her she'd competed a little on a horse that her father had bought her, but had soon given up, freely admitting that she hadn't the nerve for eventing.

  'He's not a woman's ride,' Linc said. 'I can't think why Dotty Dee ever bought him for her daughter. He's just too strong. I'm not at all sure he's not too strong for me. I'll have to go and see your fitness trainer!'

  'Well, you could. Why not?'

  'Time,' Linc answered succinctly, turning past Sykes's cottage into the drive.

  'So, how's it going between you and Josie?' Nikki enquired.

  'Okay, I think.'

  'Are you serious about her?'

  'It's early days,' he said cautiously. 'But, yes. I think so.'

  'She's very pretty. So is Ruth. What about the one in hospital, is she pretty too?'

  Linc considered this. 'I think she will be. She's still growing up.'

  'Will you go on trying to find out who attacked her? Now they've warned you off, I mean.'

  'I don't know if there's much more I can do,' Linc told her frankly, as they swept over the bridge and round in front of the house to the courtyard beside.

  'But it hasn't put you off, has it?' she persisted. 'You'll still go on trying?'

  'Yes, I suppose so.'

  He switched the engine off and looked across at Nikki who looked concerned.

  'I think your father's right. You should leave it to the police,' she said. 'These people are obviously dangerous. You will be careful, won't you?'

  'I will,' Linc promised, quite touched. 'I'm nobody's hero, I can tell you.'

  EIGHT

  SUNDAY WAS A VERY busy day. The sun was out and visitor numbers were substantially up on the previous week as the holiday season began to get into full swing. School holidays made little difference to the takings at Farthingscourt, for the estate had so far managed to resist the commercial pressure to turn itself into the kind of all-purpose tourist attraction that appeals to the multitudes. Tearooms in part of the old kitchens and a picnic area beside the car park were its only concessions to the modern trend.

  Linc had managed to pay Noddy an early visit, riding him out round the village at a walk to loosen his joints before turning him out into the Vicarage paddock for the morning. Ruth promised to fetch him in as soon as the heat and flies started to bother him, and Linc returned to his home and office.

  By the time the last visitor had been seen off the premises, the show rooms checked for damage, loss and stowaways, and the part-time staff departed, Linc wanted nothing more than to stretch out on his bed and sleep. Aside from the normal hassles of an opening day, his father had been more than usually difficult. Curt and hard to please, he'd made Linc pay all day for Saturday's sport.

  He was wearily ascending the back stairs when his mobile trilled.

  'Damn!' he muttered, toying with the idea of turning it off unanswered but his conscience wouldn't let him. It might be important.

  'Yeah?'

  'Oh, dear, have you had a bad day?' It was Josie.

  'It's getting better,' he assured her. 'Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.'

  'Well, I don't know if you're free, but we're having a barbecue and we wondered if you'd like to come . . .'

  Linc hesitated, doing a mental inventory of his aches and pains and coming up with a depressing total.

  'Look, Josie, normally I'd love to but I really don't feel up to making polite conversation this evening.'

  'Well, you don't have to,' she said brightly. 'It's only family. Oh, and Sandy's coming, but that's all. It's just such a lovely warm evening and we haven't done anything like this for absolutely ages with Abby being in hospital. You can crash out on the seat-swing or in the hammock and be waited on hand and foot.'

  The idea was growing more alluring by the moment. Linc considered the alternative; a meal alone in his flat or with his father in his private dining room, which – in his present mood – wasn't the most cheery of prospects.

  'Okay, thanks. You've talked me into it,' he said. 'What time?'

  'Whenever you're ready. Dad'll be ages getting the barbecue going if I know him.'

  It was, in fact, a little over half an hour later when Linc arrived at the Vicarage having showered and changed. He was greeted with informal pleasure by Josie's mum, Rebecca, who accepted his gift of a bottle of white wine and ushered him through the house and out through the Victorian-style conservatory on to the patio at the back. Here, in spite of his daughter's pessimism, David Hathaway had the brick-built barbecue going strongly, and quantities of sausages, chops and kebabs already sizzling away with mouthwatering aromas.

  Linc was met with a warm welcome, not only from the humans assembled there but also from the Hathaways' spaniels, Dorcas and Sukey, and the familiar wide-smiling, brindle form of Tiger.

  'Hello, rascals,' he said fondly to the dogs, and Tiger planted himself, predictably, on his foot.

  'I was going to leave him in the car,' Sandy told him, removing the dog. 'But I was shouted down.'

  'Absolutely!' Ruth exclaimed. 'In this house, dogs are people. We'd no more leave them out of the fun than we would Hannah and Toby. In fact,' she added with a mischievous sideways glance at her brother and sister, 'we'd probably be more likely to shut them away!'

  Linc grinned at the cries of indignation that greeted this, and moved forward to exchange kisses with Josie.

  'Come,' she instructed him, taking his arm and leading him firmly across to the seat-swing by the garden wall. 'Sit. I've told everyone you're fragile and on no account must you be asked to move.'

  'I'm not that bad!' Linc protested, embarrassed. 'I was just feeling tired and a bit lazy, but I'm glad I'm here now.'