BLINDFOLD

by Lyndon Stacey

  `It's beautiful!' she breathed. `Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!'

  Gideon let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding and smiled in return. `I'm glad you like it,' he said. `Let's hope Tom does.'

  `Oh, he will,' Mary stated with certainty, still gazing'at the portrait. `He'll love it. I just don't know how you do it.' `Monkey see, monkey copy.'

  `Oh, no. There's much more to it than that or we'd all be doing it. Oh, it's just perfect!'

  Gideon watched her fondly.

  `How are things now? Any better?' he asked gently.

  Mary's rapt expression became wistful. `Oh, I don't know. Some days are better than others. Sometimes I think maybe I'm imagining a problem that doesn't really exist. Perhaps we're just getting old and growing apart. I don't know what to think any more.'

  `Perhaps it's a kind of mid-life crisis. The male menopause or something.'

  Mary laughed and said she'd better put the picture away out of sight, as their anniversary wasn't until the following week. `If you'd like to wander up to the yard, Anthony's up there somewhere,' she added. `I'll put the kettle on.'

  Gideon readily fell in with this suggestion. He had in fact been hoping for a chance to see Sox again. Ever since Joey's disclosure about the copper-coloured horse with white legs, he'd struggled to equate the animal he'd worked with for all those weeks with the frightened and aggressive stallion of that memorable night.

  Anthony made it easy for him. When Gideon reached the yard he found the boy in Sox's stable, working hard to make his glossy coat even glossier.

  `You've had him clipped,' Gideon noticed, after the usual greetings had been exchanged.

  `Yes, well, we've started riding him again - or at least, I have,' Anthony said. `He seems fairly sound now and he was getting so bored in the autumn with no mares to keep him busy.'

  `He looks well.' How is he in himself? Have you been having any trouble with him? You know - mood swings or aggression?' `No.' Anthony looked surprised. `Why do you ask? He gets a bit high-spirited at times, but don't they all? Come in and see him. He'd like that, he's fond of you.'

  Gideon did so and the stallion did indeed seem pleased to see him. Moreover, he seemed very relaxed and content, not even displaying any characteristic stallion one-upmanship. Gideon was pleased to find him so settled, but also perplexed. What could have happened to him that night to make him so distressed? What had they done to him?

  `He seems very happy. What a difference from when I first saw him after the accident. His new line of work must be suiting him.' `He's back to his old self,' Anthony said, replacing the stallion's rugs before untying him. He slapped the shining neck and turned away as Sox began to pull at the hay in his net.

  Gideon passed on the message from Mary about the kettle. 'Right-oh. I'll just put this stuff in the tack room and I'll be with you.'

  Gideon watched the lad move about the yard and was struck by his quiet efficiency. `I expect your dad'll be glad when you finish college and can help him full-time,' he commented as they began to walk back towards the house.

  Abruptly, Anthony's face set into harder lines. `You'd think so, wouldn't you?' he said. `It's all I've ever wanted to do, and he knows that, but now he turns round and says it'd be better if I went away to another stud to gain experience for a couple of years.'

  Gideon pursed his lips. `I suppose there might be some advantages but I should've thought he'd want you here. Especially since he hasn't got anyone else on site, so to speak. Is this a new idea?'

  `Well, he did mention it in passing a few months ago but I made it clear that I wasn't keen and he never followed it up. I thought he'd forgotten it.' The boy made a sound of pure frustration. 'in the old days he was always reminding me that the stud and the farm are my future. That I should learn all I could about it. Now, he says my education is the most important thing. He even wanted me to go away to boarding school but Mum put her foot down.'

  `Well, you must admit, farming's in a bit of a mess at the moment. It seems to be one crisis after another. I mean, it can't necessarily be regarded as the secure future it once was, can it? I expect your dad just wants you to get a good basic education that you can fall back on, if needs be.'

  `Oh, I'm taking my education seriously, don't you worry,' Anthony said. `I've just started my second term of a business

  studies course at night school, and when I've finished that I'm doing one in book-keeping. By the summer, if everything goes to plan, I should have A-levels in maths, computer-aided design and biology. I think I'm doing my bit. Taking responsibility for my own future. I feel I'm mature enough to decide where I want to go from here.'

  Gideon was impressed. `Have you tried talking to him?'

  The boy snorted. `That's just the trouble - he won't talk! Or won't listen, more like. If I corner him about it, he just resorts to telling me to do as I'm told, as if I'm still a kid. Sean says I'll be eighteen soon and will be able to do what I want, but that's no help if what I want is to stay here. If I wanted to leave, it would be easy!'

  Gideon shook his head. `I must admit, it's an unusual situation. With most kids it's the other way round.'

  `Yeah, I suppose . . .' Anthony paused, leaning on a field gate and gazing across the grassy acres through eyes narrowed against the cold wind. In the near distance a herd of red and white cattle grazed, all facing the same way, as cattle often will.

  `This is all I want. To stay here and learn the business, and then someday take over from Dad when he retires. You'd think he'd be pleased! It's like he's changed lately. Mum's noticed it, too, even though she tries to pretend everything's okay. I know she gets upset sometimes.'

  Gideon couldn't think of anything comforting to say. If he'd thought it would do any good he would have offered to speak to Tom himself, but knew him well enough to realise he wouldn't welcome any interference, and that once he'd made up his mind there was little hope of changing it.

  He leaned on the gate beside Anthony, watching the cattle. `Beef cattle?'

  `Mm. Herefords.'

  `You haven't got a bull, have you?'

  Anthony laughed, the bitter lines disappearing in an instant. `Where've you been for the last fifty years? Haven't you heard of AI?'

  `Oh, yes, of course. Who does that, Rosetti?'

  `No, a chap called Petersen. Have you heard of him? Comes from your way.'

  Gideon hadn't. `I thought you said Sean Rosetti did AI?F

  'Not any more. He used to work for one of those centres, pioneering new techniques, but he gave it up to set up his own practice. But anyway, he's just our horse vet. We have a different vet for the cattle.' He turned his head as the sound of a heavy vehicle reached them. `Dad,' he said flatly. `Talk of the devil!'

  They swung away from the gate and went down to meet him. `How did the sale go?' Anthony asked. `Are prices picking up yet?'

  Tom grunted. `Well, they made their reserve, but only just. Twenty percent less than I'd hoped for.' His eyes narrowed as he took in Gideon's presence. `What are you doing here? Every time I go out for a few hours you turn up! Are you having an affair with my wife?'

  `I would if she'd have me, but she won't,' Gideon said, hoping his credit would stretch that far.

  Apparently it would. `Cheeky bugger!' Tom said, punching him lightly on the arm. `Well, as you're here you'd better come in for a cup of tea.'

  Gideon was just breathing a sigh of relief for the safe negotiation of what could have been a sticky moment, when Anthony said, 'Gideon was asking if we'd had any trouble with Sox. I told him he's been absolutely fine. He has, hasn't he?'

  Tom stopped and turned. `What do you mean, trouble? What kind of trouble?' he asked, abruptly.

  Gideon could cheerfully have throttled the boy at that moment, though it was said in all innocence.

  `Nothing in particular. I was just thinking aloud what an incredible recovery he'd made,' Gideon lied. `How's his stud work going?'

  Tom frowned. `Very well. Why do you ask?' Just interes
ted. I'm fond of the lad.'

  `Aye, well, you've seen his get. How do you think his stud career is going?'

  `Very well, I'd say,' Gideon assured him.

  `Well, the mares have no complaints and he's happy in his work,' Tom confirmed, opening the farmhouse door and standing back to let the others precede him. `If you can call it work!'

  Gideon hoped fervently that Anthony would let the subject rest at that, and whether by luck or intuition, he did.

  Rachel was out working again that day, and when Gideon thankfully removed himself from the emotionally charged atmosphere of the stud, he took Pippa's car home and spent the rest of the day helping her with the horses.

  With a jumble of half-formed possibilities churning round in his mind, it was almost inevitable that Gideon should offload some of them on to Pippa. By the time they stopped to thaw out with a mug of coffee in the kitchen at five o'clock, she was in possession of most of the facts and as determined to get to the bottom of the riddle as he was.

  `But what makes you think it was Sox that night?' she asked, curling her fingers gratefully round the hot mug. `You told us it wasn't a horse you'd worked with before.'

  Gideon shrugged. `I didn't think it was . . .'

  `I mean, there must be other chestnut stallions with white legs, for heavensakes! Stephanie Wainman's got one, for a start. It's not that unusual a colour combination, is it?'

  `Yeah, I know. I was thinking about that on the way home. But Joey's actual words were "copper-coloured" and that's not so common. I guess, too, it was because Joey mentioned an Italian in the same breath. I instantly thought of Rosetti and went from there.'

  `You told me Joey said there was a Spaniard,' Pippa protested. `One way and another, it seems to me that you're stretching the facts to fit an idea you've had. And it's not much of an idea, come to that. You can't even say why they might have "borrowed" him - if that's what they did.'

  Gideon sighed. `Okay, I admit I got a bit carried away but there just seemed to be a lot of coincidences, and I reckon several coincidences add up to a probability.'

  Pippa snorted. `And that's accepted mathematical reasoning, is it?'

  `Well, if it isn't, it should be,' he asserted, enjoying the exchange.

  `If I were you, I'd speak to Tom about it,' she told him. `After all, if Rosetti is up to something that involves his horse, he's got a right to know about it, hasn't he? One way or another, it would be better to get it out into the open.'

  `Unless Tom already knows about it,' Gideon pointed out, thinking of the stud owner's sharp reaction that afternoon. `What if he's involved?'

  `Well, that wouldn't make sense,' Pippa protested. `If it was his horse he wouldn't need to sneak around at the dead of night, would he?'

  `I suppose not. But on the other hand, how could he not know? None of it makes sense. But maybe you're right. I'll talk to him.' To that end, he fished his mobile out of his pocket and found the Collinses' number in its memory.

  Mary answered. `Tom's not here at the moment, I'm afraid, Gideon. Can I take a message?'

  ,I really wanted to speak to him. Would he be in later, if I were to come over?'

  `No, I'm afraid not. He'll come in for his meal but he said he was going to do some work on the cottage this evening. You know, Roly French's old place. You could always pop in to see him there, if you wanted. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.'

  `Okay, perhaps I will,' Gideon said. `Sevenish be okay?'

  Mary thought it would. `I'll let him know you're coming. There's nothing wrong, is there?'

  `No. Just something I wanted to clear up with him. Don't worry.'

  Gideon disconnected, wishing it was indeed likely to be that

  simple. He didn't know how the hell he was going to broach the subject.

  `I need to be there about seven this evening, so could Rachel possibly come over here for an hour or two?' he asked Pippa. `She's welcome to, if she doesn't mind putting up with Giles. I shall be out myself for a bit. So if your next question is can you borrow the car, the answer is no!'

  `The thought never crossed my mind.' Gideon was all innocence. `So where are you off to? Got a hot date?'

  `That's for me to know and you to wonder.'

  `It's all the same to me, Pips,' he said, shrugging. `Well, if you're sure Giles won't mind. . .'

  `I'm positive,' she assured him. `He's never yet complained about having to entertain a pretty female and I'm sure he won't start now.'

  As Gideon rode the Norton towards Winterbourne Shires later that evening, he found himself going over their conversation again in his mind.

  He recognised Pippa's argument, that there were probably dozens of chestnut stallions around, as a sound one, but he still couldn't shake his conviction that there were too many coincidences. The problem still remained as to just what anyone had to gain from kidnapping a well-known stallion that they couldn't name as a sire. He'd flirted with the idea that if Rosetti was involved, then maybe AI could have been used, but the same objections applied. There was only value in it if Sox's name could be revealed, and even had that been the case, it was a hell of a risk for what could only be a small return.

  Turning off the main road in due course, he was wondering variously if Giles fostered any serious feelings for Rachel, and who, if anyone, Pippa was going out with, when he became suddenly and somewhat forcibly aware of a vehicle looming large in his mirror, its lights blindingly bright. Now it had been brought to his attention, he recalled that it had been on his tail for a while, certainly since the outskirts of Dorchester, and possibly longer.

  He wasn't normally a nervous bike rider but something about the way the van was holding the centre of what was not a terribly wide road made it seem more than a little menacing. It couldn't have been much more than ten feet off the rear wheel of the Norton, and at the best part of fifty miles an hour in the dark, that was a great deal too close for comfort.

  Gideon was certainly not out to prove anything. Playing games with other road users when you're on a motorbike seemed to him to be little short of suicidal, even if they are getting up your nose. He slowed down slightly and pulled in to his side of the highway. Although the road wasn't wide, there was room aplenty to overtake, and that's what the van did.

  Unfortunately, what it also did was cut sharply across the front wheel of the Norton in a screeching, sliding swerve.

  Gideon hadn't a prayer.

  One moment the road ahead was clear, the next his vision was filled with a wall of white metal. His instinctive attempt at avoidance was a physical impossibility and he and the bike hit the side of the van together with a deafening bang.

  Hardly losing any speed, the van swerved back on to the tarmac, and after weaving from side to side a time or two, straightened up and powered away.

  This much, Gideon sensed rather than saw, for as he and the Norton rebounded off the van they parted company and Gideon was flung headlong into the hedge, ending up in the ditch below it.

  When his world stopped doing somersaults, he found himself more or less face down in the muddy stream that flowed in the bottom of the ditch, with icy water soaking freely into all parts not immediately protected by his leather jacket.

  His first thought, as he lifted his head and spat gritty water, was: That's it. No more bikes. I'll get a car.

  His second, and very unwelcome, thought was that whoever had been at the wheel of the van hadn't run him off the road by accident, and given his recent history, he couldn't even rely on its having been a case of road rage. If the van had indeed been following him with this intent, then it was entirely possible that whoever it was would return to see the results of his handiwork.

  With this in mind, Gideon lost no further time in pushing himself to his knees and climbing over the lip of the ditch. As he stood painfully upright, his sodden jeans stiffened almost immediately in the biting wind and the excess water made its way unerringly into his boots.

  Gideon swore. It was a clear night but the moon was waning and
gave little light. He could just make out the shape of the Norton, wrapped around a roadside oak in a very final manner, and didn't need any more than the available light to convince him that he wouldn't be going any further on that.

  Removing his helmet, and the thick leather gauntlets that had very probably saved his hands from being badly cut, he reached to his belt for his mobile phone. He turned it on with little optimism, for the road he'd been following was in something of a river valley and the reception would never have been great, even had the crash not reduced the antenna to no more than a jagged stump. It beeped comfortingly but could locate no signal whatsoever.

  The mini camera in its zipped leather case seemed to have fared better, and Gideon took a couple of shots of the wrecked motorbike for the record before deciding on his best course of action.

  He could hear the roar of the traffic on the busy main road, half a mile or so away, but Gutter Lane, in which Roly French's old cottage was situated, was only two or three hundred yards ahead, and the most sensible option appeared to be to head for that as planned. With any luck, Tom would have a phone he could use to call for a salvage truck, a taxi, and the police. Shivering with cold, he set off.

  The walk to the cottage took no more than five minutes but, chilled to the bone and in constant dread of the van returning, it

  felt much longer. Consequently it was with some relief that Gideon rounded the last corner and saw Tom Collins' Range Rover parked on the cinder track outside.

  The ground floor was in darkness but there was a light at one of the upstairs windows, and as he approached over the twenty feet or so of frosty grass in front, Gideon heard the sound of the front door opening and by the faint light of the moon, could just make out a bulky figure in the porch.

  `Tom,' he called, and the figure turned in the open doorway, one hand raised to the light switch.

  There was a blinding orange flash, an instantaneous, earshattering boom, and a massive whoosh of air lifted Gideon off his feet and threw him back against the Range Rover, which in turn rocked on its wheels. For the second time that evening he rebounded off metal and hit the ground. The noise of the blast seemed to roll on and on, and after a moment a shower of fragments rained down on him, accompanied by thick choking dust.