by Gene
Malcolm knew how Beverley operated. He reckoned shed be another five minutes, ten at the most. In her scheme of things the appearance of endeavour was as important as the thing itself. She'd make a point of 137
remaining at her desk while the boss was in the building and exit swiftly once he was out of the picture.
He was not disappointed. Six minutes after the Bentley had rolled out of the car park, Beverley was standing beside the Citroen, keys in her hand.
`Not so fast, Ms Harris,' Malcolm said as he stepped between her and the vehicle.
She didn't appear surprised to see him. `You still lurking around, Malcolm? What do you want now?'
`What do you think, Beverley? I want an explanation of that charade this afternoon. Who the hell do you think you are - Pol Pot in high heels?'
She looked at him neutrally, her expression giving nothing away. `Get in the car,' she ordered and opened the door. He did as he was told.
With exaggerated care, unlike her usual driving style, she backed out of the car park and drove a hundred yards down the road, drawing to a halt in a dark side street.
She removed her spectacles and placed them on top of the dashboard, then turned to face him.
`Beverley,' he began, `just what the hell are you playing at?'
But he got no further before she threw herself on him, pulling his head down to hers and kissing him with an open mouth.
He tried to hold her off. He was still angry. He needed explanations, a chance to express his frustrations. But she was rubbing and stroking him, her tongue in his mouth, her leg across his lap.
At last she relaxed her grip and laid her head on his shoulder, her arm hugging his chest.
Ì've been wanting to do that all afternoon,' she murmured.
`What stopped you? Karen could have entered it in the minutes.' She giggled. `There's security cameras in the car park. That's why I had to bring you here.'
She was fondling him again, gently but with purpose. `Beverley, you crazy witch, let's go back to your place.' Ì can't wait that long.'
`There's hotels here in town.' `Mmm, yeah.'
`Come on then, let's go. I'll drive.'
She released him and sat upright. `Whatever you say, Malcolm. You're the boss.'
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Hardly.
It was just her bad luck, thought Pippa, that the first person she ran into in the parade ring at Southwell racecourse was the one she'd most hoped to avoid: Arabella Childs. It had been more than six months since Mrs.
Childs' horse Black Knight had been removed from her yard but the manner of the defection still hurt. Shed seen Black Knight's name on the list of entries and, for one moment, had considered finding another race for May Day Warrior, her own horse. But she'd dismissed the thought at once. She was running a professional business and could hardly allow her own feelings to interfere.
Mrs. Childs was preparing to walk past without acknowledging her but Pippa wasn't having that. `How are things, Arabella?' she asked. The other woman barely broke stride. Ì can't stop, darling,' she said, Ì must discuss strategy with Toby.'
Pippa was left standing open-mouthed.
Dave watched the smartly dressed older woman scuttle off and muttered in Pippa's ear, `Must be her strategy for the post-race cocktail party.'
She found herself grinning stupidly. `Please, Dave, don't make me laugh.
Here come my owners.'
The connections of May Day Warrior, the two founders of a software company and their female partners, were walking across the ring towards them. The men provided a contrast in sizes.
`Blimey,' said Dave. `Little and Large.'
`Don't, Dave,' she implored, biting back laughter. She couldn't think why she was behaving so frivolously. It must have something to do with her lanky escort and - a sobering thought - the fact that Jamie was not with them. It wasn't his fault but the gloom that dogged her brother was infectious.
The May Day Warrior group were a cheery lot, out to make a night of it. It was obvious that their high spirits had already been fuelled by a few drinks. Nevertheless, Pippa was preparing herself to answer some searching questions on the horse's prospects. He'd come second last time out and she remembered saying (foolishly) that he'd be a cert to win his next race. She wasn't looking forward to being reminded of this remark but was saved in an unexpected fashion.
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Little, the small round one, was still pumping Dave's hand following Pippa's introduction. Ì don't believe it!' he cried. `You're the Dave Prescott! I saw you break the UK record for the five thousand metres at Crystal Palace.'
Dave grinned modestly. `That was back in the Dark Ages, mate.' `Yeah, when we last had world-class distance runners. I was at school and you were my hero. Hey, everybody!'
Pippa watched with surprise and increasing pleasure as the group turned their attention to Dave. She knew the two men were sports nuts and the women, thrilled by the occasion, mobbed Dave too. In the excitement, May Day Warrior and his rider were given a cheerful sendoff and nobody quizzed her about his prospects.
`Thanks, Dave,' she said to her companion as they made their way to the stand. `You've made their evening, whatever happens in the race.' Jamie could have accompanied Pippa and Dave to Southwell but the prospect of a four-hour round trip in the car hadn't thrilled him. The fact was, the fall he'd had at Carlisle had shaken him up more than he cared to admit. Apart from the bruises, it had revived some aches and pains that dated back to his car crash.
He'd been dozing on the sofa, so when the phone rang it took him some while to lever his aching body upright and answer it.
Àre you all right, Jamie? You sound half dead.'
Ì'm fine, Ros.' He wasn't going to admit to anyone, least of all her, that he was in pain. He'd just earned Brownie points for courage and didn't intend to lose them.
`Jamie . . .' She paused, for once sounding uncertain. `Do you like music?
Orchestral music, that is.'
`Yes,' he said without thinking. Àt least, I like it but I don't know much about it.'
You liar. You know nothing about it.
Ì need an escort tomorrow night to accompany me to a concert. It's a private affair with some friends. Would you be interested?'
`Yes,' he said and instantly regretted it. He'd be stuck with a load of toffs, listening to music he didn't understand, while his aching body played a different kind of tune. `Thanks, Ros, I'd love to.'
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Now why on earth had he said that?
As the horses took their places on the far side of the course for the start of the race, Pippa's light-hearted mood evaporated. Through binoculars, she watched Black Knight being herded into his stall with a sour taste in her mouth. He had been one of her favourites and she knew she'd done a good job on him, nursing him through one niggle after another yet still producing him fit on race days. He'd won for her at Lingfield and been placed on three other occasions, which wasn't bad. If it hadn't been for Toby she was sure she'd be saddling him for this race. It wasn't fair.
Dave gave her an encouraging grin which she did her best to return. On the journey down she'd given him the background to the race. `Basically, Dave, I used to train Black Knight alongside May Day Warrior and there was no doubt that the Warrior was the better horse. I'd never dream of entering them in the same race. But Black Knight's done well since Toby took him over. He won at Wolverhampton and the handicapper has raised him twelve pounds. So today's a big test. If Black Knight's really improved that much then I'll know I'm not that good at my job.'
Dave had listened without comment and then indicated the intricate timepiece on his wrist. `You want me to put a stopwatch on them?' he'd asked, which was about the most useful suggestion he could make. Why hadn't she thought of that?'
The horses set off at a steady pace. With two miles ahead of them - one and a half circuits of the all-weather track - there was no need for anyone to go mad. Considering its class, there were some reasonable animals in the
race but Pippa calculated that May Day Warrior was as good as any of them. The runners passed the stands and the winning post for the first time and headed out into the country, the Warrior lying fourth out of the eight runners, well placed on the rail, with Black Knight just behind him.
She wondered if Black Knight's jockey - her brother-in-law Richard - was deliberately tracking her horse. The pair of them seemed glued together all the way down the far side of the course. With ten furlongs gone some of the runners were flagging and the leading three began to come back to May Day Warrior. Rounding the top bend he cruised into the lead and entered the home straight five lengths clear.
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As was her habit, Pippa found herself hopping up and down, her body a singing jangle of nerves as she willed her horse home. But though he'd left the rest of the field in his wake the Warrior had not yet beaten Black Knight. The two horses were level coming out of the bend with the long home straight in front of them.
Up on the gallops at home, Pippa knew that the Warrior would have burned off the other horse with ease. So it was with disbelief that she watched Richard put his foot down on Black Knight and ease smoothly to the front, taking the horse away from his erstwhile stable companion with each stride.
The victory margin was four lengths.
In bed at the Starlighter Hotel three miles down the road from Beaufort Holidays, Malcolm could tell that Beverley was becoming restless. She lay curled up in his arms, her back to him spoon-fashion, so he couldn't read her face as she murmured, Ì can't stay the night here, you know.'
`You women are all the same. You take what you want from a man, then leave him high and dry.'
Ì'm serious, Malcolm. The staff know me in here - we use their meeting rooms for conferences sometimes. I can't be seen checking out with you in the morning.'
He took her point. He also ought to be a bit circumspect. Shacking up with a woman twenty minutes from the marital home wasn't the smartest way to behave. However, it was still a bit early - Pippa wouldn't be back from Southwell till late.
He kissed the nape of her neck, then nuzzled lower, teasing the top vertebra of her spine. She arched back against him - so she was still in the mood.
Ì'm not letting you go just yet. Not after the grilling you gave me this afternoon.'
Ì was only doing my job.'
`You're not saying you were serious?'
She turned on to her back and looked him in the face. Ì certainly was.'
`So Barney really wants to choose the races and give Jamie the boot?'
`Too right.'
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Up close her milky blue eyes seemed bottomless. `You have the most beautiful eyes.'
`Don't try and change the subject. You've got to do something about that horse, Malcolm. If it doesn't win soon Barney's going to want his money back.'
`Beverley, you know it doesn't work like that. I can't make the horse win.'
`Well, at least get it to finish - preferably in the first three. And you can get rid of that jockey with a criminal record. It's not good for the company image. Anyway, he's not much cop - even your father says so.'
Malcolm wasn't going to argue the point. He had more pressing matters on his mind.
ÒK, Ms Harris. I agree on one condition.' Her mouth pursed in suspicion.
`What's that?' `You wear your glasses while I shag you rotten.'
Pippa didn't know how she would have survived the rest of the evening if it hadn't been for Dave. She wasn't the tearful sort but for a second, as he put a consoling arm around her shoulder, she felt like shedding a bucket-load.
Dave peered into her face, obviously gauging the extent of her distress. If, as others had done after a painful loss, he'd made sympathetic noises she'd have punched him. `Never mind,' Ìt's just one race', `Better luck next time,' and all other well-meaning banalities made her puke. It implied that this defeat didn't matter and that there were more important things in life.
Well, there weren't - not the way she felt right now.
Ì don't understand. How could Black Knight run like that?'
He propelled her through the crowd. `Let's save the postmortem till we've seen off Little and Large, OK?'
She nodded agreement and steeled herself for a conversation with the owners. Surely they'd be fed up too, having just seen their runner left for dead by a horse with an inferior ranking?
But if the owners felt that way they never said so, being jollied along by Dave once more as he congratulated them on coming second to a great performance by the winner.
Ì got skinned by Seb Coe in a fifteen hundred metres once,' he confided.
Ìt was just like that. We were stride for stride into the home straight and 143
then he turned on the after-burners. Beat me by about the same distance as Black Knight.'
Which neatly turned the conversation away from horse racing and on to athletics. Pippa scarcely had to say a word.
Later, nursing a glass of wine in the bar, she said, Ìs that true about Seb Coe?'
`Certainly is.'
`How did you feel when he beat you like that?'
Ì was pig sick for about half an hour. Then I realised that he was better than I was.'
`But I'm sure Black Knight is not better than May Day Warrior.' She drained her glass. `What were the times?'
He pulled an envelope from his pocket and showed her the figures he'd noted down. Black Knight: 3 minutes 50.2. May Day Warrior: 3 minutes 51.9.
`That's ridiculous,' she exclaimed. `Black Knight's not four lengths better.'
`Maybe the other one had an off day.'
She shook her head. `The Warrior's done pretty much what Id expect.
That's a good time for him around here. But Black Knight's improved again. Damn!' She slammed her hand on the table top, causing a few heads to turn.
Dave put a big hand on top of hers. `Steady, girl, you'll get us chucked out.'
Ìt just makes me mad to see Toby take my horses and turn them round like that. I've got to do something.'
`That's why I'm here, isn't it?' He drained his orange juice with a flourish.
`Just you wait till I've finished with my lot. Suppose I improve them by two seconds too?'
She knew from the way he looked at her that he was only trying to cheer her up but it wasn't going to work. If Dave, who knew nothing about racing, could make her horses run faster then it would only demonstrate what she feared above all - that she was no damn good as a trainer.
She sighed. It was heartfelt. `Would you like to drive my car, Dave?' `No problem.' He pointed to her glass. He was getting good at reading her mind.
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`Make it a large one,' she said.
Chapter Eight
Jane was kitted out for battle for her second visit to Elizabeth Jacobs'
family compound. She was armed with a Disney video, a bumper pack of animal-shaped sweets and - her big guns - a selection of Danish pastries from a fancy cake shop. Based on observations from her first visit, when she'd seen Elizabeth popping leftovers into her mouth as she cleared the kids' tea, she had a hunch her plump hostess possessed a sweet tooth.
Though these precautionary offerings were accepted with gratitude and some surprise, they turned out to be unnecessary. This time help was at hand to keep the children at bay. In the kitchen, supervising a boiling kettle, was a middle-aged woman whom Elizabeth introduced as her mother-in-law. The lady was smartly dressed and icily polite. Jane wouldn't mind betting that she was not overjoyed at the circumstances of this social occasion. But then, who would be?
Elizabeth's mother-in-law served them coffee on a tray in the front room.
She closed the door firmly behind her when she left, shutting out all possible interruption. What a relief.
Ì've been trying to build up a picture of Amanda's life,' said Jane as Elizabeth pored over the plate of Danish pastries. Ì'm interested to see what she was like before she got involved with Pete.'
`She was a heal
thy, hardworking, fun loving girl before she met that creep,' replied Elizabeth with venom and snapped her teeth into a gooey apricot slice.
Ì can see that.' To show willing, Jane cut a corner off her Danish and nibbled at it. `She was in full employment till a few months before her death, wasn't she?'
Elizabeth nodded, her jaw working.
Ànd I see from her building society records that she used to put aside a few pounds every month.'
Elizabeth's eating rhythm slowed and a furrow appeared on her smooth wide forehead. It was clear she wasn't sure where this was going.
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Jane nibbled some more. `Do you know if she ever came by more substantial amounts of money?'
`Stable girls don't earn substantial amounts. Mandy only did it because she loved horses.' Elizabeth had finished her pastry. She selected another, a currant whirl with icing. Ì think she earned tips though.'
`What for?'
Ìf one of the horses she looked after did well, the owners would tip her.
Or if it was the best turned-out horse in a race she might get something.'
`How much money would that be?'
Elizabeth paused mid-bite. `You're not working for the Inland Revenue on the side, are you?'
Jane shook her head. Perish the thought.
`She might get fifty pounds. A hundred maybe.' `How about a few thousand?'
Elizabeth laughed, spraying crumbs. `You're joking! My sister barely earned a thousand a month.'
Jane lifted her briefcase on to her lap and opened it. `How would you account, then, for the ten thousand pounds she paid into her building society in October 1999?'
The laughter froze on Elizabeth's face. `She never had that amount of money in her life.'
Jane passed her photocopied pages of the passbook and indicated the entry.
Elizabeth stared at it for a long time. At last she said, Ì didn't know about this.'