Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc

by Gene

  163

  The arrival of Gates of Eden compensated Jamie for other matters that weren't so satisfactory - like having to own up to the real nature of his evening out with Ros.

  Ìt's all your fault,' he reproached Dave as he related the story. Dave enjoyed it hugely. Ì said get a taxi, mate, not a chauffeur-driven limo.'

  But he could cope with the runner's good-natured ribbing. It was less easy to hide the disappointment that gripped him after a conversation with Malcolm shortly after Gates of Eden's arrival.

  Ì'm sorry, Jamie, but the owners want a different jockey to ride Adolf next time out.'

  Jamie remembered Toby's attack on his riding at Carlisle.

  `You mean the Colonel doesn't want me,' he said. `He's still pissed at the way he got brought down.'

  `Whatever, mate. I wouldn't get too upset about it - you've got other rides coming in, haven't you?'

  That was true; his appearance at Carlisle had attracted attention, and other trainers in the area had asked him to ride work for them. As a result he had been booked for a race at Doncaster the next day, with the possibility of others to follow. He was looking forward to the rides but that didn't mean he was happy to surrender Adolf.

  He said as much to Ros, wondering whether she was party to the decision to jock him off. Had she known about it the other evening? She was at pains to put his mind at rest.

  Ìt's nothing to do with me, Jamie. Anyway, I'm out of the picture, too.

  Toby says he's going to look after Adolf himself.'

  That made Jamie feel better. If Ros was also off the case then he couldn't be blamed entirely for the horse's failure.

  She appeared to know what he was thinking.

  `Jamie, the reason they are getting rid of us is that we've done our job.

  We've turned a temperamental no-hoper into an animal who can at least take part in a race.'

  Ì suppose so.'

  Òf course, he'll probably bolt up next time out and other people will get all the credit but that's too bad. Promise me you won't brood over it.'

  ÒK,' he'd said as she squeezed his arm.

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  Things had changed between them since the other evening. She touched him often but not in a sexual way, prodding, urging and reassuring him with her hands - like a mother. He liked it.

  The turning point, on reflection, had not been the failed seduction but the conversation that took place in her car after she'd explained about Marie.

  Jamie had told her about the car crash - as much of it as he could remember - and the way he was back then.

  `When I think about it now, I was an accident just waiting to happen. And, to be purely selfish, I'm glad that it did. Being in hospital and in prison turned me round, so you could say I gained out of it. But that lad died in my place. I can understand why his family hate me.'

  `Marie doesn't hate you, Jamie. But she doesn't want to run the risk of bumping into you. I promised I'd arrange it so she wouldn't.' He'd nodded.

  `Fair enough.'

  `Just don't come up first thing in the morning - she goes to work at the doctor's surgery at ten. Anyway, I'll be seeing you at Pippa's. We'll keep working together.'

  And that, luckily, was how it was turning out. Thanks to Ros, his riding had improved beyond recognition. After hours of riding without a saddle he now felt glued to any horses he rode. Ros had drummed it into him that the position of his head was the key to successful jump riding. `Keep it still and keep it down' was her mantra. He must have jumped 200 fences while repeating those words to himself and now it was second nature. He no longer needed the reins to help him keep balanced while jumping over a fence: his legs and head position were taking care of that.

  The other major benefit of learning to keep his head still was that it made judging the approach to a fence that much easier. The more he jumped, the better he got, and he was learning to adapt to each new horse he rode. As Ros said - frequently - there was no substitute for practice. Dave parked Pippa's beat-up old Land Rover next to a sparkling scarlet Citroen two-seater in the courtyard at Ridgemoor. It was his first visit to Toby Priest's place and, from the scale of the grounds he'd just driven through and the new buildings that lined his route, he could see that this was a much larger operation than Pippa's. He felt like an impostor - or a spy in the enemy 165

  camp. In the normal course of events, there was no way an individual like himself would be let loose on these kind of premises.

  He got out of the vehicle and looked around. His mission was to deliver Malcolm's mobile phone which had been discovered on the hall table at Shelley Farm after Malcolm had left that morning. Pippa had been tied up at work and so Dave had volunteered to drop it round.

  Now he needed to locate Malcolm. Typically, though he'd seen plenty of staff as he drove up - out near the American barns and accompanying a string of horses out of the yard - the inner courtyard was deserted. Just as he was debating which way to go, a man in a white coat rounded the corner of the main house.

  Blimey, he thought, they've even got their own scientists.

  The man stopped when he spotted Dave heading towards him. There was suspicion in his eyes - Dave well knew he cut an unorthodox figure. The man relaxed when Dave mentioned Malcolm's name and explained his errand.

  `You could leave the phone with me,' he said. 'Malcolm's in the bottom paddock with some visitor from Beaufort Holidays.'

  But Dave's interest had been aroused by the Beaufort reference. He guessed they'd be working with Adolf and he fancied having a look himself. `No offence, mate,' he said, `but I think I ought to hand it over personally. Can't I just nip up there?'

  The suggestion didn't go down well. `We can't allow unauthorised personnel to roam where they please, you know. There's some extremely valuable thoroughbreds on these premises.'

  Dave's grin broadened as he prepared to apply a touch of soft soap -

  always the best way of getting what he wanted, in his experience - when another white-coated figure appeared.

  `Bloody hell!' the new arrival cried as he looked at the runner. Ìt's Dave Prescott!' He held out his hand and said to the first man, Ì know this bloke

  - though he probably doesn't remember me.'

  Dave looked at him closely. He was almost the same height as Dave, with bulging eyes and a receding hairline. It took a second or two to place him, to add hair to his head and chin, and glasses to the bridge of his nose. It must have been ten years since he'd last seen him.

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  His newfound friend supplied the name Dave was searching for. `Walter Clark. We used to race against each other,' he added for his colleague's benefit.

  Dave seized Walter's hand and pumped it enthusiastically. `You old bastard,' he cried. `What the hell are you doing here?'

  Ì'm a vet. We're part of the on-site medical team.'

  Dave quickly told Walter of his errand. By now the first man was consulting his watch. Walter took the hint. `You go ahead, Julian, I'll show Dave the way.'

  For a moment it looked as though Julian was going to argue but, with an insincere, `Nice to meet you,' aimed in Dave's direction and a meaningful tap of his watch-face intended for his colleague, he turned on his heel.

  Walter pointed the way forward. 'Julian's all right really,' he said, `just a bit of a goody-goody when it comes to the rules.'

  `Not like you then, Walter.'

  The vet gave Dave a sly grin. Ì'm a reformed character. Anyhow, you can talk. I read you got banged up.'

  Dave grunted. There wasn't much to say.

  They passed a row of old-fashioned horse boxes and Walter opened a gate which led onto a well-kept bridleway.

  Ì thought it was a bloody shame. We shouldn't be locking up our great athletes.'

  Dave peered into the other's weathered face. He appeared to be sincere.

  `Thanks, mate. But no one's above the law, that's what they kept telling me.'

  They came to a clearing where the path divided. Walter pointed
off to the left. Ì ought to get back and help Julian out. Meeting with the Colonel about some expensive beast's hip. Fifty yards that way and you'll come to a big paddock with a barn at one end. They're in there.' They shook hands again. `Do you still run?' Dave asked.

  Àbsolutely. Got to keep fit.'

  `Give us your number then and we'll go out.'

  `Really?’ Walter seemed touched. Ì'll never keep up with you these days.'

  But he produced a small white business card from inside his coat and handed it over.

  167

  Dave mused over this unexpected encounter as he walked along the path.

  Walter had been a scruffy postgrad when he'd last seen him. His final sight of him had been his pony tail bouncing on the back of his neck as he overtook Dave in the last mile of the East-West run, bounding past him on what looked like spring-heeled legs to win the race by the length of a football pitch. Bloody demoralising it had been, too. That was the day when Dave had realised there were younger and better men ready to elbow him aside. Literally, as it turned out, because another three of them caught him before the finish that day.

  Turning these memories over in his mind, he came to the barn Walter had told him to look out for and walked along the path to the paddock. He could hear the patter of hooves on turf and, as he turned the corner of the barn, he recognised Adolf with a lad on his back cantering away from him on the far side of the field.

  Two people stood some twenty yards off by the last of a set of practice fences, watching the horse as he turned to take the jumps. They had their backs to Dave but he recognised Malcolm at once. By his side was a dark-haired woman, presumably his guest. She wore a short checked jacket and blue jeans designed, no doubt, by some high-fashion store. Quite apart from the stylish cut of the garment, Dave's attention was riveted by the hand exploring the straining contours of the curves they contained. The hand leisurely cupped one buttock then roved to the other, confident of its welcome. Malcolm was feeling up some female in broad daylight and, from the way she was leaning into him with her hip, the woman had no complaints.

  Dave stepped back swiftly behind the wall of the barn, all thoughts of Walter and past cross-country feats completely wiped from his mind. The casual but carnal caress could only mean one thing - Pippa's husband was cheating on her.

  He tried to persuade himself he had been mistaken. Perhaps that wasn't Malcolm - after all, he hadn't seen his face.

  He could hear voices now. The riding sounds had been replaced by a three-way conversation. He peeped around the side of the barn and saw Adolf and his rider next to the man and woman he had been watching.

  They no longer had their hands on each other, which would be difficult 168

  since there was a horse standing between them, and so it was safe for him to emerge.

  He strode across the turf towards them, a smile fixed on his face. The man turned towards him in surprise.

  `You forgot your mobile, Malcolm,' Dave said by way of explaining his presence. `Pippa thought you might need it.'

  Not a flicker of concern crossed Malcolm's features as he thanked Dave.

  Surely he must feel a twinge of guilt at the mention of his wife's name? If he did he showed no outward sign as he turned to introduce his female companion.

  Dave recognised her from the race meeting at Carlisle, where she'd been surrounded by a flock of men in suits. He'd pegged her as the bossy business type and he noted the calculation in her eyes as she gave him the once-over. Her gaze did not linger long. He was not her sort any more than she was his. Why on earth Malcolm was fooling about with her when he had Pippa at home, Dave couldn't imagine. And, frankly, he didn't want to know.

  `Do you mind if we stop by my place?' said Jane as Simon Bennett pulled off the ring road and headed for the city centre. They'd spent a fruitless two hours in a police station sitting in on an interview with a Preston drug-dealer, a small-time operator like Pete. He'd hinted through his solicitor that he knew who was responsible for the Bonfire Night killings but it had been plain from the start that he was simply looking for a way out of his own predicament.

  `That little toe-rag would have shopped his granny if he'd thought it would get him off,' muttered Simon, still musing on their wasted afternoon.

  Ì'd just like to look in on Robbie,' she continued. `Make sure he's doing his homework.'

  Ànd not polishing off your booze with the class sexpot?' `He's not like that,' she said.

  He snorted. `They're all like that, given half a chance. I should know,' he added, Ì'm the father of the class sexpot.'

  Was that why he was out of sorts? Had Tanya been upsetting him? `Well, Robbie doesn't know any girls.' More's the pity, she thought, but kept it to herself.

  169

  Jane could hear the television even as she inserted the key in the front door and she could feel her mouth crimp at the corners. Simon had a sly grin on his face. God, what an old bag she must look.

  Sure enough, her son had his feet up on the coffee-table, a bag of Doritos on his lap, and was watching some noisy sci-fi thing. He waved a hand at her, hardly taking his eyes from the screen.

  'Robbie!' she shouted over the sound of an explosion. `Turn that off,' and she grabbed the remote control before he could obey her instruction.

  `What's up, Mum?' he said in an irritatingly unfussed manner. Òh, hi,' he added, catching sight of Simon.

  Jane reined in her temper and introduced them. As Robbie got to his feet and shook hands, she realised she was over-reacting. He might be gauche but he was a well-mannered lad and he was entitled to relax after school -

  up to a point.

  He knew what was on her mind. `Just ten more minutes,' he said, pointing to the TV Ì've got a heap of science and maths.'

  `Why don't you start now then?' she said. `The sooner you start the sooner you finish.'

  The cliche was out almost by reflex. Robbie rolled his eyes and shambled towards the door, clutching the Doritos packet and trailing crumbs. She kept her mouth firmly shut.

  `See you again, Robbie,' said Simon.

  `Sure thing. Hey.. .' the boy stopped. A thought had occurred. `Since you're both such hot-shot cops . . .'

  'Robbie!' Jane's irritation was mounting. Since the age of five her son had been a past master of prevarication and she still didn't know how to deal with it.

  `Just a quickie,' he said disarmingly. `There's three prisoners, see, and they're called into the Governor's office.'

  Jane groaned inwardly. Another of his impossible brain-teasers. `The Governor shows them four snooker balls, three red and one black. He gives them one ball each but they can't see what they've got because their hands are tied behind their backs. OK?'

  ÒK,' said Simon.

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  `The Governor says that whoever is holding a red ball can walk out of his office a free man, but if a prisoner tries to walk out with a black ball, he'll serve an extra year on his sentence. And he tells them they're not allowed to talk to each other.'

  Get on with it, thought Jane, but she kept it to herself.

  `So, the prisoners stand around, wondering what to do. One of them can see the other two are holding red balls. Then he makes a decision and walks out of the office a free man. How did he know that he wasn't holding the black ball?'

  Jane didn't have a clue. It must be something to do with the way her brain was wired up - she couldn't do cryptic crosswords either. Robbie, on the other hand, loved showing off his mental dexterity. He was looking at her now with a smirk of triumph on his face.

  Àre you going to tell him, boss?' Simon turned towards her. Òr shall I?'

  'Go ahead, Simon. Put us all out of our misery.'

  Ìt's obvious, Robbie. If our prisoner had been holding the black ball the other two would have seen it and walked out. Because they hesitated, he knew he also had a red ball. Correct?'

  Robbie nodded. Àt last - a copper with some brains. Mum didn't get it though. How come she's your boss?'

&n
bsp; Jane was speechless. How could he?

  Simon just laughed. `Because being a smart alec's only going to get you so far, Robbie. You need a bit of wisdom and I'd say your mother's wiser than you or me.'

  Òh.' Robbie didn't look entirely convinced but for once he didn't stay to argue the point. `Catch you later,' he mumbled and ducked out of the door.

  Simon caught her eye; he was grinning from ear to ear.

  Dave was out of sorts all afternoon and found it hard to enter into the four-horse training programme that he had set up. He even shouted at Rosie, one of the stable girls who had volunteered to help out, when she didn't allow her horse time to ease off properly after a sharp piece of work. He saw her make a what's-up-with-him? face at Mick, one of the other lads.

  When he stopped to think about it, Dave knew just what the matter was and it had nothing to do with the four game stable staff who cheerfully submitted to his bumbling instructions every afternoon. The discovery he 171

  had made about Malcolm, much as he desired it, would not be consigned to oblivion. The image of the big man's hand on that woman just wouldn't go away. And while, in the normal course of events, he'd have considered it cause for a laugh and something to be shared with his mates, this was different. This was not a joke. The knowledge that what he said could directly affect Pippa's happiness was burning him up.

  There wasn't anyone he could tell. Jamie was his best friend up here but he could hardly let on his sister was being two-timed- or was it his duty, as a friend, to tell him exactly that?