by Gene
Ìt's OK. I'm glad I met him - he was very helpful. Just as long as my dad never finds out.'
Ros looked relieved. `So it didn't upset you?'
She shook her head. Ì don't hate him like my dad and my aunt do.' Ì
gather you wrote to him after his fall.'
She flushed. `He told you that?'
Ros looked awkward. `He was very touched that you should take the trouble. He's written you a reply.'
`He has?' A spark of excitement flared momentarily inside her, followed by a pinprick of guilt. How could she be moved by hearing from her brother's killer? What a sick individual she must be. Ì haven't received anything,' she said.
Ros pulled an envelope from the pocket of her jacket and offered it to Marie.
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She didn't have to take it. Now was her chance to honour her father's feelings and turn her back on Jamie Hutchison for ever.
`Thanks, Ros,' she said as she accepted the letter.
Joyce accompanied Clem up the hill to his bench, as she did most mornings before she went off to work. Sometimes it was slow going as he stopped frequently to catch his breath. But she'd learnt not to hover too anxiously and to let him take his time. He didn't like being fussed, as he called it - he could get there under his own steam.
He could, too. Sometimes she was amazed how resilient he was. A month or so back, when it was frosty underfoot, she'd slipped over and he'd hauled her back to her feet. She'd been shocked at the strength that remained in those big arms, picking her twelve stone off the floor as if she were a toddler.
`By God, Clem,' she'd said. `You're a powerful man for all your coughing and wheezing.'
He'd grinned at her. Àye, well I used to jack up trucks for a living,' and they'd both laughed.
But there was no laughter this morning. He was out of sorts and she knew he wouldn't tell her why, she'd have to ask. Joyce had never been married but she guessed that lots of couples ended up like her and Clem, attuned to each other's mood swings and resentful of them at the same time.
`You all right then?' she said as they finally reached the bench. Àye,' he wheezed. `You can get going now.'
`Not until I know what's up with you.'
`Nothing's up with me, woman. Now get yourself off.'
She glared at him. It was a familiar process. There was something the matter and she was obliged to force it out of him. It occurred to her that if they were a married couple she wouldn't have to put up with it. She could up sticks and walk away. She could hardly do that to her ailing brother.
Finally, he muttered, `The little bastard's on the mend.'
She didn't have to ask who that was. There was only one little bastard in their lives. Hutchison. May God rot his soul.
`He's going to be fit to race at Carlisle. I heard it on the radio.' Joyce sighed. Her hatred of the jockey was no less intense than her brother's but it didn't loom so large on her horizon. What with the everyday hassle of 241
work, domestic chores and caring for the invalid, there wasn't much time left over to brood on the continued existence of Jamie Hutchison. The opposite was true of her brother.
`Do yourself a favour, Clem. Try and forget about him, eh? He's not worth it.'
His face softened and he laid a heavy paw on her arm. Ì'm sorry, Joycie.
You put up with a lot from me, don't you?'
'Aye, I do.' She grinned. All her resentment vanished in a flash. Even if Tom Jones was waiting for her at the bottom of the hill in a chauffeur-driven limo she'd never leave her brother. `That's the truest thing you've said all morning.'
`Listen,' he leaned closer, his breath hot on her cheek. Ì need a favour from you.'
`Yes?'
Ì don't reckon I've all that much time left-' `Rubbish, Clem. Don't say that.'
`Let me finish. I've not a lot of time left to do what I have to do. Now, you've got something of mine. You took it from me.'
She shook her head and tried to step away but he held her fast. `Don't deny it,' he continued urgently. `You know what I'm talking about. I never said anything about it before because I reckoned you knew best. But it's different now, Joyce. I need it back.'
Ì can't do that. I got rid of it.'
He stared at her in outrage. Ì don't believe you.'
`Please yourself but I threw it in the river years ago.' She pulled her arm from his grasp.
`That was mine, woman! You had no right.'
`Too bad,' she said and stomped off down the road.
Had he gone mad? The last thing she'd return to her unhappy, homicidal brother was a gun.
Marie stopped on her way home to read Jamie's letter. It was handwritten in blue Biro on a single sheet of unlined white paper.
Dear Marie Kirkstall,
Thank you for your kind wishes after my recent fall. I'm recovering well and expect to be riding again soon.
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This is a difficult letter for me to write and I apologise if I express myself badly. I should have written it at the time of the car accident but I wasn't fit enough. Then as time went on it became harder and harder to do and I'm ashamed to say I bottled out.
I can't imagine how much pain I have caused you and your family. Not a day goes by when I don't think of the harm I have done you. Believe me when I say that if I could swap my life for your brother's then I would.
I had no idea I would run into you at Ros Bradey's yard. I would never have gone there if I'd known. Can I say, though, that I thought you a very gutsy rider.
This must be the ninth or tenth time I've tried to write this letter and I still don't think I've got it right. I hope it doesn't sound like I'm asking for forgiveness because I'm not. I'd just like you to know that I accept responsibility for the terrible thing I did and I'm trying to live my life better because of it.
Sincerely,
Jamie Hutchison
Marie read the letter over several times then she remounted the bike and pedalled back to the yard. She was going to be late for the surgery but she didn't care.
Ros looked startled as Marie reappeared and walked towards her across the paddock. She broke off from attending to one of the girls. Àre you all right?' she said. Ì thought you went ages ago.'
Marie spoke urgently. If she didn't ask now she might never have the courage again. `Ros, will you do me a favour? Will you ask Jamie if he'll meet me?'
Ros pursed her lips, then put her arm around Marie's shoulder. `Do you really think that's wise?'
`No, I don't,' Marie blurted out. `But I don't care. Will you help me fix it?
Please?'
Malcolm had spent an exhilarating morning on the golf course with the owners of a pizza-delivery operation who were thinking of spending some money on a horse. They were cheerful, if unsophisticated, company. Early in their discussion Charlie, the senior partner, had said, `Don't you worry 243
whether we've got the cash - there's plenty of dough in the pizza business.'
It wasn't the only time he said it.
Not that Malcolm gave two hoots. He was feeling good today. He'd slept like a baby - in the spare room, but so what? - and he felt he'd dealt decisively with yesterday's challenges.
When he'd arrived home at around nine the previous evening, Pippa had already gone to bed and locked the door. Jamie had been watching the television with one eye open but he'd opened the other when Malcolm and the flower arrangement came through the door. Malcolm had explained that the flowers were a peace-offering for Pippa - was Jamie aware they'd had an argument? Jamie evidently was. Malcolm had not gone into details, just implied it was a domestic misunderstanding and Jamie had asked no questions. Most tactful of him.
Then Malcolm had raided the fridge - funny how keen his appetite had been - scribbled a card to go with the flowers and turned in. He'd slept in late to give Pippa time to get out of the house and headed for the golf course making sure not to bump into her. There was a good chance she'd be more reasonable tonight.
The fast-food guy
s were good enough to stand him a decent lunch in the clubhouse, where pizza was definitely not on the menu, and he set off for Ridgemoor at around half past two. As he drew into the yard his mobile rang. He recognised the caller's number - Beaufort Holidays. How interesting.
`Karen, sweetheart,' he said cheerily. `How delightful to hear from you.'
Ì'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Priest, but has Miss Harris been in touch with you today?' There was a gratifying note of anxiety in her reedy little voice.
`Has the great Beverley been in touch with me? I can't believe you're seriously asking this question.'
`She's not been into work and she's left no messages and we can't get her on any of her numbers.'
Ì see.' He pretended to give the matter thought. `Well, Karen, my angel, as you know from the way the pair of you have been avoiding my calls, I am possibly the last man in Yorkshire she's likely to have talked to over the past twenty-four hours.'
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Òh dear.' She moaned in disappointment. `We're really worried. She's never done this before.'
`Don't you believe it. Knowing Miss Harris as I do, I expect she's locked in meaningful negotiations with a hunky new client in a hotel bedroom somewhere. You know how time flies when you're having fun. Or maybe you don't know much about that kind of fun, Karen sweetheart.'
`You're despicable!' she cried. He could imagine her pale spinsterish face tightening with distaste.
Ànd you've still got a poker up your arse,' he murmured as she slammed the phone down.
Marie was nervous, more nervous than she could remember. She hadn't expected Ros to move so quickly.
She'd been asked back to the yard to collect a present from Spring Fever's owner - at least, that's what Ros had said. However, when she arrived and walked into Ros's office, Jamie was sitting there.
Jamie looked as tense as she felt. He offered his hand and she took it. It was odd to be formally shaking hands in these circumstances but it seemed right. He had clear hazel eyes and long lashes, like a girl. But his shoulders and arms were muscle-packed. She liked the way he looked -
she couldn't help it.
`You were lucky that horse didn't kill you the other day,' he said, rushing his words as if he were embarrassed.
Marie sensed his awkwardness at being close to her. In a strange way it gave her a confidence she wouldn't normally have possessed.
,I could say the same to you after your fall at Wetherby,' she replied boldly.
They both laughed.
Ì read your letter,' she said, looking him straight in the eye. Ì hope it didn't upset you.'
`No. I thought it was brave of you to be so honest. I wish you'd written earlier, like you said.'
`Sorry.' He looked away. Ì mean, sorry for everything. For what it's worth.'
It was worth a lot but she needed more.
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Malcolm couldn't concentrate on his paperwork. He was in the middle of a game of Freecell on his laptop when he got a call from his father.
`Come up to the house for a drink.' It wasn't exactly a request. Toby already had a glass in his hand when Malcolm arrived. He poured Malcolm a generous splash of Scotch and stared moodily out of the big window at the steel-grey sky above the moor.
Malcolm filled the glass to the brim with soda; now was not the time to dull his wits. `What's up?'
Toby turned to him. Ìt's about Beverley Harris.'
`You don't have to worry, Dad, it's all over with her. After we spoke I packed her in. You were quite right.'
His father's face didn't change. `Sit down.'
Malcolm did as he was told and waited for his father to spill the beans. He needed to get his reaction just right.
Ì've just had a call from Barney Beaufort's office. Beverley's had an accident. She's dead, son.'
`No!' cried Malcolm, jumping to his feet. Ì don't believe it!' Liquid slopped over the side of his glass and dripped down his fingers to the floor. He pretended he hadn't noticed, staring at his father in wide-eyed alarm. Not too bad, he thought.
`When she didn't show at work, Beaufort went round there. Seems he had a key. He found her dead in the bath.'
`Jesus.'
`They think she'd been there since last night.'
Òh my God.' Malcolm allowed himself to subside back into the chair.
Ì'm very sorry, Malcolm. This'll be a bit of a shock to you.'
`Do they know how she died?'
Toby shrugged. `There'll be some sort of inquest, I suppose. People pass out in the bath sometimes, don't they? Do you know if she was on any sort of medication?'
Malcolm laughed bitterly. Àll sorts, Dad, including the kind you get in an off-licence. I'm afraid Bev was a bit of a lush.'
`Well, there you are then. This might sound callous, lad, but you're better off without a woman like that.'
Exactly.
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Marie and Jamie walked to the wood up the hill from Ros's yard. They talked about horses - an undemanding topic. She mentioned her show jumping experience and he told her of his hopes for Gates of Eden at Carlisle.
They sat on a bench overlooking the valley and the conversation dried up.
She knew he was taking his cue from her. She was the one who had instigated this meeting, so it was up to her.
Into the awkward silence she said, `Will you tell me about the accident?'
He looked surprised. `Do you really want to go through all that again? I mean, you must know all about it.'
`Not from your side, I don't.'
He took his time telling her, describing his day at the races and the drive back north with another jockey and his brother. Ì was dead chuffed with my new car. It was a red Mercedes 220 and I'd only had it four weeks.
Actually, it was about ten years old but it was new to me and it was quick.
I drove it like I rode horses - like a maniac. I was absolutely fearless. I never thought anything bad could happen to me. I'm sorry, Marie.'
She was irritated. `Don't keep saying that. Just get on with what happened.'
He told her about stopping at a pub and meeting the stable staff from Ridgemoor. He'd had several drinks and also snorted cocaine in the toilet.
Then he'd left with his passengers, Richard and Malcolm Priest, to drive home. He fell silent.
`Go on,' she said. Ì can't.'
`Jamie, this is the part that matters. Please tell me.'
`But I can't remember. I took a blow on the head in the crash and have no memory of it or what happened just before. A doctor told me it's called retrograde amnesia.'
`How convenient.' She supposed she shouldn't have said it but she didn't care.
`Don't think I don't know that. I've tried hard to remember and I really wish I could. It's like my mind playing tricks on me, trying to protect me but it only makes it worse.'
They sat in silence for a moment. She'd wanted to hear from his own lips how he had killed her brother, so she could honestly test her own feelings.
Listening to a sincere confession she'd know whether, deep down, she 247
could forgive him. But she'd been robbed of that. The disappointment was overwhelming.
Jamie spoke again. `Believe me, Marie, I don't want to avoid my responsibility. If I could remember anything else I'd tell you. For my own sake I wish I had a clear memory of the crash so I could face up to it and put it behind me. But the whole business just goes on. Since I had that fall the other day I've been having nightmares. I get flashes of the night of the crash mixed in with weird images dredged up from somewhere in my head. I'm scared I'll never be able to get over it.'
She didn't know what to say. She was sorry for him and she found him powerfully attractive but that wasn't enough to allow her to forgive him.
She had to go away and think.
Ì'm cold,' she said. `Let's go back.' They walked down the hill in silence.
Malcolm found Pippa in the office on her own. Good.
She glanced up briefly as he entere
d and then looked down again at the papers on her desk. `Go away, Malcolm,' she said in a small cold voice.
`We have to talk.'
Ì have nothing to say to you.'
ÒK. Listen then.' He sat down. `You obviously haven't heard about Beverley Harris.'
That got her attention all right. Her eyes blazed at the mention of the name.
He pressed on. `She's dead. She drowned in her bath, apparently. Beaufort Holidays rang Dad about an hour ago.'
She stared at him as she took in the news. Àn accident?'
Ì imagine it's a bit early to tell. Look, it's not a nice thing for me to say in the circumstances but, considering what's been going on between you and me - you should know she had problems with pills and drink.'
`What are you saying? That she was drunk and drowned in the bath?'
`What I'm saying, Pippa, is that she was a depressed alcoholic with a mean temper. She got on to you out of pure malice because I wouldn't sleep with her.'
`Why didn't you say this before?'
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`Would you have listened if I had? I told you she was a fantasist but you didn't want to hear my side of it. But now this has happened, it makes it painfully clear.'
`Do you think she killed herself?'
Ì don't know what to think. It's a possibility, I suppose.' Òh God.
Malcolm, I'm sorry.'
He took her hand in his. `Me, too.'
Marie had changed her mind about Jamie half a dozen times before she reached home. He seemed so sincere when he spoke about his remorse and he'd said all the right things about being responsible for what he'd done.
Yet, when it came down to it, he couldn't face up to telling her what had happened. He said he'd lost his memory but surely that was a cop-out - a convenient psychological block that prevented him from really owning up to his past.
The strange thing was, he obviously felt that way about it, too. It was as if he was stuck in limbo, unable to go forward till he'd truly confronted what he'd done. And she felt sorry for him because of it. That had to be the wrong way round.