Cut Throat

by Lyndon Stacey

  Coming back from the house, Franklin passed Danny and looked curiously at Darcy. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked, as he bent to lift Peter out of the chair.

  Darcy shrugged, looking quite upset.

  ‘Danny says he gave me a videotape to show to you and Peter. The one he’s been filming of the horses. But I haven’t seen it. He says he left it on the passenger seat of my car the other day, but he didn’t. Or at least I never found it if he did.’

  Peter, peering over his father’s shoulder, looked disappointed.

  ‘Was that the one where Ross rode Telamon and he was like a bucking bronco?’

  ‘I don’t know. It could have been,’ Darcy said dismissively, then smiled at his young nephew. ‘Never mind. I’ll buy him another tape if he doesn’t find that one and we’ll make you up another film.’

  ‘But it won’t have Telamon’s bucking bronco act on it, will it?’ Peter was unusually persistent.

  ‘No, but we’ll find something just as good,’ Darcy said, adding, ‘I could murder Danny.’

  ‘I expect it’ll turn up,’ his uncle said soothingly. ‘Come on, it’s high time we were on our way.’

  As Bill and Ross waved goodbye to the Richmonds and made their way back to the cottage, the stable manager wasn’t happy.

  ‘Danny’s such a cloth-head, he’s probably still got the tape somewhere himself,’ he said. ‘But whatever the case, he should know better than to argue with owners like that. I’ll have to speak to him about it.’

  Ross wasn’t sure. It was true Danny could be absent-minded at times but he wasn’t stupid and was invariably truthful. If he was adamant that he’d left the videotape in Darcy’s car, then he had. It was probably Darcy who had misplaced it and didn’t want to be the one to disappoint Peter.

  After lunch, Maggie dragged Bill off under sufferance to visit friends in Dorset and Ross spent the first hour or so of the afternoon sitting on the school fence watching Sarah and Danny exercise Woody and Fly.

  When he judged that they had done enough, he announced his intention of driving to the saddler’s to pick up a saddle that was in for repair. He asked them to have Telamon ready for him to lunge when he returned.

  It was a yard rule that no one except Bill or Ross should go in with the stallion on their own because, however well behaved, a stallion is always a stallion and by nature unpredictable. If Danny or Sarah needed to attend to him, they had to do so together or with another person present.

  Driving the jeep was not the height of luxury at the best of times, but with ribs that protested at every bump in the road and a knee that was daily less co-operative about bending, it was getting to be a decided grind. Ross began to think seriously about an automatic.

  Sitting in the car park at the saddler’s, he called McKinnon on his mobile.

  McKinnon’s answerphone said he was out and could it take a message?

  Ross explained briefly about Roland’s theory with regard to his fall at the show and his own vague suspicions with regard to Roland. As he switched off he saw a familiar figure filling the tank of a racy black hatchback at a petrol station on the far side of the road.

  At the same moment, Roland looked up and saw Ross. He waved and the American waved back.

  Ross started the jeep, thinking that wherever he was these days, Roland never seemed to be far away, and wondered idly about coincidence and intent. He wondered also why Roland had forsaken his Aston Martin. Too conspicuous, perhaps?

  Such was his state of mind that he checked his rear-view mirror several times as he drove on, but the black hatchback didn’t appear.

  You’re getting paranoid, he told himself severely. Snap out of it.

  Because of roadworks and the inappropriately named rush hour, Ross was twenty minutes later than he had estimated. When he turned back into the yard Telamon’s door stood open and neither the horse nor its minders were anywhere to be seen.

  He cut the jeep’s engine and left it where it was, almost immediately hearing a flurry of powerful hoofbeats in the school. Ross hurried towards the sound, an uneasy premonition settling on him.

  At the gate he was met by a highly excited stallion with reins and stirrups flying. He deftly caught a rein as the horse made to swing away again and peering past the animal, could see Danny climbing to his feet, a rueful expression on his face.

  ‘What in hell’s name do you think you are playing at?’ Ross demanded thunderously.

  Danny flushed red and came over. ‘I was just – that is, I thought I could ride him. I was going to surprise you . . .’ His voice tailed off unhappily as he saw the look on Ross’ face.

  ‘And whose horse is this?’

  ‘I never meant any harm. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to him.’

  ‘Whose?’ Ross repeated sharply.

  ‘Roland’s,’ Danny said miserably.

  ‘Did he say you could ride him?’

  Danny shook his head.

  ‘Then what on earth possessed you?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The boy was looking at his feet, fiddling with the strap on his crash hat. ‘I wanted to see if I could ride him. Looks like I can’t,’ he said then with the ghost of a self-conscious grin. His jeans and shirt were plastered with wet sand.

  Ross opened the gate and let himself into the school. In spite of his fury, he had to admire the lad’s courage. And after all, it was something he had done a time or two when he was younger, stealing a ride on a forbidden horse. He’d got caught once, too, and thrashed for his disobedience.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Danny shook his head.

  ‘Well, the worst thing you can do is let him win,’ Ross said after a moment. ‘You’d better get back up. Then sit quietly and do exactly what I say. Don’t touch his mouth. Think positive and picture him walking slowly. Horses are highly telepathic, as you know.’

  Danny came round to the near side and bent his left leg at the knee, looking hopefully at Ross. With one hand on the reins Ross tossed him aboard the huge chestnut, where he sat looking puny and wholly impotent.

  Ross laughed. ‘You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that! Now just walk him quietly. Don’t ask for anything more. He’s being very good at the moment and that’s what we want him to remember when we finish.’

  Danny followed his instructions and Telamon behaved, but it was a close-run thing. Ross could sense that another explosion was never very far away.

  ‘Okay, that’ll do,’ he called, and Danny walked the horse back to the gate with a huge grin on his face.

  ‘He thought about it, didn’t he, Ross?’

  ‘Yup. He sure did,’ Ross agreed, glad to get his hand back on the reins. ‘And that’s the last time you’ll sit on that horse until I say different. Do you understand?’

  ‘Danny! Get off that horse and go inside!’ A low, furious voice spoke from behind Ross. Bill had returned, unnoticed by the pair.

  Danny’s face fell and he obediently slid to the ground. He made to run the stirrups up.

  ‘Leave the horse and go!’

  Danny left, giving Ross an anxious look and pausing fractionally by his father as if to speak, but what he saw in Bill’s face discouraged him.

  ‘Bill, it’s no big deal –’ Ross began.

  ‘No big deal?’

  ‘The horse is okay. The boy’s okay.’

  Bill stepped closer and over his shoulder Ross could see Maggie standing, looking on awkwardly.

  ‘Danny could have been killed, or crippled like you!’ Bill asserted bitterly.

  Ross’ eyes narrowed.

  ‘How can you stand there and say it’s no big deal? That horse is dangerous! He’s no fit ride for a boy. He’s no fit ride for anybody, come to that. What the bloody hell were you thinking of? Are you mad?’

  Bill wasn’t in the mood to accept excuses, and besides, Danny was in enough trouble already. Ross waded in.

  ‘I know it was wrong, but the kid has to learn. You can’t shield him from all the knocks, you know.
He’s got a healthy appetite for a challenge. Do you want him to be a sissy? I’d been bucked off dozens of horses by the time I was his age. That’s how I learnt. It’s the only way to learn.’

  If Ross had thought Scott angry before, now he was apoplectic.

  ‘Don’t you tell me how to raise my son!’ he thundered. ‘You’re hardly a fit example to follow!’

  Ross’ eyes flashed but he held his temper with an effort. In the background he heard Maggie say reproachfully, ‘Oh, Bill!’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Ross said steadily. ‘But it’s wrong to limit the boy with your own fears. He’s got to make his own life, his own mistakes. What happened to you was your bad luck, not his!’

  He led the stallion out of the school and down into the yard, pushing past the ex-jockey where he stood.

  Bill watched him pass, his face full of anger and bitterness.

  It seemed their uneasy truce was over.

  Sunday was a drag.

  Bill wouldn’t speak to Ross beyond what was strictly necessary and Danny crept around looking miserable and guilty. Lindsay had rung to say could they manage without her for a day or two because she was rather busy, which Ross had interpreted as meaning she was in hot water for spending so much time at the yard.

  In the evening, when he had given up trying to find anything worth watching on TV and had decided to settle for an early night, he heard a knock at the door.

  He hesitated. Events had made him cautious. But deciding that, in general, bad guys were probably not in the habit of announcing their arrival, he crossed to the door, unlocked and opened it, to reveal a rather sheepish Danny on the landing outside.

  ‘Hi!’ he said, opening the door wider. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Do you always lock your door?’ Danny asked curiously as he passed Ross.

  ‘Oh, always. I’m the nervous type.’

  The boy glanced suspiciously at him.

  ‘Park your butt,’ Ross suggested. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Aren’t you mad at me?’ Danny asked, sitting on the sagging sofa.

  ‘Should I be?’ Ross enquired over his shoulder as he put the kettle on.

  ‘I got you into trouble,’ the boy said, not shirking the issue. ‘And I can see Dad’s not speaking to you.’

  ‘He’ll get over it,’ Ross said lightly, spooning coffee into mugs. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘One, please.’ He sat silently for a few moments, apparently deep in thought.

  Ross brought the coffee and sat at the other end of the sofa, angled to face Danny.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him it was my fault?’ the boy blurted out suddenly. ‘He’s blaming you and that’s not fair!’

  ‘Life’s not fair,’ Ross observed placidly. He seemed to be saying that a lot lately.

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ Danny said irritably. ‘I tried to explain but Dad wouldn’t listen. It’s like he’d rather blame you. I don’t understand him.’

  ‘He’s just worried about you, that’s all. Feels I should be more responsible. He’s probably right,’ Ross added.

  ‘But you didn’t know I was going to try and ride Telamon. If you had, you’d have stopped me.’

  ‘That’s right, I would,’ Ross agreed. ‘Which is precisely why you didn’t ask me.’

  Danny looked uncomfortable. ‘I know it was wrong, I wasn’t thinking straight, but it’s not as if anything happened.’

  ‘It quite easily could have, you know,’ Ross said soberly. ‘A stallion is one of the most dangerous and unpredictable creatures on earth. You have to treat them with respect. You know the old saying?’

  Danny shook his head.

  ‘They say, when dealing with horses, “You tell a gelding; you ask a mare; and you consult a stallion.” It’s worth remembering.’

  Danny laughed. ‘He didn’t consult me,’ he said. ‘He just dumped me like so much rubbish!’

  ‘Let’s hope it taught you a lesson.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘So you did.’ Ross nodded. ‘Now let’s forget it, shall we? We’re in the local paper again, did you see?’

  He leant forward to reach for it and caught his breath sharply as the movement shifted a rib.

  ‘It still hurts then? Dad doesn’t reckon you’ll be fit to ride for another week.’

  ‘He told you that?’ Ross passed him the paper, opened on the relevant page.

  ‘Well, actually, no. He told Mum. I was listening,’ Danny admitted, unashamed. ‘He also said –’

  ‘Okay, okay! Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s wrong to eavesdrop?’

  ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ Danny protested. ‘I was in the same room. Dad thought I was watching telly.’

  ‘That’s just as bad!’ Ross exclaimed, amused. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

  Danny fell obediently silent, reading the article in the paper. It was a general account of the show with several pictures, one of them being a murky shot of Ginger falling, obviously taken from across the ring. The text, uncorrupted by Harry Douglas’ poison pen, was sympathetic and detailed several of the yard’s recent successes to balance the unflattering picture.

  ‘It’s not a very clear photograph,’ the boy said, peering closely. ‘I can’t even see you.’

  ‘Bloodthirsty little sucker, aren’t you?’ Ross said, laughing. ‘By the way, have you come across that videotape yet?’

  Danny scowled. ‘No, and I don’t expect to. I left it on the front seat of Darcy’s car, like I said I did. Why doesn’t anyone believe me? You all think because I’m young I’m automatically stupid!’

  ‘Hey!’ Ross raised his hands. ‘Not guilty! I never said it and I never thought it. I think it’s far more likely that Darcy’s lost it. Try to take it easy. You’ll have ulcers by the time you’re twenty-one!’

  Danny grinned reluctantly. ‘But it’s just so annoying when nobody believes you.’

  ‘Tell me about it! But the best thing you can do is stick at it and prove them wrong.’

  ‘Is that what you do? With Harry Douglas and the others? I thought you just didn’t care. You never seem to.’

  ‘Hide like a rhino, that’s me,’ Ross agreed wryly. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Danny looked sideways at Ross as he walked by. ‘I never know whether you’re kidding or being serious.’

  ‘Oh, quite serious. I’ve got plenty of coffee.’

  ‘You see what I mean?’

  When Ross came back with the drinks, Danny was wandering around the room restlessly, looking at the Stubbs prints on the walls and the half-a-dozen books that Ross had.

  There wasn’t much to see. He hadn’t made any effort to impose his personality on the spartan room. It was probably a legacy of his unsettled past.

  He set the coffee down, watching the boy pick up a volume of English history, and his heart missed a beat as he remembered what stood next to it, partly concealed. He saw Danny freeze momentarily then reach slowly for the bottle.

  Ross said lightly, ‘Now that really would get me into trouble, if you were to go back smelling of whisky.’

  Danny jumped as if he’d been shot. Snatching his hand back as though the bottle was burning hot, he whirled to face Ross, holding the book, his cheeks flaming.

  ‘That’s not a bad book, actually,’ Ross said pleasantly. ‘Read it if you like – but I expect you already know most of it.’

  Danny replaced the volume but remained standing, glaring a mixture of disappointment, accusation and defiance at Ross.

  In spite of himself, he burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t look so tragic! It’s not life and death.’

  ‘Is it true then, what they said about you?’ Danny demanded. ‘Don’t laugh at me! I want to know.’

  ‘“One swallow doth not a summer make”,’ Ross quoted. Then, more seriously, ‘No. I promise you, it’s not true, Danny. I’ve had that one bottle since I got here. I can’t sleep sometimes when my knee’s playing up. It seems to help. Hell, I don’t even like the stuff
much!’

  Danny looked torn. ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ Ross hoped to hell that the boy did believe him. He could imagine Bill’s reaction if he learnt of this.

  Danny came forward slowly and sat down.

  ‘Why did you hide the bottle, then?’

  Ross sighed. ‘It wasn’t exactly hidden, more – discreet. And because I didn’t want anyone jumping to the same conclusions you just have.’

  Danny picked up his coffee. ‘Life’s a bummer, isn’t it?’

  Ross relaxed, making a mental note to put the whisky back in his suitcase.

  ‘Ain’t it just?’

  18

  The next morning brought another note from McKinnon. Ross found it pushed under his door, as the first one had been. He smiled as he read it. McKinnon was clearly enjoying their little game.

  Confirmed. The rat has doubled back, bolt-hole as yet unknown. The antique has provenance. Hope you are recovering.

  Amused, Ross wondered how Roland would feel about being called an antique. He was glad that the Colonel’s son seemed to be in the clear but much about him was still puzzling, not least, on occasions, his behaviour.

  Ross sighed. The idea that he himself could discover anything that the professionals had failed to seemed as unlikely as ever.

  His return to the saddle the following day could not have been described as an unqualified success, but neither was it a total failure. From past experience, he knew he’d just have to grin and bear it. It was nothing new and it was nothing like as bad as it had been after the original accident. He knew Bill was watching him for any signs of weakness to report to the Colonel and, if nothing else, that spurred him on.

  At the end of the day he felt as though he had had an argument with a steamroller, but although his knee had protested vigorously, it hadn’t let him down. He felt a kind of weary elation as the last horse was settled for the evening and he limped up the stairs to his room, to rest and freshen up before the evening meal.

  He spent a couple of hours with the Colonel, as usual, and was cheered by the news that Robbie Fergusson had agreed to leave Bishop at Oakley Manor for the time being.

  ‘He wouldn’t go so far as to admit that he was wrong about you,’ the Colonel told Ross. ‘So I should tread carefully around him for a bit.’