Outside Chance
Page 36
Was Truman mad? Did he really think he could get away with murder?
Something landed heavily on the ground, not six inches from Ben’s head, as he stopped rolling. He blinked and brought it into focus.
The axe!
Bloody hell!
He scrambled away and came to his feet in one panic-stricken movement; only then did it register that the weapon had fallen with the blade flat to the turf. It had been dropped, not wielded, and its owner was lying prone on the grass, his eyes peacefully closed, presumably a victim of another of Nico’s deadly kicks.
The man Ben had attacked was looking a deal less confident than he had just a few seconds before, but even as he was beginning to believe that – against all the odds – he and Nico might actually come off best from the encounter, the balance of advantage changed once again as Baldy returned to the fray. He loomed out of the darkness, minus the baseball bat and not, it had to be said, looking his best, but six-foot three of muscle is pretty menacing, whatever state it’s in, and he had one big ace in the hole: his beefy forearm was locked tightly around Gyorgy’s throat. The Hungarian appeared dazed and helpless.
‘Ben!’
Nico shouted and pointed, drawing his attention to the fact that Truman was also on the move. Almost flinging Helen away from him he strode forward, pulling something from his pocket which, a fraction of a second later, extended with a snap into a two-foot long baton.
‘All very heroic!’ Truman raised his voice so everyone could hear. ‘But I’m in control now. You …’ He pointed the baton at Nico. ‘I let you off last time with a flogging but you foreigners just don’t learn, do you?’
‘You’ll never beat me again!’
In the light from Gyorgy’s wagon, Nico’s eyes burned with hatred and he took a couple of rapid steps forward.
Truman took an equally quick step back.
‘Decker!’ he barked. ‘Break the old man’s neck.’
‘No!’ Sick with fear for Gyorgy, it was Ben who moved forward this time, but he didn’t duck quite fast enough as Truman’s baton cracked across his neck and shoulder in a stinging blow.
Helen screamed something but her voice was lost as the Mitsubishi’s engine roared into life and it swung round with its headlights on full beam, simultaneously blinding nearly all the players in the drama.
Mikey? It had to be.
The vehicle accelerated and Ben threw up an arm to shield his eyes. He saw Truman glance fearfully behind him and leap aside to avoid being run down, but Mattock Man wasn’t quite quick enough and took a glancing blow which bowled him over and sent him rolling away into the gloom.
Mikey braked hard to avoid hitting anyone else and the car’s engine stalled, but in the silence that followed Ben heard the eminently welcome sound of police sirens approaching.
Unsurprisingly, the sound provoked an entirely different set of emotions in Truman and his hired muscle, and by the time the blue lights were in view Baldy and Mattock Man had collected their semi-conscious companion and were making good speed towards the saloon car.
Truman stood, irresolutely, looking from the oncoming police car to his Range Rover, and then across to where his daughter stood, still sobbing into her hand.
‘Don’t bother, Eddie,’ Ben called out. ‘There’s nowhere to go.’
Perhaps realising the truth of this, Truman let the baton fall to the ground and walked slowly across to put his arm round his daughter.
Gyorgy, abandoned unceremoniously, was rocking on his feet and Ben saw Nico hurry to his side. In the other direction the saloon car reversed at top speed, spun in a ragged handbrake turn and started off across the field, bottoming out as it hit uneven ground.
Rubbing his sore neck, Ben watched as the first police car turned to pursue it, then saw with relief that another had followed it in, and a third was even now pulling up across the gateway. Logan had come up trumps.
‘Ben? Are you all right?’
Mikey had got out of the car.
‘I’m fine, thanks to you. You were brilliant! I didn’t even know you could drive.’
Mikey grinned apologetically.
‘I’ve been taking lessons. It was going to be a surprise.’
‘Oh, it was,’ Ben assured him. ‘One of the best I’ve ever had!’
Moments later, the first of the police cars pulled up beside them, blue lights flashing but siren off. The doors opened to reveal a petite female officer who efficiently took charge of Truman, and Logan, who came straight over to Ben.
‘All right, mate?’
‘I’ll live. Nico’s uncle isn’t so good.’
‘There’s an ambulance on the way; should be here any minute.’ He patted Ben cheerfully on his bad shoulder and went to see how Gyorgy was doing.
‘Pity they smashed up the wagon. I could just do with a cuppa,’ Ben remarked whimsically; but when Mikey set off to investigate: ‘No, Mikey! There could be gas.’
Feeling less than chipper, Ben leaned against the Mitsubishi and awaited developments, the first of which was the advent of the ambulance and the paramedics.
Much happier now that Gyorgy was being attended to, Ben turned his attention to the area by the gate where Truman’s hired help had been apprehended and safely gathered in.
‘What will happen to the Guvnor, now?’ Mikey asked, frowning. Ben remembered that, to his brother, the events of the evening must have seemed totally incomprehensible, making it all the more amazing that he’d done what he had.
‘I very much hope he’ll go to prison for a very long time,’ he replied. ‘I’ll explain it all to you later, if I’ve got the energy. Meantime, remind me to buy you the biggest ice cream sundae that money can buy!’
Mikey shook his head.
‘Not this week. I’m riding at Fontwell on Saturday.’
‘Yeah, well I hope so.’
Just feet away, the WPC was loading Truman into the back of the police car, a guiding hand on his head. Helen hovered, her face haggard with shock.
For the trainer, that would be the final indignity, Ben reflected. Being arrested by a woman. It was a satisfying thought.
Logan came back.
‘Looks like you’ve had fun and games,’ he commented.
‘Yeah, it was some reunion.’
‘Well, I’m afraid this is going to take a while to sort out. Are you all right?’ He shone his torch over Ben from head to toes and back again.
‘Yeah. I should go and see Gyorgy. Poor bloke; this is nothing to do with him.’
‘You should go and see the paramedics,’ Logan suggested.
Ben raised his eyebrows.
‘You would appear to be leaking.’
The policeman shone his torch at Ben’s right arm, and he lifted it to find blood running down the back of his hand.
‘Oh, bugger. That was the dogs, earlier.’
It was Logan’s turn to raise his eyebrows.
‘Not that hairy mongrel of yours, surely!’
‘No. Truman’s guard dogs.’
Logan shook his head and sighed.
‘I think, when you’ve got yourself patched up, that you and I are going to have to have a very long talk,’ he said.
Epilogue
The Csikós’ last performance of their first short tour of England was a sell-out long before they arrived at Brinkley Castle in Hertfordshire. They had, in fact, sold out three performances on three consecutive nights.
Work to prepare the grounds of the stately home for both the show and the influx of people it was expected to generate, took nearly a week. Ben knew, from past conversations with Jakob, that the full road crew that normally accompanied the troupe in Europe had been shipped over beforehand to set up the complicated technical equipment needed to stage the French-style son et lumière show.
As the Mitsubishi joined the back of the slow-moving queue for Brinkley Castle, Ben smiled at Lisa, then looked in his rear-view mirror, where he could see Stephen and Mikey engaged in a good-natured debate which ap
parently revolved around something or someone they had seen in a passing car. The two boys, only a year apart in age, had, over the last few days, formed what looked like becoming a lasting friendship. Stephen already had a maturity that Ben’s brother would probably never achieve, but Mikey’s growing reputation as an amateur jockey had seen his confidence blossom and, somehow, with their shared love of horses, they functioned as equals. Normally quiet and introspective, Stephen seemed relaxed in Mikey’s company.
After the disaster of Truman’s interference, the idea of a reunion between Helen and Nico seemed to die a death, with no real inclination on either side. For each, it seemed, the present reality of the other was so far removed from their gilt-edged memories that they might as well have been strangers. So even now, seventeen years on, Truman had managed to come between them. They had exchanged a few words on that wretched night near Bath, but it seemed that Helen had taken Ben’s advice on board, and nothing had been said about Stephen.
Nico knew now, of course, and had received the news from Ben with a mixture of wonder and incredulity.
‘Does he know? Will he see me?’ he’d asked after a moment. Then, more sombrely, ‘Do you think he should, my friend?’
Ben had repeated his conviction that the boy should decide.
While her father was absent, awaiting trial, Fliss had taken over the reins at Castle Ridge, and so far there had been few complaints from any quarter. The horses had continued to show good form and Mikey, who was aware of Belinda Kepple’s offer, had nevertheless elected to stay with the bigger stable for the time being, especially since Finch had been shown the door by Helen.
Stephen had come back from his holiday with knowledge of the events surrounding his birth, but still in ignorance of his father’s true identity, and Ben had braced himself to bring the subject up.
In the end it had been unnecessary. Mikey had provided the information when Ben went with him to Wincanton one day.
‘Stephen says he’s going to Hungary in the summer,’ Mikey told Ben as they walked through the crowds to the weighing-room. ‘He wants to look for his father.’
‘You didn’t tell him about Nico?’
‘No. You said not to.’
‘Good. Thanks for that.’
The Csikós’ show, entitled ‘Kings of the Wind’, was a masterly blend of special effects and quite staggering horsemanship. The action took place on a natural, grassy stage in front of Brinkley Castle and just across the river from the audience; it was also relayed via a big screen to one side.
Even Ben, who had grown accustomed to the beauty and skill of their performances, was captivated. The son et lumière element turned the whole experience into a thing of wonder and, when he could drag his eyes from the spectacle, he was rewarded by the utter fascination of Lisa and the boys.
When the final bows had been taken and the floodlights came on to assist with the dispersal of the crowd, Ben instructed his party to stick close to him. He fought his way to the river’s edge, from where he led them to a narrow bridge, and from there to the field where the Csikós’ transporters were drawn up in the familiar pattern.
The first person they encountered in the backstage bustle was Jakob, leading four of the Magyar horses, two lead reins in each hand.
‘Ben! How did you like the show? It was good, yes?’
‘Very good,’ Ben said warmly. ‘Absolutely brilliant!’
He introduced Lisa and the two youngsters, and Jakob greeted them all with his usual charm, his eyes lingering thoughtfully on Stephen.
‘And how is Gyorgy?’
‘Yes, he is well,’ Jakob said. ‘His arm is on the mending.’
‘On the mend,’ Ben corrected, with a smile. ‘I’ll find him in a minute and thank him again. And I want to thank you, too. Nico says it was you who persuaded him not to wait for us alone.’
Jakob frowned. ‘I had a bad feeling. In here,’ he said, tapping his chest.
‘Well, I’m sorry for what happened to your brother, but I think it might just have saved Nico from much worse.’
‘My father was Hungarian,’ Stephen put in suddenly. ‘He was a jockey.’
Jakob nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘I thought as much,’ he said, adding to Ben, ‘He’s seeing to Bajnok, I think.’
Following Jakob’s directions, they caught up with Nico as he led the black horse back to his stable. Still wearing his black and gold braided jacket, his dark face flushed with the high of performing, he presented a picture such as any fatherless boy might conjure up in his fantasies.
The Hungarian greeted them with a flash of his brilliant smile and then faltered, as the significance of the dark-haired, dark-eyed youngster at Ben’s side clearly hit home.
Stephen looked faintly puzzled by Nico’s reaction and glanced up at Ben enquiringly.
‘Mikey told me you wanted to know,’ Ben said gently. ‘But we don’t have to do this. We can turn back right now and never mention it again. It’s up to you.’
Stephen’s eyes narrowed and he looked back at Nico.
‘You …?’he asked.
Nico nodded, slowly.
It was Mikey who broke the tension, with a characteristic, low-voiced, ‘Wow! I wish he was my dad!’
Nico smiled, but his eyes quickly returned to Stephen.
‘I have to see to my horse,’ he announced, patting Bajnok’s sleek black neck. ‘You can come, if you like.’
He turned and walked away, and for a moment it looked as though Stephen would let him go, but then, with a fleeting glance at the others, he followed.
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Copyright © Lyndon Stacey 2005
The right of Lyndon Stacey to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
First published by Hutchinson in 2005
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ISBN 9780099463443 (from January 2007)