Outside Chance (28 page)

When he and Nico had erected the last of the posts they left the other two to finish fitting the
rails and went in search of much-needed refreshment. Jakob and Gyorgy were still out and, although Ben had been intending to try and bring up the subject of Stefan with the older man, he began to see that Nico might, after all, be his best bet. Nico, in his present high spirits, was garrulous in the extreme and, with a little judicious steering, Ben felt that the conversation might easily include mention of Jakob's son.

In the event, it proved more straightforward than he could have hoped. Nico wanted to know about Ben's own family and, in telling him about Mikey, Ben was able to add quite casually, ‘I gather Jakob's son was a jockey too.'

‘Yes, he was. Who told you that?'

‘Jakob did.'

‘I'm surprised. He doesn't usually talk about him. What else did he say?' Nico had found the key to the catering wagon and was rustling up coffee and biscuits for them both.

‘That he died in a car crash. Tell me about him; were you close?'

Nico shrugged. ‘We are Rom – we have to be close. Gadje – outsiders – don't welcome our company. Stefan was my cousin, kind of. My Uncle Vesh – you've seen him around – is married to Jakob's sister. He was six years older than me, and when you're growing up, that seems quite a lot. I used to follow him around as a kid. I guess I looked up to him; he was my hero. Then he went to ride racehorses in South Africa, and when he was offered the job over here I wanted to come too.'

‘He came to England, then? What happened?' Ben was careful not to sound too eager.

‘He was a big success. Many people were asking for him to ride their horses, they said he had a gift.' For a moment, Nico almost glowed with pride. ‘They said he had a big future ahead of him. He was only here for a few months – less than a year – but he made more money than the rest of us had ever dreamed of. Then he called and said he was coming home – to Hungary – you understand; there was something wrong with his papers and he couldn't stay.'

‘Didn't he tell you any more?'

Nico shook his head sadly.

‘His car crashed. It was old and they think the brakes failed. It turned over and over down a bank . . .' He illustrated the movement with his hands.‘. . .And then there was fire. We never saw him again.'

‘Poor Jakob.'

‘He was . . .' Nico struggled to find the word.

‘Devastated?'

‘Yes, devastated. We were all so proud, and then – nothing.'

‘Where did it happen?' Ben prompted gently. He'd already got more than he'd expected to.

‘At home, near Szolnok, at night on a dark country road. But you won't write about this, will you Ben? It's private. Jakob wouldn't like it.'

‘No, of course not. I'm sorry – I was just interested; because of Jakob. He's such a nice guy.'

‘Everybody likes Jakob,' Nico stated matter-of-factly.

‘Nico!' The shout came from outside and was followed by a rapid phrase that was incomprehensible to Ben but not, obviously, to Nico. He replied
in kind, then, getting to his feet, translated for his visitor with a flash of his whiter-than-white teeth.

‘Gyorgy says I should get off my fat arse and help him unload the van. I better do it. You stay here.'

‘No, I'll come and help.' Ben drained his mug and stood up.

Jakob was outside with Gyorgy and, seeing them side by side, Ben was struck by how alike the brothers were. ‘The Csikós' was a family business of a type rarely seen in England. Even Tamás, the vet, was married to Jakob's daughter, Dritta. They had welcomed Ben with generous hospitality, but he guessed that if he ever did anything that remotely threatened one of their number they would close ranks instantly and range against him. ‘We are Rom – we have to be close,' Nico had said.

‘There is something wrong, Ben?' Jakob paused in passing, his arms full of plastic-wrapped trays of tins.

‘No.' Ben shook his head. ‘Just thinking about families.'

‘Ah, never work with them,' Jakob declared loudly. ‘Look at this lot: a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings, and the shame of it is, I can't give them – what is that word you use? – the sack. I can't get rid of them.'

Nico rattled off something in his own tongue and ducked to avoid being cuffed by Gyorgy. He dodged away, laughing.

‘The ingratitude of the young,' Jakob complained. ‘He says they only keep us old people around out of pity! But you see he only says it when I have my hands filled with packets, eh?'

Ben laughed, but his enjoyment of the moment was tempered by the suspicions occupying his mind. If these people – any of them – were involved in the kidnapping of Eddie Truman's horse, not only would some of them undoubtedly be arrested, but the whole troupe would be discredited, their burgeoning reputation sullied beyond recall. ‘The Csikós' would, almost certainly, be no more.

When the last of the supplies had been transferred from the van to the catering wagon, Gyorgy announced his intention of starting to prepare lunch, and Nico invited Ben to watch him schooling Duka.

‘I teach him a new trick. Come, I'll show you.'

Ben went with him, hoping for a chance to have a look at the loose horses. The newly built round-pen was already in use, with Tamás standing at its centre, closely watching the Arab, Vadas, who was circling him at the trot.

‘How is he?' Nico called.

With a step sideways and slightly towards it, the vet brought the free-running horse to a smooth but instant halt. He walked across and slipped a rope halter over the chestnut's head before answering Nico.

‘He seems all right today. There's no heat in that foot. I think maybe we caught it in time.'

‘That's good.' Nico turned to Ben. ‘Vadas was a little sore yesterday and when Vesh took off the shoe he found the beginning of a – I don't know your word for it . . .'

‘An abscess,' Tamás supplied, leading the horse out of the round-pen. ‘It was lucky that we found it so soon. It was very small. Could have been a
piece of grit or even a grass seed under the shoe. It is open now. As long as it is kept clean there should be no more trouble.'

‘Can he do the show tonight?' Nico ran his hands down the affected leg to the hoof.

‘I think so. He's not lame. But no shoe until it has healed.'

‘What happened with the horses that got out the other night? Have they all recovered?' Ben asked. ‘And have you had any more trouble from the group that did it?'

‘The horses are fine. Even the one with the gashed shoulder is healing well. We were lucky. There has been no more trouble but there were some people walking in the road with banners when we left the field yesterday; the police moved them on.' He laughed. ‘When I was a boy, it was always
us
the police would be moving on, if they could.'

The vet moved away with the horse, fending off a sneaky nip from the Arab's ready teeth as he did so, and Ben and Nico followed behind, en route to the stable building and Duka.

After an enjoyable half-hour spent watching Nico teach the Andalusian to remove a broad-brimmed hat he'd donned for the purpose, Ben left him settling the horse back in his stall and wandered round the rest of the complex.

He was out of luck with the loose horse herd; they'd been turned out in a field behind the buildings and he couldn't get closer than fifty feet or more. Even at that distance, though, he could see enough to make him seriously doubt the feasibility of one of them being Cajun King. They were
certainly all thoroughbreds but, of the ten, only half were of a similar colour and build, and none of these had either the same markings or the skimpy tail of the horse in the picture Ben carried in his wallet. It seemed he would have to think again but, if the Csikós did have the horse, where on earth could they have hidden it? Or where under the earth? His mind tagged the question on before he could stop it.

What he'd learned from Nico had given him a little more insight into the background of the ill-fated Stefan Varga but not a lot more. He still had no idea whether Jakob's state of mind was such that he'd consider putting the family's livelihood at risk to gain revenge. Also, if Jakob were indeed behind the kidnap, he couldn't have done it alone; but Nico hadn't given the impression of someone with anything to hide. There was only one thing that had really struck Ben as odd, and that was Nico's saying that the car that Stefan had crashed and died in was old. Surely, if he'd been as successful as it seemed, he would have bought or rented himself a newer car when he arrived home. It was almost always the first thing that any young man did when he came into some money, and he saw no reason why Stefan should have been any different.

‘Have you come to ride again?'

Jakob had come up soft-footed and unseen, and Ben jumped, almost guiltily.

‘No, not really. Actually, my editor wants to bring the article forward, and my other job is a bit quiet at the moment, so I thought I'd better come and ask a few more questions, check a few
details, that sort of thing.' He was glad that it was at least the partial truth, because Jakob had a rather unsettling way of looking at one sometimes, which made him hesitate to try and bluff through.

‘But now you are here . . .?'

‘Oh, I don't know, I'm still a bit sore from yesterday.'

‘Nico tells me you have a saying, “hair of the dog” – have I said that right?'

‘Yes, that's right. But I don't think it's scientifically proven,' Ben said, smiling. ‘Both Nico and Tamás speak very good English; how does that come about?'

‘Tamás spent a year in the USA when he was in study to be a vet, and Nico was in New Zealand, working. What were you thinking about?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Just now. You were standing watching the horses and I spoke to you twice before you answered.'

‘I – I'm not sure. Lots of things.' All at once, Ben was conscious of an overwhelming urge to confide in Jakob. In his presence it seemed inconceivable that he could be a party to any kidnap plot, but he held his tongue, nevertheless; the risk was just too great.

Jakob shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I should not have asked. Come; Gyorgy will be calling for us and it is a great wrong to keep food waiting.'

Ben left Romsey mid-afternoon, bound once more for Castle Ridge. After lunch at the catering wagon he'd gone with Jakob to watch Nico working
Bajnok, which had been a treat. He was riding him in a building similar to the one housing the horses but devoid of the inner partitioning walls. There was a thick covering of what looked like peat on the floor, and Jakob explained that they were using it to shelter the loose herd at night.

When they let themselves in through the huge sliding door Nico had warmed the Friesian up and was just starting to put him through his paces. Ben stood in awe as the big black horse and his rider performed. He'd seen countless numbers of riders in his time, and a fairly small percentage of those could – in his opinion – be called horsemen, but Nico went way beyond that. It was as if he and the stallion had some kind of telepathic link.

Music emanated from a battered ghetto-blaster in the corner by the door, and the horse was moving in time to the rhythm. Try as he might, Ben couldn't discern any physical form of instruction being passed between them; the horse just appeared to be dancing of his own volition, his neck arched and proud under the cascading black mane, his strong, feathered legs lifting high with perfect cadence as he turned this way and that. When the sound of the CD player died away and Bajnok sank into a graceful bow, Ben couldn't resist clapping.

Nico looked across and inclined his head with a slight smile.

‘I used to think I was a fair rider but that was something else!' Ben told Jakob.

He nodded proudly. ‘It was. I never tire of watching him. He has a true gift.'

‘And your son; he was gifted too?'

‘He was, but Stefan was still young when he died. Speed was his passion – he lived to race. Maybe if he'd lived longer he would have discovered the joy of what Nico has just shown us; but, even with the pride of a father, I can't honestly say he would have been as good. Nico is exceptional, but I wouldn't say it to his face.'

‘What's that, old man?' Nico was riding over; Bajnok, on a loose rein, looking a completely different horse. He jumped off and started to run the stirrups up.

‘I'll ignore that,' Jakob said, then, putting a hand on Nico's arm, ‘May we borrow him for a few minutes?'

Nico turned his head with a slight frown, then, glancing at Ben, flashed his white teeth and said, ‘Of course.'

Ben's initial protests were shot down and before he knew it he was aboard Bajnok and settling into Nico's deep, well-worn saddle. His leg muscles set up a token protest but, in all honesty, Ben had to admit it wasn't bad. The horse stood like a rock while Ben adjusted his stirrups and then moved off willingly to command. Having Nico watch him made Ben feel a little inadequate but, after a minute or two, when he'd begun to relax and enjoy the Friesian's super-comfortable paces, he glanced towards the door and saw him fiddling with the portable hi-fi, apparently disinterested.

Shortly after, Jakob called out to him to bring Bajnok back to a walk.

‘Now, bring him shorter. Use your legs gently
and keep hold of his head. That's it, play with the bit . . . ever so gentle – good, you have nice hands.'

Bajnok's ears flicked back and forth as he tried to work out what his strange rider was asking of him and then, suddenly, Ben heard the music start up again. Instantly, the big black bunched his muscles and drew his head in until his chin was nearly touching his chest. With a sense of wonder Ben sat still as the horse began to dance, lifting his feet extravagantly high in diagonal pairs and holding each stride for a fraction of a second at its zenith, in a kind of partially suspended animation. Up, forward and down, as if he were treading on air. Ben knew the movement was known in dressage circles as ‘passage' but he'd never experienced it before, and, although he was continuing to give the aids that Jakob had instructed, he was well aware that his part in the procedure was negligible.