The Silver Falcon (10 page)

‘Tim,' she said suddenly. ‘Do you think Charles would mind me doing this – coming away and staying with people so soon after he died? I keep remembering the time we went to Jamaica together.' She turned round to face him. ‘I wouldn't want anyone to think I'd forgotten him. Or that I didn't really care.'

‘Nobody thinks that,' Ryan said gently. ‘You went through hell for those six months. Everyone knew how you looked after him. You need this break, Isabel. He was a grand person and there wasn't a mean thing in him. He loved you and he'd want you to be happy. You know he would.'

‘But not like this; not staying with Richard's friends. There's something that worries me, Tim. Why did they hate each other so much? Why did he tell me not to trust Richard, just before he died! What's at the back of it all?'

Ryan looked at her. ‘I didn't know that,' he said. ‘I knew he didn't like Richard and he always spoke of him as a waster. That bothers me, Isabel. I wish you'd told me before.'

‘Everyone seemed to be against him,' she said slowly. ‘Andrew bursting in the night of the funeral and telling him to go. Trying to turn me against him. It didn't seem fair. He'd been shut out for so long, and he did come back to make it up with his father. Right up to now I felt I was doing absolutely the right thing. Now I wonder whether I'm being disloyal to Charles.' She looked at him unhappily. ‘Tell me the truth, Tim. What do you think?'

He stretched out and took her hand. She didn't pull away.

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘But I think you should ask him what really went wrong between him and his father. You've come in for criticism at home for having him at Beaumont. There'll be more of it because you've gone on this trip. That's one of the reasons I came with you. People can hardly talk if there are three of us. But you have a right to know the truth. I'm surprised Charles didn't tell you.'

‘He never told me anything,' she said. ‘I did ask him once, about Richard's mother, and he wouldn't discuss it at all. I felt too proud to go on asking if he didn't want to tell me. It was his business. All I knew was that they weren't happy and that she killed herself. It must have been horrible for him and I didn't want to pry. The same with Richard. He wouldn't talk about him. He just said the same thing to me as he did to you. He's a waster and no good. And never trust him. He said he'd try and stop me running the Falcon.…'

‘He must have been wandering in his mind,' Tim said. ‘Richard doesn't give a good goddamn about the horse. I know that. He just joins in to please you. I wouldn't take that seriously.'

He sat on quietly, holding her hand. There were lights set among the palm trees in the garden and below them the pool shimmered pale blue from underwater floodlighting. She was wearing loose silk beach pyjamas and a long gold chain with her initials in diamonds set onto a crystal heart. He came very close in those few moments to telling her he was in love with her. But instinctively he knew that it was premature. She needed time to find herself again. Proximity was nine-tenths of the game. He didn't intend to be far away. It was a perfect night, with a vast swollen moon riding the sky, the lights of the houses and hotel below them glittering in the darkness. But in spite of the beguiling peace of the villa garden, and the quiet presence of the woman he loved beside him, Ryan was suddenly uneasy. There was nothing logical about the feeling – a dying man's suspicion of his son, a family feud that had its origins long years before he even came to America. It was all in the past and he shouldn't have been disturbed by what Isabel had told him. But he was.

‘Hullo,' the voice of Patsy Farrant came from behind them. ‘Sorry you've been left all alone.' She came round and stood beside them, one hand balanced on her left hip. She wore a white one-piece trouser suit, slit to the navel, and a mass of gold chains round her neck. ‘I suppose Roy's talking business with Richard,' she said. She took the chair beside Tim Ryan and stretched out on it, her beautiful thighs extended. ‘That's the second thing he lives for,' she said. She gave a slow sensual smile and tapped Ryan's arm. ‘Go and find that lazy nigger, will you, please? I want a glass of champagne. They're never about when you want them.' She watched Tim move into the room behind them. Then she turned to Isabel.

‘He's delicious,' she said. ‘I saw you two holding hands. I'm glad so glad it's him, dear. I nearly had a heart attack thinking you'd picked Richard. Your Irishman's lovely. I like him.' She twisted round to watch him come back. He was carrying her drink himself. As he gave it to her she brushed his hand with her fingers. The big blue eyes were turned on him like searchlights. At that moment Roy Farrant, followed by Richard, came to join them.

In the bedroom, Susan Garvin turned to her husband. ‘Hook this up for me, darling.' He came and fastened the silk blouse at the back of her neck. They had known each other since they were children. It was a very happy and successful marriage; she hoped to become pregnant while they were staying with the Farrants, but she hadn't told him this. He didn't feel enthusiastic about children; he liked her to come racing with him and he didn't want their bed life disturbed by sickness and a swelling abdomen. She wasn't worried; he was the kind of man who would be wild about a child when it was a reality.

‘Gerry – what's going on with Roy and Richard?'

‘I don't know.' He did the tiny hooks up one by one. It was all very well to buy couture clothes but it was presupposed you had a ladies' maid to get you in and out of them.

‘Why has he brought Mrs Schriber over here – there must be something behind it.'

‘Maybe he thinks I'll learn something from them, or from Tim Ryan. If that's the idea he's made a bloody great mistake. I tried pumping Ryan about their horse and I got nowhere. Not a hint of anything.'

He had finished negotiating the hooks and eyes. Susan Garvin turned round to him. ‘You be careful,' she said. ‘Don't let Roy get you involved in anything. Never mind about the Derby – he doesn't care what he does so long as he wins this time. His reputation stinks anyway. But you look out for yourself!'

‘Don't worry, I've thought of that,' her husband said. ‘I'd trust Richard Schriber as far as I could kick a grand piano. And they're certainly up to something. Farrant would commit a murder to win with Rocket Man, but he knows where I stand. I want to win as much as anyone – more. We've never had a Derby winner. But I'm not risking my reputation or my licence. He can do his own dirty work so long as I don't know anything about it.'

She came and put her arms round his neck. ‘You promise me? You're the only trainer he's had who hasn't been asked to pull horses and all the rest of the big betting stuff. Everybody knows it too. I'd rather you didn't win the Derby if stooping to his level is the price.'

Susan had never liked Roy Farrant; she was friendly and frank by nature. Farrant made her uncomfortable. She didn't trust his bonhomie and she thought his wife a mentally retarded nymphomaniac; she often wished he would take his horses away from her husband. Gerry was successful enough not to need them. Perhaps if they won the Derby, then she could persuade him.…

‘You be a good girl now,' Gerry Garvin said. He kissed her. ‘Don't worry about me; I promise you I won't be drawn into anything and Roy knows bloody well I won't. But you've got to be nice to the Schriber woman and chat up Ryan. Roy wants us all to be one big happy family. And for God's sake don't turn your nose up at Richard!'

‘There's something funny about that man,' she said. ‘I've never believed in that business of being a playboy – drunk at nine in the morning and never doing a day's work – I don't think he's really like that at all!'

‘That's exactly what he is, my sweet. A rich bastard with nothing to do but get himself into trouble. Especially with women. I happen to know Roy's bailed him out a couple of times. And Roy never lets anyone forget a favour. I'd say the time has come for Richard to pay up.'

‘I watched him this afternoon,' Susan said slowly. ‘He's getting round that woman and she doesn't even know it. I feel really sorry for her.'

‘We can't afford to be,' Gerry said. ‘There's a lot at stake for us too. Come on, darling, nice bright smile – let's get outside some of Roy's champagne.'

‘How good is the Falcon?' Roy Farrant asked. He and Richard had gone off to play golf at the exclusive course adjoining the housing estate. They had driven off with golf clubs in the little buggy the Farrants kept for running round the island. When they got to the golf course, they left the clubs in the buggy and went straight into the club house. Farrant ordered iced coffee and Richard asked for rum. They chose a table on the verandah far from the few people having an early morning drink. Farrant's eyes were hard and narrowed; he looked much older when he wasn't smiling. Richard swallowed hard at his drink.

‘Very good,' he said. ‘But you ought to know that; you know what his performance was last season.'

‘Yes of course I bloody know that,' Farrant interrupted angrily. ‘He won two Grade I races. But there's all the difference in the world between a top-class two-year-old and a Classic winner! Is he going to train on? And is he going to be as good as he was?'

‘Better,' Richard said. ‘He's grown on since last year; he was very lightly raced because Ryan doesn't believe in overdoing two-year-olds. He's a big, powerful colt and he hasn't been stretched at all. Ryan said he got a mile and a quarter without any trouble. He's confident he'll get the distance for the Derby. From the look of him and what I picked up out there, he'll slaughter Rocket Man.'

‘Christ,' Farrant said. ‘There's nothing else in England that can beat us. Nothing!'

‘It's been a bad year for English two-year-olds,' Richard remarked slyly.

Farrant glared at him. ‘Keep your bloody cracks to yourself,' he said. ‘You know Rocket Man is a certain winner this year. Everybody knows it. There's only one Frenchman to reckon with and we can fix him. I'm not worried about that.'

‘If you want me to tell you that Silver Falcon doesn't look the better horse, then okay, I will. But it isn't the truth. If I were you I wouldn't plunge on Rocket Man. My money goes on the Falcon.' He got up and went to the bar. He came back with another glass of rum. Farrant looked up at him and scowled.

‘You must have bloody hollow legs,' he said. Richard played with the glass, making the ice tinkle. He didn't say anything. After a few minutes Roy Farrant looked up.

‘I have plunged,' he said slowly. ‘I've laid thirty thousand on him. But it isn't the money. I want that race!'

‘You sound like my father,' Richard said. ‘He was a glory hunter too.'

‘It's definite she's going to run him?' Farrant asked.

‘No question; she promised my father on his death bed. The old bastard couldn't even let up when he was dying. Falcon'll run.'

‘Unless something happens to him,' Farrant muttered.

Richard Schriber shook his head. ‘I wouldn't rely on it,' he said. ‘Nigel Foster'll guard him like the gold in Fort Knox. He's never broken down a horse in his life in training. And you won't get within a mile of him before the race. There's nothing you can do about it.'

‘When Schriber died I thought we were home and dry,' Farrant said. ‘All the papers were full of it. You've never read such a lot of crap in your life about the great American sportsman and how tragic he didn't live to see his great hope run in the Derby. You wouldn't believe it! I went out and laid another ten grand on my fellow – everything was just great, till you phoned from Beaumont and told me the bloody news!'

‘Forewarned,' Richard Schriber said, ‘is forearmed.'

Farrant looked up at him. ‘What do you mean? You said you had an idea when you suggested bringing her out here. I've been trying to talk to you ever since you came out and all you say is you're thinking about it! For Christ's sake, Richard, you know how much this means to me – if you've got a scheme, then I want to hear it!'

‘You said you weren't interested in the money,' Richard said. ‘I don't know what price you got on Rocket Man but I don't suppose it was less than sixes at this stage. That's a hundred and eighty grand if he wins. Syndication value for stud between a million and a half and two million, depending on how decisive the victory. But if you say-money isn't important to you, then I believe you.' He finished the rum. ‘Thousands wouldn't.'

‘Get to the point,' Farrant said. ‘You've got something up your sleeve and you're holding out on me.' He spoke slowly, leaning forward across the table. ‘I did you a favour not so long ago. I reckon you owe me something. Morris's boys would have spoiled you for life if I hadn't squared him!'

‘I don't pay gambling debts on a crooked wheel,' Richard Schriber said. ‘And if I laid his daughter so did half London. But I'm still grateful to you, Roy. And I'm going to prove it. The Falcon won't run at Epsom.'

Farrant looked at him. ‘If I can't stop it, how can you?'

‘That's my business. Just take it on trust.'

Farrant suddenly leaned back. ‘All right,' he said. ‘I'm on. How much do you want?'

Richard Schriber smiled. He ran his hand over his red hair and tipped the chair slightly backwards.

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘Nothing you could give me, Roy. Not money, certainly. Just let's say I'm paying back the favour you mentioned.'

‘You can name your price,' Farrant said. ‘Don't frig about –'

‘I'll settle for another rum,' he said. He pushed his glass over to Farrant. ‘Don't worry about it. I'd like to see you win the Derby. I'd get a real kick out of seeing your face. You just fix the Frenchman when the time comes and leave the Silver Falcon to me.'