Time to Pay (36 page)

Tilly's guests were Pippa, Giles and Lloyd, Gideon and Eve, Barbara and Hamish Daniels, and Beth and Freddy.

‘I feel slightly awkward,' she confided in Gideon, as they hurried rather breathlessly up the stairs. ‘She's paying for all this, and I've got four times as many guests as she has.'

‘But that's what she wanted, and she's loving it. You can see she's in her element,' he pointed out.

When they finally reached the warmth of the box, the television screen was showing the runners circling at the start, and they were pleased to see that Nero was still behaving himself well.

‘That kid's got a way with him,' Gideon told Eve as he slipped into a seat between her and Giles, ready to watch the race. ‘Considering it was the first time he'd sat on Nero, it was amazing. He's got a real talent.'

‘Oh, God! Not another witchdoctor, surely!' Giles exclaimed in horror.

‘He's dreadfully shy,' Tilly put in, taking the
seat on the other side of Giles. ‘But I'd heard he was very good with the horses, and he certainly is.'

In due course the starter called them in and they jumped off in a ragged line, heading down the back-straight at a steady pace. Nero ran his race with controlled enthusiasm, gaining half a length on his opponents at every fence to stay in the leading group for a circuit and a half, before his lack of race-fitness caught up with him in coming round the final bend and he fell back to cross the line a very creditable fifth. His young jockey followed Tilly's instructions to the letter, not pushing him when it became obvious he was tiring.

Tilly was ecstatic. ‘That was bloody brilliant! Just what I wanted. I'll be using that boy again, I can tell you. And thanks again to you guys, you've done a fantastic job with him.'

Gideon looked across at Pippa and smiled, forgetting their quarrel in the joy of the moment, but it seemed she wasn't able to forget. She turned away, cutting him dead, and linked her arm through Lloyd's, giving him a kiss for good measure.

Saddened, Gideon found Eve watching him and smiled at her instead, before hurrying down to the course with Tilly to meet Mikey and Nero as they left the track.

Tilly repeated her comments to the jockey.

‘He jumped beautifully!' Mikey told her happily, patting the horse's steaming neck. ‘I think he'll be really good.'

‘Well, the ride is yours for as long as you want it,' she replied. ‘You did really well!'

In the unsaddling area water was poured over Nero's sweaty head and body, and then Gideon held him while his groom squeegeed off the excess with a sweat scraper and covered him with a sheet.

Agatha's own horse, Arctic Tremelo, ran in the next race but one, which was the feature race of the afternoon. A big, light grey gelding, he was the rising star of the Puddlestone yard, and although no-one actually said as much, Gideon knew that a great deal of Tilly's credibility as a trainer rested on the horse giving a good account of himself.

While everyone else had thrown themselves into the party atmosphere of Agatha's box, he noticed that Tilly herself ate little and was unusually quiet. Even Giles' company, which she normally enjoyed, failed to draw her out, and when she disappeared to oversee the horse's preparation, Gideon reassured his friend that her preoccupation was no reflection on him.

Tilly needn't have worried.

Tremelo won his race with ease, drawing six lengths clear of the rest of the field in the finishing straight to win pulling up. She led him in, slapping his grey neck delightedly and beaming from ear to ear, and didn't stop smiling for the remainder of the afternoon.

Agatha was overjoyed at the success of her beloved horse, and when she made her way down to proudly accept a cut-glass decanter for his win, all her new-found friends accompanied her. On the way back to the box after the presentation, Tilly – with no runners for an hour or so – was walking beside Giles, and Gideon smiled secretly, noticing that he'd slipped his arm round her waist.

‘Gideon?' a voice said, just behind him.

He turned to find Beth, neat in a navy skirt-suit, her dark eyes barely level with his shoulder. Freddy was astride her left hip.

She held up her racecard.

‘There's a horse here called Reuben Jones,' she said quietly. ‘And it reminded me of the Reuben at home. You've heard about him, right?'

‘Sorry.' He shook his head. ‘You've lost me.'

‘Reuben – you know – the recluse who lives in the charcoal burner's hut on the farm and looks after the gallops. Hasn't Tilly mentioned him?'

Light dawned.

‘Oh, yes, of course. I remember now.'

‘You were asking where Damien might have hidden this diary you're looking for. Well, he liked Reuben and used to visit him from time to time. What if he left the diary there, with him? I know he once told me he'd trust him with anything . . .'

‘That's an idea,' Gideon said. ‘You could have something there.'

At this point Freddy, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet so far, picked up on the name and began to chant loudly, ‘Reuben Bones, Reuben Bones, Reuben Bones!'

‘
Jones
,' his mother amended, smiling. ‘Sshh!' But Freddy liked his own version, and carried on chanting.

Hearing him, Tilly looked over her shoulder at Gideon.

‘Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' she asked quietly.

Gideon nodded. ‘It's worth a try, don't you think? When could we go and see?'

‘It'll be too dark tonight. Perhaps if you came over in the morning you could ride out again and we could go on from there.'

‘I shall be out with Eve tomorrow,' he said regretfully. ‘We've got to be in London for twelve.'

‘There's a gallery owner I want Gideon to meet,' Eve put in.

Tilly raised her eyebrows and smiled sweetly.

‘First lot's at half past six.'

Gideon groaned.

Bed had never seemed so alluring as it did at five o'clock the next morning, and if it hadn't been for Eve pulling the duvet off him, Gideon would probably have turned the alarm off and gone back to sleep.

However, at six forty-five, with the sun sparkling on the dew-laden, cobwebby turf, and banishing wispy high clouds from a clear blue sky, he was glad he'd made the effort, and filled with a kind of self-righteous superiority over all those still under the covers. He rode Nero again, and the brown horse strode out next to Tilly's mount, apparently none the worse for his exertions the day before.

Tilly was relating some of the positive feedback she'd received after Tremelo's impressive performance at Towcester when she was interrupted by Ivan calling back from his position at the head of the string.

‘Sheep's out, guv!'

‘That's strange . . .' She frowned and pushed
her horse forward to come alongside the ex-jockey. ‘I wonder if Reuben's ill. He's never forgotten before.'

‘What d'you wanna do? Can't work 'em with sheep all over the place,' Ivan stated.

‘They'll probably move if they see you coming,' Tilly told him. ‘As we were only giving this lot easy work today, Ivan, can I leave you to organise that, while Gideon and I go and check on Reuben?'

Ivan nodded. ‘No worries.'

Trotting Nero next to Tilly's horse along the valley bottom, Gideon had a feeling of deep foreboding.

‘Well, I don't have to think up an excuse to visit him now,' Tilly said. ‘But I hope he's OK. He's never been ill before – at least, not so ill that he hasn't looked after the gallops.'

She clearly didn't suspect anything more sinister, and Gideon could only hope that his own burgeoning suspicions were proven unfounded.

They weren't.

The old charcoal burner's hut was located in a clearing deep in the hazel copse that bordered the field next to the gallops. They approached it in single file down a grassy path, leaning over the horses' necks to avoid the low, whippy branches. Tilly was in front and as soon as she reached the open area she reined in sharply, causing her horse to throw its head up in surprise.

‘Oh, my God!'

Although Gideon had never seen the place before, it was impossible to miss the signs of the wholesale ransacking that had taken place.
The clearing, extending to perhaps a quarter of an acre, was dominated by three round corrugated-iron structures, some twelve feet in diameter, two of which were smoking sluggishly. On the far side was a thatched wooden hut, so old that it blended almost seamlessly into the fabric of the woodland. It was fronted by a raised deck with a lean-to roof, which was currently sagging crookedly, one of its supports having been smashed away. A further covered area at the side of the hut was strewn with all manner of tools, pots, pans and utensils, with a rack of shelves thrown down on top, and a little way off a hen house had been overturned and broken, a few of its occupants remaining to peck hopefully amongst the scattered ruins.

The hut stood forlornly in the midst of the disorder, its one visible window shattered, and its chimney showing no sign of life.

‘Oh, my God!' Tilly said again. ‘What on earth . . .?'

‘We'd better see if he's all right,' Gideon said, urging Nero forward. ‘He may have got away and be hiding in the woods.'

‘Who could have done this?' Tilly was following, her horse baulking and shying at the smoking charcoal burners. ‘Nobody knows it's here, even.'

Somebody clearly did, Gideon reflected.

They left the horses tied to two separate posts and, between them, managed to raise the sagging roof of the lean-to enough for Gideon to prop it temporarily on a broom handle. With this done, they could see that the hut's door was standing open six inches or so and, when Tilly pushed it
wider, they were greeted by a low rumbling growl from within.

‘That's his dog,' she said softly, glancing at Gideon. ‘He's not terribly friendly.'

‘Do you know his name?'

‘Um . . . Buddy, I think. Yes, Buddy.'

‘OK. Let me go first.'

She stood back and he went past her into the gloomy interior of the hut, pausing to let his eyes become accustomed to the poor light. His movement was greeted by a second, more menacing growl.

The inside of the hut was in much the same state as the outside had been. It appeared that everything that could have been tipped over or thrown on the floor, had been. Even the small black potbellied stove had been toppled from its stone slab in the corner of the room, wrenched away from the flue pipe, which now hung bent and redundant. Against the far wall the pallet bed was also broken, its mattress lying on top of the splintered remains, and on top of that Gideon could see what at first he took to be just a tumbled pile of blankets. Then, with a shock, he realised that beneath the covers lay the motionless body of a man. In front of the bed stood a black and white sheepdog, head and tail low and lips drawn back from a set of undoubtedly sharp, white teeth.

First things first. Gideon crouched down sideways on, and averted his face.

‘Hello, Buddy,' he said, quietly. He was rewarded by a repetition of the growl but sensed no real aggression, only a wash of fear and anxiety as tangible as a physical embrace.

Holding one hand out, palm downward, he closed his eyes to block out any distraction, and pictured the dog coming towards him, head down, ears flat and tail wagging.

There was another growl, but with a measure of uncertainty this time, and tailing off into a whine.

‘Good boy. Good Buddy. It's all right now. No-one's gonna hurt you, little fella.'

Another wave of fear and doubt reached him, and he had to suppress the instinctive response of pity. Pity wasn't what Buddy needed right now. What he craved was someone to offer him security and strength, to take away the awful confusion in his mind.

‘It's all right, little dog. We'll take care of you. Don't worry, little fella.'

The dog was coming. Gideon sensed the decision moments before he felt the whiskery muzzle touch the back of his outstretched hand.

‘Good boy.'

He waited a few moments longer before opening his eyes, unwilling to scare the animal by making his move too soon. He found Buddy sitting beside him but looking back at the bed and its unmoving occupant.

‘Good boy,' he said again, slowly straightening up. ‘Let's go and see what we can do for your master, shall we?'

As soon as he stepped forward, the dog trotted back to Reuben's side and stood with his chin on the blankets, but he made no attempt to warn Gideon off again.

Even in the dimly lit hut, Gideon could see
that Reuben was in a bad way. He was lying on his side with a blanket pulled roughly over him, and the side of his face that was visible was darkened by two massive bruises, one of which was crusted with dried blood.

Gideon leaned over the man on the pallet bed and spoke his name, softly at first and then progressively louder, but there was no response.

‘Tilly. We need an ambulance,' Gideon said over his shoulder. ‘And the police, too. Have you got your mobile? Good. Tell them he's been assaulted.'

Tilly nodded and went back out into the sunshine to make the call and, with the dog looking on, Gideon gently shook the man's shoulder.

He was rewarded by a low groan, but repeating Reuben's name brought the same negative result as before. In case the wounded man was able to hear him, Gideon crouched by the bed and began to reassure him that everything was going to be all right.

‘Buddy's here. He's fine, and we'll look after him until you're better,' he promised, hoping that Tilly would agree to put the dog up. He had an idea Elsa wouldn't be too chuffed about having a strange house guest foisted on her.

‘They're on their way,' Tilly said, coming back into the hut. ‘They're sending a helicopter and want me to go out into the field and guide them down. Will you be all right?'