Tip Off (14 page)

‘He's such a blabbermouth! You'd better not breathe a word of it to anyone, either of you. Your father will go potty when he finds out, Emma.'

‘So you haven't told him yet?' I asked.

‘No. He's on his way round, though. I think I'll have to tell him now; I can't just let him find out from the lab result. Perhaps you'd care to hang around for a while?'

I smiled. ‘Sure, and Emma can calm him down.'

‘Dream on! I'll keep out of his way, if you don't mind.'

‘I can't think how often I've told them not to use that Dermobian. It's great stuff, but it takes about five days to clear the system.'

‘I don't think Sally wanted him to run at all,' I said.

Jane looked down morosely at her glass. ‘I wasn't that keen either. I'm ashamed of myself for letting Gerald badger me into it.'

‘You won't convince him he's wrong, now the horse has won.'

‘That horse may have won, but it took a hell of a lot out of him; it'll take him weeks to recover.'

We heard the front door bell ring.

Jane looked at Emma. ‘Would you be a darling and let him in?'

‘Sure,' she said, but Jane suddenly pulled herself to her feet.

‘No, actually, I ought to do it myself. He'll only know I'm sheltering behind you. Come into the drawing room,' she said over her shoulder as she left the room.

We waited a few minutes before going to join her. I was already feeling for her as we walked into the big room at the front of the house. Through its tall, uncovered windows, the dying rays of the February sun could be seen over the tops of the downs.

Lord Tintern was silhouetted in front of one of the windows. I couldn't see his face until he moved back towards the centre of the room. From the way he looked at us then it was clear that Jane hadn't told him we were there. But whatever he felt about it, he wasn't letting on. He flourished the bottle of champagne he was holding. ‘Come on, you must join me in drinking my horse's health.'

I shuddered. He obviously didn't know yet that the horse was probably going to lose the race on the dope test.

‘I've just been telling Jane how proud I am of her – producing that horse so well. She didn't even want him to run, but I knew he was ready for it, eh, Jane?' He turned to her and almost winked.

She closed her eyes and tried to quell a shudder. ‘Gerald, I don't know how he won; he wasn't fully fit, and he shouldn't have done. He just managed to hang on out of sheer will-power. And I don't think it will have done him any long-term good.'

Tintern laughed. ‘Come on. We
won
, didn't we? Let's have a drink, for God's sake.' He put his bottle of champagne on a table. ‘Jane, tell Emma where she can find some glasses and an ice sleeve to wrap around this.'

Emma was too relieved at the lack of confrontation to object. Jane told her where to find things, and Tintern carried on crowing about his decision to run Sox O'Dee. He seemed quite oblivious to the stilted-ness of our response as we drank his champagne. Then to Jane's obvious delight, after fifteen minutes, he announced that he had to be going.

Jane went to see him off. When she came back, the tail lights of his car were already disappearing down her drive. ‘I don't know what he'll do when the results of the test come through,' she said sheepishly.

Emma nodded sympathetically. ‘If he tries to make a scene, just tell him to take his horses somewhere else. At least you could have Nester back then.'

‘Not necessarily,' I teased. ‘He's doing rather well at Derek's.'

‘I can't possibly tell him to move anyway,' Jane said morosely. ‘He's got six of the best horses in my yard.'

Emma laid a hand on her arm. ‘You're lucky, you don't live with him.'

Jane smiled and pulled a face at the prospect.

‘In the meantime,' she nodded resignedly at her empty champagne glass, ‘all that's happened is that the storm's been delayed.'

‘Well, it's not just bad news,' I said, putting my cheque on the table in front of her. ‘And all I want now is some time on your equiciser.'

‘Help yourself.' She smiled.

I left Emma in the house with Jane and walked out to the hay barn where the equiciser was kept. This piece of equipment was basically a wooden horse, whose head and neck were hinged on a spring. It was designed to recreate the motion of a galloping animal. It didn't give much of an authentic feel, but it did entail the use of the correct riding muscles.

Used properly, a rider needed to be supremely fit to last more than five minutes on it.

I managed two, and was thrilled. I rested for a while and did another two-minute session, then a rest, until I'd done twenty minutes and called it a day, utterly exhausted.

 

The next day, I went out to investigate Sox O'Dee's win from another angle. I drove to Lambourn early and arrived at Connor McDonagh's office door without any warning. I knew that he tended to spend the first couple of hours ringing round gathering information for his next day's selections, and today was no exception.

Joan showed me straight into her boss's untidy lair. He stood up and came round his desk to greet me. ‘Simon, good to see you! Thanks for the word last week about Sox O'Dee. I suppose I'd better buy you a pint next time I see you in the Greyhound.'

‘Don't worry. I came to see you to let you know they may take the race away from him.'

Connor raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?'

‘Yes. I doubt he'll pass the dope test.' I looked at him hard as I spoke to detect any sign of culpability. ‘But you wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?'

‘Good God, no, man! I'm not a complete eejit.'

‘His girl rubbed a whole lot of Dermobian on a scab, and that'll almost certainly show through.'

Connor looked excessively relieved. ‘Then they'll not be pointing the finger at me?'

‘I wouldn't count on it.'

He waved me to a chair and went back to sit down. ‘I tell you, Simon, I don't know what the hell's going on. I mean, I shouldn't complain. I'm taking a frigging fortune on the line, but you and I know this is not down to me.'

‘There are some people who think you're in partnership with Toby Brown.'

‘But I barely know the man! I haven't a clue why he stopped, and I certainly haven't taken any advice from him. I haven't even seen him for weeks.'

‘Well, there are people who were very keen for him to stop, and if they think you've somehow taken over, they'll want you to stop too.'

‘The bookies, of course?'

‘Yes.' I nodded.

‘Jesus, Simon! I just pick a few horses. For sure I know what I'm doing, but I don't expect to get it right every day.'

‘What's it been – five out of five so far?'

‘Six out of six,' Connor corrected.

‘Well, whatever, but I wanted to tell you that I have a professional interest in all this, and if you think you're in trouble, I can help.' I took out one of my business cards and scribbled an extra number on it. ‘That's my mobile. You can get me on that any time. Just don't tell anyone, anyone at all, that I've told you this. Okay?'

‘Sure.' He took the card gratefully. ‘Thanks. Is there anything I can do for you?'

‘You could save me a couple of quid and tell me your nap for today.'

He laughed, gave me a name and saw me out.

 

Back at the office, Matt was looking agitated.

‘Tintern's been on, asking how much we know about Connor's activities.'

‘About time too,' I said.

‘I just wonder how he feels about his own horse being one of Connor's naps,' Matt murmured.

‘When I saw him yesterday, he was happy as a sand boy – sloshing champagne around like a sailor on shore leave. Of course, Jane hadn't told him the mandatory dope test would show up positive.'

‘What!' Matt exploded. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I haven't seen you.'

‘But what happened?'

I told him about Sally and her over-enthusiastic ministering. ‘But the results won't be released for a few days, so we'll just have to sit and wait.'

Matt sighed, hating to wait for anything.

I tried to deflect him. ‘How are we getting on with Wessex Biotech?'

He perked up. ‘I'm going down to see Brian Griffiths this evening. I want to run through various events over the last few weeks that I think may have some bearing on those missing prototypes.'

‘Have you seen one of the instruments yet?'

‘Not yet, but Dysart says he'll give us a demonstration when we meet him later this week.'

‘Okay. In the meantime, I think I'll go and see Tintern up at the Jockey Club on Thursday when he's in. There are a couple of things I want to check out.'

‘What are you planning to do for the next couple of days?'

I braced myself for a short skirmish. ‘As a matter of fact, I'm going racing tomorrow.'

‘To check Connor's nap?'

‘Only if it happens to be running at Ludlow.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I'm riding Baltimore in the hunter chase there.'

Matt gave a disdainful shake of his head. ‘I've told you, Simon, if you think we're ever going to make anything of our business, you've just got to get your priorities right.'

‘As it happens,' I justified, ‘we're involved in a racing investigation at the moment, so if it makes you feel happier, treat my day's racing as research.'

 

Any guilt that Matt might have wanted me to feel was utterly absent when I woke next morning, as enthusiastic as I'd ever been about riding a race.

I'd now had several schooling sessions with Julia de Morlay and for the first time in my riding career, felt that I was in control of my horse rather than the other way round. Julia had been right when she'd said I would feel glued on once I got my irons back. Riding without stirrups had taught me more about balance and grip than I could ever have imagined.

Jane had managed to enter my old hunter chaser in a very uncompetitive field, and despite sending the horse off with the obvious handicap of having me on board, was quite sanguine about our chances. She had owners visiting the yard, and couldn't come to watch, but she wished me luck.

 

Almost the first person I saw as I walked from the car-park behind the old Victorian stands at Ludlow was Connor.

‘How are you?' he said in answer to my greeting.

‘Having serious bowel trouble.'

‘That should help with the weight,' he laughed.

I nodded. ‘Yes. But why are you here? Is your nap running?'

‘It is,' he answered, with a hint of nervousness.

‘And who's the lucky selection today?'

‘You are.'

I felt as if a bomb had dropped right on my head, and stopped in my tracks.

‘What?' I spluttered.

‘Only kiddin',' Connor said hastily when he saw my reaction. ‘Mine goes in the race before.'

‘Which is it?'

‘If you haven't phoned, I'm not tellin' you.'

‘The price on the boards'll show it anyway,' I said, annoyed and still quivering from the shock he'd administered. ‘So, why have you come?'

‘I just wanted to see it run. And yours as well, of course,' he added unconvincingly.

 

I watched Connor's selection win comfortably, on a television in the weighing room. No one should have been surprised. It was running way below its class, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking of Toby. I prided myself on being a good judge of character, and when he'd told me he had no more interest in tipping, I'd believed him. Now, I wasn't so sure.

After that I concentrated entirely on my own race. The Shropshire course, laid on gravel, was riding well that day, with just enough cut to please my old boy.

He was a very experienced and safe jumper and needed encouragement, rather than instructions, from his jockey. Nevertheless, the benefits of Julia's merciless criticism bore spectacular fruit as I found I was giving him some real help over each fence. We had only one difference of opinion over where we should take off, and even though Baltimore had the final say, I never looked like falling off.

At the end of the three miles, I felt as if I'd won the Derby, not a fifteen hundred quid hunter-chase. As I pranced into the winner's enclosure to collect my pot, it was the first time I'd finished a race less exhausted than my horse.

 

I rang Matt on my way home. ‘How did you get on with Griffiths?' I asked first.

‘Bastard wasn't there. He'd had to go to some crisis meeting at the plant which makes these injector things in Germany. Never had the bloody manners to tell me, though.'

I judged this wasn't the best moment to crow about my minor victory on Baltimore. ‘Did you see Dysart, then?'

‘No, he was with Griffiths.' After a short pause he went on reluctantly, ‘How did you get on, by the way?'

‘We won.' I tried not to sound too triumphant.

‘Bloody hell!'

‘Sorry,' I said with a tentative laugh.

Matt had the good grace to laugh with me. ‘Well done. I suppose I'll have to get you a drink, though God knows, you must have been up against some terrible horses, and even worse jockeys.'

‘You'll eat your words,' I retorted.

‘I'll eat your old trainers if you ever resemble a jockey.'