‘All the same...’
‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘that a friend of a friend of mine — an American — was driving along in part of London, like I was, doing absolutely nothing wrong, when she was stopped by the police and taken to the police station? They stripped her! Can you believe it? They said they were looking for drugs or bombs... there was a terrorist scare on, and they thought she had a suspicious accent. It took her ages to get people to wake up and say she was truly going home after working late. She’s been a wreck ever since, and gave up her job.’
‘It does seem unbelievable,’ I agreed.
‘It happened,’ she said.
‘They’re not all like that,’ I said mildly.
She decided nevertheless to tell only her colleagues in the studio, saying they should step up security round the parked cars.
‘I’m sorry I made you come so far,’ she said, not particularly sounding it. ‘But I didn’t want the police, and otherwise it meant waking Dawson and getting someone there to come for me. I felt shattered... I knew you would come.’
‘Mm.’
She sighed, some of the tension at last leaving her voice. ‘There wasn’t much in my purse, that’s one good thing. Just lipstick and a hair-brush, not much money. No credit cards. I never take much with me to work.’
I nodded. ‘What about keys?’
‘Oh...’
‘The front door key of Eaton Square?’
‘Yes,’ she said, dismayed. ‘And the key to the back door of the studios, where the staff go in. I’ll have to tell them in the morning, when the day shift gets there.’
‘Did you have anything with you that had the Eaton Square address on it?’
‘No,’ she said positively. ‘I cleaned the whole car out this afternoon... I did it really to evade Aunt Beatrice... and I changed purses. I had no letters or anything like that with me.’
‘That’s something,’ I said.
‘You’re so practical.’
‘I would tell the police,’ I said neutrally.
‘No. You don’t understand, you’re not female.’
There seemed to be no reply to that, so I pressed her no further. I drove back to Eaton Square as I’d done so many times before, driving her home from work, and it wasn’t until we were nearly there that I wondered whether the hooded man could possibly have been not a rapist at all, but Henri Nanterre.
On the face of it, it didn’t seem possible, but coming at that particular time it had to be considered. If it in fact were part of the campaign of harassment and accidents, then we would hear about it, as about the horses also: no act of terrorism was complete without the boasting afterwards.
Danielle had never seen Henri Nanterre and wouldn’t have known his general shape, weight, and way of moving. Conversely, nor would he have turned up in Chiswick when he had no reason to know she was in England, even if he knew of her actual existence.
‘You’re very quiet all of a sudden,’ Danielle said, sounding no longer frightened but consequently sleepy. ‘What are you thinking?’
I glanced at her softening face, seeing the taut lines of strain smoothing out. Three or four times we’d known what the other was thinking, in the sort of telepathic jump that sometimes occurred between people who knew each other well, but not on a regular basis, and not lately. I was glad at that moment that she couldn’t read my thoughts, not knowing if she would be more or less worried if she did.
‘Tomorrow evening,’ I said, ‘get Thomas to drive you to work. He’s not going to Devon now... and I’ll fetch you.’
‘But if you’re riding in Devon...’
‘I’ll go down and back on the train,’ I said. ‘I should be back in Eaton Square by nine.’
‘All right, I guess... thanks.’
I parked my car where hers stood usually, and took my bag from the boot, and with Danielle swathed in the rug like an oversized shawl, we walked round to the front door in Eaton Square.
‘I hope you have a key?’ she said, yawning. ‘We’ll look like gypsies if you don’t.’
‘Dawson lent me one.’
‘Good... I’m asleep on my feet.’
We went indoors and quietly up the stairs. When we reached her floor, I put my arms round her, rug and all, again holding her close, but there was no clinging relief-driven response this time, and when I bent to kiss her, it was her cheek she offered, not her mouth.
‘Goodnight,’ I said. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Yes.’ She would hardly meet my eyes. ‘I truly thank you.’
‘You owe me nothing,’ I said.
‘Oh...’ She looked at me briefly, as if confused. Then she dropped the rug which she had been holding close round her like a defensive stockade, put her arms round my neck and gave me a quick kiss at least reminiscent of better times, even if it landed somewhere on my chin.
‘Goodnight,’ she said lightly, and walked away along the passage to her room without looking back, and I picked up my bag and the rug and went on upstairs feeling a good deal better than the day before. I opened the door of the bamboo room half expecting to find Beatrice snoring blissfully between my sheets, but the linen was smooth and vacant, and I plummeted there into dreamland for a good two hours.
Nine
Around seven-fifteen in the morning, I knocked on Litsi’s groundfloor door until a sleepy voice said, ‘Who is it?’
‘Kit.’
A short silence, then, ‘Come in, then.’
The room was dark, Litsi leaning up on one elbow and stretching to switch on a bedside lamp. The light revealed a large oak-panelled room with a four-poster bed, brocade curtaining and ancestral paintings: very suitable, I thought, for Litsi.
‘I thought you weren’t here,’ he said, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. ‘What day is it?’
‘Tuesday. I came back here before five this morning, and that’s what I’ve come to tell you about.’
He went from leaning to sitting up straight while he listened.
‘Do you think it really was Nanterre?’ he said when I’d finished.
‘If it was, perhaps he wanted only to catch her and frighten her... tell her what could happen if her uncle didn’t give in. She must have surprised whoever it was by running so fast. She wears trainers to work... running shoes, really... and she’s always pretty fit. Maybe he simply couldn’t catch her.’
‘If he meant a warning he couldn’t deliver, we’ll hear from him.’
‘Yes. And about the horses, too.’
‘He’s unhinged,’ Litsi said, ‘if it was him.’
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘I thought I’d better warn you.’
I told him about Danielle’s handbag being missing. ‘If it was an ordinary thief, it would be all right because there would be no connecting address, but if Nanterre took it, he now has a front door key to this house. Do you think you could explain to the princess, and get the lock changed? I’m off to Devon to ride a few races, and I’ll be here again this evening. I’m picking Danielle up when she finishes work, but if I miss the train back, will you make sure she gets home safely? If you need a car, you can borrow mine.’
‘Just don’t miss the train.’
‘No.’
His eyebrows rose and fell. ‘Give me the keys, then,’ he said.
I gave them to him. ‘See if you can find out,’ I said, ‘if Danielle told her Aunt Beatrice where she works and at what time she leaves.’
He blinked.
‘Henri Nanterre,’ I reminded him, ‘has a spy right in this house.’
‘Go and break your neck.’
I smiled and went away, and caught the train to Devon. I might be a fool, I thought, entrusting Danielle to Litsi, but she needed to be safe, and one short ride in my Mercedes, Litsi driving, was unlikely to decide things one way or another.
For all the speed and risks of the job, jump jockeys were seldom killed: it was more dangerous, for instance, to clean windows for a living. All the same, there were occasional days when one ended in hospital, always at frustrating and inconvenient moments. I wouldn’t say that I rode exactly carefully that day at Newton Abbot, but it was certainly without the reckless fury of the past two weeks.