Maybe she would finally come back to me, maybe she wouldn’t: I had a better chance right under her eyes than two hundred miles away in traction.
The chief topic of conversation all afternoon on the racecourse as far as I was concerned was the killing of Cascade and Cotopaxi. I read accounts in the sports pages of two papers on the train and saw two others in the changing room, all more speculation and bold headlines than hard fact. I was besieged by curious and sympathetic questions from anyone I talked to, but could add little except that yes, I had seen them in their boxes, and yes, of course the princess was upset, and yes, I would be looking for another ride in the Grand National.
Dusty, from his thunderstorm expression, was putting up with much the same barrage. He was slightly mollified when one of the princess’s runners won, greeted by applause and cheers that spoke of her public popularity. The Clerk of the Course and the Chairman of the Board of Directors called me into the directors’ room, not to complain of my riding but to commiserate, asking me to pass on their regrets to the princess and to Wykeham. They clapped me gruffly on the shoulder and gave me champagne, and it was all a long way from Maynard Allardeck.
I caught the return train on schedule, dined on a railway sandwich, and was back at Eaton Square before nine. I had to get Dawson to let me in because the lock had indeed been changed, and I went up to the sitting room, opening the door there on the princess, Litsi, and Beatrice Bunt, all sitting immobile in private separate silences, as if they were covered by vacuum bell jars and couldn’t hear each other speak.
‘Good evening,’ I said, my voice sounding loud.
Beatrice Bunt jumped because I’d spoken behind her. The princess’s expression changed from blank to welcoming, and Litsi came alive as if one had waved a wand over a waxwork.
‘You’re back!’ he said. ‘Thank God for that at least.’
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
None of them was quite ready to say.
‘Is Danielle all right?’ I said.
The princess looked surprised. ‘Yes, of course. Thomas drove her to work.’ She was sitting on a sofa, her back straight, her head high, every muscle on the defensive and no ease anywhere. ‘Come over here,’ she patted the cushions beside her, ‘and tell me how my horses ran.’
It was her refuge, I knew, from unpleasant reality: she’d talked of her runners in the direst of moments in the past, clinging to a rock in a tilting world.
I sat beside her, willingly playing the game.
‘Bernina was on the top of her form, and won her hurdle race. She seems to like it in Devon, that’s the third time she’s won down there.’
‘Tell me about her race,’ the princess said, looking both pleased and in some inner way still disorientated, and I told her about the race without anything in her expression changing. I glanced at Litsi and saw that he was listening in the same detached way, and at Beatrice, who appeared not to be listening at all.
I passed on the messages of sympathy from the directors, and said how pleased the crowd had been that she’d had a winner.
‘How kind,’ she murmured.
‘What’s happened?’ I said again.
It was Litsi who eventually answered. ‘Henri Nanterre telephoned here about an hour ago. He wanted to speak to Roland, but Roland refused, so he asked for me by name.’
My eyebrows rose.
‘He said he knew my name as one of the three others who had to sign business directives with Roland. He said Danielle and the princess were the others: his notary had remembered.’
I frowned. ‘I suppose he might have remembered if someone had told him the names... he might have recognised them.’
Litsi nodded. ‘Henri Nanterre said that his notary had left his briefcase in Roland’s sitting room. In the briefcase could be found a form of contract with spaces at the bottom for signatures and witnesses. He says all four of us are to sign this form in the presence of his notary, in a place that he will designate. He said he would telephone each morning until everyone was ready to agree.’
‘Or else?’ I said.
‘He mentioned,’ Litsi said evenly, ‘that it would be a shame for the princess to lose more of her horses needlessly, and that young women out alone at night were always at risk.’ He paused, one eyebrow lifting ironically. ‘He said that princes weren’t immune from accidents, and that a certain jockey, if he wished to stay healthy, should remove himself from the household and mind his own business.’
‘His exact words?’ I asked interestedly.
Litsi shook his head. ‘He spoke in French.’
‘We have asked Beatrice,’ the princess said with brittle veneer politeness, ‘if she has spoken with Henri Nanterre since her arrival in this house on Sunday, but she tells us she doesn’t know where he is.’
I looked at Beatrice, who stared implacably back. It wasn’t necessary to know where someone actually was if he had a telephone number, but there seemed to be no point in making her upgrade the evasion into a straightforward lie, which the boldness in her eyes assured me we would get.
The princess said that her husband had asked to talk to me on my return, and suggested that I might go at this point. I went, sensing the three of them stiffening back into their bell jars, and upstairs knocked on Roland de Brescou’s door.
He bade me come in and sit down, and asked with nicely feigned interest about my day’s fortunes. I said Bernina had won and he said ‘Good’ absentmindedly, while he arranged in his thoughts what to say next. He was looking, I thought, not so physically frail as on Friday and Saturday, but not as determined either.
‘It is going to take time to arrange my retirement,’ he said, ‘and as soon as I make any positive moves, Henri Nanterre will find out. Gerald Greening thinks that when he does find out, he will demand I withdraw my intention, under pain of more and more threats and vicious actions.’ He paused. ‘Has Litsi told you about Nanterre’s telephone call?’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
‘The horses... Danielle... my wife... Litsi... yourself... I cannot leave you all open to harm. Gerald Greening advises now that I sign the contract, and then as soon as Nanterre gets his firearms approval, I can sell all my interest in the business. Nanterre will have to agree. I shall make it a condition before signing. Everyone will guess I have sold because of the guns... some at least of my reputation may be salvaged.’ A spasm of distress twisted his mouth. ‘It is of the greatest conceivable personal disgrace that I sign this contract, but I see no other way.’
He fell silent but with an implied question, as if inviting my comment; and after a short pause I gave it.
‘Don’t sign, Monsieur,’ I said.
He looked at me consideringly, with the first vestige of a smile.
‘Litsi said you would say that,’ he said.
‘Did he? And what did Litsi himself say?’
‘What would you think?’
‘Don’t sign,’ I said.
‘You and Litsi.’ Again the fugitive smile. ‘So different. So alike. He described you as — and these are his words, not mine — “a tough devil with brains”, and he said I should give you and him time to think of a way of deterring Nanterre permanently. He said that only if both of you failed and admitted failure should I think of signing.’
‘And... did you agree?’
‘If you yourself wish it, I will agree.’
A commitment of positive action, I thought, was a lot different from raising defences; but I thought of the horses, and the princess, and Danielle, and really there was no question.