There was no sign of the Rolls when we walked round to the mews, and I alarmed Litsi and Danielle greatly by checking my car again for traps. I borrowed the sliding mirror-on-wheels which the mechanics used for quick inspections of cars’ undersides, but found no explosive sticky strangers, yet all the same I wouldn’t let the other two get into the car before I’d started it, driven it a few yards, and braked fiercely to a halt.
‘Do you do this every time you go out?’ Litsi asked thoughtfully, as they eventually took their seats.
‘Every time, just now.’
‘Why don’t you park somewhere else?’ Danielle asked reasonably.
‘I did think of it,’ I said. ‘But it takes less time to check than find parking places.’
‘Apart from which,’ Litsi said, ‘you want Nanterre to know where you keep your car, if he doesn’t know already.’
‘Mm.’
‘I wish this wasn’t happening,’ Danielle said.
When we reached the racecourse, they again went off to lunch and I to work. Litsi might have been lucky enough to dodge the publicity, but too many papers had spelled my name dead right, and so many strangers shook my hand that I found the whole afternoon embarrassing.
The one who was predictably upset by the general climate of approval was Maynard Allardeck who seemed to be dogging my footsteps, presumably hoping to catch me in some infringement of the rules.
Although not one of the Stewards officially acting at that meeting, he was standing in the parade ring before every race, watching everything I did, and each time I returned I found him on the weighing room steps, his eyes hostile and intent.
He was looking noble as usual, a pillar of society, a gentleman who wouldn’t know an asset if it stripped in front of him. When I went out for the third of my rides, on the princess’s runner Abseil, she at once remarked on Maynard’s presence at a distance of no more than a few yards.
‘Mr Allardeck,’ she said, when I joined her, Litsi, Danielle and Beatrice in the parade ring, ‘is staring at you.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Who is Mr Allardeck?’ Beatrice demanded.
‘Kit’s sister’s husband’s father,’ Danielle answered succinctly, which left her aunt not much better informed.
‘It’s unnerving,’ Litsi said.
I nodded. ‘I think it’s supposed to be. He’s been doing it all afternoon.’
‘You don’t, however, appear to be unnerved.’
‘Not so far.’ I turned to the princess. ‘I always meant to ask you what he said after Cascade won last week.’
The princess made a small gesture of distress at the thought of her horse’s fate, but said, ‘He insisted you’d flogged the horse unmercifully. Those were his words. If he’d been able to find a mark on Cascade...’ she shrugged. ‘He wanted me to confirm you’d been excessively cruel.’
‘Thank you for not doing it.’
She nodded, knowing I meant it.
‘I’ll be gentle on Abseil,’ I said.
‘Not too gentle.’ She smiled. ‘I do like to win.’
‘He’s still staring,’ Danielle said. ‘If looks could kill, you’d be in your grave.’
The princess decided on a frontal approach, and as if spotting Maynard for the first time raised both gloved hands in greeting and said ‘Ah, Mr Allardeck, such a splendid day, isn’t it?’ walking three or four paces towards him to make talking easier.
He removed his hat and bowed to her, and said rather hoarsely for him that yes, it was. The princess said how nice it was to see the sun again after so much cloudy weather, and Maynard agreed. It was cold, of course, the princess said, but one had to expect it at this time of the year. Yes, Maynard said.
The princess glanced across to us all and said to Maynard, ‘I do enjoy Sandown, don’t you? And my horses all seem to jump well here, always, which is most pleasing.’
This on-the-face-of-it innocent remark produced in Maynard an intenser than ever stare in my direction — a look of black and dangerous poison.
‘Why,’ Litsi said in my ear, puzzled, ‘did that make him so angry?’
‘I can’t tell you here,’ I said.
‘Later, then.’
‘Perhaps.’
The signal was given for jockeys to mount, and with a sweet smile the princess wished Maynard good fortune for the afternoon and came to say, before I went off to where Abseil waited, ‘Come back safely.’
‘Yes, Princess,’ I said.
Her eyes flicked momentarily in the direction of Danielle, and I suddenly understood her inner thought: come back safe because your young woman will be lost for ever if you don’t.
‘Do your best,’ the princess said quietly, as if negating her first instruction, and I nodded and cantered Abseil to the start thinking that certainly I could ride round conscious chiefly of safety, and certainly to some extent I’d been doing it all week, but if I intended to do it for ever I might as well retire at once. Caution and winning were incompatible. A too-careful jockey would lose his reputation, his owners, his career... and in my case anyway, his self-respect. The stark choice between Danielle and my job, unresolved all night, had sat on my shoulder already that afternoon through two undemanding hurdle races, and I had, in fact, been acutely aware of her being there on the stands in a way I hadn’t been when I hadn’t known of her turmoil of fears.
Abseil, a grey eight-year-old steeplechaser, was a fluid, agile jumper with reasonable speed and questionable stamina. Together we’d won a few races, but had more often finished second, third or fourth, because he could produce no acceleration in a crisis. His one advantage was his boldness over fences: if I restrained him in that, we could trail in last.
Sandown racecourse, right-handed, undulating, with seven fences close together down the far side, was a track where good jumpers could excel. I particularly liked riding there, and it was a good place for Abseil, except that the uphill finish could find him out. To win there, he had to be flying in the lead coming round the last long bend, and jump the last three fences at his fastest speed. Then, if he faded on the hill, one might just hang on in front as far as the post.
Abseil himself was unmistakably keen to race, sending me signals of vigour and impatience. ‘Jumping out of his skin,’ Wykeham had said; and this one would be wound up tight because he wouldn’t be running at the Cheltenham Festival as he wasn’t quite in the top class.
The start of two mile, five furlong ‘chases was midway down the far side, with one’s back to the water jump. There were eight runners that day, a pleasant sized field, and Abseil was second favourite. We set off in a bunch at no great pace, because no one wanted to make the running, and I had no trouble at all being careful over the first three fences, also round the long bottom bend, over the three fences which would be the last three next time round, and uphill past the stands.
It was when we turned right-handed at the top of the hill to go out on the second circuit that the decision was immediately there, staring me in the face. To go at racing pace over the next fence with its downhill landing, graveyard of many a hope, or to check, rein back, jump it carefully, lose maybe four lengths...
Abseil wanted to go. I kicked him. We flew the fence, passing two horses in mid-air, landing on the downhill slope with precision and skimming speed, going round the bend into the back straight in second place.
The seven fences along there were so designed that if one met the first right, one met them all right, like traffic lights. The trick was to judge one’s distance a good way back from the first, to make any adjustments early, so that when one’s mount reached the fence he was in the right place for jumping without shortening or lengthening his stride. It was a skill learned young by all successful jockeys, becoming second nature. Abseil took a hint, shortened one stride, galloped happily on, and soared over the first of the seven fences with perfection.