‘Arms dealer Ahmed Fuad’s fiftieth birthday bash, held on his yacht Felissima in Monte Carlo harbour on Friday evening drew guests from as far as California, Peru and Darwin, Australia. With no expense spared, Fuad fed caviar and foie gras to jet-setting friends from his hobby worlds of backgammon, night clubs and horseracing.’
Litsi passed back the photograph and I gave him the clipping.
‘That’s what Nanterre wanted,’ I said. ‘To be the host on a yacht in the Mediterranean, dressed in a white dinner jacket, dispensing rich goodies, enjoying the adulation and the flattery. That’s what he wanted... those multi-millions, and that power.’
I turned the photograph over, reading the flimsy information strip stuck to the back: a list of names, and the date.
That’s odd,’ I said blankly.
‘What is?’
‘That party was held last Friday night.’
‘What of it? Nanterre must have jetted out there and back, like the others.’
‘On Friday night, Col was shot.’
Litsi stared at me.
‘Nanterre couldn’t have done it,’ I said. ‘He was in Monte Carlo.’
‘But he said he did. He boasted of it to Beatrice.’
I frowned. ‘Yes, he did.’
‘He must have got someone else to do it,’ Litsi said.
I shook my head. ‘He did everything himself. Threatened the princess, chased Danielle, set the trap for you, came to put the bomb in my car. He didn’t trust any of that to anyone else. He knows about horses, he wanted to see his own filly shot... he would have shot Col... but he didn’t.’
‘He confessed to all the horses,’ Litsi insisted.
‘Yes, but suppose... he read about them in the papers... read that their deaths were mysterious and no one knew who had killed them... He wanted ways to frighten Roland and the princess. Suppose he said he’d killed them, when he hadn’t?’
‘But in that case,’ Litsi said blankly, ‘who did? Who would want to kill her best horses, if not Nanterre?’
I rose slowly to my feet, feeling almost faint.
‘What’s the matter?’ Litsi said, alarmed. ‘You’ve gone as white as snow.’
‘He killed,’ I said with a mouth stickily dry, ‘the horse I might have won the Grand National on. The horse on which I might have won the Gold Cup.’
‘Kit...’ Litsi said.
‘There’s only one person,’ I said with difficulty, ‘who hates me enough to do that. Who couldn’t bear to see me win those races... who would take away the prizes I hold dearest, because I took away his prize...’
I felt breathless and dizzy.
‘Sit down,’ Litsi said, alarmed.
‘Kinley,’ I said.
I went jerkily to the telephone and got through to Wyke-ham.
‘I was just going to bed,’ he complained.
‘Did you stop the dog-patrols?’ I demanded.
‘Yes, of course. You told me this morning there was no more need for them.’
‘I think I was wrong. I can’t risk that I was wrong. I’m coming down to your stables now, tonight, and we’ll get the dog-patrols back again, stronger than ever, for tomorrow and every day until Cheltenham, and probably beyond.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘Have you taken your sleeping pill?’ I asked.
‘No, not yet.’
‘Don’t do it until I get down to you, will you? And where’s Kinley tonight?’
‘Back in his own box, of course. You said the danger was past.’
‘We’ll move him back into the corner box when I get down to you.’
‘Kit, no, not in the middle of the night.’
‘You want to keep him safe,’ I said; and there was no arguing with that.
We disconnected and Litsi said slowly, ‘Do you mean Maynard Allardeck?’
‘Yes, I do. He found out, about two weeks ago, that he’ll never get a knighthood because I sent the film I made of him to the Honours department. He’s wanted that knighthood since he was a child, when he told my grandfather that one day the Fieldings would have to bow down to him, because he’d be a lord. He knows horses better than Nanterre... he was brought up in his father’s racing stable and was his assistant trainer for years. He saw Cascade and Cotopaxi at Newbury, and they were distinctive horses... and Col at Ascot... unmistakable.’
I went to the door.
‘I’ll telephone in the morning,’ I said.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘You’d be up all night.’
‘Get going,’ he said. ‘You saved my family’s honour... let me pay some of their debt.’
I was grateful, indeed, for the company. We went round again to the dark mews where Litsi said, if I had the car-starter in my pocket, we might as well be sure: but Nanterre and his bombs hadn’t returned, and the Mercedes fired obligingly from a fifty-yard distance.
I drove towards Sussex, telephoning to Danielle on the way to tell her where and why we were going. She had no trouble believing anything bad of Maynard Allardeck, saying he’d looked perfectly crazy at Ascot and Sandown, glaring at me continuously in the way he had.
‘Curdling with hate,’ she said. ‘You could feel it like shock waves.’
‘We’ll be back for breakfast,’ I said, smiling. ‘Sleep well.’ And I could hear her laughing as she disconnected.
I told Litsi on the way about the firework bombs that had been used to decoy the dog-handler away from Col’s courtyard, and said, ‘You know, in the alley, when Nanterre said he hadn’t put a bomb in my car, I asked him if it was a firework. He looked totally blank... I didn’t think much of it then, but now I realise he simply didn’t know what I was talking about. He didn’t know about the fireworks at Wykeham’s because they didn’t get into the papers.’
Litsi made a ‘Huh’ sort of noise of appreciation and assent, and we came companionably in time into Wykeham’s village.
‘What are you going to do here?’ Litsi said.
I shrugged. ‘Walk round the stables.’ I explained about the many little courtyards. ‘It’s not an easy place to patrol.’
‘You do seriously think Allardeck will risk trying to kill another of Aunt Casilia’s horses?’
‘Yes. Kinley, particularly, her brilliant hurdler. I don’t seriously suppose he’ll try tonight rather than tomorrow or thereafter, but I’m not taking chances.’ I paused. ‘However am I going to apologise to Princess Casilia... to repay...’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cascade and Cotopaxi and Col died because of the Fielding and Allardeck feud. Because of me.’
‘She won’t think of it that way.’
‘It’s the truth.’ I turned into Wykeham’s driveway. ‘I won’t let Kinley die.’
I stopped the car in the parking space, and we stepped out into the silence of midnight under a clear sky sparkling with diamond-like stars. The heights and depths of the universe: enough to humble the sweaty strivings of earth.
I took a deep breath of its peace... and heard, in the quiet distance, the dull unmistakable thudding explosion of a bolt.
Dear God, I thought. We’re too late.
I ran. I knew where. To the last courtyard, the one nearest to Wykeham’s house. Ran with the furies at my heels, my heart sick, my mind a jumble of rage and fear and dreadful regrets.
I could have driven faster... I could have started sooner... I could have opened Lord Vaughnley’s envelope hours before... Kinley was dead, and I’d killed him.
I ran into the courtyard, and for all my speed, events on the other side of it moved faster.
As I watched, as I ran, I saw Wykeham struggle to his feet from where he’d been lying on the path outside the doors of the boxes.