But, of course, he hadn’t known then that she’d been murdered.
‘So who do you think killed her?’ I asked.
‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘But that husband of hers would be my bet. He’s another strange one.’
‘How often have you met him?’
‘Twice,’ he said. ‘And that’s twice too often if you ask me.’
I said nothing but silently waited for him to continue.
‘The first time was the morning after they found Zoe in London. Yvonne and I went to a police station in Croydon to collect her.’ He forced a single laugh. ‘What a joke that was. Christmas Day, and Zoe refused point-blank even to see us. Instead, this lout of a young man comes out and tells us that Zoe doesn’t need us any more and he will look after her in future. I nearly decked him there and then, I was that angry. But the police said that, as Zoe was now legally an adult, she could live with whomever she liked, even if it was on the streets with a drug dealer. Unbelievable. As far as I’m concerned, she ceased to be my daughter on that day.’
‘So you didn’t go to their wedding?’
‘No chance. We weren’t even invited. In fact, I didn’t know they were married at all until they turned up here out of the blue about five years ago, along with their children.’
‘What did they want?’ I asked.
‘What do you think they wanted? Money, of course. Started off with some nonsense about her being entitled to her inheritance early because I’d divorced her mother and was marrying another woman. I told her she could sing for that because I wasn’t planning to leave her anything in my will anyway, so they then tried to blackmail me instead.’
He suddenly shut up. I waited but there was nothing more.
‘Blackmail over what?’ I asked finally into the silence.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just another one of her crazy made-up stories. So I gave them a bit of an earful and sent them both packing. Look, I must go now, Ryan’s ready for third lot.’
He hung up quickly. Rather too quickly.
Had he just let something slip that he hadn’t meant to?
20
I presented myself at the Tattersalls’ main reception at eleven o’clock precisely, having walked down from the Bedford Lodge Hotel.
There was much activity at Castleton House Stables as I passed, and I stood in the gateway for a few moments watching the proceedings.
The police had obviously completed their physical examination of the scene and there was now a collection of bulldozers, diggers and lorries taking away the remains of the burned-out stable block, and its dead equine residents. At Oliver’s expense, no doubt, or that of his insurer.
I walked on down the High Street and past the Jockey Club buildings before turning left onto The Avenue and then in through the entrance to the sales complex.
Today, being a non-sale day, the car park was almost empty but, as on every day, it was dominated by a massive limestone classical arch with huge pillars topped by a pediment, complete with moulded frieze. It would not have looked out of place as the ceremonial entrance to a royal palace. How odd, I thought, to have built it here.
‘Welcome to Tattersalls, Mr Foster,’ said the receptionist. ‘We have been expecting you. Please take a seat for a moment.’ She indicated towards some comfy upholstered upright chairs. ‘I’ll just inform the chairman that you’re here.’
I don’t know what Kate had told them but they did everything for me short of actually rolling out a red carpet.
I was thankful that I’d worn my suit.
Presently a tall lean man appeared, also in a suit, and walked purposefully over towards me.
‘Mr Foster?’ he said, outstretching his hand. ‘Welcome to Tattersalls. I’m Geoffrey Atherton, chairman and chief auctioneer.’
I shook his hand warmly.
‘Thank you for inviting me,’ I said. ‘I had no idea that buying horses was such a grand affair. That’s quite a structure you have in the car park.’
‘The Tattersall Arch,’ he said, nodding. ‘It used to be the entrance to the auction house when we were situated in London during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. We moved it here in the 1960s.’
‘Quite a feat,’ I said.
‘Indeed, the original building was earmarked for demolition so it was a way of preserving what had been a symbol of Tattersalls for almost a century.’
‘The company goes back a long way, then,’ I said.
‘Since 1766. It was started by Richard Tattersall selling dogs on Hyde Park Corner.’
‘Dogs?’
‘Hounds, to be precise. For hunting. But at the end of each day’s hound sale, Richard would also sell a few horses, hacks and hunters mostly. However, it wasn’t long before he realised there was more profit in selling the horses than the dogs, although we went on selling foxhounds right up to the outbreak of the First World War, and we sold horses for hunting until well after that. But, nowadays, we are exclusively a Thoroughbred sales organisation. Racehorses.’
As he’d been talking he had led the way back outside and we walked together across the perfectly tended grass lawns to a point where we could see clearly into one of the stable yards.
‘We have eight separate yards here, with over eight hundred boxes,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Horses have to be available for inspection before the auction starts. The sales catalogue tells prospective buyers where to find each lot and gives a full listing of its pedigree back at least three generations.’
‘How many do you sell in a day?’ I asked.
‘Up to two hundred and fifty. Some days less, especially on the big days like the October Book One sale. Then we might only sell a hundred and twenty on each of the three days.’
‘But they’re the most expensive?’
‘We think they’re going to be, but quite a few in Books Two and Three always outsell some of those in Book One. The price depends solely on what people will pay for them at the auction. The deal is done only when the hammer drops.’
We walked on towards the sales paddock.
‘This is where the lots parade just before going into the sales ring.’
Like the waiting room at the dentist, I thought. But in this case it wouldn’t be the horse that was nervous, more likely the seller, intensely hoping their lot will fetch a good price, and more than the cost of producing it in the first place.
At this point Kate came trotting across the grass to join us.
‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Williams.’ Geoffrey turned to me. ‘I believe you met Mrs Williams at the races last evening.’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying hard not to laugh. ‘Mrs Williams was most accommodating. She invited me into your private box for a drink.’
‘Excellent,’ he said.
Mrs Williams, indeed. Good job I hadn’t had to ask for her by name.
I smiled at her. She was wearing her Tattersalls uniform with its embroidered rotunda logos.
‘There’s the rotunda I told you about,’ Kate said, as if reading my mind. She pointed at a twenty-foot-high round domed structure with pillars, standing nearby. It had a human bust on the very top and a fox standing on a pedestal at its centre.
‘In the 1700s it was situated at the corner of Hyde Park,’ Geoffrey said. ‘It was used by Richard Tattersall as his auctioneer’s podium. The bust on the top is George IV.’
‘Why the fox?’ I asked.
‘Foxes are part of our heritage, through our connection with selling foxhounds. Huntsmen have always been very fond of foxes.’
But clearly not fond enough of them to stop chasing them to death across the countryside. It was a strange world. I wonder if the Pied Piper liked rats?