‘Hopeless,’ Oliver said, seemingly unaware that Mike and Michelle Morris were hanging on his every word.
We watched as Tony pulled Momentum out from behind the horse immediately in front of him and started to make some headway. As they passed the two-furlong pole, Tony went for his whip and gave his mount a couple of reminders to get going faster. But sadly for him, and despite all his considerable efforts, the horse just plodded on at the same steady pace, passing the winning post a frustrating sixth of the nine.
The official handicapper had been right all the time.
Ryan was apoplectic with rage. ‘That wretched Tony. Why didn’t he do as he was bloody told?’
I personally thought he had done so but, on this occasion, I decided not to say something provocative. I rather valued the straightness of my nose.
Oliver, meanwhile, just sighed heavily and kicked the turf in frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Better luck next time.’
If there is a next time, I thought. The owners were obviously unhappy. Their earlier optimism had been crushed, leaving nothing but frustration and anger, much of it clearly directed towards the trainer and his father.
The five of us went, not to the winner’s enclosure as hoped, but to the place reserved for the unsaddling of the also-rans and waited for the horse and jockey to return. Ryan was working himself up into a real state again, just like on the previous evening. Thankfully, this time, it wasn’t me in his sights.
I didn’t fancy being in Tony’s stirrups.
‘You were far too far back,’ Ryan complained loudly when Tony slid down off the horse. ‘You never gave him a chance.’
‘I gave him every chance,’ Tony replied icily, removing his saddle. ‘When I asked him for an effort at the two-pole there was nothing left. Tank empty.’
‘Nonsense,’ Oliver said. ‘You just didn’t ride him well enough.’
The three of them seemed oblivious to the presence of me and the Morrises, who stood there in shocked silence listening to the Chadwick family confrontation.
Tony faced his brother and father. ‘I won’t ride for you ever again. In your opinion, every horse you run these days seems to be underperforming. I suggest you both look in the mirror before you start blaming everyone else.’ And, with that still ringing in their ears, he turned away and disappeared into the weighing room.
I wondered if now might be a good time to ask him if he knew why Ryan had broken Declan’s nose.
22
Michelle and Mike Morris went off to drown their sorrows in the owners’ bar while I hung around outside the weighing room waiting for Tony.
According to the racecard, he had no further rides that afternoon, but it still wasn’t until after the fourth race that he finally appeared.
In the meantime, one of Declan’s horses won the second, which would probably do nothing for Ryan’s demeanour. I watched as Joe led the horse into the space reserved for the winner and he even had a bit of a smile on his face. Miracles will never cease.
Tony came out of the weighing room wearing a green polo shirt and light-coloured chinos and made a beeline for the exit and the jockeys’ car park. If I hadn’t been on my toes, I’d have missed him completely.
‘Tony,’ I called loudly after him.
He slowed and turned but I could tell he wasn’t keen to stop and talk so I hurried along beside him.
‘Shame about Momentum,’ I said. ‘Your father is very upset.’
‘My father is always upset these days,’ he said. ‘He should never have retired so soon. Harry Wragg was almost eighty before he passed his stable over to his son. Dad should have done the same.’
‘But he still seems to be very involved,’ I said.
‘Too involved, if you ask me. He should just let Ryan get on with it, let him sink or swim on his own. Sink, probably, the way things are going at the moment. Prince of Troy was his only hope, and now he’s gone.’
‘It must be very difficult for your father to let go when he lives on site and still owns the stables.’
‘That was his big mistake. He should have sold it. Caused all sorts of resentment when he just seemed to hand it all to Ryan.’
‘Resentment from whom?’ I asked.
‘Declan, for a start.’
‘And you?’
He suddenly stopped and looked at me.
‘Why are you asking me all these questions?’
‘I’m trying to find out why Prince of Troy died.’
‘And what has that to do with my father passing his stable to Ryan?’
Everything, I thought.
‘I’m just trying to understand the Chadwick family dynamic.’
‘Snoop, more like. I have to go.’
He turned on his heel and walked away.
‘I have one more question,’ I said, but he just waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder and kept on walking. So I shouted after him, ‘Why did Ryan break Declan’s nose at Doncaster?’
He stopped and walked back towards me.
‘Be careful,’ he said menacingly. ‘For your own good, there are some things you shouldn’t ask.’
‘Are you threatening me, Tony?’
‘No, I’m just warning you. Don’t ask that again.’
‘I won’t,’ I assured him. ‘That is, I won’t if you tell me the answer now.’
He simply stared at me.
‘What is it that no one is talking about?’
‘None of your business.’
He turned again and jogged away out of the racecourse exit.
It will all come out. I can’t stand the shame.
It must be something big, I thought, to unite this family together when everything else was tearing them apart.
I was waiting at reception when Mrs Williams arrived at the Bedford Lodge Hotel just before six o’clock, still wearing her Tattersalls uniform but carrying an overnight bag.
‘I brought it with me this morning,’ she said with a smile. ‘Saves me having to go home to change. Everyone asked me at work where I was going.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told them I was going away for the weekend to stay with a friend. But I think they all knew it was you.’
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘I think it was last night at the races,’ she said. ‘And you were a huge hit with the girls up at Park Paddocks this morning.’
She was pleased, and so was I, for her benefit.
‘Would you like a drink at the bar?’ I asked.
‘I think I’ll change first,’ she said. ‘We’re not really supposed to drink in public wearing our uniforms.’
‘You did the other night,’ I said.
‘I know, but that was last-minute and unexpected. Also, there might be people staying here tonight for the races who are our customers.’
So we went to my room, hand in hand, with me carrying her suitcase.
‘Do you want me to go?’ I asked, conscious that she might not want an audience while she changed.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll change in the bathroom.’
She went in and closed the door and, while I waited, I flicked on the TV to watch the six o’clock news. However, as I thought was so often the case, the ‘news’ was largely BBC opinion served up as fact. I turned it off again.
‘How are you doing?’ I called out to Kate.
‘Just coming,’ she shouted back.
The bathroom door opened and she emerged, but she was clearly not yet properly dressed for a drink at the bar.
She was wearing only a hotel bathrobe, and it hung open at the front revealing all the splendours within.
‘Wow!’ I said.