Had Mr York, the Coroner enquired in a doubtful voice, mentioned the possible existence of wire to anyone at all on the day of the race? Mr York had not.
The Coroner, summing up medical, police, and all other evidence, found that Major Davidson had died of injuries resulting from his horse having fallen in a steeplechase. He was not convinced, he said, that the fall was anything but an accident.
Owing to a mistake about the time, the local paper had failed to send a representative to the inquest, and from lack of detailed reporting the proceedings rated only small paragraphs in the evening and morning papers. The word 'wire' was not mentioned. This omission did not worry me one way or the other, but Scilla was relieved. She said she could not yet stand questions from inquisitive friends, let alone reporters.
Bill's funeral was held quietly in the village on Friday morning, attended only by his family and close friends. Bearing one corner of his coffin on my shoulder and bidding my private good-byes, I knew for sure that I would not be satisfied until his death was avenged. I didn't know how it was to be done, and, strangely enough, I didn't feel any urgency about it. But in time, I promised him, in time, I'll do it.
Scilla's sister had come to the funeral and was to stay with her for two or three days, so, missing lunch out of deference to the light weight I was committed to ride at on the following day, I drove up to London to spend some long overdue hours in the office, arranging the details of insurance and customs duty on a series of shipments of copper.
The office staff were experts. My job was to discuss with Hughes, my second in command, the day-to-day affairs of the company, to make decisions and agree to plans made by Hughes, and to sign my name to endless documents and letters. It seldom took me more than three days a week. On Sunday it was my weekly task to write to my father. I had a feeling he skipped the filial introduction and the accounts of my racing, and fastened his sharp brain only on my report of the week's trade and my assessment of the future.
Those Sunday reports had been part of my life for ten years. School homework could wait, my father used to say. It was more important for me to know every detail about the kingdom I was to inherit; and to this end he made me study continually the papers he brought home from his office. By the time I left school I could appraise at a glance the significance of fluctuations in the world prices of raw materials, even if I had no idea when Charles I was beheaded.
On Friday evening I waited impatiently for Kate to join me for dinner. Unwrapped from the heavy overcoat and woolly boots she had worn at Plumpton, she was more ravishing than ever. She wore a glowing red dress, simple and devastating, and her dark hair fell smoothly to her shoulders. She seemed to be alight from within with her own brand of effervescence. The evening was fun and, to me at least, entirely satisfactory. We ate, we danced, we talked.
While we swayed lazily round the floor to some dreamy slow-tempo music Kate introduced the only solemn note of the evening.
'I saw a bit about your friend's inquest in this morning's paper,' she said.
I brushed my lips against her hair. It smelled sweet. 'Accidental death,' I murmured vaguely. 'I don't think.'
'Hm?' Kate looked up.
'I'll tell you about it one day, when I know the whole story,' I said, enjoying the taut line of her neck as she tilted her face up to mine. It was strange, I thought, that it was possible to feel two strong emotions at once. Pleasure in surrendering to the seduction of the music with a dancing Kate balanced in my arms, and a tugging sympathy for Scilla trying to come to terms with her loneliness eighty miles away in the windy Cotswold hills.
'Tell me now,' said Kate with interest. 'If it wasn't accidental death, what was it?'
I hesitated. I didn't want too much reality pushing the evening's magic sideways.
'Come on, come on,' she urged, smiling. 'You can't stop here. I'll die of suspense.'
So I told her about the wire. It shocked her enough to stop her dancing, and we stood flat-footed in the middle of the floor with the other couples flowing round and bumping into us.
'Dear heavens,' she said, 'how- how wicked.'
She wanted me to explain why the inquest verdict had been what it was, and after I had told her that with the wire gone there was no evidence of anything else, she said, 'I can't bear to think of anyone getting away with so disgusting a trick.'
'Nor can I,' I said, 'and they won't, I promise you, if I can help it.'
'That's good,' she said seriously. She began to sway again to the music, and I took her in my arms and we drifted back into the dance. We didn't mention Bill again.
It seemed to me for long periods that evening as if my feet were not in proper contact with the floor, and the most extraordinary tremors constantly shook my knees. Kate seemed to notice nothing: she was friendly, funny, brimming over with gaiety, and utterly unsentimental.
When at length I helped her into the chauffeur-driven car which Uncle George had sent up from Sussex to take her home, I had discovered how painful it is to love. I was excited, keyed up. And also anxious; for I was sure that she did not feel as intensely about me as I about her.
I already knew I wanted to marry Kate. The thought that she might not have me was a bitter one.
The next day I went to Kempton Park races. Outside the weighing room I ran into Dane. We talked about the going, the weather, Pete's latest plans for us, and the horses. Usual jockey stuff. Then Dane said, 'You took Kate out last night?'
'Yes.'
'Where did you go?'
'The River Club,' I said. 'Where did you take her?'
'Didn't she tell you?' asked Dane.
'She said to ask you.'
'River Club,' said Dane.
'Damn it,' I said. But I had to laugh.
'Honours even,' said Dane.
'Did she ask you down to stay with Uncle George?' I asked suspiciously.
'I'm going today, after the races,' said Dane, smiling. 'And you?'
'Next Saturday,' I said gloomily. 'You know, Dane, she's teasing us abominably.'
'I can stand it,' said Dane. He tapped me on the shoulder. 'Don't look so miserable, it may never happen.'
'That's what I'm afraid of,' I sighed. He laughed and went into the weighing room.
It was an uneventful afternoon. I rode my big black mare in a novice 'chase and Dane beat me by two lengths. At the end of the day we walked out to the car park together.
'How is Mrs Davidson bearing up?' Dane asked.
'Fairly well, considering the bottom has dropped out of her world.'
'Jockeys' wives' nightmare come true.'
'Yes,' I said.
'It makes you pause a bit, before you ask a girl to put up with that sort of constant worry,' said Dane, thoughtfully.
'Kate?' I asked. He looked round sharply and grinned.
'I suppose so. Do you mind?'
'Yes,' I said, keeping my voice light. 'I mind very much.'
We came to his car first, and he put his race glasses and hat on the seat. His suitcase was in the back.
'So long, mate,' he said. 'I'll keep you posted.'
I watched him drive off, answered his wave. I seldom felt envious of anybody, but at that moment I envied Dane sorely.
I climbed into the Lotus and pointed its low blue nose towards home.
It was on the road through Maidenhead Thicket that I saw the horse-box. It was parked in a lay-by on the near side, with tools scattered on the ground round it and the bonnet up. It was facing me as I approached, as if it had broken down on its way into Maidenhead. A man was walking a horse up and down in front of it.