“Then we shall assume that one of them was Mr. Komarov, or, at least, that he sent them even if he wasn’t there himself,” I said. “I wonder who the other one was.”
BY THE time we reached East Hendred, my wrist was hurting badly again, and I could hardly keep my eyes open due to tiredness. I had driven down the motorway watching the cars behind me almost as much as the road in front, and Caroline had gone to sleep in spite of promising that she wouldn’t. I, meanwhile, had continually speeded up, then slowed down, all the way from London, and had even left the motorway at Reading to go twice around the roundabout at Junction 11 to ensure that no one was following us.
I wakened Caroline as we approached the village, and Toby came out to meet us as the car scrunched across the gravel driveway in front of the house. It was always a strange experience for me to come back here, my childhood home, to find that it was my brother and his family, rather than my parents, who were the residents. Perhaps it was another reason why Toby and I saw so little of each other.
“Toby,” I said, climbing out of the car, “may I introduce Caroline, Caroline Aston.”
They shook hands. “You’re so alike,” Caroline said, looking back and forth at us both.
“No we’re not,” I said, purposely sounding offended. “He’s much older than me.”
“And more distinguished,” said Toby, laughing. He put a hand on my shoulder “Come on in, little brother.”
It was as good a greeting as we had shared in years.
I went in through the so-familiar front door and was greeted by Sally in the hallway. We kissed, cheek to cheek. Politeness only.
“Sally,” I said, “how lovely to see you. This is Caroline.”
They smiled at each other, and Sally, ever well mannered, leaned forward for a kiss.
“Max,” she said, “how lovely.” I didn’t know whether she meant it was lovely to see me or whether Caroline was lovely. I didn’t particularly care just as long as we weren’t fighting. “I’m so sorry to hear about your house,” she said almost sincerely. “And your arm.” She looked at the end of the cast sticking out below the cuff of my shirt. I smiled my thanks to her. I had told Toby on the phone that I had a broken wrist but not how I came by it.
“Where are the children?” I asked, looking around.
“At school, of course,” said Sally. “Philippa, our youngest, is now six.”
“Really,” I said. It must have been a long time since I was there. My niece had been a toddler on my last visit.
Toby jumped into the awkward pause. “Well, I expect you two would like to lay your heads down for a few hours.” I had explained to him coming from the airport that we had both hardly slept on our flights.
“Thank you,” said Caroline, “I think we would.”
On my way upstairs, I looked briefly into the room that had been mine for the first eighteen years of my life. It didn’t really appear much different. My elder nephew was the current occupant, as was clear from the JACK’S ROOM plaque screwed firmly to the door. His bed was in the same position as mine had always been, and his chest of drawers in the corner was the very same one that had held my clothes for so long. It made me yearn for my childhood, for the happy years spent growing up in this house, and for the assurance of youth that nothing nasty can ever happen. That utopia had lasted only until the brick truck had broken the spell.
Caroline and I went to bed, and straight to sleep, in the guest bedroom.
I SLEPT sporadically, for a couple of hours or so, before the discomfort of the cast woke me up for good. I dressed quietly, left Caroline sleeping peacefully and went downstairs in my stocking feet. Toby was in his office, off the main hallway. I stood silently in the doorway watching him as he studied the Racing Calendar, as my father had done every single day of the year without fail. The Racing Calendar was the industry bible for trainers, allowing them to look at the terms and conditions of every upcoming race so that they could determine which of their horses to enter and where. In my father’s day, it had been a weekly broadsheet printed on yellow paper that he would spread out wide on his desk and study for hours on end. Now Toby sat looking through a smaller, stapled booklet, with blue type on white paper, yet it performed much the same function as the old newspaper version. But the computer age was taking over, and no doubt the booklet version would soon be consigned to history as well.
“Hello,” said Toby, looking up. “Sleep well?”
“Not really,” I said. I lifted up my arm with the cast. “Too bloody uncomfortable.”
“How did you do it?” he asked, looking back down at the calendar.
“I didn’t move out of the way quick enough,” I said.
“Of what?” he asked, not looking up.
“A polo mallet,” I said.
He glanced up at me. “I never realized you played polo.”
“I don’t,” I said flatly.
“Then why…” He tailed off and leaned back in his chair. “Are you telling me that it was deliberate? Someone broke your arm on purpose?” He looked suitably horrified.
“I don’t think they would have stopped at my arm if I hadn’t run away.”
“But that’s terrible,” he said. “Have you told the police?”
“Not yet.”
“But why on earth not?” he asked. It was a good question, I thought. Why didn’t I just leave everything to the police? Because I was very afraid that if I did, I would end up dead before they found out who it was who was trying to kill me. But I couldn’t exactly say that to Toby right out of the blue, now, could I?
“I want to explain everything to you because I need your help,” I said. “I need your knowledge of horses. I know I grew up in this house and some of it rubbed off on me, but you have forgotten more about horses than I ever knew and I believe I need that knowledge now. That’s why I’ve come here.”
“Explain away,” he said, putting his hands behind his neck and testing the tilt mechanism on his office chair to the limit.
“Not yet. I want Caroline there too. And, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked a lawyer to come down here later this afternoon to listen to it as well.”
“A lawyer?” he said slowly. “This is serious, then?”
“Very,” I said. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” And Toby knew that in my life, especially since the death of my father, I had always been serious. It had often strangely annoyed him.
“OK,” he said, looking carefully at my face. “What time is this lawyer arriving?”
“He said he’d try to be here by four,” I said. “He’s coming down from London.” I was suddenly not sure if it had been such a good idea. A lawyer might make Toby rather wary. He had fought long and hard with them over the terms of my father’s will. Lawyers were not Toby’s favorite people. But, then again, he’d never met a lawyer like Bernard Sims. In truth, I hadn’t met him either. It was a pleasure yet to be enjoyed by us all.
BERNARD PROVED to be everything I had expected him to be. He was large, jovial, with a mop of wavy black hair and a huge, double-breasted pin-striped suit doing its best to hold it all together.
“Max,” he said expansively when I greeted him in the driveway. He advanced towards me with a hand outstretched that seemed to me to have far more than its fair share of fingers. Perhaps it was just because each finger was twice the width of my own. I held up my cast and declined the handshake.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Come on in.”
“But is she here?” he asked in a half whisper, almost conspiratorially.
“Who?” I said innocently. I too could play his little game.