Suddenly Edward groaned, his hands went limp and he slumped down like a dead weight on top of me. I looked over his shoulder to see Freddie standing there, crying, a bronze statuette of a horse and jockey in his right hand. The head of the horse was covered in blood. The boy was hysterical.
'Mummy, are you all right?' he sobbed.
With considerable effort, I managed to push Edward off me and onto the floor.
'Is daddy dead?' Freddie asked, shaking with fear.
I gazed down at the motionless figure slumped against the side of the sofa. He was still breathing, if in a somewhat laboured fashion, and I felt for his pulse. It was regular. Mild concussion, I reckoned, which would give us about twenty minutes to get out. I reassured Freddie that daddy would soon be all right and rushed him upstairs to help me pack a few things. Five minutes later, we were in my car heading I knew not where, but at least as far away from Edward Pryde as wheels could take us.
When I'd calmed down, I thought of driving straight over to Tom's but on reflection I decided against it. I couldn't trust his reaction to seeing us in this condition. Instead, two hours later, after driving aimlessly round the country, we pulled up at Ralph Elgar's yard in the Cotswolds.
I kept looking in the rear-view mirror expecting to see Edward's Jaguar, but there was no sign of it and as soon as I'd pulled up and stopped the engine, Freddie and I darted inside the house.
Ralph jumped up from his chair as we ran into the kitchen.
'Whatever's the matter?' he exclaimed.
I began crying as I blurted out what had just happened, including how Freddie had saved my life.
By the time I had finished and had drunk a cup of tea, I felt much better.
'So that's it. I just wondered if we could both stay here for a few days until I can get things sorted out.'
'You know that you're both welcome to stay as long as you want,' said Ralph. And then added, 'If I were you, I'd call the police.'
I disagreed. As Freddie and I were both all right, and I had finally had the courage to leave Edward, I decided to let the whole thing resolve itself on its own. Once the police knew, then the press would get to hear about it and the story would be on the racing page of every daily paper in the country.
Freddie was still in a state of shock, and repeatedly asked if his father would be all right. About an hour after I had put him to bed, he came back downstairs crying, saying that he had had a nightmare, and he spent the rest of the evening asleep in my arms.
'He'll be a long time forgetting what's gone on today,' said Ralph.
'I know, and he's going to miss having Edward around, but I certainly won't. My main worry is what will happen when Edward finally comes looking for
us. It may be that the battle's only just begun.'
During the next two weeks, much to my surprise, Edward made no attempt to contact me. I expected him to turn up at the races and accost me or try to follow me home. I couldn't believe he would give up Freddie that easily. When the boy kept asking me where his father was, I told him that Edward had fully recovered and had gone away on holiday. I thought it was the most likely explanation, although when I had telephoned Mrs Parsons on the Monday after the attack, to say that Freddie would be away for a short while, she told me that our bed had been slept in and there was no sign of any of Edward's clothes missing. We agreed that she would take a paid holiday until Freddie and I returned.
Not surprisingly, my riding began to suffer amidst the uncertainty of my position. I found it difficult to regain my usual enthusiasm and managed to get beaten at Stratford on a certainty trained by Tom Radcliffe. Coming to the last I was two lengths ahead of my flagging rival and had only to jump it clear to win. Instead of settling my horse down to take it comfortably in his stride, I gave him a kick in the belly and asked for a long one. The stride I'd seen was a lot longer than I thought and the horse brushed the top of the fence and pecked on landing. I fell off him like a bad seven pound claimer and had to walk back to the jockeys' room through a jeering crowd of irate punters.
Fortunately, Tom was sympathetic, but we both knew that I was to blame. On the way home he asked me about Edward. I hadn't told him about our fight or, for that matter, that I had walked out. I was still anxious not to involve him at this stage if I could help it, fearing what he might do if angered.
'Do you know that I saw your husband on the Saturday night after the Gold Cup?'
'No. Whose idea was that?'
'Mine. I know I promised not to get involved but I couldn't go on letting him behave like that towards you. He's a bully and there's only one thing that kind of person understands.'
'Where did you meet him?'
'I phoned him up on the Friday evening and asked him to come for a drink at the Crown and Anchor on the Marlborough Road. I thought I'd choose a pub where no one was likely to recognise either of us.'
'And so?'
'It all turned rather nasty. I won't bore you with the details. I must have drunk too much as I woke up in the early hours of the morning in the car park with a splitting headache.'
'Is that all that happened, Tom?' I asked anxiously, although fearing to probe too far.
'All you need to know. I wish you'd reconsider your decision, Victoria.'
'Just be patient, please, that's all I ask.'
Another week went by and there was still no sign of Edward; I began to wonder whether I should report him missing to the police. I decided against it for the time being. I couldn't really pretend to be the caring wife; in fact I wouldn't have minded at all if his disappearance became permanent. It was just the uncertainty that was beginning to unnerve me.
Everything changed on the Friday, when I received a phone call at Ralph's from Amy Frost. I had kept her informed about everything that had happened and her advice had been to stay put and do nothing. Apparently, if Edward could be shown to have deserted me, it could in time be grounds for a divorce and would be very important in the question of custody. She didn't waste time with any niceties. 'Have you seen today's Sportsman, page seven?' I had to admit I hadn't. Amy loved horse racing and gambling and must have been the only solicitor in London who started her day by reading the racing paper cover to cover. 'Well, you'd better go and get a copy. I'll hang on.' I walked over and picked up the paper off the kitchen table, found the right page and returned to the phone: 'Fire away. What am I meant to be looking for?'
'Just below tomorrow's racecards. Look at the notice headed "Official Scratching".'
I found what she was referring to and read it. It couldn't have been more succinct. 'Official Scratching. All Engagements. Mr Pryde (dead).'
'Amy, do you think this is some kind of a joke?'
'I don't know. Is there a horse called Mr Pryde?'
'Not that I'm aware of,' I replied. 'But who the hell would want to put this in, unless…'
'Unless,' interjected Amy, 'somebody wanted to deliver a very tasteless message.'
'To declare Edward dead, you mean?'
'Exactly.'
I ended the conversation with a promise to be in touch if there were any further developments. The announcement in the paper could just be a mischievous trick and I wondered how the Sportsman had been duped into carrying it. I made a mental note to ask James Thackeray when I next saw him, because apart from working on the paper, he was an enthusiastic amateur rider. I also realised that the time had come for me to report Edward missing. After all, the last person to have had any contact with him was Tom Radcliffe, and that was almost three weeks previously. I thought about it for a while, and decided that if something had happened to him, it would look pretty strange if his wife had kept quiet in the meantime.