‘Coedlant Primary, Tenby Grammar, and L.S.E.’
‘L.S.E.... you don’t mean... the London School of Economics?’ He looked astonished.
‘Yes.’
‘My God...’
I watched while he thought it over. ‘What did you read there?’
‘Politics, philosophy and economics.’
‘Then what on earth made you become a jockey?’
‘It was almost an accident,’ I said. ‘I didn’t plan it. When I’d finished my final exams I was mentally tired, so I thought I’d take a sort of paid holiday working on the land... I knew how to do that, my father’s a farm hand. I worked at harvesting for a fanner in Devon and every morning I used to ride his ’chasers out at exercise, because I’d ridden most of my life, you see. He had a permit, and he was dead keen. And then his brother, who raced them for him, broke his shoulder at one of the early Devon meetings, and he put me up instead, and almost at once I started winning... and then it took hold of me... so I didn’t get around to being a Civil Servant, as I’d always vaguely intended, and... well... I’ve never regretted it.’
‘Not even now?’ he said with irony.
I shook my head. ‘Not even now.’
‘Hughes...’ His face crinkled dubiously. ‘I don’t know what to think. At first I was sure you were not the type to have stopped Squelch deliberately... and then there was all that damning evidence. Charlie West saying you had definitely pulled back...’
I looked down at the table. I didn’t after all want an eye for an eye, when it came to the point.
‘Charlie was mistaken,’ I said. ‘He got two races muddled up. I did pull back in another race at about that time... riding a novice ’chaser with no chance, well back in the field. I wanted to give it a good schooling race. That was what Charlie remembered.’
He said doubtfully, ‘It didn’t sound like it.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve had it out with Charlie since. He might be prepared to admit now that he was talking about the wrong race. If you will ask the Oxford Stewards, you’ll find that Charlie said nothing to them directly after the Lemonfizz, when they made their first enquiries, about me not trying. He only said it later, at the Enquiry in Portman Square.’ Because in between some beguiling seducer had offered him five hundred pounds for the service.
‘I see.’ He frowned. ‘And what was it that you asked Lord Gowery about Newtonnards?’
‘Newtonnards didn’t volunteer the information to the Stewards about Mr Cranfield backing Cherry Pie, but he did tell several bookmaker colleagues. Someone told the Stewards. I wanted to know who.’
‘Are you suggesting that it was the same person who sent Oakley to your flat?’
‘It might be. But not necessarily.’ I hesitated, looking at him doubtfully.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Sir, I don’t want to offend you, but would you mind telling me why you sat in at the Enquiry? Why there were four of you instead of three, when Lord Gowery, if you’ll forgive me saying so, was obviously not too pleased at the arrangement’
His lips tightened. ‘You’re being uncommonly tactful all of a sudden.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He looked at me steadily. A tall thin man with high cheekbones, strong black hair, hot fiery eyes. A man whose force of character reached out and hit you, so that you’d never forget meeting him. The best ally in the whole chasing set up, if I could only reach him.
‘I cannot give you my reasons for attending,’ he said with some reproof.
‘Then you had some... reservations... about how the Enquiry would be conducted?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ he protested. But he had meant it.
‘Lord Gowery chose Andrew Tring to sit with him at the hearing, and Andrew Tring wants a very big concession from him just now. And he chose Lord Plimborne as the third Steward, and Lord Plimborne continually fell asleep.’
‘Do you realise what you’re saying?’ He was truly shocked.
‘I want to know how Lord Gowery acquired all that evidence against us. I want to know why the Stewards’ Secretaries sent for the wrong film. I want to know why Lord Gowery was so biased, so deaf to our denials, so determined to warn us off.’
‘That’s slanderous...’
‘I want you to ask him,’ I finished flatly.
He simply stared.
I said, ‘He might tell you. He might just possibly tell you. But he’d never in a million years tell me.’
‘Hughes... You surely don’t expect...’
‘That wasn’t a straight trial, and he knows it. I’m just asking you to tackle him with it, to see if he will explain.’
‘You are talking about a much respected man,’ he said coldly.
‘Yes, sir. He’s a baron, a rich man, a Steward of long standing. I know all that.’
‘And you still maintain...?’
‘Yes.’
His hot eyes brooded. ‘He’ll have you in Court for this.’
‘Only if I’m wrong.’
‘I can’t possibly do it,’ he said, with decision.
‘And please, if you have one, use a tape recorder.’
‘I told you...’
‘Yes, sir, I know you did.’
He got up from the table, paused as if about to say something, changed his mind, and as I stood up also, turned abruptly and walked sharply away. When he had gone I found that my hands were trembling, and I followed him slowly out of the supper room feeling a battered wreck.
I had either resurrected our licences or driven the nails into them, and only time would tell which.
Bobbie said, ‘Have a drink, my dear fellow. You look as though you’ve been clobbered by a steam roller.’
I took a mouthful of champagne and thanked him, and watched Roberta swing her body to a compelling rhythm with someone else. The ringlets bounced against her neck. I wondered without disparagement how long it had taken her to pin them on.
‘Not the best of evenings for you, old pal,’ Bobbie observed.
‘You never know.’
He raised his eyebrows, drawling down his nose, ‘Mission accomplished?’
‘A fuse lit, rather.’
He lifted his glass. ‘To a successful detonation.’
‘You are most kind,’ I said formally.
The music changed gear and Roberta’s partner brought her back to the table.
I stood up. ‘I came to say goodbye,’ I said. ‘I’ll be going now.’
‘Oh not yet,” she exclaimed. ‘The worst is over. No one’s staring any more. Have some fun.’
‘Dance with the dear girl,’ Bobbie said, and Roberta put out a long arm and pulled mine, and so I went and danced with her.
‘Lord Gowery didn’t eat you then?’
‘He’s scrunching the bones at this minute.’
‘Kelly! If you’ve done any damage...’
‘No omelets without smashing eggs, love.’
The chin went up. I grinned. She brought it down again. Getting quite human, Miss Cranfield.
After a while the hot rhythm changed to a slow smooch, and couples around us went into clinches. Bodies to bodies, heads to heads, eyes shut, swaying in the dimming light. Roberta eyed them coolly and prickled when I put my arms up to gather her in. She danced very straight, with four inches of air between us. Not human enough.
We ambled around in that frigid fashion through three separate wodges of glutinous music. She didn’t come any closer, and I did nothing to persuade her, but equally she seemed to be in no hurry to break it up. Composed, cool, off-puttingly gracious, she looked as flawless in the small hours as she had when I’d arrived.
‘I’m glad you were here,’ I said.
She moved her head in surprise. ‘It hasn’t been exactly the best Jockeys’ Fund dance of my life... but I’m glad I came.’