`Yes.’
She removed her arm from his. Those milkyblue eyes glared at him in reproach.
`It never occurred to me it would put Gerry in danger. I’m sorry, Louise.’
`Why haven’t these letters been reported?’
`Because the police want to keep them secret and the Beacon’s cooperating. The other news media don’t know they exist.’
Louise digested this information, biting her lower lip. She looked like a puzzled sixth-former. It occurred to Hugh that she’d probably only left school last summer. She was having to grow up fast.
`So,’ she said at length, `I could take this information to another paper.’
`You could. But the police wouldn’t like it and neither would the Beacon.’
`Would you get the sack?’
`Only after the editor had worked me over with a rubber truncheon.’ She grinned. `They might put you in hospital next to my dad. That’d be a laugh.’ Her expression changed. `You needn’t worry, I shan’t tell anyone. You may find this hard to believe but I can keep my mouth shut when I want to.’
Then her face seemed to crumple, the determination and defiance leaking out of her. She looked very young as she murmured, `I just wish I’d entered Devious like I was supposed to. None of this would have happened.’
Hugh hesitated, then put an arm round her shoulder. `It’s not your fault. And it’s not mine either. We’re not the crazies putting people in hospital.’
They walked back together to the mass of people milling around the grandstand, his arm around her still.
Phil had barely spoken a word to Julia at the racecourse and the atmosphere in the car as they began the journey back was pure poison. Julia was shocked by the antagonism that seemed to flow from her once happy-go-lucky husband. Each time she tried to initiate a conversation he ignored her, or simply grunted, which was even worse. Her unexpected appearance had obviously thrown him. She wondered why. Maybe he’d had other plans. Perhaps he’d intended to slip off for an hour or two with someone before returning home.
She stared out of the car window at the dreary fag-end of the February afternoon. She wished fervently that she had not come. And to think she had done so out of loyalty to her husband, to avoid the temptation that Mark represented.
Two people could play Phil’s game. If he could take his pleasure elsewhere then so could she. It would have been easy to have spent the afternoon with Mark. First, schooling Callisto together, feeding off an interest in the horse that Phil obviously didn’t share. Afterwards she’d have invited Mark back to the cottage, offered to look at his bruised shoulder - and then? `Then’ was not something she should think about. In the past, whenever she’d contemplated making love to an admirer, it was tantamount to making the act come to pass. She couldn’t allow herself to imagine being in bed with Mark - it was one step closer to the real thing.
She leaned forward and pushed a tape into the car cassette. She didn’t care what it was - anything was better than sitting in this dangerous silence.
A familiar voice filled the small space. Phil’s voice.
`It’s like I’m trapped but there’s nowhere to go. I know I’ve got to get away but I can’t-‘
`Turn it off!’ Phil cried, and took his hand off the wheel to jab at the buttons. The car swerved violently and a van behind them hooted. `Fuck off, you bastard!’ screamed Phil in the mirror as his recorded voice continued: `I’m just lying there, helpless, and I know it’s the end-‘
`Stop it! Stop it!’ he shouted, his face white.
She’d never seen him like this. Frantic, out of control.
She shut off the tape and put her hand on his arm. He was shaking. There was a service station ahead.
`Pull off the road, Phil,’ she said firmly, and he did so.
He drove past the petrol pumps, his chest heaving, his breath coming in gasps. He stopped the car in the shadow by the back wall. His face was silhouetted in the lights of a fast-food restaurant, and when he turned towards her he seemed unrecognisable.
`Julia,’ he said. `I’ve got something to tell you.’ A fist gripped her insides.
What had he said on the tape? It’s like I’m trapped - I know it’s the end.
She knew with awful certainty that their marriage was over.
DO Charlie Lynch made himself a cup of tea he didn’t want and sipped it, staring through the french windows into the garden. It was too late now to get out there and attempt a few chores, tidying dead shrubs or whatever you were supposed to do in late February. Jan used to take care of all that. She’d been first rate in the garden and, since she’d died, he’d tried to keep it up because that was what she would have wanted. In practice, this meant asking Amy Baylis from over the road to come in and rescue it every so often. He supposed he ought to employ her properly but he wasn’t keen on handing bright-eyed Amy an excuse to gain entry on a regular basis.
He’d been watching the racing from Ascot, not his usual practice but justifiable in the present circumstances. He didn’t follow racing, which was maybe an advantage, he told himself - he could look out for things of relevance without being distracted by the sport. But what things? Were any of the faces in the crowd the man he was looking for? It was possible the letterwriter attended race meetings, sizing up his victims. Charlie looked closely every time the camera lingered on the parade ring and the unsaddling enclosure. Was his man one of those leaning on the rail, eyeing up trainers and jockeys rather than the likely winner of the next race?
It was impossible to say. And, despite his lack of interest, he found himself caught up in the atmosphere of the race meeting. He’d opened the morning paper to the list of runners and listened to the TV pundits’ assessments. He mentally saluted the French horse who snatched victory in the big race and listened to the French jockey mangle the mother tongue in a post-race interview. And the more he looked at the cheerful, well-behaved crowd revelling in their afternoon the harder it was to imagine that any of them could be his vengeful letterwriter.
The camera was attracted to a few familiar faces - a couple of exfootballers turned owners and a pop star with an underdressed girlfriend. Charlie noticed Louise Fowler as well, acting the part her father would have played. She was laughing with a group of owners and helping her jockey into the saddle with a few whispered words. He’d met her in different circumstances, after she’d given a long and difficult statement about the discovery of her father. He knew she blamed herself for the business of the horse that hadn’t run when it should have. She was a plucky girl.
He found he was holding an empty cup. He must have finished his tea without tasting it. From the hall came the sound of a clock ticking. The evening stretched ahead of him like a void. What was he going to do now? He considered ringing Claire but rejected the idea. He’d spoken to her that morning. She had better things to do on a Saturday evening than worry about her old dad.
His eye moved to a dun folder at one end of the long kitchen table. He’d been resisting its call. He’d promised Claire he’d try not to obsess about work while she was away in Bristol. He’d said he’d get out more, see a few old pals, maybe take up bridge again.
He pictured himself at a card table, partnering Amy Baylis instead of Jan. Oh, no. One kind of partnership could easily turn into another. He opened the folder and arranged the papers around him, the three photocopies in the middle. He began to read the letters again. In order. Slowly. Over and over. What kind of man had written them? What motivated him? What did he really want?
And what was he going to do next?
The silence in the car seemed to stretch on for ever. `I know about Simone,’ Julia said at last.
Don’t make it easy for him - let him do the dirty work. She cursed herself for being the first to crack.
`You do?’ He seemed startled. And embarrassed. She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
`I didn’t have a choice, Jules. I just lost my nerve.’ He grabbed her hand. `A shrink was the only answer.’<
br />
`A shrink?’
`You know, a psychiatrist.’
Julia was confused. What’s her job got to do with it?
`She says she’ll get me through it but it’ll take time. Apparently it’s like people who survive car crashes and things. It’s called PostTraumatic Stress Disorder.’
She lost the sense of his words as relief, like a warm blanket, wrapped itself around her. She snuggled into its comforting embrace. I’ve got it all wrong! she thought jubilantly. He’s not in love with her after all. He was still talking.
`Stop, Phil.’ Her voice was sharp. He obeyed at once.
She took him by the shoulders and stared intently into his face. He looked bewildered, unhappy, like a lost little boy.
`I love you so much,’ she said. ‘Whatever’s wrong, I love you.’ And she slipped her arms around his chest to hug him as hard as she could in that awkward cramped space.
She felt some of the stiffness leave his body as he submitted to her. She squeezed him tight, clinging to him like a drowning woman to a raft. She could so easily have betrayed and lost him. She felt so foolish - and so happy. Whatever was wrong with him, it could not be as bad as the thing she had feared.
‘Jules, sweetheart-‘ There was a familiar warmth in his voice - he sounded more like himself. `Is this your imitation of a boa constrictor?’ She let him go, but very reluctantly.
Julia ordered a sandwich in the service-station restaurant, as much for form’s sake as anything else. But, as she listened to Phil unburden himself, she ate it ravenously. It was the first time she’d felt hungry for days.
He told her about the moments of panic during races which had driven him to seek Simone’s help. He described the other symptoms - the flashbacks of his accident, the fearful moments in the middle of the night when he’d wake in a sweat with a pounding heart. He apologised for his recent bad temper and the way he’d cut himself off from her.
Suddenly it all made sense. It was as if she’d been trying to read an enciphered message and misinterpreting its meaning. And now he’d handed her the code.
`I’m sorry’ he said finally. `It’s not what you bargained for when you married me, is it?’
‘I never took anything for granted. Jockeys get hurt.’
`But not like this. Mental problems and shrinks. I didn’t want you to find out.’
`But, Phil - you could have been killed at Worcester. You could be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life. This injury is not as bad as that. You’re going to get over it.’
`So you’re not disappointed in me?’
`Of course not. I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t tell me about it, though.’
`Actually, Simone’s been nagging me to tell you for weeks but …’ His voice trailed off.
Julia understood. Of course Phil wouldn’t want her to know about losing his nerve. No man would.
`No secrets from now on, Phil.’ `No.’
In which case …
`I was jealous when you sat next to Simone in the restaurant that night. It was obvious you knew each other but she pretended you didn’t. Then I saw her name in your organiser and I thought … well, you know.’
`Do I?’ He looked bemused.
`I thought she was an old flame of yours. And that you still fancied her.’ `You thought I was having an affair?’
`Yes.’
`With Simone?’ `Yes.’
His laugh was rich, full throated.
`She’s very attractive,’ Julia said defensively.
He got himself under control but his eyes were brimming with amusement as he stared at her across the Formica tabletop. `Compared to you, she’s not attractive. Who’d eat mutton over the road when there’s fillet steak at home?’
She felt foolish as he continued to chuckle. But foolish was good - very good.
`Come on,’ he said at last. `I’m taking you back. I’ll show you who I really fancy.’
Phil was in the thick of a race, on a horse he’d never ridden before. All he knew was that his mount was lazy. Russell’s words rang round his
head. `You’ve got to get after him. Get stuck into him like you’ve never done before. Show me you’ve still got the balls.’
He knew this was his last chance. All he’d done for Russell in the past counted for nothing now. He hit the horse with his whip and hit him again; even though they were in the lead he couldn’t let up.
The chasing pack was close behind. The drumming of hooves and jockeys’ cries were in his ears. He could hear what they were shouting to one another - `He’s scared shitless, the little yellow bastard’- and he knew they meant him.
A fence loomed up, menacing and huge - bigger by far than any normal obstacle. He froze as his mount took off. The horse crashed through the top of it, stumbling on the other side, miraculously staying on his feet.
The chasers were right behind him now, and he glanced to one side. A big black beast was upsides, eating up the ground. As it surged past he saw the rider’s face. A woman with long black hair that streamed in the wind of her passing. It was Simone. As she flashed by, she smiled and said, `This is fun. I thought you told me it was dangerous?’
Then she was gone and the other riders were all around him, jostling and yelling as the next fence loomed up, mountainous and threatening - a wall of packed and sharp-pointed birch, higher by far than anything he’d ever attempted. His horse was labouring beneath him but Phil threw him at the mighty obstacle all the same, closing his eyes and preparing for the terrible impact. Then he’d parted company from the horse and was spinning through the air, bracing himself for a landing that never came.
He jerked awake in the dark. Instead of wet turf there was a soft mattress beneath him, and the drumming in his ears was not the pounding of hooves but the hammering of his heart. The green glow of the clock read 3:20. The pillow beneath his head was damp with perspiration.
Not again.
When would it end? Surely things would get better soon. He’d done all that Simone had asked of him. He’d even told Julia. He’d thought, naively, as he’d fallen asleep in the warm glow of their reunion, that somehow it would all be different. But it was just the same. No one, he realised, could share his night terrors.
He stared at the ceiling, as depressed as he had ever been in his life.
But, as the knowledge that he was truly on his own formed into words in his head, Julia’s fingers twined round his and squeezed.
He returned the pressure and cancelled the thought.
Mark drove to Ted’s yard in high spirits. The sun was shining and there was a touch of spring in the air. An hour or so on the old champion Callisto in the company of the fair Julia was worth getting out of bed for. Not that he wouldn’t rather spend the time with the lady between the sheets, but that was just a wet-dream fantasy he’d better keep to himself. Especially with her husband around. He’d watched Phil’s ride on Army Blue the day before with amazement and some glee. It was a pity he and Phil couldn’t have a race-off for Julia. Her old man wouldn’t stand a chance.
He found her in the big barn leading the horse round with his specially weighted pads. She was wearing jodhpurs and a sleeveless fleece to keep out the cold. Her mane of hair hung loose, its spun gold highlighted by her turquoise shirt. It shouldn’t be allowed.
`I wasn’t sure whether you were going to turn up,’ she said. `I should have rung you.’
`Oh yeah?’ She seemed different to the last time he’d seen her. More confident and more nervous, both at the same time. He wondered what was up.
`I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I don’t need you to ride him out.’
`He’s all right, is he?’The horse looked tiptop to him. Just what he would have expected after Julia’s treatment.
`Yes, he’s coming on well. In fact, I’ve decided to send him racing again.’
`That’s great. So surely you want me to keep working him over jumps. Like you said.’
She looked a bit embarrassed but her voice w
as firm. `I’m sorry, Mark, but Phil’s going to help me out. It’s the first chance he’s had.’ Oh really? Mark thought. Since when did he give a stuff about Callisto? Julia hadn’t exactly come out and said so but he knew that, so far, she’d had to handle the horse on her own.
He looked around. So where was Phil? Not in evidence, that was for sure. Julia was looking at him uncertainly. She seemed to know what he was thinking.
`Phil’s having a bit of a lie-in but he’ll be along later. I’m really sorry to have dragged you down here.’
`That’s OK.’ He forced a smile to his lips. He hadn’t been sure how things were going to develop this morning but he hadn’t foreseen this. Disappointment nagged at him like a sudden toothache. This wasn’t how Julia had been the other day. There’d been something on offer then. Phil must have got at her - or else she was running scared.
In either event he knew he should back off graciously. If she were really interested she’d come running in a day or so, and if she weren’t … well, what the hell was the point in getting involved with another man’s wife? Walk away, you eejit. Quick.
He was never much good at taking advice. Even his own.
He took a step towards Julia and said, `Are you sure Phil’s up to it?’ Her mouth opened in a little O of alarm.
He carried on. `You know he’s lost it, don’t you? That race yesterday was a disaster. He sat on the horse like a pudding till it was all over then started showboating. You don’t want him on Callisto. He can’t hack it any more.’
His words had stripped away her self-assurance like dead skin. She looked raw and uncertain. `That’s not true. He’s taking his time getting back after the accident.’
`Pardon me, Julia, but that’s bollocks. I’ve seen him charging round the gym - he’s perfectly fit. But race-riding’s a different matter. You ride races in your head and his isn’t working these days.’
`Mark, please.’ She put her hand on his arm. `Don’t say those things.’ He could feel her shaking as she gripped him. Her touch brought him to his senses.
`I’m sorry. I never meant to say any of that. I don’t know why I did.’ `I do.’ She looked up at him, her honey-brown eyes big in the pale circle of her face. `It’s because you’re his friend and you care about him.’
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