Dead Reckoning

by Glenis Wilson

  ‘You’re a horsewoman, then? Do you ride? I suppose that’s a daft question.’

  ‘Only hacking, not jumps or hunting. My two old babes have had enough of that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve taken in two horses from Bransby?’

  ‘Hmm, yes, actually, I have. Pegs and Jacko. They’ve been with me for about four years now so they’re both clocking up the years.’

  ‘I see. Can I treat you to a meal, then? Soak up some alcohol?’

  She scrutinized me. ‘I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. I’m doing fine.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. And I don’t feel sorry for you – well, yes, perhaps, a little bit. I’d like to get to know you more.’

  ‘What you mean is, because I’ve got two horses …’

  I laughed. ‘Do you always give a man this hard a time when he’s asking you out?’

  ‘I’ve never been asked out to dinner with a jockey before.’

  I caught up the menu from the end of the table. ‘Here you go; what would you like to eat?’

  She took hold of the opposite corner. ‘I still can’t tell you the customer’s name, Harry.’

  ‘I know you can’t. And I don’t want you to, OK? As you say, we’ve moved on. This is just you and I right now.’

  A beautiful smile spread across her face and she tugged the menu free. ‘In that case …’ she ran a quick glance down the list, ‘… I’ll have a vegetable lasagne, thank you.’

  It was a relaxed, happy meal and an hour later, still chatting, we returned across the car park to our respective cars. I saw her into the mini and straightened up, ready to go. She engaged first and, just as she was preparing to move off, another car came down the track to the Dirty Duck and swung in through the entrance. Georgia grinned and held back. I recognized the car and the two occupants. I waved. They returned the wave and drove into the car park.

  Turning back to say goodbye, I was too late. Georgia had gunned the mini forward through the gap and was gone.

  But that was fine. I grinned. I’d already got her number.

  SEVENTEEN

  I let the Mazda idle home down the back lane. No one was tailing me, I was sure of that. So I just needed to make sure there was no reception party waiting at home.

  I slid quietly in through the open gateway and parked. You can tell an awful lot just by looking at a property. If it’s empty, an almost tangible aura of stillness, waiting for a human presence, comes across. And I could pick this up straight away. My old cottage was giving off all the right vibes. I knew it so very well; I’d been born there, grew up there throughout my childhood.

  After my father’s death, I’d stayed on with my mother because her need was great. But an opportunity at the British Racing School in Newmarket had severed my roots and I’d gone away for the ten-week course feeling very honoured at being given the chance. Only one hundred youngsters per year were taken, ten to each course.

  After that, of course, it was away again to a racing stable and the start of my long, tough journey chasing the jockey’s championship title.

  However, marriage to Annabel and my mother’s death had drawn me back to what I’d always called home. Although Annabel, herself, was no longer living here with me, Harlequin Cottage was my bastion through the tumultuous, raging seas of life. And I was so very glad to own it.

  I slid out of the driver’s seat and opened up the kitchen door. The so reliable old Rayburn gave off a welcoming cloak of warmth that wrapped itself around me. I shoved the kettle on to the hot-plate. Only one thing needed now to make coming home complete – a mug of tea.

  A second later, a huge thud on my shoulder coupled with a bass bellow down my right ear announced I’d got that wrong – tea was the second thing. First, of course, was Leo, my enormous ginger tomcat who was now sitting on my shoulder butting his hard head against my cheek.

  ‘Hiya, want some grub?’ Stupid question.

  Digging his claws in for balance, he leaned forward, watching me opening up a can of pilchards and scraping it out into his dish. But before the dish touched base on the old quarry tiles, he’d leapt down and was ready, waiting. Pilchards were most definitely his thing.

  Usually his main supplier was Annabel; she was a complete sucker where Leo was concerned. But he wasn’t picky. If I chose to indulge him with pilchards, he wasn’t going to argue.

  The kettle sang out and I took my tea through to the lounge, clicked on the wall lights and sprawled on the settee.

  A few minutes later, Leo joined me, pumping my solar plexus with unsheathed claws and purring like a road drill.

  ‘You pong!’ I told him.

  Leo was busy rolling his pink serrated tongue around his jaws and whiskers, extracting every last morsel and taste of the smelly fish.

  His pumping claws met resistance. I dipped a hand into my trouser pocket and rescued my mobile. I’d switched it off before I went to interview Edward Frame and events, as they’d followed with Georgia, had made me forget to switch it back on. I’d have to think a bit deeper about that. It was somewhat disconcerting. Anyway, I switched it back on now and Leo and I slobbed some more.

  We’d both reached the somnolent pre-nodding-off stage when the strident notes of The Great Escape jarred us back to full awareness.

  It was Mike. ‘Party’s going ahead, Harry, Wednesday at eight p.m. I’ve just spoken with Barbara. Says she has to maintain her reputation as a merry widow now Sean’s gone, is definitely up for it and will bring reinforcements, whatever that means.’

  ‘Well done, Mike. What about Samuel? I left you two in The Horseshoes. Is he still coming?’

  ‘Sure thing, says he’ll ask his wife and Chloe.’

  ‘I think we need to spread the net a bit wider, Mike. How about Victor and possibly Unwin from Leicester? Plus, maybe Mousey Brown and his son and Jackie, his daughter-in-law?’

  ‘What’s with all these trainers? Are they on the suspect list, then?’

  ‘Well, no, to be honest, but they could well let slip information that would help.’

  ‘I’ll speak to them, give them the option, OK? If we’re talking trainers, what about Tally and Jim?’

  ‘Good thinking, yes, by all means. They’re local so they might well come. I’ve still got to call Victor about golf tomorrow, so I can invite him for next Wednesday.’

  ‘Right, and you, me and Samuel can all go to North Shore in my car in the morning. Seven o’clock suit?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be going over to Burton Lazars in a short while – feed the beast, again! – and I can stock him up with food to last until Sunday. Give us the option of when we want to leave North Shore.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to leave early. We’re making a full day of it, y’know. And that includes dinner.’

  ‘I’ll eat my ten per cent, Mike. Just now I seem to be making a habit of eating out.’

  ‘Oh?’

  I laughed. ‘Tell you later.’

  I’d barely finished the call when the phone rang again. It was Samuel this time.

  ‘How’re things, Harry?’

  ‘Good, thanks, Samuel.’

  ‘To let you know, both my wife and Chloe are intending to come to Mike’s party.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Will there be many or just one or two friends?’

  ‘I should think quite a few. When Mike gives a party, which isn’t often, he doesn’t hang back.’

  ‘That lady trainer – you know who I mean, don’t you – does very well on the all-weather at Southwell. What’s her name now?’

  ‘You mean Barbara Maguire?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. She gives some pretty lavish dos. Have you been to any?’

  I laughed. ‘I certainly have, Samuel. You’re quite right. Her parties are something else. They stay in the memory.’

  ‘Is she coming to Mike’s?’

  ‘I believe she is, yes.’

  ‘Knows how to enjoy herself, that one. Reckon it looks set for a right good night.’


  ‘Hope so.’

  ‘But we’ve a good day coming up tomorrow, first. A round at North Shore always hits the spot. By the way, Harry, can you contact Victor, check he’s OK for making up a four?’

  ‘Will do. Should be fine. He only lives a few yards away on St Andrew’s drive and he’s generally free to play. Except when he’s doing his walking stick carvings. It’s a fairly recent sideline. But he spends most of his time on the course, from what I can gather. He’s always up for a round.’

  ‘Shouldn’t need much arm twisting, eh? OK, then, I’ll be at Mike’s about seven in the morning. See you, Harry.’

  ‘Bye, Samuel.’

  I eased Leo off my stomach to his great disgust and went to mash another mug of tea. One more call to make and I’d have to leave. The savage beast, not locked in any more – which was a dodgy prospect – was awaiting feeding time. Best not keep him waiting too long. Still, I took my time over the tea. It was not an enticing prospect making close contact with Jake Smith.

  But when I could delay no further, I punched in Victor Maudsley’s phone number. I’d ridden for him in my younger days when he was still working as a trainer. He and my Uncle George had been big golfing buddies years ago. Until the second biggest bang in history had occurred. However, recently discovering the truth about the situation, instead of going for an outraged score-settling with him I’d found myself actually feeling sorry for the man.

  ‘Hi, Victor. Like a round at North Shore tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes … I would …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Struck down with the bloody gout again, aren’t I?’

  ‘Ouch, painful.’

  ‘No kidding. I could light the way for Rudolph with my right toe. A beacon, it is, a right bloody beacon.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it. Uncle George suffers from gout as well, says it’s impossible to put any weight on it, the pain’s excruciating.’

  ‘I was speaking to him a short while ago and he’s damned right.’

  ‘You managing? Food-wise …? Can I do any shopping?’

  ‘Thanks, Harry, but our Paula keeps coming over to fix my grub.’

  Paula was Victor and Elspeth’s daughter. She was married to Nigel, an up-and-definitely-coming Tory politician. It was all ‘daddies and daughters’ with Victor, had been since she’d been born. If Paula asked for a star from the night sky he’d bust a gut trying to reach one.

  ‘She’s a good lass, Harry.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Hmmm, especially since Elspeth’s—’

  ‘Good job you’ve got her,’ I chipped in quickly, ‘no sense in letting him get maudlin. If the pain was bad, and I didn’t doubt that, he needed to keep on top to cope.’

  ‘By, you’re right there. ’Course, she doesn’t see it as any hardship. Well, Nigel’s away a lot y’know, down London. Has to be. Reckon she must get a bit lonely.’

  ‘You could be right.’

  Privately, with three kids to run around after, I suspected the loneliness was much more likely to be a projection of Victor’s own need for company.

  ‘Well, sorry about the golf. You be sure and let me know next time, eh? You can bank on me to make up numbers anytime.’

  ‘Will do. Why not carry on with the carvings? Can you do those sitting down?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t feel like it, though.’

  ‘No, suppose not. Anyway, don’t let it grind you down, Victor. Be seeing you, cheerio.’

  So it looked like a threesome for golf tomorrow. I upended my mug and swallowed the last cold dregs of tea.

  But before then, I had the dubious pleasure of Jake Smith’s company. It was a meeting I intended to cut as short as possible.

  Jake was in a good humour at the sight of the food, even helping me carry the goodies in. Then I upped his spirits some more.

  ‘Something else for you – my cleaning lady found it when she moved the settee this morning.’ I held out a small black object. ‘Must be yours; it’s not mine.’

  ‘Yes!’ he whooped and instantly relieved me of it. ‘Well done, Harry boy.’

  ‘So now you can stop grousing about losing it.’

  He didn’t answer; he was busy fiddling with the mobile phone. Poring over the screen, he gave a sudden exclamation. ‘Well, fuck me senseless … forgot I took that … Come here, I want to show you something. Come on … take a look. Gets you going, don’t it?’ Leering, he held out the phone.

  It was a photograph, obviously taken of Alice’s original one, and showed Barbara’s stable yard – and a stunningly beautiful girl.

  ‘A looker,’ I said.

  And he gave a satisfied smirk.

  I didn’t want to spoil the moment by telling the truth. Actually, it had been Leo who had hooked an unsheathed claw around the mobile and drawn it out from under the furniture. He’d then patted it around the carpet for a bit of sport. Jake and Leo didn’t get on – they were at daggers drawn. Or in Leo’s case, claws. Still, a little subterfuge didn’t come amiss in my own interests to keep Jake sweet.

  The following morning I was not alone in feeling the familiar rise of spirits as our car turned off Roman Bank at Skegness and drove alongside the sweep of golf course. Passing St Andrew’s Drive, the tailgate of Victor’s white Range Rover was just visible, parked, immobile, like its owner.

  We’d left Mike’s stables at seven and it was still well shy of nine o’clock. The storm in the night had brought down a lot of remaining leaves together with an assortment of twigs and small branches. But it had blown itself out towards dawn. The course was now a glittering emerald sward as the pale early sunshine played on the myriad raindrops clinging to the short grass stems.

  ‘Makes you feel good just looking at it, doesn’t it?’ Samuel nodded his head in satisfaction.

  ‘Yep, whoever invented golf was doing mankind a big favour,’ Mike agreed, patting the steering wheel.

  ‘What about womankind?’ I ventured, flicking a finger towards a group of lady golfers, their vivid jackets and caps a bright statement in the pearly morning.

  ‘Yes, but you have to agree, it’s us men who need our tensions releasing.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d repeat that Samuel – well, not in hearing distance.’

  ‘Oh, ho, I’m not daft enough to do that,’ he chuckled.

  ‘I’m looking forward to my bacon cob.’ Mike smacked his lips and applied right-foot pressure. ‘They surely take some beating. Got to line your stomach before you can swing your best.’

  ‘Thank you, Mike,’ I murmured, knowing one of the chef’s massive offerings was, for me at any rate, a definite no-no.

  ‘Sorry.’ He grinned, unrepentant.

  ‘Just think, Harry, when you finish race riding you’ll be able to eat all you want.’

  Even as Samuel said the words, I knew I’d rather forego any amount of big bacon butties to be able to ride. It was a bargain I’d made with myself years ago and not one I regretted in the slightest. Except, perhaps, when the capricious nostrils curled yearningly around the smell of grilling bacon inside North Shore’s dining room. Thank God there were no calories in the smell.

  Mike swung around to the rear of the hotel, crunching the gravel in the massive car park. We opened doors and the salt-laden air filled our lungs, welcoming us back. The golf course was quite literally brushing the edge of the wide beach. The breakers, soughing softly, reached towards us with creaming fingers. A perfect place to unwind and enjoy ourselves. Although, I suspected, a far cry from how it would have looked and sounded during the previous wild night.

  I had also seen the golf course in its darkest hours – and it had been a very scary, dangerous place. Not an experience I hoped to relive.

  I shook off the unwelcome memories. It did no good remembering, merely tainted the precious present. The horrific events could not be undone, never be put right. But today was about having pleasure, simply enjoying the course for what it was – a superb venue to play golf.

  ‘Well, what a
re you waiting for?’ Mike threw up his arms. ‘It will still be here waiting when we’ve had breakfast. Come on, Harry.’

  I nodded, took a last look at the wide, wide North Sea. Just looking shrank most problems, put them into perspective. I couldn’t change the past, however much I might want to. I knew Mike had seen the dour look that had been on my face, knew he could make a good guess at what I was thinking. He was trying to lift my spirits. A better man to have on your side hadn’t yet been born. Determinedly, I pushed the black thoughts away.

  ‘I’m coming, might even indulge in a rasher!’

  EIGHTEEN

  We went up the back steps into the hotel. However, Katie, on duty in reception, spotted us.

  ‘Mr Radcliffe, so lovely to see you again.’

  Mike chuckled. ‘Celebrity status, eh?’

  ‘And of course yourselves, Mr Grantley, Mr Simpson.’

  ‘Good to be here, m’dear.’ Samuel beamed.

  ‘Likewise,’ I said. I liked Katie; she had the same sunny temperament as Gavin, who had been on reception previously.

  ‘Just go and refuel before we do the eighteen.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Grantley. Breakfast is still being served. And John’s on duty in the pro shop.’

  We wandered through into the wood-panelled dining room that overlooked the sea. As ever, it was beautifully set out with a magnificent array of hams, cheeses, fresh and dried fruits, nuts, cereals and juices – all that before the full English. Tempting wasn’t the word.

  Most of the guests appeared to have already eaten and were no doubt out on the course so there was plenty of space. Mariusz, the breakfast waiter, came hurrying up.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Nice to see you.’ He pointed out the tables suitable for three and took our orders.

  The atmosphere today was one of relaxed indulgence, so very different from the last time we’d stayed overnight. Then, nobody could face any food other than possibly a slice of toast. I came down hard on the unpleasant memories. There’d be few occasions to visit North Shore once I had the all-clear to race from the doctor.

  I determined to enjoy today and started with a dish of grapefruit segments with dried apricots, topped with flaked almonds and hazelnuts, followed by a poached egg and one grilled rasher of best back. The bacon lived up to its tantalizing aroma and tasted even better. It was rare that I indulged myself but remembering today would fortify me when I was back to the harsh routine of fasting.